Chapter 10
Stone
Two Weeks Ago
"Yes!" I pump my fist as Lucy delivers the good news.
"I've got the papers here for you, Stone. Don't go getting your panties into a wad yet." Lucy says, speaking to me over her reading glasses. She's always so even, despite the fact that the property I wanted to purchase for my new hotel has been approved. We finally have clearance.
"Bring them on, baby! I've got my signing hand ready!"
With a chiding look, she hands me the paperwork.
It's just one sheet of paper, thankfully, since the rest will be done electronically.
After I sign the papers and we talk about some of the agreements that need to take place before I can start talking about breaking ground, I bite my bottom lip.
Lark and I have both been stupid busy since she took on a couple of new clients, and since the landowners for my prospective future hotel site went into meltdown mode after a pricing war took place shortly after I saw her last. "Fuck it. "
Lucy raises a brow. "What? Are you having second thoughts?"
I ignore her question. "That house. The one with the tilted addition." I snap my fingers, smiling, still high on adrenaline.
"The one that Lark took you to see?"
"Yeah, that one. What's the status on it?"
"It's still on the market, but nobody has been to see it in weeks, why?"
"I want to buy it."
Her brows furrow. "You must be delirious, Stone."
"No. No, I'm not. I want to buy it. The place is perfect. And now that I'm going to be spending most of my time here in North Carolina, I need a place."
"What happened to your budget?"
"Fuck my budget. Besides, I've been in talks with a production team, and they have contacts that can save me a bundle on building materials.
The way I see it, I'm going to save more money on building this project than I dreamed I could, so why not.
I'm not going to live with my cousins or my brother, right?
I need a place, that one is up for sale, and twenty bucks says that the son of a bitch will take the first offer, since he's about to pay for another mortgage payment. "
Lucy tilts her head. "You haven't even been to see any other house. I can show you as many as you like. Why are you so adamant about this one?"
I look for a lie. "Gut feeling."
She smells it. "You like her."
I don't admit or deny it. "I like the house."
Her smirk says that she's figured me out. "How about I take you to see some other houses that are more suited for your budge and lifestyle?"
"Are you looking to make more money from me, Lucy? Why not be charitable and let Lark have the cut for this one."
She's smiling. I almost never see that on her. "I'll have you know that if you buy it, Lark has already offered to give me a cut."
"All the more reason for me to buy it then."
If this were a chess game, we'd be at a stalemate.
"Fine. Give me a moment to draw up the paperwork for it. It may take a little longer, seeing as this isn't my listing."
"Oh, and do me a favor. Don't tell Lark."
Her smile grows bigger. "You want to surprise her."
I've been discovered. But she doesn't seem upset. In fact, if I'm reading her right, I'd say that she's happy. I'll take my licks from Lark, but I do believe that I won't be taking any from Lucy. "Yeah."
She knows and I know.
Now it's just a matter of letting Lark know.
Lark
I turn over in bed, feeling a very odd sensation across my chest. My pajamas feel like sandpaper.
As I touch my breasts, they feel like they’ve been punched.
When my alarm goes off an hour later, I rise out of bed, feeling like I’ve only slept for twenty minutes.
I have never called in sick to work. Ever.
I talk myself into getting up and showering and trying to eat something so that I can take a pain reliever, before making up my mind.
Skipping my workout, I take a shower. The water dripping over my chest, makes it feel like I’ve got sunburn.
When I try to get dressed, just placing my bra on my chest is excruciating.
I have to get some cotton balls from the medicine cabinet and place them over my nipples, using the loosest loop on my bra closure, just to bear it.
It starts coming back to me, how I’ve been saying to myself, that I need to buy some new undergarments, because my bra is definitely too small.
And now I’m kicking myself, because I can’t even wear the thing anymore.
It’s been a long time since I’ve made such a purchase, so it isn’t surprising.
The final straw, and the reason I call in sick to work, is when I try to eat my usual breakfast. I can’t stomach even the thought of eating my oatmeal this morning.
After I text Lucy and my boss, letting them know that I need a personal day, I call my doctor's office. Stone has been back-and-forth from his offices in South Carolina and North Carolina in the past couple of weeks, and with my two new clients, I haven’t spoken with him.
It’s all for the best, I say, reconciling myself.
