She nods, then mumbles hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking about abortion.”
“Me too.” I take the risk of reaching for her hand, letting out an internal sigh of relief as she lets me hold it.
“You? You don’t want a baby with me?”
I roll my eyes, well, the real one at least. “Why is it women always twist what a man says? Cards on the table, hon, okay?” Hoping I’m not going to be putting my foot further in the shit, I take a deep breath and try for a better explanation. “You and me? Riding through life together? Fuckin’ perfect. You by my side, can’t see anything else I need or want. You, me and a kid? Well, that’s perfect too. Can’t say I need it to make me happy though.”
“What about, want?”
“Want.” I ponder the word. “Used to think it was probably in my future, but only as a vague idea that finding my perfect woman would lead to having a kid in the mix. Wasn’t something I yearned for in particular, just thought it would come as a package. What I want is you, and you don’t want kids. I can appreciate that, same way as I don’t want a cat.” I wink, and luckily, she answers with a weak grin.
“But now I’m pregnant.”
“Yes.” Again I try to summon the right words.
She gets in first. “But I don’t need to stay that way.”
“You don’t. If that’s what you want, I’ll be right beside you.”
Her eyes widen at my quick agreement. “You wouldn’t mind?”
I hope I’m saying this right. “Who doesn’t examine their feelings on this when it’s been all over the news? When I was sitting alone in my apartment, Al, news and talk shows were the only company I had before you came along. Came to the conclusion that it’s the woman’s body, and no business of the man’s. He’s not the one who has to rent out his uterus for nine months.”
“The father, though, what if he wants the baby and she doesn’t?”
“Ideally they should already know where they stand. But, as we now know, contraception isn’t reliable. Let me continue?” I tell her as she goes to interrupt. She raises her chin. “So, darlin’, normally I’d back away and say do whatever you want. You want the baby? I’ll support you and it. Would know I was in for a lifetime commitment, and would love the little shit. As no doubt a baby of ours would turn out to be.”
I’ve made her smile at least. Which is good. Because now, I add, “Under the circumstances, though, I’d lean toward abortion.”
“What?”
I’ve shocked her, so I explain. “We need to see a doctor, find out the facts and options. But Al, you can’t go through the next few weeks like this. You might do permanent damage to yourself. A body can’t exist without food.”
“Sam’s going to give me some stuff which helped her and the other girls. Ginger biscuits. Apparently they help.”
“What I’m saying, darlin’, is whatever you want to do, I’ll be one-hundred-percent behind you. But I’m not doing it from a distance. That’s why you’ll be staying in my bed.”
“Doctors cost money, Truck.” She shrugs. “I’ve no savings, nothing behind me. Didn’t exactly get paid a wage.
“Don’t worry,” I say fast. “Solution’s easy, babe. We’ll get married and you’ll go on my insurance. Still on my firefighter one as I’m pensioned off.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” Her hand covers her mouth in shock.
“Not very romantically, but I’ve already claimed you. Already got you wearing your property cut.” I nod over to the chair where hers and mine both hang. “Putting a ring on your finger seems insignificant in relation to that, and hopefully it will pay for any treatment you need.”
“I’ll see if Sam can recommend an obstetrician.”
That’s my Allie. Practical.
And, unfortunately, that’s also my Allie. Bringing our discussion to an abrupt end by rushing to the bathroom to be sick.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Allie…
It’s not just being sick that I hate. It’s constantly feeling nauseous, something I can’t escape from. I tried the ginger snaps prescribed by Sam, but they barely got down before they made a reappearance. Saltines were the same, no help at all.
One by one the old ladies have offered remedies to help me, but nothing has worked. I’ve got an appointment next week, and can’t wait for that to come around. Doctors have pills and potions for everything, don’t they? Surely, they’ll give me something that will stop me from being ill.
I haven’t told anyone Truck intends to marry me, or that, to save me having to drag myself down to Tucson twice, we’ll be going to city hall just the two of us to get it done before we go to the doctor’s. One thing’s for certain, I’m not going to want any photographs to celebrate the day, my face is pinched and already my clothes look loose on me.
