Back Forever

by Karen Booth

  “Mom. What is your problem?” Sam asked, closing her car door. “I bet your weight hasn’t changed more than two pounds up or down in ten years.

  I jammed the key into the ignition. This is so stupid. I should just tell her. She deserves to know. “I’m nervous. That’s all.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about getting married? Because Chris is awesome.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror. “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Tell her. I cut the engine. The confusion on her face didn’t portend the immensity of the coming announcement. She was more annoyed with me than anything. “If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. Not Bryce. Not Leah. Especially not your grandfather.”

  “Now you’re freaking me out. Is everything okay?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her eyes scanned my face, and I did the same to her, hoping for some sign of elation. I could’ve been content with a blip of plain old happy. “I guess I knew this was coming. I just didn’t think it would happen now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Claire was twelve weeks along, with a due date of May 27th, and aside from Sam, nobody knew. It was torture.

  Being quiet made very little of it real. Claire wasn’t showing. I kept waiting for her belly to pooch out. No such luck. This wait was almost as bad as waiting to actually be pregnant.

  I pulled up to the clinic for our second prenatal appointment, hurrying to open Claire’s car door. The early November air held only a hint of autumn crispness. The weather had otherwise stayed stubbornly warm.

  “Chris, honey. I’m fine. You don’t need to get my door.”

  “I like doing these things for you. I feel blooming useless otherwise.” The truth was that these appointments had me at sixes and sevens. I was so paranoid that something would go wrong. Today, we were to hear the baby’s heartbeat, a thrilling and terrifying proposition.

  “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of time to do stuff for me.” She whisked past me as I held open the clinic door.

  I followed and she took her place in line.

  “Next,” a plump, dark-haired woman at the desk said.

  “Claire Abby. I have an 11:30 appointment with Dr. Miller.”

  I bristled at the mention of her maiden name. Abby. My bloody fault for not asking her to marry me sooner.

  “I’ll need your hospital card.” She took the paperwork from Claire and seconds later, placed the card on the counter. “The nurse will call you back in a minute.”

  We took a seat in the waiting area. One woman’s belly was so rounded and protruding that it looked as if she might soon burst. I didn’t want to stare, but it was hard not to, out of sheer fascination more than anything. Imagining Claire that big, that shape, was such a foreign idea and yet, it would happen. Soon.

  “Ms. Abby?” the nurse called, clipboard in hand, holding open the door. Wispy red hair framed her face, freckles dotted her cheeks. “I hope Mom and Dad are doing well today.”

  Mom and Dad. I’ll never tire of hearing that. I took Claire’s hand, holding on tight.

  “I have to tell you, this is a little funny, but my first name is Abby.” She directed us down the hall. “We’re in the first room on your right. We’ll take your vitals real quick.”

  “Wow, Abby,” Claire said as she entered the tiny room, which had a scale, chair, and miscellaneous medical equipment. “Isn’t that funny, Chris?”

  “Good thing I didn’t marry this guy.” The nurse pointed at me. “Or my name would be Abby Abby.”

  Claire laughed. “Actually, Abby is my maiden name.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, watching as she had Claire stand on the scale. I shifted my weight, trying to ignore how annoyed I was with myself. She should have been Claire Penman from her very first appointment.

  “Ah, a modern woman,” Abby said. She flicked back the counterweight on the scale. “Got that. Let’s get your blood pressure.” She placed the cuff on Claire’s arm and turned on the machine. “You look so familiar.” She narrowed a stare at me. “I just can’t figure out from where. I don’t think I know any Brits.”

  Claire snickered.

  “I get that a lot.”

  “Oh, okay.” She looked unconvinced. “Just a familiar-looking face, I guess.” A few minutes later, Abby was done collecting data and led us back to the exam room. She handed Claire a plastic cup. “You know the routine. When you come back, undress from the waist down and use the drape.” She pointed to a thick, folded piece of pale blue paper on the counter.

  I waited for Claire to return, studying the posters of a fetus as it develops. At twelve weeks, there were fingers and toes, spindly little legs and arms and quite a large head. A baby. Miraculous stuff.

  “I’m back.” Claire set the specimen cup on the counter and kicked off her shoes. She removed her pants and underwear and set them neatly on a chair, then climbed up on to the exam table.

  I unfolded the paper blanket and laid it across her lap. “Doctor Miller hasn’t been in yet. Thank goodness. She might’ve put me up in these things.” I pulled out the metal footrest near Claire’s hip and fiddled with it.

  “The stirrups,” Doctor Miller said from the doorway. “Trust me. I don’t think you could handle it.”

  My face went hot. “Sorry about that.”

  “Oh, I’m just giving you a hard time.” She closed the door and shook hands with Claire. “How are we today?” She shook my hand and winked at me. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners, her dark blonde showing gray at the roots.

  I let out a breath and forced myself to relax.

  “We’re listening to the heartbeat today,” Dr. Miller said. “How exciting. Claire, we’ll do a quick pelvic exam first.”

  I grasped Claire’s hand as Doctor Miller approached.

