by Beth K. Vogt
“Your dad’s disappointed we didn’t get to take care of Winston.”
“But it makes sense to let their neighbor take care of him . . . I guess.”
“Dad, you need to get a dog.” Payton grinned at her suggestion.
“Absolutely not.”
“You keep saying that, Mom, but you’re going to cave one of these days.”
It was time for me to speak up, before everyone started discussing what type of dog Dad should get.
I dropped my purse, which landed on the floor by my feet with a soft thud. All I needed to do was move out from behind the chair. If I was old enough to have a baby, I was old enough to tell my parents.
“Mom, Dad, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Yes?” Mom barely glanced up from the table, where she was laying the playing pieces back out in a grid.
“I’m pregnant.” As I spoke, I stepped forward, providing visual proof positive of my words.
For several heartbeats, no one spoke. No one moved.
“Pregnant?” Mom’s one-word response was anticlimactic. What had I expected? Tears? A scream? A protest?
“Yes. I’m going to have a baby. My due date is August 30.”
“Johanna!”
I tried to decipher Mom’s reaction from just the statement of my name, but I couldn’t. “Are you angry?”
“I’m . . . I’m . . . I don’t know what I am.”
“You’re surprised.” Payton spoke up. “Like I was. Right, Mom?”
“You already knew?”
“Yes. I—I noticed Johanna wasn’t feeling well and I started asking questions, so she had to tell me.”
“And Jillian? Does she know, too?”
“She overheard Johanna and me talking a few weeks ago, so yes, she knows.”
Payton was doing a beautiful job of handling all of Mom’s questions.
“But if you’re due in August . . . that means . . . you’re already in your second trimester.” Mom’s eyes were clouded as she pieced together information. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“I wasn’t certain I was going to keep the baby.”
“Johanna!” Again Mom blurted my name. “You’re not thinking of giving the baby up for adoption.”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m keeping the baby.”
And that was an honest answer. Now.
First hide-and-seek. Then I’d played dodgeball with Mom, letting Payton step up and block for me. But now I was in the direct line of fire. I hadn’t played dodgeball in decades. Not since elementary school. I’d been good at it back then. I’d survive today, too.
Neither Zach nor Dad had said anything. I didn’t care about Zach. But Dad’s silence pulled my attention to him.
I’d just told him he was going to be a grandfather . . . and I’d disappointed him.
“Dad? Nothing to say?”
“Jo, I haven’t told you what to do for years. You’re a grown woman. I’m not about to tell you what to do now.” Dad sat with his hands resting on the game table. “If you’ve decided you want to have a baby, then I support your decision.”
“What your father means is, we’re happy if you’re happy.”
That was not what Dad had said. Not that I’d expected my parents to be excited. I’d hoped for something . . . maybe at least happy. But I’d told myself that I didn’t need them to be supportive of this—or anything else I did.
I’d stopped needing their support for anything I did years ago.
Flat. The conversation reminded me of when someone sang flat. How the sound hurt and made me want to pull away.
Now Dad reached out and held Mom’s hand. Payton held Zach’s hand. If Jill were here, she’d be holding Geoff’s hand.
Fine. I’d get used to holding no one’s hand in a room full of couples. Soon enough, I’d be holding a baby.
In the background, the front door opened and the next moment, Winston came running downstairs, straight for Dad.
“Jill? Jillian, where are you?” Geoff’s footsteps pounded on the stairs. He stood on the bottom step, staring at all of us. “Where is she?”
Payton spoke first. “What do you mean, ‘Where is she?’”
“Where’s Jill? Is she upstairs taking a nap?” He half turned as if he was determined to check the bedrooms.
“She’s not here, Geoff.” Mom’s reply was soft.
“Not here?”
“No. She was with you all weekend. Why would you think she’s here?”
“She didn’t go with me to the conference. We had a . . . She decided to stay home. You all know how tired she is.” He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and held it up, his hand shaking. “But when I got home, I found this note saying she needed to get away for a while. I assumed she came here.”
My sister had run away from home and Geoff thought she’d come to Mom and Dad’s. That made sense. Jillian wasn’t the rebellious type.
Dad had scooped Winston into his arms, holding him close and ruffling his ears. And now I was jealous of a stupid dog. Stupid hormones.
I turned my attention back to Geoff. “When was the last time you saw Jillian? Talked to her?”
“I left for the conference on Thursday morning around eight o’clock. She was home then. We haven’t talked since.”
“And you weren’t concerned about that?”
“No. To be honest, we had an argument before I left.” His face flushed. “I figured she . . . we needed time to cool down.”
“Do you usually not talk for—” I counted on my fingers—“four days?”
“That is none of our business, Johanna.” Payton stepped in. “It’s more important to figure out where Jillian is. She’s not answering anyone’s phone calls. I’ve called her. Johanna’s called her. Geoff, you said you tried?”
“Yes, the last time was before I came over.”
“Why don’t I try to call her?” Mom spoke up.
And now Mom was going to work her Mom magic. Wouldn’t be the first time. It was working already because Geoff didn’t look ready to shred Jillian’s note into pieces.