Truck tells me I look beautiful every day, but I tell him that must be because he’s using his fake eye when he looks at me.
“Do you still want to keep it quiet, Al?”
“Yes.” I can see he doesn’t like my answer.
“The old ladies will feel excluded. They like throwing parties when someone gets hitched.”
I just give him a look. One that clearly asks, are you really that stupid?
But when he looks at me sadly and shakes his head I know he’s realised, unless the doctor works that miracle I’m hoping for, going down to the clubhouse for even a small reception is the last thing I want. Also, he thinks they would, but there’s a doubt in my mind that says they wouldn’t want to arrange a celebration where I’m involved, and I don’t want to be proven right, that even with Truck beside me, I’m still on the outside, a club whore turned wife. Part of me is grateful I’ve a good excuse not to put it to the test and find out.
Two weeks I’ve been like this, that’s all. Not long in anyone else’s eyes, but I’m starting to have difficulty remembering what it was like to be able to eat, or drink.
“I’m sorry,” Truck glances over at me as I sit beside him in the truck. “We would have gotten married eventually, but I’d have gone down on one knee, done it all properly.”
“I’ve spoiled everything.” My eyes close briefly as I imagine it. I would have liked that.
“Not you, not me. Not either of our faults that something went wrong, Al, and we weren’t as careful as we thought. Or the goddamn latex was faulty. Not down to one of us more than the other. As for your sickness? Christ woman, just the fuckin’ luck of the draw. You pulled the short straw, I’m afraid. I wanted to make you happy, and now, you’re not. Not down to you at all, you haven’t spoiled a fuckin’ thing.”
The motion of the truck has the predictable effect, luckily it was foreseen and I lean over the bowl in my lap. My stomach’s so empty it feels like I’m turning myself inside out.
“Fuck!” When Truck’s hand hits the steering wheel, I know he’s not angry with me, but with the situation we’re in. It might be me that’s suffering, but it’s hurting him just as much. My man is a good one, I know if he could, he’d rather it was him than me.
I brace myself entering city hall, looking around as I walk in.
“Over there,” Truck says quietly, pointing out the lady’s bathroom to me. I have time to give him a grateful nod before running off.
We’re on time and the judge doesn’t keep us waiting. Truck wears his cut, but the judge’s eyes focus on me, and soften when she sees my pallor. A couple of government staff are called in to witness our signatures, and then it’s done. The only surprising thing is that Truck has bought rings, for him and me. His he has sized for his smallest digit, his ring finger being one that he lost. But it’s the thoughtful gesture that, if it were possible, makes me love him more.
As we leave the office and walk through the corridors to the front door, my head starts to swim. The next thing I know, I’m on the floor with a concerned Truck leaning over me, and bystanders gawking on.
“You fainted.” His lips press together. “Fuck, Allie. I caught you before you wen
t down. They’re getting a first responder…”
“No need, Truck. Just help me up.” I feel so embarrassed with all the concerned and interested faces around. “Just help me out, we’re going to see the obstetrician anyway.”
He looks undecided, but then nods. “We’re on our way to the doctor,” he offers by way of explanation to the people standing around. Then, helps me to my feet.
“Wish I could fuckin’ carry you,” he says tersely as he supports me with his stronger right arm.
“I’m alright,” I lie, not wanting him to feel guilty that his left leg isn’t strong enough to bear my weight for more than a few steps. He had managed my room to his, but even that short distance had clearly taxed him.
It’s this outing that’s taken the last of my energy, I surmise, as I use him as a prop in the doctor’s waiting room.
Truck seems to be thinking that way too. “We had to get married, darlin’. Now I know you’ll have insurance. Didn’t have a choice. Fuck, babe. This is all too much, isn’t it?”
“We’re seeing the doctor in a minute. There must be something he or she can do.” I’m just banking that he has a magic wand to wave over me.
