21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (95 page)

Joy and rapture
. The humid August air slapped her in the face as soon as she cleared the doors. The Texas heat soared into the upper 90s if they were lucky and beyond three digits when they weren’t. She couldn’t really tell what the day’s temperature was stuck at, but hurried to her car anyway. Pulling open the door, a blast of congealed humidity struck her.

Her stomach revolted at the overabundance of heat—cars turned into convection ovens in the Texas summer. Leaning in, she started the engine and dialed the A/C to its coldest setting and opened all the windows to let out the suffocating air. Maybe she should have put the saline bag in and laid down in an on-call room.

She positively melted. Finally, the nausea subsided and she climbed in. Driving with the windows open wasn’t pleasant, but as soon as cold air filtered out of the vents, she closed them and sighed. Bless the coolness.

Lillianna hated to be sick. Whether it was a naturally strong constitution or the fact her father’s Army assignments dragged her around the world and exposing her to so many places growing up, she didn’t get sick often. The cold air seemed to do wonders for the nausea, but she didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth and headed straight back to her apartment. Forty-eight hours of sleep sounded good.

She hadn’t been that tired after seventy-hours straight in the hospital, a wedding, and back to it for another three days while her co-workers battled the raging respiratory symptoms of the last flu to blow through the staff. Regular as clockwork, every three months, and summer always seemed to be worse than winter.

Three months.

Eleven weeks. Almost three months. Lillianna slammed her foot on the brake, nearly hitting the car in front of her. Her stomach swam. Sucking in a noisy breath between her teeth, she signaled and cut over three lanes. Drugstores sat on nearly every other corner. Ignoring her gut’s complaints, she parked and threw herself out of the car and into the store.

It wasn’t possible. But…eleven weeks and she hadn’t had a period since before the first flu outbreak. She hadn’t been paying attention, not with her schedule and switching from days to nights so Jodi could go on vacation, then back to days again. Hell, half the time she didn’t know whether she was coming or going.

Standing in front of the over-the-counter pregnancy test shelf, she scanned the brand names. The hospital used one particular type, but she wanted two or three—false positives were possible. False positives on three different brands? Far less likely.

It’s viral gastroenteritis—this is just an overreaction
. But even her mental voice lacked the conviction to make her believe the sentiment. Condoms failed all the time. Nothing was one hundred percent foolproof, even when used correctly.

And they’d used it correctly. Despite the sick misery coating her insides, a shiver of desire raced over her skin. She’d woken more than once in the last few weeks, remembering that night and wishing it had lasted longer than one night. But only for as long as it took her to wake all the way up. Then the cold, harsh reality that Paul was military reminded her she was better off with the memory for comfort.

Choosing the three best tests, she grabbed a bottle of Pepto and some antacids, a case of Gatorade, and added a box of saltines to the stack. She drove home with her purchases, sipping the pink, chalky liquid straight from the bottle to avoid another session of vomiting. Her nerves aggravated her already upset stomach.

She left her duffle in the car and grabbed the plastic bag and her purse. In her apartment, she traded her scrubs for a tank top and shorts. More of a rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of girl, she went ahead and peed on all the sticks and lined them next to each other on the counter. Peeling off her surgical gloves, she tossed them into the trash and cracked open a bottle of Gatorade to drink.

Sitting on the floor of her bathroom was acceptable. She kept it virtually spotless—too many years of her father’s inspections and her mother’s habits were ingrained in her. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall. The tests would be negative. Clearly she was ill and her condition exacerbated by exhaustion. Sleep. She needed sleep and it would all be better when she woke up.

The ringing cell phone jarred her awake. Sitting forward, she grimaced at her dry mouth and stared around the bathroom befuddled. Why was she sleeping in there? The ringer split the silence again and she dragged herself up, to find her abandoned cell lying on the dresser.

Her mother’s face flashed on the caller ID. Coughing once, she answered with a quick, “Hey, Mom.” Sinking down on the bed, she fought to keep her eyes open. Stopping at the drugstore had been a mistake—momentary panic—the illness messed with her head.

