14. Dexter
DEXTER
Light jazz piped through speakers in the lobby of the doctor’s office and pics of chubby babies with big eyes, gummy grins, and tiny fingers and toes adorned walls papered in a muted jewel-toned seagrass.
I greeted the friendly receptionist, sat next to Freya in a comfy upholstered chair, and checked out the enormous aquarium filled with brilliant colored fish.
Message received: This was a tranquil space. Everything was going to be okay.
I wiped my clammy palms on my khakis and took a deep breath.
Nope. Not working. I was still a nervous wreck.
“What was your flavor of the day?” Freya asked out of the blue.
“Uh…it was strawberry basil.”
“Sounds like a cocktail.” She twisted to Viggo seated on her right. “Did you try it?”
Viggo wrinkled his nose in a universal “ew” face. “No.”
Freya chuckled. “I must visit your store someday. I can’t believe I’ve never been to Wood Hollow in all the years Viggo has lived there. It’s so cute online.”
Viggo rolled his eyes and I had to laugh.
He looked mighty uncomfortable—literally and figuratively.
His elbows spilled over Freya’s armrest, his legs were so long they crowded the aisle, and the big, tough guy surrounded by a gaggle of pregnant mothers-to-be was as out of place as a nun in a biker bar.
I’d noticed a few eyes on us, probably puzzling out the relationship of the two men here with a woman. Maybe they thought we were a throuple.
“And who’s the dad?” The nurse inquired.
I raised my hand. “I am.”
“I want Viggo to come, too. That’s okay, ja?” Freya gripped Viggo’s forearm, her accent stronger than usual.
The nurse hesitated, casting a curious glance between Viggo and me. “Oh, if you’re partners, that’s no problem. It’s just that the rooms are a little cramped, so be prepared to get cozy. This way.”
I sputtered. “We’re not—”
Freya giggled, Viggo grumbled, and the oblivious nurse was already halfway down the hall, chattering about the budgetary constraints involved in remodeling.
She weighed Freya, gave her instructions to dress in the gown provided while Viggo and I waited outside the door. And then she was gone and a new nurse appeared with the doctor, and I understood what she’d meant about the room being cramped.
“Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Razminski, and this is Carla.” The doctor was a tall middle-aged woman with blond shoulder-length hair and cat-eye glasses and Carla had tight, curly black hair and a kind smile. “I believe we’re here to listen to a heartbeat. How are you feeling, Freya?”
“Not bad today. I’ve had some morning sickness…at different times of the day. Never just morning or night. I heard that’s normal.” She tied her golden hair in a knot as she shifted on the papered table.
“Very normal. You may experience fatigue, nausea, vomiting. Sometimes it’s caused by a scent or a particular food.
Sometimes it’s just there. The good news is that it doesn’t last long.
You’re at ten weeks now and with any luck, your symptoms will disappear within the next two to six weeks. Any questions?”
Freya shook her head. “No.”
“How about you, Dad?” Dr. Razminski checked a monitor and applied jelly to a scanner.
“No,” I replied. “Wait…yes. I read that the ultrasound is at week twenty.”
“That’s correct. It’s a halfway marker which gives a visual peek at the organs, spine, and lets us be sure all is well. And we can usually tell the sex of the baby too…if you’re interested in finding out.”
“I’m not sure yet,” I admitted.
“You have plenty of time to think about it. And you?” She aimed a quick glance at Viggo.
His eyes were glued to Freya’s belly. “No questions.”
“All righty. Let’s listen in and hear what the little one has to say.” Static hummed as she rubbed the wand across Freya’s lower abdomen.
I swallowed hard, my pulse skittering in anticipation and yes…fear. I wasn’t a religious man, but I found myself praying for this tiny nugget, hoping he or she was strong and healthy.
Just as I was about to grind my molars to dust, Viggo set a hand on my lower back and whispered, “Breathe.”
I sucked in a gulp of air and—there it was… Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum
“Nice and strong,” the doctor exclaimed.
I whooped and yeah, I might have shed a tear. And because I was the touchy-feely type, I punched Viggo’s shoulder and followed it up with an impulsive hug. To his credit, he let it slide. I pulled away and hey…it might have been imagination, but I could have sworn Viggo’s eyes had welled, too.
Two seconds later, he was smiling at Freya.
I had an uneasy feeling I’d stumbled onto something I wasn’t meant to see.