“Mrs Allen?”
Truck nudges me. “That’s you now, babe.”
My eyes widen as I realise he made the appointment in my married name.
“Got to get the paperwork straight from the start,” he reminds me.
I hadn’t considered I’d have a new legal name. Stupid. But it’s not surprising, I haven’t been able to think straight for days.
We go into a room, and take the chairs there. I eye the bed wondering if I should be lying on it. But before I can make a decision, the door opens and the doctor walks in.
“Mr and Mrs Allen, I’m Doctor Webster.”
The doctor isn’t what I expected. He’s older for a start.
“She’s pregnant and sick, Doc.” Truck leans forward and starts speaking for me. “She can’t keep food or drink down, and she fainted just now.” Truck’s concerned eyes flick to mine. “I’m really worried about her.”
“Morning sickness is quite normal in the first trimester.”
“Not like this. I’ve known enough pregnant women to know that.”
“Oh, you have other children?”
Truck’s eyes go wide. “No, but my brothers have lots of kids. My biker brothers that is.”
Instead of focusing on me, the doctor’s eyes disdainfully stare at Truck’s cut. Only after he’s taken it in, does he turn to me. “It’s probably the lifestyle you live that’s not helping. We’ll talk about a proper diet which will show an improvement. No smoking or alcohol of course.”
“Jesus, man. What the fuck are you talking about?” Truck leans forward, his cheeks darkening. “Did you not hear what I said? She can’t keep anything down, not even water. Booze? Fuck, she can’t stand the smell of that let alone be crazy enough to drink it.”
“If you can’t mind your language you’ll have to leave,” Doctor Webster snaps. “I know your type.” He waves at Truck’s face. “I don’t think I want to know how you got those scars. Arson, was it?”
I open my mouth to protest, but Truck gets there before me.
“Have another guess, doc. I was invalided out of the fire service having lost my eye and mobility fighting a wildfire in California. I’m also a vet. That I ride with the Satan’s Devils has fuck all to do with the reason we’re here today.” The doctor looks taken aback, as if he’s hastily revising his opinion of the man sitting in front of him. “We’re wasting time. If you don’t want to treat my wife, perhaps we should find someone else to see instead.”
“I didn’t say anything about not treating your wife…”
“It’s me you’re objecting to, but I’m not leaving Allie. I want to know what we’re dealing with, and what our options are.”
Now the doctor’s eyes land on me. “Options? I take it we’re discussing termination? You don’t want the baby?” There’s a sneer as he’s clearly thinking it may interfere with the lifestyle he assumes we have.
“No,” I say at the same time as Truck says, “Yes.”
We look at each other. I give my old man a warning look, and continue, hating that even my voice sounds weak. “I’ll admit this wasn’t planned, and yes, we were careful, but it’s happened. I have considered what I want to do, and I want to carry this baby to term.”
“Doc, she’s been so fuckin’ ill. I’m worried about her, and what it will do to her, if it continues.”
The doctor looks to him first, then back to me. It’s me he addresses, as if deciding I’m the more reasonable person to deal with. “I’m glad that’s your decision. We’ll do an ultrasound, find out where things stand. Then I’ll give you some advice about handling your discomfort.”
Discomfort?
Truck gets in first. “Doc,” he says patiently, as if he was explaining something to Amy, “she’s not uncomfortable, she’s sick. She’s lost weight.”
“I was about to go into those details.” He begins asking how far along I think I am, or could be, no idea, my normal weight, one hundred and twenty five pounds I think, my diet, nothing I can keep down. Family history during pregnancy? No idea. Apart from sickness, what symptoms do I have?
Then I’m weighed and measured. Truck’s worried that my weight’s down by eight pounds, but the doctor doesn’t seem concerned as I couldn’t be definite about my weight pre-pregnancy.
He’s business like when he stops tapping on a tablet at last, and directing me to the bed, instructs me to lie down and to bare my stomach.