“You sound terrible, sweetie.” Trust her mom to call it like it was, always keeping the faith.

“I’ve been better. How are you?” She grinned at the bad joke.

“We’re fine. We’re in Belgium. Your father has meetings at NATO.” Pride filled her voice and why shouldn’t it? At an age where he should have retired, her father instead wanted to be considered for a job with the medical staff and advisor at Allied Command Operations.

“Cool.” It was the best she could manage.

“Have you considered our offer to have you fly over for a vacation?”

Get on a plane? Ugh. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea. “I really can’t, Mom. I don’t have the accrued vacation time and we’ve been strapped for staff. I should be there right now but Jodi sent me home.”

“Oh, baby. You should rest then. I can call you later.” It didn’t take much to arouse her maternal instincts.

“I am. I have fluids and everything.” Sitting on the bed didn’t stave off her exhaustion. Rising, she headed to the bathroom. Maybe some cold water on her face would do wonders. Phone in one hand, she concentrated on not walking like a drunken sailor on her way home from a binge. “How long will you be in Belgium?”

“Just a month, then we’ll be back stateside. Your father is scheduled to teach a semester at West Point. If he earns the job here, we’ll be back in Belgium in the spring.”

“So then there’s plenty of time for me to visit, see the countryside, and play tourist with you.” The last thing she wanted to do was play tourist or travel. She was sick to damn death of traveling and not even a dozen years settled in Texas got her past the idea. She turned the faucet on. The cool water felt great on her wrists.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that. We should know by Thanksgiving.”

“What do you do if he doesn’t get it?”

“Oh, honey, pray he gets it. Your father does not want to retire. And frankly I’m not sure I want him to. You remember what it was like to PCS with him when his duty station didn’t need him immediately.”

The grimace in her mother’s voice almost made her laugh. Almost. PCS—permanent change of station orders arrived and turned her life upside down more times than she cared to admit. When the military said move, the family moved. Her father was a workaholic, proud to the bone, and dedicated to his country. He didn’t handle idleness well.

“I will, Mom. I promise. Look I need to—” She swallowed the next words and stared at the three home pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet.

Two blue lines.

A plus sign.

And a big, fat pregnant stared back at her.

“Lillianna? Did I lose you?”

Oh. My. God.

“I’m going to be sick, Mom—I’ve got to go.” Disconnecting the call, she dropped the phone on the counter and ignored the clatter in her race to flip the toilet lid up.

***

She tried not to fidget. She’d never experienced so much dread in her life as she did waiting for her OB to come into the room. Patricia Carter opened the door and her expression confirmed Lillianna’s fear. “I am pregnant.”

“Yup.” The doctor sat down on a stool and studied her. “Nearly three months, your HCG levels are pretty high, you’ve got symptoms….”

“Yeah, I know exactly when it happened.”
Happy Anniversary, Becca. I got pregnant at your wedding. Sorry, I only meant to catch the bouquet
.

“Well, the time to talk about options is right now.” Patricia didn’t sugar coat facts or ease into subjects, she took them by storm.

“I know my options.” It was all she’d thought about for the last four days since the three tests came back positive. She’d made an appointment with her OB and came in for blood work. Then waited for the results. In the meanwhile, she worked. It was what she had. Work.

Thirty years old and pregnant.

She chewed the thought of what it could mean over and over in her head.

“Okay, well, let’s talk pros—you’re healthy, you’re young, you’re physically in good shape, you have no major health concerns to worry about.” Sunny-side up really wasn’t the doc’s style, but Lillianna gave her points for effort.

“The cons, I’m single. I work terrible hours. I love my job. And this wasn’t planned by any stretch of the imagination.” Clasping her hands together, she studied her nails. They were blunt, clean of polish and rounded from regular filing. She didn’t have time for manicures and pedicures. Hell, half the time she didn’t bother to shave her legs. If it hadn’t been for the wedding, she wouldn’t even have put on cosmetics all those weeks ago, or a dress, or ended the evening in bed sexing it up with a hot guy in a uniform.

Of course, without the wedding she wouldn’t have met him either.