  “We’re not quite in labor yet, Dad, but I like that you dote on her. Don’t forget to do that for all nine months.” She held a stethoscope to Claire’s chest. “Take a deep breath.”

  Claire and I locked eyes, both of us as quiet as could be, grinning like happy fools. She mouthed, “I love you” and I did the same. I love you.

  “Your heart sounds perfect. We’re going to take a quick look down below.” With a metallic clatter, the doctor pulled out the foot contraptions. “Make sure your cervix is doing what it’s supposed to.”

  That was a lot of uncomfortable verbiage, but I stayed at Claire’s side, holding her hand and ignoring the doctor who was about to take a look-see between my fiancée’s legs.

  “Just a little pressure and some cold,” the doctor said.

  “You okay?” I asked when Claire grimaced.

  “Yep.” She nodded and squinted. “Not my favorite part.”

  “Everything looks perfect. Now let’s see if we can find that heartbeat.”

  Yes. Please do. My own heart felt as if it might crawl out of my body via my throat.

  Doctor Miller pulled out a device about the size of a handheld video game, with a curly cord and a wand attached. “This is a fetal Doppler. It uses sound waves to detect the baby’s heartbeat.” She flipped a switch and squeezed some gel on to the end of the device before placing it on Claire’s belly. Slowly, she moved it over her skin, rocking the wand back and forth and changing the angles. It made crackly noises like an old radio. Seconds ticked by as we waited. “Sometimes it takes a minute.” The expression on her face was impossible to read, stoic, almost blank. “Seems like someone is hiding from us today.” She frowned and readjusted the position of the wand.

  Doctor Miller’s comments only put me more on edge. My hand was sweating. So was Claire’s.

  A frantic rhythmic whoosh rang out. Claire squeezed my hand.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “It is.” The doctor consulted the Doppler. “160 beats per minute. A little fast, but not outside the range of norma
l.”

  Claire and I stared at each other, the wonderful alien sound of life coming at us at lightning speed. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. For the second time today, we smiled as if we’d won the lottery. It certainly felt as though we had.

  Doctor Miller flipped off the Doppler. “It all sounds good. You can go ahead and sit back.” She wheeled her stool to where Claire’s chart was and opened it up.

  “Doctor, what’s the big label on my chart?” Claire pointed to the front cover of the folder, a red sticker obscured by the doctor’s hand.

  “Advanced Maternal Age.”

  Claire’s face paled and her forehead crinkled with worry. “I’m only forty.”

  “In the world of Obstetrics, that’s advanced. Sorry to tell you.”

  “Is that a big deal?”

  “Remember we discussed the genetic testing at your last appointment? That’s all because of your age.”

  My stomach knotted. Advanced Maternal Age. Why do they have to put it that way?

  “Oh,” Claire said. “I thought that was just the routine these days.”

  “It is when you’re over thirty-five.” Dr. Miller scribbled a signature on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “You can give this to them when you check out.”

  I stood straighter. Didn’t matter, this was what I’d signed up for. I smiled and kissed Claire’s forehead. “Don’t worry, darling. It’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wrapped my wet hair in a towel and swiped at the fogged-up bathroom mirror with a washcloth. “Hey, Chris? What time is it?” With a damp cotton ball, I wiped mascara residue from beneath my eyes. “Hey. Penman. I know you’re tired from packing boxes all day, but we need to get this show on the road.” I took my mom’s old bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and started into the bedroom. “No fair falling asleep—”

  Chris was in the middle of the bed, in the grubby Clash t-shirt and khaki shorts he’d worn all day while we’d gone through the attic and a few closets. He looked at me with a playful grin. “Sorry, love. I was just completely engrossed with this bit of reading I found.” He teased me with a wag of a spiral-bound school notebook, decorated with my handwriting. My teenage handwriting. Next to him sat an open cardboard box with girly lettering on the side: High School Memories with a heart for the dots above the “i” in “High” and “Memories”.

  Oh my God. I buried my face in my hands then lunged for the notebook.

  He anticipated my move and jerked it away.

  “Give me that.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have looked.”

  “But you did.” I tightened the tie on my robe as he held the tome against his chest.

  “Where did you find that?” My vision narrowed as he smiled. “More importantly, when did you find that?”

  “I came across it when we were up in the attic today. I nicked it when we came down to get ready for dinner.”

  “That’s so not cool.”

  “I know. I’m bad. You can punish me later.” He wagged his eyebrow. “The thing is, you never talk about your teenage days.”

  “You mean when I was obsessed with you and your band? Do you really want to listen to me talk about that?”

  “Well, sure. Why not?”

  “Because you already have a pretty high opinion of yourself?” I ruffled his already messy hair.

  “Oh, stop. You can’t blame me for wanting to read it. It says my name right here on the cover.” He pointed to the place where indeed, it made mention of Christopher Penman. “I figured I was entitled to at least take a peek.”

  I slumped down on the bed next to him. “How much did you read?”

