Dream Keeper

by Gail McFarland

  Both nurses looked up.

  “No worries,” Rissa grinned, pulling out her credit card. “I’ve got you. I’ll run the card on the way out. Enjoy.”

  Time seemed to blur as she raced through the restaurant, but she took her time descending the marble stairs, and she gripped the polished brass rail every step of the way to street level.

  Less than a twenty-minute ride and, this time of day, it can take an hour or more, if traffic is bad. Belting herself into the driver’s seat, she tried to think of the fastest route to the doctor’s office. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Dang, I could never remember that in high school…maybe this baby will be better at math and science than I was. The random thought pleased her as she backed out of the parking slot. Don’t worry, baby, you will be.

  Aiming the little black and silver BMW north on I-85, Rissa was surprised and pleased to find cooperation on the part of Atlanta’s naturally cantankerous drivers. Not a single accident, crime, or “sunshine slowdown” impeded her progress. “I’m going to make it on time,” she congratulated herself, ignoring the nervous quiver in her belly. Pulling out her sunglasses, she shook her hair back and covered her eyes. The distracting little quiver touched her again. “Hey, stop that.” She kept driving.

  Merging onto GA-400, she flipped coins into the toll basket and immediately began to watch the traffic signs. Her belly quivered with a quick wave of warmth. “I told you not to do that. I’m the mother and the driver. I’m also very responsible. I’ll get us there in plenty of time—trust me.”

  Rissa managed the turns onto I-285 and Ashford-Dunwoody without further input from her baby and was relieved to find Dr. Stanton’s office. “See, I told you we would make it.” She pulled into the parking space and glanced at the time. “And with fifteen minutes to spare.” Suddenly, the quiver was back, much lower and deeper this time. Probing and sizzling with the intensity of a low-density pulsar, it left her breathless and sinking into her leather seat.

  “Whoa! When did you learn to do that?” Eyes wide behind her shades, Rissa blew out hard and pressed her hand to her instantly sweaty brow. “I thought only your daddy could do that trick.”

  Recovering, still trying to breathe and regulate her heartbeat, she peered out of her windows, hoping nobody had seen her ride the hormonal whip the baby generated. Satisfied that she was alone, Rissa made fast repair to her makeup in her rearview mirror, and tried to compose herself.

  “Now, you’re going to have to stop that. We’re going in here to see the doctor, and I want you on your best behavior, okay?” Smoothing lipstick across the fullness of her lower lip, Rissa had another thought. “You know what, on second thought, we are going to see a doctor, a really good one. If you have any other new tricks, this would be a good time to trot them out, okay?”

  Nothing. “Now you want to be contrary?” When she felt no response, Rissa decided that it was a sign of cooperation. “Better that than an outright rebellion in utero. Let’s go.”

  Slate, chrome, and glass defined the lobby of Dr. Stanton’s building, but entering her office transported Rissa to an entirely different place. Subtly relaxing shades of mauve, crème, and sage, augmented by beautiful furnishings and healthy plants, greeted her eye. Soft edged window treatments and curving furniture as well crafted and carefully chosen as that in her own home quieted her nerves.

  Simple but eye-catching paintings of women on what looked like the Georgia coast worked to make Rissa smile. Woven baskets and a wall of collectibles gathered her attention, and she longed to touch them. But my mama raised me better than that. She kept her hands at her sides and crossed the elegant room-sized carpet to speak to the charming receptionist.

  Round-faced with beautifully locked blonde hair twisted high, she looked completely understanding and welcoming. Giving the woman her name was easy, and she waited for the baby to send a signal, but none came. Trying to make Mommy look crazy? The receptionist, Lydia, spoke with a sweet island clip as she pointed out the information needed on the medical forms she handed across her desk.

  Good thing we’re early. Rissa took the forms and found a chair. Sitting, she found the chair every bit as comfortable as it looked. She pulled reading glasses and a pen from her purse and went to work on the pages, finishing as a tall, athletically built woman materialized in front of her. Big girl is fast. Wonder where she played ball?

