Page 57 of Ruthless Secrets
“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“It’s just…it’s nice how much you care. About Zoe.” Her face is turning a beautiful shade of pink when she looks up at me.
“It’s just a car seat, Clara. It’s no big deal.”
She nods despite the fact that her eyes are already starting to glisten with tears.
I don’t press her to talk. Instead, we load the rest of Zoe’s things into the car, and then make our way into the city.
“You don’t needto be nervous,” Clara says as we sit in the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office.
It’s filled with parents with young babies even smaller than Zoe. The walls are one big mural of some kind of safari scene, with tigers and giraffes with terrifying smiles painted on their faces.
If I were a kid, it would likely give me nightmares.
“I’m not nervous,” I lie as I check the time on my phone again.
Our appointment was at ten, and it’s now quarter past.
“Dr. Wyatt always runs late.”
“Not off to a great start.” I bounce my knee up and down.
Clara sighs, but she doesn’t say anything.
I suggested taking Zoe to a different doctor, one that was much higher rated, but Clara said no. She feels more comfortable with Dr. Wyatt as he knows Zoe’s full history.
I add Dr. Wyatt to the mental list I’m keeping in my head of all the things we need to discuss when we ultimately have ‘the talk’.
“Zoe Peterson,” a nurse suddenly calls out.
My head snaps up at the sound of my daughter’s name.
She’s not a De Luca.
Clara gets to her feet. “Great, let’s go.”
Of course, she isn’t a De Luca. Why would she be when Clara didn’t even know my name until a week ago?
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does to have my daughter not share my name, but then again, Clara has been the one to do all the work up until this point. Though that was only because I didn’t know about my baby.
Clara frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I plaster an easy smile on my face.
Dr. Wyatt’s office is painted a bright yellow, and the walls are covered in drawings along with charts displaying all sorts of horrendous symptoms for various infectious diseases, which only adds to the nervous feeling in my stomach.
You would think with all the violence that I’ve been exposed to in my life, being in a pediatrician’s office would be a breeze. But I guess when you’re here for your baby, it makes you see things in a whole new light.
Dr. Wyatt himself is an elderly gentleman with stark white hair and a heavily lined face and round glasses that sit on the end of his nose. His white coat has yellow ducks embroidered on the collar which match those on his tie.
Clara shakes the doctor’s hand before pointing to me. “Dr. Wyatt, this is Zoe’s father, Marco.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Marco.”
I dip my chin at the doctor who eyes me warily, no doubt wondering why I’ve suddenly materialized after six months.
His eyes turn to Zoe. “Shall we get started?”