Who knows? Maybe I would possess some of that maternal magic once I had a baby. Not that I believed in magic.
Mom retrieved her cell phone from upstairs and we all gathered around as she called Jillian. The faint ring sounded even as Mom held the phone to her ear. No sense in asking her to put the conversation on speakerphone. She wouldn’t.
“Hello, Jillian. It’s Mom.”
Oh, we should have insisted Mom let us all listen in.
“Are you okay?” Mom pressed her fingertips against her forehead. “I’m glad to hear that. I wondered because, well, Geoff’s here. He thought you might have come to spend the weekend with Dad and me.”
Mom went silent again as Jillian said something.
“I’ll tell him you’re fine—unless you want to tell him yourself. . . . No? Do you want me to tell him you’ll be home soon?”
Mom gasped, her eyes widening.
“What’s going on?” Geoff stepped forward, reaching for the phone. “Let me talk to her.”
Mom turned away. “You don’t want to . . . Yes. Okay. I’ll tell him. Love you.”
Payton and Zach moved closer to Geoff and Mom disconnected the phone call.
“Jillian is fine.” Her voice wobbled. “She’s with Harper.”
“In North Carolina?” Geoff made it sound like North Carolina was in another galaxy.
“Yes.”
“That can’t be right. Why would she go all the way across the country?”
Geoff moved away from the rest of the family. Payton reached for him. Stopped. Touched the cross she wore—the one Pepper had given her. Was she praying? Did she even notice what she was doing? Maybe she treated the necklace the same way some people carried a rabbit’s foot for luck or a four-leaf clover or a penny.
“Did she say why she was there?” Geoff tucked Jillian’s note back in his pocket.
“She said you had argue
d, just like you already told us. Nothing specific.” Mom rushed to reassure him of that. “She said she needed time to think.”
“She needs to think, so she goes to visit Harper? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Jillian’s missed Harper since she moved to North Carolina. You know that, Geoff.”
“This is not about missing Harper. She left because she was mad at me. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Give her some time.” Now Payton was playing the voice of reason. “Give her the space she needs.”
“I don’t know Jillian anymore. She keeps pressuring me about having kids. Then she decides she believes in God. Then she decides she wants to adopt . . .” Geoff faltered to a stop.
“I know you’re upset, Geoff.” I had to stop him from saying anything more. “But Jillian’s been through a lot.”
“I’ve been through a lot, too.” Geoff retrieved Winston. “I’m sorry I came by.”
Mom stopped him from leaving by putting a hand on his arm. “Stay and have something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry. And I still have to unpack. To get ready for work tomorrow.”
“Geoff.” I spoke up, not even sure what I was going to say when Geoff paused at the foot of the stairs. “I’ll let you know if I hear from Jillian, but I doubt that I will. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
My throat tightened with tears. Geoff and Jillian’s happily ever after was unraveling in front of all of us. I wanted to believe in them. Needed to believe in them.
A few moments after the front door opened and shut, I bent and picked up my purse. “It’s been a day.”
Mom took a step toward me. “Are you going to stay for dinner?”
My entire body seemed weighted down, the aroma of chicken unpleasant. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you are.” Payton spoke up.
“Really? You’re going to boss me around now?”
“I was going to say please if you hadn’t interrupted me, Johanna. Please stay for dinner. I know Mom and Dad probably have questions about your pregnancy.”
“I don’t know what I’m having yet.” And I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening dodging questions, although I’d invited them by making the “I’m pregnant” announcement.
“Let’s wait to talk until we all sit down.” Mom led the way upstairs, Dad following close behind her. “We’re all a little shaky still, finding out Jill’s in North Carolina.”
“At least we know she’s with Harper.”
“There is that.” Mom seemed relieved to know Jillian was with her best friend.
“I’m surprised Harper didn’t tell her to come home.”
“Maybe Harper thinks she should stay for a while.” Payton paused in the doorway leading into the kitchen.
“That’s not her decision to make.”
“No, it’s Jillian’s.” Payton’s words were deliberate. “And I’m not going to argue with you tonight, Johanna. We know where our sister is. That she’s safe. That’s the most important thing. We can’t fix things between her and Geoff. We need to remember that, too.”
“Fine.”
I wasn’t letting Payton win. I was just accepting her refusal to argue. There was a difference.
The soft flutter inside my body happened again, causing me to stop. To wait and see if it returned. Nothing. I resisted the urge to touch the lower part of my abdomen. Couldn’t mention it. Couldn’t ask Mom. Not now, when everyone was so concerned about Jillian.
I might as well be alone in my house.
12
THANKS TO MY APPOINTMENT earlier this morning, I’d now had two ultrasounds—and they couldn’t have been more different.
Weeks ago, Dr. Gray had caught me unawares, at a time when I had no plans to keep my baby. I’d tried not to listen to what she was saying, turning my face away from the ultrasound screen.
But that brief interaction had changed my mind. Changed my life.
This morning, the ultrasound lasted a good half hour, and I’d focused on everything the technician told me, thanking her for the photo of my baby’s profile that would be added to the folder where I kept the ones I’d received during my first visit.
