12. Court
12
COURT
T his is an unexpected sight.
Lucy halts in whatever she was doing, nearly every inch of her glowing, smooth skin on display as she changes.
Her long, toned legs lead to the round belly, topped by breasts that are wholly different from the ones I encountered in Colorado eight months ago.
They’re soft and full, tipped in rosy nipples that have already brought about a reaction in my groin.
She’s fighting a bra that she probably can’t see beneath that ample chest. Do I stay or go?
I’ve already seen everything. She looks like she needs help.
I quickly click the door closed. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t say anything, just turns around. The bra comes off, and my groin tightens further. Her fingers lock on her panties, and I’m frozen in place, unable to take my eyes off her.
“Can you please turn around?” she asks. “I’m big and bloated, and this is too much.”
“But you’re beautiful,” I stammer, then frown at my discomposure. I shouldn’t say those things. That’s not who we are.
“Right. Stretch marks and all.” She picks up the gown and drags it on, and only when she’s covered, does she step out of the panties.
I’m staring. I force myself to turn my back to her and examine a poster illustrating how an infant’s head descends through the birth canal. That cools my jets.
Lucy glides past me to the exam table, unfolding a paper sheet.
A change of subject might be best. “How is the goat farm?”
Her whole face lights up. “It’s wonderful. Matilda and I watch the goat yoga. I’ve been making soap for the spa we went to. They paid me in advance, so I have money for groceries.”
“Oh. Food.” I should have thought of that. She’ll need money for other things. “Should I provide an account for you?”
“You’re doing more than enough. I’ll manage.”
“I can’t have you going hungry.”
“Oh, I won’t. I’m pretty resourceful.”
“Even so. There are probably certain foods you should be eating. Vitamins, perhaps?”
A knock at the door interrupts. A mid-forties woman with two puffs of black hair peeks in. “Hello! I’m Gina!”
I step aside as she enters.
“I hear we’re having a baby!” She sets an iPad down on the counter. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”
“I’m Lucy.” Lucy extends a hand. “Sorry to drop a late-term pregnancy on you.”
“Happens all the time. People move. Get new jobs. We haven’t been able to access your old records yet, but hopefully, they’ll catch up.” She turns to Court. “Who do we have here?”
I like that she doesn’t assume I’m the father. “I’m Court.” I shake her hand.
“This is a delight. Let’s meet baby!” She helps Lucy lie back on the exam table.
“Let’s see where the baby’s lying.” Gina separates the gown and presses both hands around the edges of Lucy’s belly. “Have you had any troubles so far?”
“Just the tendon pains.”
Gina nods and keeps feeling. “Tell me about those.”
“I was teaching yoga until a couple of weeks ago. But I started getting darting pains and kept having to stop.”
“And you saw your doctor?”
“I did. They were thorough, but there was only the tendon issue left.”
“It’s very common. The place where the ligament connects to the muscle gets stretched to its limit near the end. If you rest, does it resolve?”
“Yes.”
Gina picks up Lucy’s wrist. I’m fascinated by everything.
“I’m going to take a listen and do some measurements. Then a quick cervix check, nothing too invasive.”
The room goes quiet as Gina looks at her watch, holding Lucy’s wrist. “Your heart rate is 82, which is fine. And now I’ll know which is yours and which is the baby’s. Do you know the gender?”
“It’s a boy.”
I almost interject that she’s only done a test with a string, but Gina says, “Good. The sonogram will confirm it if it wasn’t perfectly clear before.”
“Oh, I’m clear,” Lucy says.
“Mothers often know.” Gina folds the paper sheet down. “Baby is in the proper head down position, and everything feels perfect. Let’s listen to that heart.”
She squirts clear gel on the end of a probe the size of a small flashlight. “We’ll go for baby first, but we might get Mom.”
When she flicks on the power, a static sound fills the room, like an old television set on an empty channel. But when she presses it to the side of Lucy’s belly, there’s an immediate rapid whomp, whomp sound that eradicates the static.
