Do Anything (13 page)

“Come in,” I call out, but by the time the words leave my mouth she’s standing inside the room.

“How are you feeling today, dear?” she asks, bringing over a tray with tea. She is in agreement with Holden: it isn’t that I don’t like tea; it’s merely that I haven’t found one that suits me yet.

“I was fine until the eggs.” I laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I should head into the village and see the doctor. I just can’t seem to kick this thing.”

Bea takes a seat on the bed next to me and places a hand on my forehead. This makes me smile. She is incredibly motherly.

“Sweetheart, when’s the last time you bled?” she asks in a soft voice.

“What?” I gasp, the shock of her words washing over me.

“Your period, do you remember the last time you had it?”

“I—I …” The words I want to say are not easily coming to me. “I don’t know.”

“Has it been more than a month?” Her eyes are gentle. I think of her question, and my stomach drops as I realize I haven’t bled since before Jack.

“I can’t be,” I insist.

“You should go see Doctor Marshall,” she suggests.

“Please,” I gasp for air, “don’t say anything to Holden.”

“Make the appointment.” She pats my leg. “Everything will be all right, deary.”

I watch her leave the room, pulling the door closed behind her, leaving me there alone with my worry.

No, it can’t be
, I whisper to myself.

My hands are shaking, my knee bouncing wildly in the air as I sit on the edge of the exam table. I think how it must be moments just like this one that send a person into a state of true self-examination. A few months ago my life was set on a certain path. One I thought was safe. One that I thought would lead to amazing things.

Jack would receive his law degree, and we would be married. I knew we’d struggle for a couple years while he made a name for himself, until eventually he would make partner. After all, a person like Jack, and the family he comes from, has connections. We would buy our dream home, start a family, basically your happily-ever-after scenario.

Fast forward to today, and my fiancé and I are no more, though I might very well be carrying his child. I’m not at the job that I enjoyed; nope, I walked out on that to fly to England and spend the wedding money that wasn’t really mine to spend. And now that the money is starting to run low, I’ll soon start spending my life savings, as well as any cash my best friend has managed to get out of my belongings.

I’m headed on a path to being jobless, homeless, penniless, and certainly once Holden finds out about the life I’m probably carrying, I’ll be love-less, as well.
You don’t know you’re pregnant
.
Calm down. Sometimes women miss their periods because of stress, and this is the most stressed you have ever been in your life
.

“Ms. Hart?” the doctor says as he walks into the room, glancing at my chart. My heart starts racing. Dear God, he has a chart on me. Thoughts begin racing around my head, bouncing into one another, and I delve into all out chaos.
Of course he has a chart on you, idiot; he’s a doctor, and it’s what they do when you visit them.

“Um … yes, Annabelle Hart,” I reply, trying my best to smile.

The doctor looks younger than I expect. His hair is salt and pepper in color, and by his physique, it’s obvious he cares about his body. He is clean-shaven, which reveals deep laugh lines around his mouth and eyes; they are surprisingly attractive on him. His eyes are dark and hidden behind thin-rimmed glasses. He slips them off when he looks away from the chart. Holding it and his glasses in one hand, he crosses the room and reaches out to shake my hand with the other. Smiling, I greet his smile with my own.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Marshall.” His voice is calming. I take a deep breath and a long blink, trying to settle my nerves. “So what brings you in today?”

“Umm ... I’ve been sick for over a week now,” I explain. I choose not to reveal my possible self-diagnosis, put there by my asshole, cheating ex-fiancé.

The doctor narrows his brow and lifts his hands up to my throat, pressing on the shallows. “I see. Can you open your mouth for me?”

I do as he asks, and he peeks inside. My head tilts in every which direction as he continues to inspect and probe me.

“And what kind of symptoms have you been having?” he questions.

I swallow hard. “Really just one. I’m having a hard time keeping food down.”

“No fever accompanying the nausea?”

I shake my head.

“I see.” He slides his glasses back into place and peers at the chart again. “Well, your throat is irritated, but there isn’t any swelling. The irritation could be caused from the frequent vomiting.”

“Well, I have definitely had that.”

“Hmm …” he hums, continuing to stare at my chart. I want to shake him, scream at the top of my lungs to tell me I’m not pregnant, but I refuse to acknowledge the idea. “Are you sexually active, Ms. Hart?”

There it is
, I think. He is on the same trail I feared. “No sir, I’m not.” My answer seems truthful enough. I hadn’t had sex with Jack since the breakup, and Holden and I had never actually made it to that point, sadly enough.

“I see the nurse asked you if you were pregnant, and you said you didn’t know.” The doctor glances over the chart at me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

“Well, she asked if I could be, and I suppose it’s possible.”

“Even though you’re not sexually active?” I really wish he would stop using the term sexually active.

“It’s been months. I was engaged and well …” I wonder what in the heck to say next that won’t make me sound pathetic. “It didn’t work out. But nobody since then.”

“And when was your last period?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure, but it’s been a little while.”

There’s a knock on the door. It opens a crack, and the doctor approaches. There is whispering, and a piece of paper is slid to him through the crack. The door closes, and he returns to his seat. I feel like I’m going to be sick. He studies the paper, and then slipping off his glasses, he looks up at me.

