Page 48 of The Heart We Guard
I’m a doctor.
I should know better than most how not to get pregnant. I should have been aware of how old they were and almost kicked myself when I checked the date on them.
It’s been a week since I took the tests. Since I realized that I hadn’t had my period in a while because of the tampons on the grocery list. At first, I thought the delay was just stress from everything that had happened.
Then, I felt sick.
Again, no biggie. Stomach bugs can come out of nowhere, right?
Until I gained a strong aversion to the smell of coffee. My lifeblood.
Seven pregnancy tests. Two lines. And here I am.
But in the last seven days, something strange has happened. I went from researching places I could get an abortion to deciding since this fetus worked so hard to come into being, I’m going to work hard to keep it safe.
I’m not quite at the point where I think of it as a sentient being. It’s not one. After all, it’s currently about a centimeter long, with buds for limbs and no discernible brain or spinal cord.
And, yet…
“I got you, Pooks.”
I don’t even have a bump. Just a slight firming in my lower belly. When I get where I’m going, I’ll need to find an OB. For now, the seven pregnancy tests I’ve done are enough confirmation of the state I’m in. My only concessions are to take maternity vitamins, which was easy, and to give up caffeine,which has been hell on wheels. I tried the single cup a day and could almost have cried when just the smell of it made me sick.
When I pull up to the turn I was assured led to the clubhouse, I find the road gated, with two men on foot.
“You’re in the wrong place, lady,” the taller of the two men says when I lower my window to talk to them.
“I have business with Butcher,” I say, more confidently than I feel.
The guy smirks. “That’s what they all say. Who should I say wants him?”
I eye the guy carefully. “Tell him that the bloodstains came out of the rug for the price of a wet vac hire.”
There must be something in my delivery, or the content of my words, because his face changes from mocking to serious. “One second.” He steps away and makes a call but then curses and slips the phone back in his pocket. “Butcher’s not answering; let me go up to the clubhouse and see if he’s available.”
I look at my watch. It’s ten o’clock. I procrastinated. And procrastinated.
The day ticked by. But with my flight leaving the day after tomorrow and the idea of telling Butcher weighing heavy on my mind, I suddenly couldn’t wait for tomorrow and go through another sleepless night.
I would say he could be in bed, but from the rowdy noises coming from the stunning log cabin up the hill, I don’t think that’s the case.
What if he’s sleeping with someone else?
What if he is?
He’s not mine. I’m not his.
But this baby is ours.
Nerves I had under control now bubble to the surface, and I start to stress sweat. Cold and damp.
It’s obvious why they built a clubhouse here. There’s nothing for miles around. Total privacy and freedom to do whatever they want. The kind of place you could be murdered, and no one would notice you’re missing for weeks. I shiver at the thought.
The inky sky is such a dark blue, it’s almost black. And while I get the whole romantic connotation of sleeping out under the stars, I can’t think of anything worse. Certain people are built for rugged outdoor lives.
I am not one of them.
I went camping, once. Back ache and bug bites. A definite nope.
