Page 49 of Forever Christmas
“You okay, Corabelle?” Gavin asks. He tries to wipe my facewith his fingers.
The nurse passes him a box of Kleenex. “It’s to be expected,” she says. “Emotional time.”
I’m not sure if she means the sonogram in general, or because I’ve done this once before.
The black-and-white picture onscreen flickers as Dr. Jamison moves the wand around, trying to find the right spot.
“Still can’t make out a thing,” Gavin whispers near my ear.
“He hasn’t found thebaby yet,” I say. But my heart hammers, drying up my tears. Was I wrong somehow? Am I not pregnant after all?
I should have taken more tests. The one I took at Jenny’s was old. What was I thinking? My face flames that all this could be for nothing.
But then he hits the right angle, and an empty space opens up. Floating in the black is a collection of white dots that are unmistakably a baby.
“There he is,” Dr. Jamison says. “He was playing hide-and-seek.”
He centers in on the fluttery pixels in the center and draws a square. A heart appears in the corner, and below it, the rate, 150 beats per minute.
Then he measures the length of the baby. All the numbers lining up on the side match up to nine weeks along.
“Everything looks perfect,” he says, withdrawing the wand.
“Will you printone out?” I ask. I have more sonograms than real live pictures of Finn.
“Already done,” he says, reaching below the machine. He lifts out a series of printouts and tears off the last couple. “Those are for you,” he says, passing them to me. The others he gives to the nurse for my file.
I hold the images in my hand. It’s proof another baby is here. This moment lines up against the last one, thosefirst sonograms of Finn. I can scarcely breathe.
I should be happy in this moment, knowing a new little life has begun. But there’s too much competition in my heart. Grief for Finn, who should be here right now, excited over the prospect of a brother or sister.
And fear.
Stark, bone-chilling terror that I will have to go through everything a second time.