But just as I say this, I get a text message from him.
He simply says that he’s thinking about me. That he’s sorry he’s been so busy, but he knows that I am, too. The part about Stone that I like the most is that there is no expectation. No guilt. And best of all, no games. I just wish that I could say the same about me.
Orange juice is the only thing that I can stomach this morning, as I approach the doctor's office. She sees me right away, having squeezed me in before the morning rush. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen her, and I sold her a house last year, so I’m not sure if it’s intentional that she made such a concession for me or not.
But I am grateful, seeing as I do not feel like myself at all.
“Lark. You’re looking good." Dr. Allen says. She’s only about ten years older than me, which is why I chose her as my family doctor, after my previous doctor retired about five years ago. She referred me to Dr. Grant, the gynecologist that had the privilege of meeting Steve, my ex-fiancé.
“You, too. Thanks."
The treatment room is small. With the expected contraptions within it, like a bed, a computer, desk, chair, and a guest chair, next to a bed covered with tissue paper, and medical instruments hanging on the wall behind it.
She starts with the usual ambulatory things, taking my blood pressure, my heart rate, and she weighs me as well.
“What can I do for you today? It says on the file that you’re having some nausea? “
“And my chest hurts.”
I explain, pointing to my breasts.
“You mean your breasts or your chest?” She clarifies.
“I woke up this morning, and I could barely touch my chest. I know that I need a new bra, but I was wondering if maybe I needed a mammogram or something."
She places a hand tenderly on my right breast, just by my under arm. “Is this tender?”
I nod. “If you press any harder, you’ll be peeling me off the ceiling."
“When was your last period?"
“I’m not exactly a regular for that, as I’m sure you know. Dr. Grant has been through this with me before."
“Have you been having unprotected sex?"
I answer with a scoff. “Yes, but you remember that I tried to get pregnant with my ex."
“I do remember that. But Dr. Grant's notes said that your systems are fine."
“Well, I just don’t feel right. I don’t feel like myself. I’d feel better if I could have a mammogram."
“How about we take a urine sample first. Rule out pregnancy, and then I’ll send you for an ultrasound. With that discomfort, you’ll be lucky if you can tolerate a probe on your breast, let alone having them squished down for a mammogram.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there.” I laugh nervously.
She slides over, on the wheeled stool, opens up a drawer that’s full of little urine sample bottles, and hands me one. “You know where the washroom is. I’ll just be in here."
I go do my thing in the ladies' room, and when I return, she’s already got a small piece of litmus paper waiting at the corner of the small sink. With her gloved hand, she opens the lid of the urine sample bottle, and slips the litmus paper in, while I wait.
While I draw in a deep breath, I see her pull the paper out, and dump the remaining urine into the sink, and then she removes the gloves. She says with a sigh. “Let this go down in history that it wasn’t you."
“Come again?“
“Your ex was the one with the fertility problems. We’ve got proof of that now."
“Is this your idea of a joke?"
She smiles. In my head, she’s saying that yes, it’s a joke. But in the time that I’ve known Dr. Allen, she’s never so much as cracked a joke. "You are very pregnant, my dear. That is no joke."
A lump immediately forms in my throat. I blink rapidly, not sure if tears will come or not. I say nothing.
“Are you happy about this, Lark?"
“I don’t know. All this time, I thought I couldn’t have children. It’s all the wrong time, of course, but isn’t that always the way." I say to her or to myself, I’m not sure which.
"Do you have any guesses as to when your last period came? That’s the only way to determine how far along you are."
“A month, a month and a half ago, maybe? I don’t know. I wasn’t really keeping track. I haven’t been keeping track since Steve and I broke up. There was really no need, once I stopped trying to get pregnant."
“Well, sometimes they say that when you stop trying, that’s when you actually get pregnant. It happened to me."
“Did you want the baby?"
“It doesn’t matter now, because I lost her."
My expression falls. “I’m so sorry."
“It’s okay, Lark. Just know that you are not the only person that has experienced fertility problems. I’ve been trying for over ten years to have a baby, and that’s the closest that I ever got.
I can refer you to a doctor that does abortions, though, because I don’t want any woman to ever feel pressured to have a baby that they don’t want.
Unfortunately, Dr. Grant does not perform abortions. "
“Oh?“