“There it is,” Gina says. “One-fifty, perfect heart rate.” She turns to me. “Do you hear that?”
“It never gets old,” Lucy says.
I shouldn’t feel anything. This child could belong to anyone. But Lucy’s dreamy smile, Gina’s happy grin, and the proof of the life beating inside her do something to me.
A rush of emotion rises from my belly, stinging my eyes and nose. I clamp it down. It doesn’t suit me. This baby could be anyone’s.
Gina turns to me. “You should record it with your phone for her. Patients like to listen to it when they’re anxious. It’s soothing.”
Relieved to have something to do, I tug my phone from my pocket and slide it to video. The focus stays on the probe, Lucy’s smiling face mildly blurred in the background. The sound reverberates, whomp, whomp, whomp.
“That’s your son,” Lucy says, her voice catching. She isn’t saying it like a woman on a talk show who’s trying to snag a baby daddy. There is no insistence, no question. She says it simply, like you might point out, “That’s my mom.” Or, “Come meet my sister.”
My throat tightens. Our gazes meet, and another wave crashes over me. Damn it. I flip off the phone and shove it back in my pocket.
“We’ll listen to Mom for a second, make sure blood flow is good to the baby.” Gina moves the probe and after a moment, a slower, heavier beat takes over the sound.
“Eighty-two, right on the money. Sounds perfect.” Gina switches off the machine and uses a white towel to wipe the gel off Lucy’s belly. “I’m going to do a quick feel of the cervix to make sure there are no surprises, then I’ll send you to schedule your follow-ups.”
My phone beeps, and it’s a blessed distraction. I turn away to look at the text. It’s nothing, just a reminder of a meeting uptown at three, but I use it as an excuse to punch nonsense into my phone like I must reply.
“That’s it!” Gina says.
There’s a rustle, and I turn to see Gina helping Lucy sit up. “You look perfect. Let me know if those pains get more intense, or you feel like it’s contractions instead. I’d like to see you every week until you deliver. Make sure to schedule a sonogram before you leave, and they’ll give you paperwork for the bloodwork at checkout.”
Lucy nods. She steps down, pulling the gown around her. “I’ll make the appointments.”
“So nice to meet you both. We’ll bring Dr. Henry in on your next visit so you can meet him. He’ll be the one called in when you deliver.”
“Will you be there?” Lucy asks. “Everyone is so new.”
“I make rounds too, but Dr. Henry will perform the winning catch!”
It’s meant to be a funny statement, but something in Lucy breaks, and there goes the tears again.
Gina looks at me. When I don’t move, she opens her arms, and Lucy steps in for a hug.
This is unexpected. Gina holds onto her for a long moment as Lucy weeps into her shoulder. Gina looks over her at me. “Pregnancy is an emotional time. You go and snuggle up to this strong man of yours and cry all you need to.”
She turns Lucy to me. I’m not sure what to do but accept her in my arms.
“There you go,” Gina says. “You two are going to be fine. Call if you need anything.”
I plan to release Lucy as soon as Gina closes the door, but Lucy doesn’t let go, crying softly on my shoulder. So I leave my arms around her. I admit it must be hard for her, surrounded by strangers, in a city where she knows no one, having a baby.
Her body heaves with each breath, like it’s a great difficulty.
What am I supposed to do with this? I barely know her.
But I stay there, simply holding onto her until she seems spent.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Right. Crying for five minutes straight is fine.
“We should have asked Gina about the DNA test.”
I realize it’s an asshole thing to say the minute it’s out. But it’s done.
Lucy lets out a long breath. “Can we wait until the hospital for that? It’s hard enough showing up at a new clinic this late term.”
“All right. We can’t do it until then, anyway.”
She moves to the corner where her clothes are. “Will you turn away this time?” Her voice is dull and sad.
I’m sure I did that to her. This is why no one should pin their happiness on me. I’m not up for the job.
In fact, this kid, even if he is mine, should probably stay far away.
If I can be raised by two perfectly good parents in a normal, happy family, and turn out like this, then there’s no hope for something as gentle and impressionable as a small child, not around me.