“I guess it must have seemed like a lot of money to her,” Becky said, “and Rick’s car is nicer than anything she could ever afford.”
I let out a breath. “Yeah, but Rick was probably thrilled to get rid of it. He was always talking about getting a new one. Something sportier. He sure got off easy.”
Becky sighed. “Didn’t you once tell me that Nadia’s father stopped paying child support when she was young? Maybe she figured she’d be better off to get it all up front.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, and swiveled around in my chair to look out the window again.
“Was I right to tell you?” Becky asked. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes,” I assured her, “you did the right thing.”
We were both quiet for a moment.
“So, what are you going to do?” Becky asked.
“What do you mean?”
She paused. “I mean... That baby is going to be your niece or your nephew. Are you going to talk to Nadia?”
Becky and I were both adopted, so we shared an understanding of what it meant to meet a blood relative. We had so few of them.
But this was different. Nadia, my identical twin, with whom I had shared a womb, had re-entered my life and betrayed me in the worst possible way. I couldn’t imagine inviting her back into my world.
“No, I’m not going to contact her,” I said.
“What about when she has the baby?” Becky asked. “You’ll be an aunt.”
I watched a sailboat motor out of the marina outside my window. As soon as it reached open water, the crew began to hoist its mainsail.
“I think it’s best if Nadia and I live separate lives,” I said.
When I hung up, however, I experienced a strange, achy feeling in my heart. I laid my hand over my chest, and massaged my sternum with the heel of my hand.
Chapter Forty-eight
Nadia
DESPITE ALL THE mistakes I had made in my life, for the first time I felt I was doing something right – something wonderful and amazing, for there was a tiny person growing inside me. Everything else in my past – all the hardships, failures, and foolish errors in judgement – paled in comparison to the bright future I saw before me. I was going to be a mother, and this beautiful child would love me and depend on me forever.
No one had ever depended on me before.
I would no longer be alone, without family.
This time, I was determined not to make a mess of things. What was happening to me was too beautiful. Surely, everything in my past had led me to this moment, this place, this calling. This was my chance. I was finally experiencing a hope and optimism I’d never known before. Whenever I touched my belly or felt my baby kick, joy spread through me like a warm breeze through an open window.
My world was about to change profoundly, and I was determined to be the best mother in the world.
At five months, I was progressing well. The baby was gaining a healthy amount of weight, as was I. Each time the doctor checked my blood pressure, it was normal, and everything looked good on the ultrasounds. I was even able to learn the baby’s gender.
She was a girl.
Then, one Monday morning, my boss called me into her office for the annual performance review. I always hated these things and braced myself to hear all about my shortcomings, in meticulous detail, and then be told I was on thin ice.
“Come in and have a seat,” Ida said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “How have you been feeling?”
It was a question I was asked often, whenever someone noticed my belly. “Great, thanks.”
“You were lucky not to have any morning sickness,” she said. “I was sick for months with both my children.”
“That’s rough,” I politely responded.
She sat back and looked at me for a moment, warmly. “Have you given any thought to how long of a maternity leave you want to take?”
I cleared my throat. “I’d like to take the maximum amount of time I’m allowed, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” she kindly replied. “Those first few months of your baby’s life are so important. You’re smart to take as much time as you can.”
Pleasantly surprised by the sincerity in her voice, I began to relax a bit.
“And when you come back,” Ida continued, “there’s an excellent daycare right here in the building. Have you gone to visit it yet?”
“I went a couple of weeks ago.”
“Did you put your name in?” she asked. “You should do that right away, because they have a waiting list.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She opened my file, and my body tensed up again as she read over her notes in silence.
“So tell me, Nadia,” she said, sounding more businesslike. “How do you think things have been going lately?”
I swallowed uneasily. “Good. I’m very happy here.”
She folded her hands together on top of my file. “I’m glad to hear that, because we’ve all been pleased with your performance. You’re dependable, courteous, responsible, always on time, and the clients find you friendly and helpful on the phone. We all feel we’re in very good hands with you on the front lines.”
For a moment I thought I was dreaming, because this never happened to me. I had never been a star student in school, nor was I singled out for my winning smile and personality at any previous job. Rarely in my life had I been given such praise.
“Thank you,” I shakily replied.
“I know you only have a few more months before you go on leave, but before then, I’d like to start training you to take on some extra responsibilities with office management. I’d like to feel that I have a back-up, someone I can trust and rely on to take over my duties when I’m on vacation, and with that, I’d like to promote you to assistant office manager. Would you be interested? It would come with a raise, of course. I’ve already discussed it with the partners, and they suggested ten percent.”
I felt like I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Slightly giddy, I slapped a hand against my cheek. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Ida replied with a laugh. “I’d like to start training you next week if you’re willing, and of course, the position will be waiting for you when you come back from maternity leave.” She paused and leaned over the desk. “We really want to make sure you come back, Nadia. We don’t want to lose you.”
