Chapter 5
Savannah
“Miss Shepherd?”
I look up, meeting the kind eyes of the local doctor.
“That’s me.” Heart thudding, I nod and stand.
“I’m Dr. Hamilton. Right this way.” He smiles, and I follow him down the hallway to his office, ignoring the anxious swirls in my stomach. I haven’t spent a lot of time in hospitals, so the strong smell of cleaning products isn’t helping my nausea.
“How can I help you today?” The local doctor appears charming as we take a seat, and he looks at me with kind eyes. Yet another good-looking man in what is fast becoming a town of them. They should rename this town Handsome instead of Whispers, because the men in this place are next level.
“Ahhh, well, I’m new in town…” I wring my hands together, my palms sweating.
“The bakery, right?” He grins, and I nod.
“That’s right. And… I thought it would be best to get a checkup. It’s been a few months.”
Prenatal care is something I take seriously.
I always ensure I do my nightly reading to understand what my body is going through and how the baby is growing.
I try to look at blogs and websites to get information without feeling overwhelmed about certain topics.
Yet with everything that’s been happening in my life, I haven’t made it to a doctor to check on things in a little while.
But I sleep, I eat all my vegetables, and I take my pregnancy vitamins.
Plus, I feel the little one kicking almost every hour, so I know things are all okay.
He frowns, looking confused. “A checkup for what, exactly?”
“I’m due in about six weeks.”
At that, he blanches. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, I just didn’t even see it.” He looks down at my stomach, complete surprise on his face.
“I’ve been carrying small. It just started to pop.” I shrug because I have no other answer as to why I’m not showing unless I put it on full display.
Ever since I told my family, their unimpressed scowl burned into me, they were adamant that I didn’t flout the fact that I was with child out of wedlock, and my mother forbade me from wearing anything remotely fitted.
So now, in my flowing dresses and baggy tops, it wasn’t even noticeable.
I’m also a voluptuous woman naturally, so my curves do hide it well.
But I know the little human is tucked in tight. My bruised organs are proof of that.
“Father?”
I shake my head. “Not in the picture.”
“Family support?”
Clearing my throat, I swallow hard. “None of that either.”
He nods. I don’t have to tell him. It’s like he already knows.
“Okay, well… with six weeks to go, it’s a good time to see how things are going. Do you have your medical files from your previous doctor?” He starts tapping on his computer, setting up my file, I’m assuming.
He looks at me briefly when I don’t respond, feeling uneasy, and I shake my head, but I offer no explanation.
What is there to say? I grew up in a highly religious household that was part of a strict religious church.
My parents told me I needed to give my baby to my sister and I wasn’t to see a medical professional again?
I know not everyone in Williamstown went to our church, but sometimes it felt like that, since my world was made up entirely of other church members.
All I could think about from that point onward was escaping and doing things on my own for the sake of myself and my baby.
“I see…” He grabs his blood pressure cuff and slides it on my arm. I feel the tightening and try to relax. “Blood pressure is fine. How have you been feeling?”
“Fine. I mean, it’s been a big few months, with the new business and moving to town, but aside from being tired and losing my sense of taste, I feel good.”
“Sense of taste?”
“Yeah, not ideal as a baker. Is it common?”
“Very. Caused by fluctuating hormones usually. What vitamins are you taking?”
I tell him the brand and watch him think it over.
“Here, swap them out for this one.” Reaching over, he grabs a bottle of pills from his cupboard. I look them over, familiar with the brand. They are the more expensive option.
“The ones you’re using do have a small side effect that will alter your sense of taste.
This one has a slightly lower iron level, so you might find it helps.
” Making some more notes on his computer, he continues.
“I would like to do a thorough workup. Urine samples to test for proteins to ensure we have no issues with preeclampsia.
We can do an ultrasound today to check the baby's heart and formation. Do a thorough check of everything. Do you have insurance?” His smile is genuine.
Warm. But his question leaves me feeling sick.
A sigh leaves me. “No. I-I don’t.”
His face falls a little before he brightens.
