Chapter 8 #2
Valentino opened his mouth to protest but he couldn’t. It was true, he didn’t do this. By which he presumed she meant a relationship. Not since Daniella. He dated – casually. He did one-night stands. He did no-strings flings. That was it.
‘Friends, then?’
‘And colleagues,’ she added.
‘Yes.’ How could he forget that in a few weeks they’d be working together again?
She didn’t offer to shake on it; neither did he. Considering how long the previous handshake deal lasted he thought it was best to avoid any formal acceptance. But with the decision made, it was time to go.
‘Okay… I guess…’
He pointed in the direction of the door and kicked his legs into action, aware that Peyton was following a few paces behind. When he was within reaching distance, he turned the knob.
‘I might see you around the clinic,’ she said as she came to a halt beside him.
Valentino’s hand faltered for a moment. Peyton and McKenzie would be regulars at the clinic for the next year or so as she transitioned to the speech pathology department.
He hoped the friends thing worked out because between Peyton working for him and McKenzie’s needs, they’d be seeing a lot of each other.
‘Yep,’ he agreed, his gaze running over her one last time as he turned the knob, noticing fine wisps of her hair already drying.
Which was when it occurred to him. A most unwelcome thought. His hand slid from the knob as he half turned, his gaze locking with hers. ‘What if there are consequences?’
She frowned. ‘Consequences?’
Dio… was he going to have to spell out the fact they’d had unprotected sex? Thankfully, realisation hit and she shook her head vehemently.
‘No.’ Another firm headshake followed.
Which was a good sign and he was relieved. Wasn’t he? ‘It’s safe?’ he pressed.
As a doctor, Valentino knew there was never truly a safe time in a woman’s cycle, but he also knew women whose cycles were so predictable they put Greenwich mean time to shame.
‘One hundred per cent,’ she reiterated.
Valentino nodded. ‘Okay.’ That was good enough for him.
‘I haven’t had a proper period since the twins were born,’ she said, more to herself than him. ‘And with my weight…’ She hugged herself as if she was trying to shield her slenderness from his gaze. ‘I doubt I’ve ovulated the last two years. I probably have the fertility of a panda.’
Weight could affect ovulation and therefore fertility – that was a known fact. But doubt and probably were hardly definitive.
She shook her head again as if she was trying to convince herself. ‘No. It’s safe,’ she declared again, her gaze landing somewhere between his eye and his temple.
A prickle lodged at the base of Valentino’s nape. Peyton was sounding less and less sure. Ordinarily that would have terrified him, but strangely the thought of a baby – a baby with Peyton – wasn’t such an awful thought.
He wasn’t hoping for it but… would it be so bad?
Dio. What was the matter with him? A quickie on the couch with a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about and suddenly he was Papa? Still… he wanted her to know he was serious about any consequences.
Valentino slid his hand onto Peyton’s face, cradling her jaw as he gently directed her gaze so she was looking him square in the eye. ‘I want to know, Peyton. If…’
She jerked back from his hold, and Valentino’s hand slid away. ‘It will be fine,’ she repeated, the hallway light reflecting off the sudden icy glints in the grey of her eyes. Reaching for the door, she yanked it open.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, staring at him pointedly.
Valentino regarded her for a moment or two, not wanting to go but figuring as he exited that it was better to part like this – with some animosity cancelling out the memory of their perfect fit.
Much, much better.
The next few weeks flew by for Peyton. No time to think about her and Valentino’s couch shenanigans. Or the way they’d parted with the sceptre of an unplanned pregnancy turning everything very, very real.
Life was fuller, crazier, than normal.
Further mapping sessions of McKenzie’s implant – not by Valentino – and twice-weekly speech therapy chewed up her remaining three weeks at home.
But the rewards were amazing. After a few days it was evident that McKenzie heard just about everything, and it was like witnessing the world being created, seeing her wonderment of it all.
Instruments in the toy box that had only ever moved in the past now made noise. The drumstick did more than bounce off the taut surface of the bongos – it actually bonged. The tambourine did more than shimmy – it rattled. And the sleigh bells tinkled.