I smiled at her. “I’m thrilled. And yes, I’m very interested in the promotion.” It all sounded like a dream.
She sat back and sighed with relief. “Excellent.” Then she closed my file. “I’ll start training you next week, and I’ll put the raise through right away. You should see it reflected on the next paycheck.”
We both stood up. She came around her desk and shook my hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I felt a tickle in my nose and sneezed.
“Bless you,” Ida said, picking up the box of Kleenex on her desk and offering it to me before she escorted me out of her office.
By the time I arrived home, my sinuses were completely plugged, and my throat felt like it had been scrubbed raw with sandpaper. Every time I swallowed, it burned.
I dropped my oversized purse on the floor, slipped out of my heels, and went straight to my bedroom to change into my pyjamas.
A short while later I was wrapped in a soft fleece blanket on the sofa with a roll of toilet paper in front of me – I needed to blow my nose every five minutes. I could do nothing but click sleepily through TV channels, searching for something good to watch.
I had no appetite, but I knew it was important to keep eating for the baby, so I managed to get some strawberry yogurt down. Later, I warmed some canned soup in the microwave, but the heat stung my throat, so I decided to stick to yogurt and popsicles.
That night, the uncomfortable pain in my throat and sinuses prevented me from sleeping, but I didn’t dare take anything to relieve my symptoms because I didn’t want to r
isk hurting the baby.
When I rolled out of bed the next morning, I took my temperature and discovered I was running a low fever. I called in sick at work, and Ida told me to take care of myself.
Normally, I would have stayed home, drank plenty of fluids, and lay on the couch until I felt better, but this was different. I was an expectant mother, so I decided to call my doctor.
He fit me in for an appointment before noon. I took a cab to his clinic and sat in the corner of the waiting room to avoid coughing or sneezing on the other patients.
At last a nurse called my name, and I shuffled miserably into an exam room. After keeping me waiting a little longer, Dr. Weldon finally walked in, closed the door, and told me to hop up on the table.
“I’m twenty-two weeks pregnant,” I told him. “Hopping just isn’t in the cards.”
He laughed and held the step stool for me while I positioned myself on the crinkly white paper.
“Open wide and say ah.” He inserted a tongue depressor into my mouth. “Yes, there’s definitely some redness there.” Then he listened to my heart and took my blood pressure. He told me everything looked good, so he stuck a thermometer in my mouth and sat down at his desk to jot down some notes.
The thermometer beeped. He stood up and pulled it out of my mouth.
“Do I have a fever?” I asked.
“Yes, but only a slight one. Nothing to worry about.”
“It won’t affect the baby?”
“No, but if you’re uncomfortable, you can take Tylenol. I suspect you’ll feel better in a few days, but come back in if you don’t, or if your symptoms get worse.”
“So I should just stay home and rest?” I confirmed as I set one foot on the stool and slid off the table to the floor.
“Yes. Drink plenty of fluids, and you can rinse your throat with warm salt water. That might help.”
Relieved to hear this was nothing serious, but still feeling like a bag of wet sand, I went home.
Unfortunately, my symptoms didn’t improve after a few days. The cold moved into my chest, and I was forced to call the doctor again when I coughed so hard I was sure I’d cracked a rib.
Chapter Forty-nine
“NOPE,” DR. WELDON said as he examined me. “Ribs are fine. You might have pulled a muscle though.” He asked me to turn to the side and lift my shirt so he could listen to my lungs. “Deep breaths please. Very good.” He moved his stethoscope from one spot to another on my back. “Another deep breath please.”
It wasn’t easy to inhale without coughing.
“I definitely hear some wheezing in there. Now let’s have a listen to your baby.” He bent forward slightly and placed the scope over my belly. “Very good. Everything sounds fine.” After removing the ear buds, he hooked the scope around his neck. “You can lower your shirt now.”
I tugged it down and faced forward. Dr. Weldon returned to his desk and consulted my file. “Are you a smoker Miss Carmichael?”
“Not anymore,” I replied. “I quit about a year ago.”
“Good for you.”
He wrote that in the file, then swiveled in his chair to face me. “I know it’s unpleasant,” he said, “but these things usually take care of themselves after a week or two. I could prescribe Salbutamol – a Ventolin puffer – that might give you some relief. It’s safe to use during pregnancy, but only helps fifty percent of people with symptoms like yours. We can give it a try though.”
I thought about it. “If this is going to get better on its own anyway, I’d rather not use anything.”
He nodded. “Then it looks like you’re just going to have to tough it out.”
“I can do that,” I assured him. “As long as it’s okay for the baby.”
“The baby will be fine. Just make sure you’re eating and drinking well.”
I moved to pick up my purse from the chair. “What about work? Is it okay for me to go back?”
“That’s up to you. You’re not contagious, if that’s your concern.”
