I throw the phone back onto the bed, letting it ring until voicemail picks up.
How can I tell him? What can he do, two thousand miles away, except worry and agonize? Knowing him, he’d battle the dangerous, icy roads and snow to get to the airport or a train station. All in a desperate effort to get back to me.
I go into the bathroom again and splash more water on my hot face, trying to stave off the terror.
I can’t wait for a few hours to see if things get worse. If they do get worse, I really will panic, and then I won’t be able to drive myself anywhere, much less the emergency room. Certainly I can’t cause a commotion at the West house by calling 911.
Okay, good. I have a plan. If I have to wait, I can at least wait at the hospital.
I grab my phone and satchel before going downstairs. My stomach twists at the sight of Archer coming in the front door. His gaze scans me without expression.
“Hey.”
I nod, my hand tightening on my satchel strap. I have to pass him to get through the door.
“I’m just… just going out for a couple of hours,” I stammer.
“Where to?”
“Downtown. Just to… to look around. Joanna said I could use Richard’s car for the time being.”
I slip past him in the doorway, jerking away when the sleeve of his sweatshirt brushes my arm. He frowns, turning to watch me go out to the driveway.
“Hey,” he calls.
I stop.
“You okay?” he asks. “You look… I dunno.”
“Yeah, I… just have a migraine. I get them sometimes. I took a few aspirin, so I should be okay soon.”
I fumble with the keys and manage to get into the car. I inhale a rush of air and close my eyes, forcing my breath back under control. I try to fit the key into the ignition, but my hand is shaking too hard.
There’s a knock on the window. Archer is standing outside the car. He indicates that I should open the door.
“You need a ride?” he asks.
“I’m…” I swallow hard, then confess, “I need to go to the hospital.”
“Oh. To visit my father?”
“N-no. I have a… an emergency.”
He looks stunned. “Oh. You’re… should I call 911?”
“No.” I try to push the key into the ignition again. “I just have to go now.”
“Shove over, Liv. I’ll drive.”
Since I can’t even start the goddamn car, I get out and go around to the passenger side. Archer climbs into the driver’s seat and backs out of the driveway. I’m suddenly glad he’s there, since I realize I have no idea how to get to the hospital. After fifteen minutes, he drives into the hospital parking lot and up to the front of the building.
“I’ll go park,” he says.
“You don’t have to stay. I don’t even know how long I’ll be.” I get out my cell phone. “Would you give me your number? I can call when I’m done.”
He recites his number. I program it into my phone, then hurry inside as he pulls away from the curb.
I follow the signs to the emergency room and tell the front desk receptionist why I’m here. She hands me a clipboard of forms and indicates where I should wait. I sit down, wishing I’d brought a sweater because I’m freezing cold. There are a couple of other people in the waiting area, though no one seems to be in serious distress.
I feel a little calmer being at the hospital. I fill out the forms and return them, then try to distract myself by leafing through an entertainment magazine.
A cramp tugs at the left side of my abdomen.
No. Just a pulled muscle.
The print and pictures swim before my eyes. My lower back aches. The nurse calls one of the other people in. I stare at a page of movie reviews. A recipe for chocolate-chip cookies. An article about a TV show actress. An ad for baby shampoo.
The cramp spreads tight across my belly. No.
“Mrs. West?”
I look up. A nurse holding a clipboard gestures me forward.
“Come in,” she says. “We have a bit of a lull, so the doctor can see you in about ten minutes.”
When I stand up, I feel a gush of blood between my legs. I start to shake again.
Breathe. Breathe. One, two, three… exhale…
“You’re about ten weeks pregnant?” the nurse asks me as she guides me behind an examination curtain. “And you’re having some spotting?”
“It… I think it’s bleeding.”
“Any clots?”
“Not the last time I checked.”
She types all the information into her computer, asks more questions, takes my blood pressure and temperature. Then she tells me to strip from the waist down and cover myself with a paper sheet while I wait for the doctor.
The curtain snaps shut with a whoosh as she leaves. I can hardly make my shaking fingers work to unfasten my jeans and pull them off. A wave of dizziness hits me. The panty liner is soaked through. There’s blood on my inner thighs.
I grab a Kleenex and swipe. A stringy clot clings to the paper.
I know it then. Terror seizes my chest anew.
I’m having a miscarriage.