Page 58 of SEAL'S Baby Surprise
“Did you and Austin have a drinking party last night?”
Drink? Austin? Hah. Pigs will fly first. “Nuh-uh,” I say, remembering not to move my head. “Coffee, I think. Anyway, not your business. Go ‘way, let me be miserable.”
Mrs. Turner laughs softly. “I think you are going to live, and you’ll feel better in a few hours,” she says. “Meanwhile, I brought the makings for tea.”
Austin crowds in behind her with a steaming cup of something minty. When I sip it, I can taste the underlying gag-me-with-an-entire-place-setting flavor of homegrown chamomile.
It’s Mrs. Turner’s kill or cure hangover medicine, made with strong mint, strong chamomile, and honey from a local beekeeper.
I drink it down as fast as I can because I know that if it gets cold it tastes like dirty dish water strained through old socks. It’snasty tasting stuff, but as I lie back down, I can feel it going to work.
My stomach grudgingly decides to settle, I get a kind of floaty feeling, and the tip of my nose feels numb. You’d think there must be something totally, sinful, and illegal in it.
But when I ask, the answer is “Nope, just really good home-grown chamomile and enough strong mint to hide the flavor.”
Right then, I don’t care. All I care about is that the world seems to stop spinning, my stomach settles, and I can even sip a little of the ice-cold ginger ale.
I must have slept then, because the next thing I know, the sun has shifted around and is shining in the driver’s side of the van. Austin is squatted down beside my bed.
“Lee,” he says, “I hate to disturb you. But my friend, Richard, has invited us to dinner. Do you feel well enough to go?”
I push myself up on one elbow, and blink at him blearily. “Go? Go where?”
“To Richard and Kandis’s house,” he says. “Julia wants to go, and so do I. It’s been quite a while since I had a chance to catch up with Richard. We were good friends in college.”
Richard! Kandis! Alarms peal through my brain. “No thanks,” I say. “I’m feeling somewhat better, but I’d rather sleep some more, and maybe rewind my audio book and see if I can make sense of it.”
“All right,” he says. “If you’re sure. Mrs. Turner has gone to work, but Mrs. Hubbard is at home and so is Pops. I’ll leave Ark with you in case any more crazy newsies show up.”
“Thanks,” I say, snuggling back into my blankets. The air felt cold. Austin must have the AC cranked to the max.
Sometime later, I awake to a quiet van. The only sound is the soft whooshing of the fan. My ginger ale is warm and a little bit flat, so I must have slept for a while.
I do feel better. I get up, wander down the hall and into the outdoor kitchen. Ark gets up from his favorite shady watch-spot and comes over to me. He plonks his head on my knee and looks at me hopefully.
I know that Austin probably fed him before he left, but I open a can of dog food and give it to the big lug anyway. He’s a long way from fat, so a few extra calories aren’t going to hurt.
I rummage in the ice chest and find some fruit, then in the metal lock box where I find crackers. I settle down to munch on them. As the food hits my system, my brain comes back online.
What had Mrs. Turner asked me? When was my last period? I dig into my art box that sits under my chair, and thumb through my journal. I look at the date on the chronometer in Austin’s room.
I’d last had to put up with the messy part of womanhood about eight weeks ago. I double check everything. Maybe I’d just forgotten to make note of it.
My menstrual cycle is usually pretty easy, no debilitating cramps or headaches like some women I know. Could I have just missed it?
There is one easy way to find out. I want something more for lunch, anyway. I’ll go to the little store on the square. Austin has a charge account there, and he’s put me on the list to use it.
At the store, I pick up a melon, some cottage cheese, more ginger ale, and one of those over-the-counter pregnancy tests. I check out, go home, and unpack my purchases.
I open the melon, scrape the seeds out of one half, and fill it with cottage cheese. Mmmm…perfection. Chased with ginger ale, it was just what my tummy wanted.
Feeling a lot more solid in myself, I take the pregnancy test kit to the bathroom inside the van. No way is it going to test positive. But it will take the suspense out of waiting for my next cycle to begin.
I open the little package, follow the directions, and wait for developments. When the time is up, I stare at the little stick thing. I cannot believe what it is showing. I can’t be pregnant. I just can’t.
I have the implant. We used condoms . . .
Then that little voice at the back of my head starts reminding me of things I don’t want to remember.
