Joanna is looking at her son as if he were a stranger, or some exotic zoo creature separated from her by a pane of glass.
“So I enjoyed downtown Los Gatos,” I remark, aware of the forced brightness of my voice. “I was thinking of going back today. There are some really nice art galleries there, and I love that kitchen store.”
Joanna rises to put her mug in the sink. “Did you go to the History Museum? Dean told me you work at the one in Mirror Lake, so you might enjoy visiting ours.”
“I haven’t been yet.”
“Use Richard’s car, if you’d like. The keys are hanging by the front door.” Joanna glances at her watch and says she needs to leave for a charity board meeting.
After she’s gone, I wash the dishes and mugs left in the sink and set them to dry before heading upstairs. I decide that it would be nice to spend a couple of hours at the Los Gatos History Museum. Maybe I can talk with one of the curators and exchange exhibition ideas.
I go into the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when I unbutton my jeans. Definitely time to start wearing the maternity clothes.
The instant I pull down my underwear, I freeze.
Blood?
No.
I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing on the white cotton that was just between my legs. My vision fades in and out as I stare at the brown stains. It can’t possibly be…
My heart stutters, as if it stopped and is trying to start again. Panic swells in my chest so fast, so hard, that I collapse onto the toilet. I press my hands against my face and squeeze my eyes closed.
No. No way.
Gripping the edge of the counter, I open my eyes and stare at my underwear. The stains look rusty, dried. With an unsteady hand, I take a wad of toilet paper and swipe it between my legs. Red smears the paper.
Oh, God.
I yank open the bathroom cabinet and search through the rolls of toilet paper and bottles of shampoo and lotion. At the very back, there’s a half-opened box of panty liners. I rip one open and affix it to my underwear, then yank my jeans back up.
I’m shaking so much I can barely turn the faucet on. Reminding myself to breathe, I splash water on my face. My reflection is white, shocked.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone. No one knows I’m pregnant.
I find my cell phone in my bag and place a call to Dr. Nolan. The receptionist says she’ll have the doctor return my call as soon as possible.
I press a hand to my stomach. My heart is beating too fast. I’m scared. I go into the bathroom again and, with a trembling hand, wipe another tissue between my legs.
Red blood.
Holy fuck.
My phone rings. I hurry to answer it.
“Liv? It’s Dr. Nolan.” Her voice is calm and serious. “You’re having some spotting?”
“I… it’s blood.” Inhale. Exhale.
“How much is there?” Dr. Nolan asks.
“Um… a few drops.”
“Was there any on the tissue?”
“Yes.”
“Bright red or brown?”
“Um… brown on my underwear, I guess, but then bright red on the tissue and the panty liner I put on.” I sink onto the bed, cold all over.
“Any clots?” she asks.
Jesus. Clots?
“No,” I manage to say.
“Are you having any pain? Cramps?”
“No.”
“Are you nauseous? Any vomiting? Fever?”
“No, nothing.”
“When did you last have intercourse?”
I have to think. Dean and I have fooled around a few times, but the last time we had actual intercourse was when I’d woken from a nap and found him on the bed with me. “Uh, about a week ago.”
“Have you been doing anything else that’s strenuous? Any change in physical activity?”
“No, not at all.”
“Okay,” Dr. Nolan says. “Some women do have spotting in early pregnancy. It’s not unusual.”
I hate that phrase. Not unusual does not mean common. It does not mean don’t worry about it.
“But,” the doctor continues, “you do need to be prepared for something more serious. I want you to wait a few hours first and see if the bleeding worsens.”
Something more serious? A few hours?
“I… okay.”
“If you soak through a pad in half an hour or if you start having pain, then go to the emergency room,” Dr. Nolan says. “Do you have someone with you?”
Dean. Oh, dear God.
“Y-yes.”
“You’re still in California?” There’s the sound of computer keys clicking.
“Yes. San Jose area. Los Gatos.”
“Here’s the address and number of the nearest hospital. Your insurance will approve an emergency visit there, if one is necessary. Try to stay calm, Liv, okay?”
“Okay.” I fumble for a pen on the nightstand and write down the address.
“I’m on call for the next twelve hours, so don’t hesitate to call if you need to.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed. Wrap my arms around myself. My teeth chatter. I close my eyes and inhale a breath, counting to three as I exhale. Can’t panic. Not now. Have to stay calm.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
Tears burn my eyes.
The phone rings. My heart lurches as I look at the caller ID. Dean West.