“It is, but I’m glad to hear everything’s okay. Thanks.” I left his office and flagged down a cab.
Dr. Weldon was right. My cough improved after about a week, and I was able to return to work.
My illness had sapped me of energy, however, because I couldn’t climb the stairs in my apartment building without needing to stop halfway up and catch my breath. I assumed it was simply pregnancy fatigue and the added weight I was carrying. Since I hadn’t been getting much exercise – not since I came down with the sore throat – I resolved to go to an aerobics class for expectant mothers as soon as I felt up to it.
Later that week, I woke in the middle of the night because I had difficulty breathing.
Was this normal? I wondered as I propped myself up on a few pillows. Maybe the baby was pushing on my lungs.
I managed to go back to sleep, but when I woke the next morning, I felt more fatigued than I had the day before. Even the simple act of getting dressed exhausted me. I had to sit down on the edge of the bed for a few minutes to recover.
When I arrived at work and reached my desk, I noticed my legs and ankles were more puffy than usual, which was typical for pregnant women, so I wasn’t too concerned at the time. Ida came out to the reception area to tell me about a client who was coming in that morning to get something signed, and he was in a hurry.
“You look a little gray,” she said.
“I feel worse than gray,” I replied. “I can’t believe how tired I am. Were you this tired when you were pregnant?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I remember sleeping for hours in the afternoons.”
Her assurance eased my mind, and I did my best to put in a hard day’s work. I finished all the tasks that were handed to me, which turned out to be a good thing, because something unexpected happened that night.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that was to be my last day working for the firm of Perkins and McPhee. I never set foot in that building again.
Chapter Fifty
SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT, while propped up against a pile of pillows in bed, I dreamed of the father I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. He hugged me so tightly, I couldn’t breathe. My rib cage felt like it was constricting, but he wouldn’t listen when I asked him to stop squeezing and let go.
I woke up fighting to suck air into my lungs. My head spun and my heart raced with panic. I was wheezing again. Did I have pneumonia?
It was the middle of the night, and I couldn’t call my doctor, so I called a cab instead and managed to pull on a T-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants. Somehow I made it down the stairs on my own.
“Take me to the hospital please,” I said to the cab driver as I got in.
He glanced down at my belly. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You’re not going to have that baby now, are you?”
“I hope not,” I said. “I’m barely six months.” Still working hard to take air into my lungs, I held my hands up in front of my face because my fingertips were tingling.
“Hurry,” I pleaded, because I feared I might pass out.
Looking back on it, I probably should have called an ambulance, but it wasn’t the first bad decision I’d ever made.
The cab driver hit the gas and sped off. He swerved wildly around corners, and I was forced to hang on to avoid being tossed across the seat.
When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, he drove me to the outpatients’ entrance. “Twelve dollars,” he said, turning around to face.
Still feeling terribly short of breath and aware of the perspiration on my face, I flipped open my wallet and gave him a twenty. “Keep the change.” I couldn’t wait any longer.
I opened the door and stepped out of the cab, but only made it as far as the information desk before everything started to swirl. My vision blurred and the world in front of my eyes turned cloudy white.
Then my knees buckled, and down I went, straight to the floor.
I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but I recall seeing my
mother walk toward me on that fluffy cloud that surrounded me in front of the information desk. It was not my birth mother I saw. The person coming toward me was my adoptive mother. She held out her hands and smiled.
Then I dreamed I was floating around the hospital waiting area, feeling sorry for all the sick and injured people who had to wait to see a doctor, while I was lifted onto a gurney and fast-tracked to the trauma room.
A team of nurses ran in.
“What do you need?” one of the nurses said to the doctor.
“Get the crash cart,” he replied.
Chapter Fifty-one
I WOKE TO the rapid whirly sound of my baby’s heartbeat on a fetal monitor. Such a lovely sound. It reminded me of a skipping rope, whipping fast through the air but never hitting the ground. Around and around it went.
I didn’t understand where I was until I opened my eyes and discovered the oxygen mask over my face. An IV tube was taped to the back of my hand. Turning my head on the pillow, I looked up at a bag of clear fluid dripping into the IV tube. I hope that’s okay for the baby.
I felt groggy, and my chest hurt, but the sound of my baby’s steady heartbeat on the monitor was a great comfort. That meant she was okay. But what was I doing here?
As I felt around for a button to call a nurse, I wondered if I hadn’t eaten enough when I was sick. Maybe I was dehydrated or malnourished.
I found the button and pressed it with my thumb. A nurse came running in. “You’re awake.” She checked the tape on the heart monitor. “You gave us quite a scare.”
I spoke into the oxygen mask. It muffled my voice. “Did I?”
“Yes.” Her eyes met mine. “Is there someone we can call? A family member?”
I looked around the room and struggled to make sense of this. I honestly had no idea what was going on.
The Color of Heaven Series [03] The Color of Hope Page 12