“We’ll try and see it with an abdominal scan at first. If I can’t find anything, I’ll have to do an internal.”
He presses a button on the desk, and a nurse walks in. “This is the ultrasound technician.”
The technician covers my stomach in liquid that’s so cold it makes me jump, then, starts waving a wand over my stomach. The doctor is intent on the screen.
“Ah, yes. Look there.”
I look but don’t see anything. But there is sound, a fast paced whooshing. Truck’s eyes go wide. “Sounds like my engine ticking over.”
“Or a washing machine that’s hyper.”
“Is it supposed to be that fast?” Truck addresses the doctor.
“It sounds perfectly normal,” Dr Webster replies.
“Where is it?” I ask, curious to see what’s responsible for making me so ill.
The technician points out the smallest blob, not even an inch long. They take some measurements.
“I’d put you at about eight weeks. The good news is, you’ll probably be feeling better after another month.”
The shit is wiped off, and I get dressed, then go back to sit in front of the doctor.
“What can you do to help Allie, Doc?”
Disinterestedly, he starts to go on to list things I’ve already tried. A dry biscuit before getting out of bed, chewing ginger or mints. Sipping water, not downing it.
As Truck listens, I notice his jaw is tight, though when he speaks, his voice sounds patient enough. “As I said, a lot of my brothers have babies or are expecting. Every fuckin’ thing you’ve mentioned, we’ve tried. Even got our computer guy googling for suggestions.” His fists hit his knees. “I’m watching my wife get weaker by the day.”
“She’ll be fine when she gets to the end of the first trimester…”
“That’s four weeks away. She won’t survive! She needs something to stop this sickness.”
“Mr Allen,” Doctor Webster stands, “I’ve been an obstetrician a very long time. Your wife isn’t presenting any symptoms I haven’t seen before. I am averse to providing any medical intervention at this stage in the pregnancy. All I’m going to prescribe is rest, and that you revisit my suggestions and try them again.” At Truck’s glare, he adds, “You can get an oral solution that will keep her electrolytes at the right level. You can buy it at any pharmacy.”
“Truck,” I stand as well, weaving s
lightly as another wave of faintness threatens. Closing my eyes momentarily, I breathe deeply, fighting it off. “Let’s go home.”
The doctor is clearly waiting for us to leave. Our appointment is over. I hold it together just long enough to get into the truck, then the tears come. Truck pulls me to him and just holds me.
“When is enough, enough, Allie?”
“What do you mean?” I sob.
“When will the fuckin’ doctor see you need help? Or when should we do something else? You can’t go on like this.”
I know what he’s suggesting. He wants me to end this. Not because he doesn’t want a baby, but because of the toll it’s taking on me. Whereas I, perversely the woman who never wanted children, can’t think of making that call. “You heard it, saw it, Truck. It’s alive.”
“So’s a parasitic worm,” he replies roughly. “It’s leeching the life out of you, Allie. It’s so fuckin’ hard to see you like this.”
“If I can bear it, so can you. We’ve both got to be strong, Truck.”
“For something we agreed neither of us wanted,” he growls.
“Is that true, Truck? If everything was good, would you still not want a family? Even if we hadn’t planned it?”
He goes still, staring out over the parking lot. Finally, his eyes come back to me. “I see what my brothers have. What man wouldn’t want that? Sons who will more than likely follow in their footsteps, girls who’ll cause more than enough worry when the time comes. A legacy to leave behind them. Fuck, those men love their kids, and in my eyes, they complete them.”
So he does want children. I nod.
“But Al,” he continues. “What we don’t see is what goes on behind the scenes. The worry of there being someone else you’re responsible for twenty-four hours of every fuckin’ day. The stress and strain on a marriage. Kids are fuckin’ hard work. Yeah, it’s a nice idea to have a family, but it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. I’d be happy either way. If it’s going to harm you to carry this baby, I’m happy enough to not have kids. I’ll even get a vasectomy. Will do, anyway. Not going through this again.”
Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11 Page 23