  The bed wobbled when he inched closer and put his arm around me. “Oh, I don’t know, a few pages, twenty, tops. I’d never read the whole thing without your permission, so I skimmed for my name.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Well, with a title like this, how can you blame me?” He ran his finger along the rambling string of words on the cover. “Claire’s Diary, My Random Thoughts On Life, Love, (Or Lack Thereof) and Everything Possible Pertaining to My Future Husband Christopher Penman and Banks Forest.” Fortunately, his accent made what had seemed like a good title at age sixteen, a bit more distinguished sounding. “Although you needed an editor, I can see your writing ability was strong from a young age.”

  “Very funny.”

  He flipped it open and began thumbing through the pages. “I loved the part about putting the poster of me near your bed so it looked like I was in bed with you. So adorable. I never knew girls did that.”

  “I seriously feel like dying right now.”

  “I could spend hours going through it. It seems to be quite the treasure trove of Claire Abby secrets.”

  “It mostly just shows you pathetic I was as a teenager. I’m glad you find that so entertaining.”

  “Don’t say that, darling. It’s very sweet. Plus you thought of me as your future husband. Doesn’t that strike you as the most remarkable bit of fate?”

  “Millions of girls thought of you as their future husband. You had a very large pool to draw from.”

  “But I chose you. That’s all that really matters.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly. “I think I did incredibly well for myself. And think about it. The roles could have just as easily been reversed.”

  “I don’t understand.” I settled against his chest, partly because I was tired after hours of menial labor and he made a great pillow, partly because I was eager to wrestle the notebook from his grasp.

  “What if you’d been the famous one? An actress or a rock star in your own right? A Debbie Harry or Patti Smith or Pat Benatar.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, right. That’s hilarious. You’ve heard me sing in the shower. It’s not pretty.”

  “You could’ve been famous for writing. What if you’d written the great American novel?”

  “Hey. You never know. I still might.”

  “All I’m saying is that the way life turns out is so far out of our control. I could’ve just as easily been a miserable flop as I was a success.”

  The hem of his shorts was fraying and I pulled at the threads. “I’m not sure if I believe that completely. Everyone plays a part in their successes and failures.”

  “Well, sure, but even then, just because you work hard at something, doesn’t mean it’ll happen. Just because you want something more than anything, doesn’t mean it’ll work out the way you want it to.”

  “I guess you’re right, but it still seems like you’re trying to distract me from the fact that this particular moment of nosiness might rival The Snooper.”

  “Not your dad.”

  “Yep, Penman. You’re getting to be as bad as Richard.”

  * * *

  Dressed for dinner, I went downstairs to sneak a snack before we left. Morning sickness was a misnomer—my nausea always seemed to hit late afternoon. Now that today’s was gone, I was starving. I found an apple in the fridge and washed it at the sink.

  “What are you up to, Ladybug?”

  I whipped around. “Dad. You scared me. I didn’t hear you.” I grabbed a paper towel and dried off the apple before sinking my teeth in. Hmmm. Needs peanut butter. Or Nutella.

  “I was in the living room, taking a little snooze on the couch.” He took a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. “I talked to your sister today. I gotta tell you. She isn’t too pleased with you. Can’t you at least make her a bridesmaid? She asked you to be in her wedding.”

  “Dad, Julie and Matt had nearly a hundred guests at their wedding. It’s not the same thing at all. I don’t need a wedding party. Sam is my maid of honor and that’s all I need.”

  “Well, she feels slighted.”

  I grumbled to myself and crunched down on the apple. Even my mom had been rambling on in my head lately, giving me a hard time about not including Julie in the wedding party. Why does Julie have to make such a b
ig deal out of this stuff? It’s not like we’re even that close. “It wouldn’t be the first time I did something that made Julie mad.”

  “Why are you eating now? Isn’t our reservation for six-thirty?” He consulted his watch. “It’s six-ten. We’ll be leaving any minute.”

  I nodded and finished chewing, wishing Chris would hurry up and get his butt downstairs and create a distraction so I could stop lying about the recent changes in my sleeping and eating habits. Without that luxury, I resorted to changing subjects. “Did the test results come back today from your visit to see Dr. Stevens?”

  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Yep. Gave me a clean bill of health. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  Such a relief. “Cholesterol and all of that is good?” I took another bite of my apple, studying his reaction. He’d seemed much more on the ball over the past few weeks. His moodiness had turned to regular Richard-ness, although I couldn’t escape the feeling that there was an edge of sadness about him that hadn’t been there before. Regardless, I was happy he’d taken my plea seriously and finally seen a doctor.

  “Yes, ma’am. No problems.” He pushed his frameless glasses further up on to his nose. “Hate to disappoint you.”

  I dropped my head to the side. “Dad. Don’t say that. I worry about you.” I placed my arm around his shoulder and he tensed the way he always did. “Isn’t it okay if I worry about you at least a little bit?”

  “Well, Jellybean. No need to worry anymore.”

  Chris came clomping down the stairs with Sam behind him. “Everyone ready?”

  I took one last bite of the apple and tossed the core into the compost container under the sink. “I think we should share our news before we go to the restaurant. In the interest of privacy.”

  “News?” Sam asked, with an unconvincing squeak. She’d been practicing for this moment for a few days—the moment when she pretended that she was learning about the pregnancy at the same time as my dad.