But not just that. The doorbell chimed. And the plughole sucked and gurgled greedily as the water swirled away. And the television talked to her. Bluey talked to her! Every sound was new and amazing.
In the beginning she’d caught McKenzie just looking at objects that created noise, as if expecting them to produce sound completely unaided. But she’d caught on quickly and no object was safe.
Her speech had also come on. In just a few weeks she already had a handful of words. Peyton had never dared hope for the day that she would hear her daughter say ‘Mummy’. But she had. Flat for sure but clear.
And it had simply been the best moment of her life.
McKenzie still signed as she spoke – they both did – and Peyton wondered how long it would be before her verbal communication skills were such that they outstripped her signing vocabulary.
They would always need to sign as McKenzie was still deaf without her external device so it was vital to keep up their signing vocabulary.
And, anyway, being bilingual was such a skill – Valentino being a classic example – it would be a shame to lose it.
Before Peyton knew it, it was time to go back to work, which she did reluctantly. Every minute with her daughter as she discovered a whole new world was precious and Peyton resented having to surrender any of them.
Sure, McKenzie was in good hands with her parents but that didn’t stop the gut-wrenching emotion she felt as she kissed her daughter goodbye three mornings a week.
The only consolation was she still got to see McKenzie when she came in for her speech therapy and she made sure she scheduled her daughter’s appointments for the days and times she was on the clinic.
There had to be some advantages when you ran the show.
Three weeks in and everything was back running like clockwork.
The op had been successful, intensive therapy had been instituted and the care arrangements clicked smoothly back into place.
And McKenzie hadn’t been sick in months.
There was even some roundness to her face for a change, although Peyton didn’t hold too high a hope for cracking the twentieth percentile any time soon.
She and Valentino had even managed to find a happy medium in their relationship.
She’d expected it to be awkward at first, like the day they’d first met again after that night on her couch for a routine weekly follow-up appointment, but they’d both been invested in making it work.
And he was great with McKenzie, who had also learnt to say Dr Valentino very quickly.
Finally, also, there’d been encouraging news with little Ben, who’d been transferred out of Intensive Care to a specialist acquired brain injury rehab ward. Things were great for once. All the planets were aligned. The gods were smiling. Life was good.
And then it all went to hell.
The last day of her third week back started as an ordinary Friday. Nothing remarkable. Until she was standing in neck-to-toe green, masked and hatted, waiting for Valentino to finish drying his hands and gown up, when a strong urge to urinate gripped her bladder.
She frowned as she mentally suppressed the urge. For goodness’ sake, she’d already been three times this morning. Once when she woke up, once when she got to work and just prior to scrubbing up. How on earth could she possibly want to go again?
And, anyway, she couldn’t just walk out of the theatre and go to the bathroom. She was scrubbed, sterile. It would require de-gowning and then rescrubbing and re-gowning, and with theatre times tight they didn’t have the luxury of running on the whims of her bladder.
She gritted her teeth and ignored it, holding the cuff of Valentino’s glove open ready for him to thrust in his hand.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured as he repeated the process on the other side.
Peyton could tell by the smile in his eyes that his dimples would be flashing beneath the mask. Normally that would be exceedingly distracting, despite their determination to keep things platonic, but today, as her bladder twinged again, it didn’t even rate.
She clamped down on the sensation, trying for mind over matter as the three-hour operation stretched in front of her.
There was no physical way her bladder could be full again.
She’d had a glass of water with breakfast and that had been it.
Years of working as a scrub nurse had taught her not to drink tea or coffee prior to commencing surgery for just this reason.
It wasn’t physically possible to have anything much in her bladder – surely?
Maybe she had a urinary tract infection? But no. It hadn’t stung or burned at all. Fever? She did feel hot but she was swaddled in a gown, under bright operating lights and holding her muscles so tight she was probably overheating every cell in her body.
Ten minutes later, though, she knew she couldn’t hold on any more.
She was actually crossing her legs beneath her gown.
‘Darren, can you scrub in, please?’ she asked, hoping the discomfort in her abdomen wasn’t detectable in her voice.
Darren was one of the two scout nurses on for the theatre today.
Valentino, who was just preparing the drill, stopped and looked down at her. ‘Everything okay?’