“I have a new program here for prenatal care and new moms. I found that when I moved here to Whispers, there was a need to help support pregnant women, many who, like you, haven’t had the care they needed due to work or other such commitments.
What that’ll mean is that you’ll come and see me, and I’ll help you here at the hospital with your pregnancy and delivery.
We’ll monitor you both and start a new file for you here at the hospital. ”
That all sounds too good to be true, and it makes me wary. “What’s the catch?” I ask, sounding weaker than I’d like.
“Catch?” His eyebrows pinch.
“What will I need to pay?”
“Well, the program itself is funded by some local residents. It’s a fully philanthropic program to ensure that Whispers is a town that will flourish with new children.
It covers any hospital and birth related costs, but also meals, delivery of any medications, ongoing emotional support through connection with other women in the community.
The program is completely free for you, however I’m also conducting research on how well it works, but you don’t need to participate in the research.
For those who do participate, I record their outcomes and use it for research purposes.
All anonymously, of course. I’d include your data in a subset with other moms, so we can see the benefits of new babies in a small community and track if there are any commonalities among either medical or social outcomes. ”
I swallow roughly. “Anonymously?”
“One hundred percent. I use figures only, no names, no identifying information at all. It’s a small study, one that I will probably collect data for quite some time before I publish any robust research. I’m using data from my own baby as well. I have a little girl; she keeps me on my toes.”
For a moment, I sit with the information. Free healthcare is a game changer, especially for a new baby.
“Okay.” I nod, feeling like I can take a full breath.
He smiles in a way that only assures me more. “Great! I’ll start the paperwork. We’re going to take good care of you, Savannah.”
Free healthcare and a free builder… So far, things are looking up. Looks like moving to Whispers was the right decision, after all.
After getting the all-clear from the doctor and seeing my baby on the small screen for the first time, I feel like I’m on cloud nine.
To say that I got emotional when I heard the heartbeat and saw the tiny hands and feet would be an understatement.
Tears fell quicker than I could catch them, but for once, they were happy tears.
The baby is perfect. Healthy, happy, and everything is as it should be. Relief fills me and excitement builds.
He did say that my fundal height is smaller than expected, which explains why my bump is so small.
Although medically, there’s nothing to worry about.
I didn’t find out the gender, deciding to keep it a surprise.
All I cared about was looking at those ten little fingers and ten little toes.
The doctor also mentioned how active the baby was, asking me if I was prepared to have one energetic child once they’re born.
I was at the hospital all morning, which is why when I walk into the bakery, I’m shocked at what I see.
“Griffin?” I call out. He turned up early today, like he said he would.
The now familiar frown on his face greeted me as I pulled out a fresh tray of cookies from the oven, the shape of which looked odd, telling me I obviously forgot yet another ingredient, before he got straight to work.
I chose to ignore his scowl, as sexy as it was, since I wasn’t sure what I did to prompt it. He’s a conundrum I can’t figure out.
l look over the new countertop and cupboard here at the front. All exactly how I imagined it to be. He did all this?
“You’re back?” He pops out of the kitchen, and I look at him, open-mouthed.
“You’ve done all this while I’ve been gone this morning?” To him, as a professional, I’m sure this is a small job, but it would’ve taken me all week, if not longer. He’s practically got it all how it needs to be apart from a bit of a clean.
He doesn’t respond, instead asking, “You painted?” His eyes drill into mine, his tone accusing in a way that throws me off.
My head tilts. “Was I not supposed to?” After he left yesterday, instead of resting, like I probably should have, I continued with the work, painting the kitchen with a coat of stark white before I collapsed, exhausted.
I have another coat to go tonight, but then it should be all done.
The whole room looks sparkling now, compared to before.
It’s amazing the difference some paint can make.
“Thought you were tired.”
Okay, angry and grumpy today, got it.
I have to refrain from rolling my eyes or throwing up my hands. “There’s too much to do.”
“I finished it,” he says as I walk toward him in the kitchen.
“I can see that.” I look over the new countertop, where I’ll put the cash register and trays of cookies. It’s a beautiful wood grain that’s varnished and even prettier than I imagined.
“No, I mean, the painting.”