“Lillianna? This is a lot to absorb. Maybe you should go home and talk it over and see what you want to do….”

“No, it’s okay. Because I’ll go home and chew it all over again and come to the same set of conclusions—unplanned doesn’t mean unwanted. I don’t think I could ever have a baby and give him or her up. Yeah, not me.” Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. Nothing about the situation was ideal. Nothing.

She’d reached for the phone a dozen times to call her mother and stopped. They wouldn’t be disappointed or judgmental. But they would want her to contact the father.
The father
.

“Okay, well, abortion is one option….”

“I can’t have an abortion, Trish. I know it’s an option and I had one before. No, I won’t do that….”

“That’s not in your medical records?” Trish frowned and slid her glasses on to check the chart on the computer.

“I listed it, but I used a clinic near my college campus. It was a long time ago. I got drunk at some frat party and one thing led to another. I got pregnant, knew I couldn’t have it and—well it’s different now.” Lillianna scrubbed her palms against her face. “Okay, let’s break this down. It’ll be twelve weeks in four days, so—I need prenatal vitamins and what else?”

How the hell do I call a one-night stand and say, ‘hey, remember me? By the way, the condom broke and in about six months we’re going to have a kid
…’

She barely listened to Trish as she outlined the prenatal care. A lot of things would have to change…she needed a support structure. The hospital had a daycare, but she wouldn’t want a newborn there, and then there was the delivery and the time off right after the baby came.

“Also, if you have the father’s medical records….”

“I don’t.”
I can get them, maybe. But then…ugh. One bridge at a time. I have time
.

“Okay, it’s fine. We’re going to work this out.” Trish wrote a prescription. “And I want to see you next month. We’ll schedule your appointments. We can do your first sonogram right now and make sure everything looks good with the baby, the uterus and make sure all our dates line up. Let you hear the baby’s heartbeat and get a good look at everything.”

“Thanks, Trish.” She had no question about the dates. None whatsoever.

The doctor rose and put a hand on Lillianna’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Mom. You’re having a baby.”

I’m having a baby
. Tears sparked in her eyes and she let out a watery little laugh. “I’m having a baby.”

***

“How can you not tell him?” Jodi stared at her. “He’s the father.”

“He’s a guy I hooked up with for one night. He’s career military. The last thing he needs is a call from some chick he met at a wedding letting him know that life as he knows it is over.”

Lillianna wasn’t sure whom she sought to convince. Herself or her boss. But Jodi was a lot more than a boss, the fifty-year-old woman had been a mentor and a best friend.

Salt and pepper sprinkled her close-cropped hair. Deep lines softened the corners of her eyes and peeked out from the corners of her mouth, which was currently turned down in disapproval. “Honey, that is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. For a smart girl, that’s just dumb. So you two had sex, does that mean you have to do all the work? And a man has a right to know—and the chance to stand up.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Telling him makes it even more real than it is. And it’s not a conversation to have on the phone—or in an email. I don’t even really know him, do I want to be tied to him for the rest of my life?”

Jodi gave her a very indelicate and unsympathetic snort. “Love him or hate him, you are tied to him—especially if you’re having his baby.”

“Wow, way to be on my side in this.” The older nurse’s disapproval stung. She was the first person besides her OB who even knew Lillianna was pregnant. She lacked the courage to tell her parents yet. She tried to excuse it that they were settling in to West Point after a fairly encouraging visit to Belgium and that she would tell them later. Certainly before the baby came.

But she had five months for that.

Telling Jodi proved the more practical option. She needed to shorten her shifts a little. Her exhaustion levels never improved. The doctor teased her that she might be carrying a boy—they burned more calories and took a lot more energy. Or at least so she claimed.

They would be doing a sonogram in a few days. At least the nausea seemed done, which helped because Lillianna ate everything in sight. Hunger pinched her spine and she bounced up from the bench to grab an apple out of her locker.

“Of course I’m on your side.” The senior nurse’s voice gentled. “You’re one of my best ER nurses, practical, grounded, and dependable. This—is not you, and that’s not fair because you’re allowed to have a life. Life is messy.”