  The tall woman smiled, a hint of recognition in her eyes. “I’m Paula Griffin, Dr. Stanton’s nurse. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to the examination room.” Her eyes tried to place Rissa’s face as she turned away.

  Leaving her paperwork with Lydia, Rissa followed Paula. She’s over six feet, Rissa guessed, walking with the nurse. We’re about the same age, I wonder…Paula Griffin…

  “I know.” Paula stopped suddenly, her voice soft and amused. “You went to Clark College, right?”

  “Yes.” Feeling disadvantaged, Rissa studied the taller woman’s face and sucked at her teeth when the memory clicked into place. One hand on her hip, she pointed, and shook her finger accusingly. “You were Paula Charles, and you were playing for USC when you hip-checked me into the bleachers that time.”

  “And you were Marissa Yarborough, a known ball thief. It was my job.”

  “I was bruised for a month.”

  “And my team took a loss because of you.”

  They glared at each other for a long second, then burst into a flurry of girlish giggles.

  “Hard as you hit me, I’m not surprised that you’re a nurse. Somebody has to be able to take care of your victims.”

  “Fast little thief. Did I see that you’re a lawyer now? That is what was on your paperwork, right? Huh, probably because you finally figured out that what you were doing on the court was a crime.” Paula laughed, offering her hand.

  Rissa accepted the hand and smiled when she shook it. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Yes, you, too.” Paula’s smile was sweet to the point of tenderness. “I’m an MSRN and you’re about to be a mother. Small world.”

  “You’re not kidding.” Rissa wrapped her arms around herself. “I figured you for the WNBA.”

  “I thought the same about you. What happened?”

  Rissa shrugged. “I wasn’t tall enough, or good enough. Then I fell in love.”

  “Makes perfect sense to me. I’m still waiting for Mr. Right and refusing to settle for Mr. Right Now, especially after a divorce. Come on, let me get you settled.”

  When she pushed open the door to the exam room, Rissa was a little disappointed that, while the colors were soothing and the temperature was comfortable, it was set up for a gynecological examination—stirrups and all.

  “Here’s your gown, and the doctor will be right with you.” Stopping at the door’s edge, Paula looked back. “I am really glad that I got to see you again. Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

  “Thank you.” Rissa would have said more, but the smooth-voiced woman had already disappeared as the door whispered shut behind her. The room seemed empty in Paula’s absence and Rissa stood alone, holding the soft lavender gown she’d been given. It’s a doctor’s office, she reminded herself, unbuttoning her jacket and sliding it off her shoulders. This is not some medieval torture chamber.

  I’m here for a routine visit—if you could call trying to find a way to hang onto your baby routine. She hooked the hangar holding her suit and shirt on the hook behind the door and slipped out of her tall boots. Feeling vulnerable and debating whether or not she should make a quick call to Dench, she slid her arms into the gown and sat on the edge of the exam table with a hand resting on her stomach. When she felt no tremors, she looked down and waited—nothing.

  A little jealous of the baby’s apparent ability to sleep through the tense situation, she let her feet swing off the end of the table and tried to think of good questions for the doctor. Her mind went completely blank when she heard the light knock at the door.

  “Yes?”

/>   “Are you ready for me, Mrs. Traylor?”

  Hardly. “Come in,” Rissa called with more poise than she felt.

  Dr. Alexis Stanton was a sturdy, square-built woman in her mid-forties, and she wore her wire-framed glasses with the same authority that she accorded her stethoscope. Soft, dark hair, fluffy and natural, curled around her strong, copper-colored face. Carrying enough pounds to pad her medium frame comfortably, the doctor pulled at the lapels of her lab coat and closed the door behind herself. When she moved closer and tapped the corner of Rissa’s file against her palm, Rissa noticed that, though she had square, capable hands, her fingers were long and agile.

  Surgeon, she recalled. The doctor tipped her head, looked up at her and smiled. Rissa smiled back, liking the bright twinkle of the doctor’s eyes behind the glasses. Maple syrup. Her eyes are the same color as maple syrup.