Now all I needed was for Dr. Gray to arrive and talk me through the ultrasound. It seemed like every time I checked my schedule, it was time for another appointment with my obstetrician. For someone who’d made a lousy first impression, I was seeing her more often than I saw my family.
She entered the exam room with a cordial smile. “Hello again, Johanna. How are you feeling today?”
“Good.”
“Still dealing with nausea?”
“Not morning sickness so much anymore. Just odd cravings and a lot of food aversions. All of a sudden, I love citrus fruits and soft pretzels from the mall. And I miss drinking my French press.”
“It may get better by the end of the second trimester, or it may not change at all until after the baby is born. But then, if you decide to breastfeed, you might want to consider staying off caffeine.”
Breastfeed? No. That particular inconvenience was not happening.
Dr. Gray scanned my chart. “For the most part, everything looks good here. Your weight gain is a bit low, but that’s probably because you dealt with extended morning sickness. I’m not too concerned. The baby’s growing well.”
“You said for the most part everything looks good. Did the ultrasound this morning show some sort of a problem?”
“The baby is fine. No abnormalities. But there is a partial placenta previa, where the placenta is partially covering your cervix.”
My brain scrambled to process the information. The baby was fine. Good. Placenta previa. Not good. “And that’s an issue because . . . ?”
“At this time, it’s only a potential issue. It could resolve on its own before your due date.”
“And if it doesn’t?” I forced myself to be calm, trying to ignore how my heart rate had increased as Dr. Gray and I discussed the finding.
“If it doesn’t, then there’s a risk of bleeding. You might need a C-section.” Dr. Gray’s body language was relaxed, her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s something we’ll continue to watch.”
Now the fact I couldn’t drink my French press was a minor complaint. The word bleeding scared me more than the idea of a C-section. It was as if I’d built a Jenga tower of all these little presuppositions of how my life would go. Live in Colorado. Be promoted. Marry Beckett. And someone kept pulling out the wooden pieces, shaking the stability of my tower.
Dr. Gray sat across from me, wearing her white medical coat with the practice’s logo embroidered on the chest pocket. I wanted to be wearing a lab coat. To be the professional, not the patient.
I’d never considered how being pregnant would scratch up my facade of professionalism. Of control.
“What do I do to handle this issue?”
“Nothing, at this point.” Dr. Gray shut her laptop with a gentle click. “As I said, we monitor your pregnancy. We’ll do another ultrasound at thirty-two weeks. If you experience any bleeding, I need to know immediately. Don’t stop and ask yourself, ‘Should I call Dr. Gray?’ The answer is yes. Don’t think, ‘If it’s only a little bit of blood, do I need to call Dr. Gray?’ The answer is yes. You bleed, you call me. Understood?”
Dr. Gray’s relaxed demeanor had disappeared.
“Yes. I bleed, I call you.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. Well, maybe I am, but only enough to get your attention. I’m hoping and praying the placenta previa resolves. I’m not worried.”
“If you’re not worried, then I’m not worried.”
This was like being told I was going white-water rafting without a life vest. But not to worry because right now, the water was calm. We might not run into any rapids. There was nothing to worry about. Yet.
During the ultrasound this morning, the technician had never hinted there was a problem. She’d done her job well.
I
would mimic the technician. No one else needed to know about this potential problem because nothing might ever come of it. No need for anyone else to have to do the mental “I’m not going to worry” dance.
“Are you interested in knowing what you’re having?” Dr. Gray shifted in the rolling chair. “It’s noted here in the chart.”
“It is?”
“Yes. I’m sure the technician talked you through some of the ultrasound, correct?”
“Yes. She showed me the baby’s face. We saw the baby swallow. The spinal column. The baby was very active. The technician said baby Thatcher looked healthy.”
“I prefer to look at the ultrasound, too, before sharing the baby’s gender prediction. And of course, some parents prefer not to know. Ultrasounds are amazingly specific these days, but even so, there are occasional surprises in the delivery room.”
“Okay.”
“Okay . . . you do want to know whether you’re having a boy or a girl?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
And now I held my breath. What if Dr. Gray’s announcement disappointed me? It wasn’t as if I could return the baby for a refund or exchange it for a different gender.
“Then I’m happy to tell you the ultrasound indicates you’re having a daughter.”
A daughter.
Another Thatcher girl.
It was as if I’d gotten a sneak peek of my Christmas present. I couldn’t keep it—had to wrap it up and put it back in its hiding place. But I could admit to myself that I’d wanted a little girl. I knew girls. I could do a girl.
Even so, it wasn’t like I was going to do a fun little gender reveal with balloons or pink booties or a certain color of cake and then post it on Instagram.
This wasn’t that type of pregnancy.
“Do you have any other questions for me?”
“No. I’m good. And like you said, you’re not worried, so I’m not worried.” Although mentioning not being worried again probably contradicted my statement.
“Then my receptionist will schedule your next appointment for four weeks from now. If you need anything—”
“I won’t.”
“I’m sure you won’t. But you know you can call the office. Or the nurse on call after hours. Go ahead and continue your normal exercise routine. You’re taking your prenatal vitamins?”