She nodded as she passed him the next instrument. ‘Fine.’
The five minutes it took for Darren to wash his hands, re-enter the theatre, dry his hands and gown up felt like an hour as her bladder stretched to painful proportions.
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she murmured, stepping back from the table and degloving/gowning as quickly as possible.
She made it to the bathroom in record time and had never been more pleased to sit on a toilet in her whole life. So, when the sum total of about twenty mils was forthcoming, Peyton was totally unimpressed.
What the hell?
After a further ten minutes of sitting was no more productive, Peyton finally gave up. Washing her hands in the sink, she inspected her face in the mirror. The hollows beneath her cheekbones seemed more pronounced in the harsh fluorescent light.
Maybe she did have a UTI? One that just involved frequency? Or maybe a kidney stone was blocking the neck of her bladder, only allowing a dribble through at a time?
A completely painless one?
Hell, maybe she was the only woman on the planet with a prostate gland?
She shook her head and watched her reflection follow suit. Maybe it’d be okay. Maybe it wouldn’t happen again. Maybe she was going crazy and she should get back to work and stop worrying about something that was probably nothing.
She hurried back to the theatre, washing her hands again before donning a mask and cap and pushing through the swing doors. Valentino and Darren both looked up as she entered.
‘You want to scrub back in?’ Darren asked.
Peyton shook her head. She didn’t want to risk it. ‘You keep going. I’ll scout.’
Which ended up being a wise decision. Peyton spent the entire day in and out of the toilet. She may as well have stayed at home for all the help she’d been. And when the last patient was wheeled out of the theatre to Recovery, she’d never been more pleased to get out of the theatres in her life.
Changing into her civvies, she grabbed her handbag out of her locker and hurried back to Audiology to update the day’s operating charts.
The department had shut for the day and was deserted and the toilets were not only closer but she also didn’t have to have anyone sub in for her if she needed to use the facility.
Or have everyone know she was on the loo – yet again.
Heading to the reception desk, she threw her bag over the back of her chair and made a quick phone call to her GP. The situation was ridiculous and needed remedying as soon as possible.
The phone answered quickly but she was put on hold and Peyton tapped her foot impatiently to the canned music in her ear as she waited to speak to someone.
‘I knew I’d find you here.’
Peyton startled as she looked up to see Nat beaming at her from the open doorway. ‘Hi.’ She smiled back, waving for her friend to enter.
‘Sorry,’ Nat whispered, gesturing at the phone as she plonked herself in the chair opposite. ‘I can come back later.’
‘It’s okay. I’m on hold. What’s up? You look like you just won a million bucks.’
Nat grinned. ‘Better. I’m—’
Peyton held a finger up as the receptionist came on the other end. ‘Just a sec,’ she said apologetically. ‘Hi, yes, my name’s Peyton Donald. I was wondering if Dr Mantara could squeeze me in this afternoon?’
Peyton listened as the receptionist explained it was impossible and tried not to scream her frustration down the phone. There was no point in shooting the messenger. She took an early morning appointment the next day instead and hung up.
Nat crinkled her brow. ‘Everything okay?’
Peyton sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked at her friend.
They’d been close during school but life had pulled them apart again until the last few years.
Peyton just hadn’t had the time or an excess of emotional energy for the type of friendship most women valued.
She didn’t realise how isolated she’d become until right now as the urge to unburden took her by surprise.
‘I think…’ She hesitated, unused to sharing private matters. ‘I think I have a UTI.’
‘Okay.’ Nat leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’
Peyton told her about the day and the inconvenient frequency symptoms. ‘It has to be a UTI, right?’
Nat regarded her for a few moments. ‘You’re not…? Could you be… pregnant?’
It took a few seconds for Peyton to compute what her friend had said. And she laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she dismissed. And then she sobered as a cold hand clutched at her gut.
The conversation she’d had that night at the door with Valentino came back. The mere thought of what he’d been suggesting had been so preposterous, so… painful, Peyton hadn’t even been able to contemplate it, and she’d shut her mind to the possibility, blocking it like a force field ever since.
But here was Nat confronting her with the very same question. She couldn’t be pregnant. Surely?