  “You look a little nervous, but don’t worry. About the worst thing we have here would be a speculum,” the doctor laughed. “Most of my work involves consultation and support. In your case, I’ll be working closely with Joyce Ashton.”

  “And we have to do this? Even though I just saw Joyce?”

  “That’s a joke, right?” Washing her hands at the corner sink, the doctor looked over her shoulder. “Mrs. Traylor, if you took your car in for repair, would you want to rely on someone else’s description of the work to be done? Or would you expect the mechanic who was actually going to do the work to do an inspection?”

  “Good point.” She slid down on the table and held her breath, waiting for the baby to protest—again, nothing. The exam was brief and specific and over almost before Rissa realized it. Closing her eyes, she waited for the baby to do something when the doctor spread cool gel on her skin as she prepared for the ultrasound scan, but nothing happened.

  I’m keeping my mouth shut, Rissa decided. You’re not even here yet, and you’re already confusing me.

  “That will do it.” The doctor smiled, retracting her equipment. Happy to dress, Rissa climbed down from the table and met the doctor in her office for further consultation.

  This office looks like my sitting room, she thought, easing into a pale blue velvet wing chair. When the doctor poured herbal tea and offered a savory cup, Rissa took it and endured a humbling wash of déjà vu. Was it only this morning that I was sitting in Chris Gordon’s office with a cup of chamomile tea? “Is this when I get to ask what your verdict is? Or do I have to wait for tests to come back?”

  “No, there’s no need to wait. I’ve made measurements and observations, and we can talk right now. In fact, I think we should.”

  Rissa’s stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with the fetal-generated tremors. That one was all me—all nerves.

  Stanton took the matching wing chair and angled her body to face Rissa as she sat. She took an easy sip of her tea and paused to appreciate the brew. “You already know that you’re facing a diagnosis of an insufficient cervix. In your case, it means that you have approximately a quarter of the space needed to successfully carry your baby to term.”

  The cup and saucer clattered in Rissa’s shaking hand, until the doctor reached to take them from her.

  “That’s the bad news.” The doctor returned to her seat. “The good news is that you’re healthy, the fetus is healthy, and there are some options.”

  “Options?” She hated herself for hoping, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it?

  “Bed rest, cervical cerclage, or tocolytics.”

  “Drugs?”

  “To prevent premature labor, but in your case,” Stanton shook her head, “I believe that would be contraindicated.”

  “So I have to stay in bed for five months? How?”

  “Don’t look so scared. That would not be the full therapy for you. In your case, I believe that cervical cerclage is an appropriate treatment. You’re an active woman, with a thriving business.” She smiled when Rissa looked surprised. “Joyce told me about your agency, and my husband and I are Falcon season ticket holders—big fans.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing I married well,” Rissa joked, not quite managing to laugh. “Seriously, what is cerclage? Who does it? Where do you, I mean, would I have to be hospitalized? And…”

  Stanton chuckled and set her tea aside. “A cervical cerclage is a minor surgical procedure in which the opening to the uterus, the cervix, is stitched closed in order to prevent miscarriage or premature birth.”

  “To keep the baby from falling out.” Rissa fought to shut down the gag reflex and felt no relief when she won. “So it’s real surgery, and it takes place in a hospital? Under anesthesia? Will Joyce do it or would you?”

  Stanton looked amused. “I can tell you were a good student. The procedure would be performed in a hospital, and you would be placed under general anesthesia. Unless you’d prefer another practitioner, I would perform the procedure.”

  “You’re good at this, right?”

  “At the risk of sounding vain,” Stanton smiled, “I’m the best. Look, Rissa—may I call you Rissa?” When Rissa nodded, the doctor stood and faced her. With her hands on her full hips, she looked fearless. “Rissa, I do three to six of these procedures weekly, more than a hundred a year. I promise you, every one of them is different because every woman approaches her pregnancy differently. I know that you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe that I can help you.”

  “Complications?” The word came out on a whisper.

