“No,” I breathe aloud, and I recalculate, then recalculate again.
Numbly, I go back out to my bedroom, grab my phone and look at the calendar, and it’s true. It’s been five weeks since my last period. I’m a week late.
But I’m on the pill.
Did I forget to take it?
It’s entirely possible. Some days I’m so scatterbrained that I forget to eat.
I’m dumbfounded and motionless, and Lucy is staring at me.
“What’s wrong?”
I can’t feel my fingers. Or my toes. Or my tongue.
“I think... I think I’m pregnant.”
She stares at me wordlessly. “Are you sure?” she finally asks, and her reaction is strange.
“No, I’m not. But I think so. Maybe.”
“You work so much,” she says slowly. “I’m not sure a baby will fit into that life, Corinne. You’ll have to change things.”
“I know that,” I say stiffly, because where does she get off?
But then she shrieks, out of nowhere. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant!” And she hugs my neck and this is the reaction I was expecting.
“We should find out for sure,” she chitters, like a squirrel. “There’s a Walgreens down the road. I’m going to go get a test. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t even wait for a response. Instead, she’s sprinting for the door.
I don’t try to stop her. I just collapse back onto the bed in wonderment, my hand on my still-flat belly.
Is it possible?
I’ll find out soon enough.
Lucy comes back within twenty minutes.
“You must’ve broken land-speed records,” I tell her wryly as she bursts back into the room, ripping open the pregnancy test box. She doesn’t even try to deny it. Instead, she thrusts the white plastic stick at me.
“Go pee on this,” she demands. “Hurry up.”
“You’re so bossy,” I mutter, but I’m dying to know, too.
It can’t be.
But it might be.
Am I?
I have to know.
I have to.
I pee on the stick and pace around the bathroom, and within one minute, the second line turns pink. I’m stunned, and my fingers shake as I hold the test in my hand. I examine it. It hasn’t changed.
Lucy pokes her head in.
“And?”
I hold it up.
“Two lines,” I say limply. “Oh my God.”
A million things are going through my head. I’m happy, I’m scared, I’m terrified that my child might be afflicted with my father’s mental issues...all of it. But mostly, I can’t deny it, I’m excited.
“I’m going to have a baby,” I whisper, and my hand on my belly feels different now, because I know there’s a baby beneath it. “I’m pregnant.”
“You are,” Lucy agrees, sitting next to me with her arm around my shoulders. “And do you know what else? You’re pregnant. Your hormones are all wonky. All of the anxiety and panic you’ve been feeling lately...it could be attributed to your hormones, Corinne.”
I stare at her, stunned. “You’re right. Hormones can wreak havoc.”
She nods. “Yes. So there you go. One less thing to worry about.”
I smile slowly as the realization sinks in. I’m not crazy. It’s my hormones.
“Congratulations, Dr. Cabot.” Lucy grins. “I’m so so happy for you.”
“Thanks,” I say weakly, because, honestly, I’m feeling dizzy again. “I think I’ll lie back down and wait for Jude to come home.”
“Are you going to tell him tonight?” Lucy stands up and covers me with a blanket.
“I don’t know. Probably. He’ll be ecstatic.” And he will. He’s been wanting to start a family for as long as I can remember.
“Okay. Well, since I know you’re not at death’s door, I’ll leave you in peace. Get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re going to have to take care of yourself now, you know,” she adds. “For the baby.”
I nod, and Lucy pecks me on the cheek. After she leaves, I try to call Jude again.
Still no answer.
I close my eyes and rest while I wait.
24
Now
Jude
Michel knocks on my front door, his hands full of groceries.
“I brought cheese, beer, canned soup, frozen pizza...” he says as I let him in. “All the staples. I promised Corinne I’d make sure you ate.”
“That’s never been a problem for me,” I tell him.
He laughs.
“That’s exactly what I told her.”
He takes the groceries to the kitchen and puts them away, pausing to bend down to pet Artie.
“Have you talked to Corinne today?” he asks.
I shake my head dismally. “No. Dr. Phillips still wants me to wait.”
Michel scowls. “I really don’t agree with that, Jude. She needs to know you care.”
“She knows I care,” I tell him. “She’s all I’ve cared about for fifteen years. That’s never changed.”
“Gee, thanks, bro.”
I realize what he’s saying and backtrack. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I care about you, dumbass.”
“Again, gee, thanks.”
I roll my eyes.
Michel stacks the soup in the pantry. “There’s something I found odd, Jude. When I was there, she didn’t mention the baby at all. Doesn’t she remember yet?”
A pang hits my stomach. “No, she doesn’t.”
Michel stops moving and turns to me. “Isn’t that very, very odd? I mean, I’m not a therapist like you, but it seems weird.”
“It’s not, given her situation,” I explain. “Her dissociative tendencies have deepened over the years. It’s not surprising at all, actually.”
“I still can’t believe that she... I mean, she wouldn’t have done that.”
I sigh. “Yet she did. She took the abortion pill, and then she slit her wrist. She tried to kill the baby, and herself. I can’t begin to explain why, but she did it.”
“But that’s not the Corinne that we know,” Michel insists.
“You’re right,” I agree. “It’s not. It’s a part of Corinne that she’s hidden even from herself. We can’t explain it. She can’t even explain it. We can only hope that she gets better.”
“I’ll be praying for her,” Michel tells me seriously.
“You do that.”
“In the meantime, I think you should make them let you see her. She needs it,” my brother tells me firmly. “She really does. She’s so lost. She’s floundering.”
“Okay. I’ll think on that, and maybe call them tomorrow.”
“You do that.”
“Thanks for the food.”
“Yep.”
He leaves, and the house is quiet. So quiet. Too quiet.
I grab a scotch and head out to the back patio, allowing Artie to amble around the yard, sniffing this corner and that. I sit on a lounge chair, enjoying the brisk air and the cool breeze. My face is flushed from the alcohol, and the cold feels good.
I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift.
They flit away from my present, back to happier times.
The day Corinne and I closed on this house.
Ju, she’d called from out here, standing in the sun on the patio. Come here. This backyard is better than I remembered.
I’d joined her, and we’d held hands as Artie ran circles around the fence line, as the flowers bloomed and swayed in the spring breeze. The sun had been in her hair, and it looked like a halo.
We’re going to be happy here, she’d whispered, burying her face in my neck.
I’d agreed and pulled her to me, and we’d started kissing, then ended up making love on a towel on the patio.
We hadn’t even bought furniture yet.
I sigh now, the memories filling my belly with warmth.
But then I remember where I am. I’m on the same patio, but it’s dark now. With the night, and from the knowledge that I’m here alone. My wife is gone.
We haven’t been overly happy here.
And I’m not sure that we ever will be.
A feeling of such utter loss and sadness comes over me, so much so that I pick up my phone and dial the number for Reflections.
A charge nurse answers, and at first, she doesn’t want to get Corinne for me.
“Mr. Cabot, I have notes here that say you agreed with Dr. Phillips that you shouldn’t speak to Corinne this week,” she says hesitantly.
“That’s true,” I tell her politely, yet firmly. “I did. But I’ve changed my mind tonight. I need to speak with my wife, and she needs to speak with me. If you could go get her, I would appreciate it.”
“But,” she starts, and I interrupt her.
“No buts. I can sign her out of there at any time. Please, go get her.”