He stands and takes a step closer to me. His voice is low when he speaks. “Ms. Hart, the nurse just gave me the results of your urine analysis. It appears that you are, in fact, pregnant.”

I don’t hear what he says next, because the room is spinning. I lay back onto the table, trying to calm myself. I fear I am going to collapse otherwise. It feels like everything is falling away from under me, and I’m floating. I focus my eyes on the ceiling tiles above me, willing myself not to vomit. In one second my life has changed forever. The small glimmers of hope I had about Holden have fallen away, and real life is crashing down all around me.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting in Holden’s truck in the parking lot of the doctor’s office. At least long enough for it to start raining. My shirt is sticking to my stomach from the goo the doctor placed on it for the ultrasound. I shiver as I remember the coolness of the gel.

Since I had no idea when my last cycle was, Dr. Marshall suggested we do an ultrasound. When he told me I was around eleven weeks I immediately began to do the math in my head. That means when I walked in on Jack and the neighbor screwing, I’d been pregnant for about a week or two.

I keep thinking about the strangest things. Like, for example, is it possible for a baby to remember things in the womb? Will he or she remember that Mommy caught Daddy sleeping with the woman across the hall? Or remember Mommy messing around with another man? Or how about Mommy going off her nut and running all around the world? I’m already convinced my child is going to hate me.

When I put aside all the neurotic thoughts rushing through my head, the real question is, what do I do next? I’m having the baby, that isn’t even a thought.

Do I tell Jack? How can I not? Is it my right not to share this information? If I grow the life inside of me, isn’t it then an extension of myself? I should be able to choose if I want Jack in the baby’s life or not, shouldn’t I? But isn’t it selfish to rob the child of its father? In all honesty, though, what kind of father would Jack make? He supposedly loved me, yet couldn’t remain faithful. Could he be any better to a child? His parents stay together, despite the fact they hate each other. The entire world around Jack is full of lies, and if I’m to be a good mother, how can I subject this child to that life, surrounded by those people?

More immediately than Jack, though, is what do I do with my life now? I can’t keep living at the inn, pretending I’m completely normal. I can’t possibly pursue a relationship with Holden. It’s not fair of me to ask him to entangle himself in so much drama. My heart sinks at the idea of a life without Holden.

Swallowing, I start the truck and flip on the wipers. I’m no closer to figuring out what I’m going to do with the mess my life has become, but I know I have to get as far away from Holden as soon as possible. I know enough of him to know he would never reject me because I’m caring someone else’s child. He is far too noble. I’m determined not to let him sacrifice his life and happiness. I can’t. I won’t.

On the drive back to The Three Horseshoes, the rain stops and the sun comes out. I catch sight of a rainbow over one of the hill sides. Cracking the window, I breathe in the smell of wet grass. I tell myself it’s going to be all right.
You can do this. You’ve always taken what life throws at you
. My pep talks don’t seem to be giving me much solace.

I pull up the long drive to the inn. My heart stops when I see him. The first instinct I have is to slam on the brakes, throw the truck in reverse, and get the heck out of there. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the gearshift, trying to decide my next course of action.

He sees me and begins waving, a huge smile split across his face. There is nothing I can do now but drive up the path. I wish the gravel drive were miles long, but in a matter of seconds I’m pulling in front and putting the vehicle in park.

Holden sets down the large keg he’s carrying in the back of the truck and walks around to open my door. I don’t realize this and push the door open, slamming into his side. He coughs out a huge gust of air and then laughs.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” I squeal, jumping out and trying to steady him. “Are you all right?”

He’s still laughing, so that’s a good sign. “I’m fine,” he says at last.

I turn to walk around him, and he grabs my arm. I peer at him, and he smiles back. He doesn’t say anything—just looks at me. I wonder if he can tell by my expression what has transpired. Does my face hold the truth—the truth that a life is growing inside me? Does he see the sadness? I can’t seem to push away the thoughts. He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead, then releases my arm.

A knit appears across my brow, and I ask, “What was that?”

“I believe it’s called affection.” He laughs again. I note what a great mood he’s in. I know that will soon change. “I missed you.”

“I just went to a doctor appointment,” I say.

“Oh, that’s right. So is it the plague? Oh, it’s not some disgusting parasite thing, is it?”

“Something like that.”

He now looks concerned. “Wait, you’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”

This is it
, I tell myself.
Just blurt it out and tell him or you never will
. I open my mouth, and instead I say, “I’m going to be fine. I just need to get some rest.”
Yeah, everything should be fine after the nine months are up
, I hear myself screaming in my head. But I’m determined to keep it muted for now.

“Well, that’s good. I hate to run out on you right when you get home, but Abner and I have to go on a keg delivery.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, a half-smile on my face. I think I’ve managed to fool him into believing everything is normal.

“Yes, everyone loved my latest home brew on tap. Word spread, and some local bars want to carry it.” His voice is ringing with excitement. I love seeing him like this. The wonder in him is inspiring.

“That’s exciting.”

“You should go up and rest, Doctor’s orders. Bea is in the kitchen doing tonight’s food prep; let her know if you need anything,” he informs me before giving me one last peck on the cheek and sending me on my way.