  “Yes, there are risks associated with the procedure, and they can include things like bleeding, premature rupture of the membranes, premature labor, and the general risks associated with local or general anesthesia.”

  Rissa looked like she was ready to curl up in the chair and cry. Watching the emotions crossing her patient’s face, the doctor paused.

  Tight-lipped, Rissa straightened in her chair and inhaled deeply. “After the cerclage is in place, how does that alter my day-to-day routine? And what about…you know…”

  “Honey, please,” the doctor laughed. “Your husband is going to hate it, and if you’re as active as that question leads me to believe you are, it won’t be a great treat for you, either.” She laughed again when Rissa looked sad. “You’ll be able to handle the day-to-day aspects of your business for the most part, but I’m afraid that you’ll be storing up a lot of sexual energy over the next four or five months.”

  “No sex?” Rissa looked bereft.

  “Not until the cerclage is removed, and that would be done at thirty-seven and a half weeks.”

  “I’m only sixteen weeks now.” Rissa’s eyes moved as she did quick calculations. Her heavy sigh made the doctor smile. “That’s an awfully long time.”

  “Think of how interesting week thirty-eight will be.”

  “Right.” Rissa offered a small smile. “So when do we do this?”

  “I have two openings for next week.”

  “You don’t need to check your appointment book or anything?” Rissa looked impressed.

  “I have specific hospital time at Crawford Long and Northside, so that makes it easier to keep things on track. As it stands, I have eight o’clock openings on Monday and Tuesday at both hospitals.”

  Rissa thought of her baby and waited for an answering tremor—nothing came and she guessed the baby was depending on her. So is Dench. She swallowed hard and forced a determined smile. “The sooner the better. Monday at Crawford Long.”

  Sitting in her car, Rissa debated running back across the parking lot and into Alexis Stanton’s office. But my baby’s life depends on this. Looking down, reading the sheet of instructions, she read: No food or drink after midnight before the surgery, avoid tampons, avoid sexual intercourse…Avoid? She smoothed a hand over the page as Dench crossed her mind.

  He’s home tonight, so that only gives us three days to…A little moan escaped her throat when she pictured him: Big hands, big feet, long limbs, sheets of muscle, warm lips, and a heartbeat like music. I miss him already.

  And h
e’ll come to the hospital with me on Monday. I’ll tell him that he doesn’t have to, that he doesn’t have to stay, but he’ll be there when I open my eyes. I know he will because he’s Dench, and because he loves me. The sudden warm rush that filled her body was soft but emphatic enough for her to bring her hands to her heart in response.

  “You’re right. He’ll be there because he loves us both.”

  Chapter 18

  This baby is a girl. Rissa was almost surprised when the clear and easy thought finally occurred to her. But it makes perfect sense. She pulled her car door open and carefully inserted herself into the driver’s seat. I just don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out, although with the surgery and all, I have had a few other things going on…

  Moving gingerly, testing herself, Rissa reached for the button at the side of her seat. Pressing, she waited for the BMW to obey and slide her a few inches closer to the steering wheel. No point in rushing. I promised Dench that I would take it easy and I did, all the way to Chicago and back.

  Chicago, whew! This was the little trip that almost didn’t happen. Your daddy pitched a fit when I told him that I still intended to go. It’s a good thing Alexis convinced him that it would be all right, and that we could safely travel. Satisfied that she had enough room to comfortably maneuver, she tossed her coat and messenger bag into the passenger seat. She felt the tiny tremor, almost too small to be anything more than imagination. Don’t start. Mommy’s had a busy day. She adjusted her sunglasses and ran her fingers through her hair. Dench likes the hair, she thought, tossing her head, so maybe it’s here to stay.

  When she pulled the car door closed, her nerves fluttered and generated second thoughts. She reached across to pull the messenger bag into her lap and snapped it open to finger through the enclosed documents. You’re right, it wouldn’t do for me to get all the way home only to discover I’d left something undone in Chicago. Satisfied that everything was in order, she snapped the seatbelt into place.