THE PALE BLUE chairs in the OB’s waiting room were locked together bench-style, in rows of three, but Rachel and David managed to sit so rigidly that there was no chance of their bodies brushing. The silence reverberating in Rachel’s skull was giving her a hell of a headache. Yet despite all of that, she was perversely relieved by David’s presence.
She no longer harbored a molecule of doubt that she was pregnant, still, until she actually heard Dr. McDermott say everything was progressing just right, Rachel would remain a nervous wreck. Thank God she didn’t have to await the doctor’s diagnosis alone. So much for standing on your own two feet.
While she’d strongly wanted to throw something at her husband that morning, he’d been absolutely right on one point. It’s my baby, too, Rach. Let me be part of this. The memory was a raw wound, substantiating what she’d known but apparently hadn’t accepted: the reason she was suddenly getting the full-court press was because he didn’t want to lose his place in their child’s life.
Could she blame him, though? After all, he was the father.
“Rachel Waide?”
Her heart thumped against her chest. “That’s me.” And always would be. While she’d had her maiden name for far more years than her married surname, she didn’t think she’d ever truly be comfortable as Rachel Nietermyer again. She certainly didn’t want a different last name than her own child.
David had risen and was reaching automatically for her hand to help her out of the chair. She didn’t pull away on purpose, it was a skittish reflex, like flinching from something coming at you in your peripheral vision. David narrowed his eyes and swiftly looked away. She wished she could take back the moment. A strangled laugh caught in her throat—if she had the power to go back in time and change even small reactions, maybe they never would have reached this point.
They followed the nurse, who handed Rachel a clear specimen cup with her name written on it. After that was taken care of, the same nurse indicated the scale. Oh, joy, just what everyone wanted—to be weighed in front of an audience. She defiantly kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the platform. Ironically, her weight was lower than she’d anticipated. Her blood pressure, however, was much higher than normal. The nurse made a concerned tutting noise as she wrote the numbers on the chart.
“I’m, uh, a little more tense today than usual,” Rachel told the woman.
“Understandable. But it’s best for you and the baby if you relax.”
There were a few other minor tests to complete and medical questions to answer, although the vast majority of Rachel’s history was already well-documented in her patient file. Finally, she and David were shown into a larger-than-normal exam room where an ultrasound machine sat next to the table.
“Dr. McDermott will be with you in just a few minutes. She’ll most likely want to do a vaginal ultrasound.”
This would be to confirm fetal age and assess viability, Rachel knew, making sure the fetus was implanted right where it should be. Her nerves started to tie themselves into knots that would impress even the most seasoned sailors.
The nurse gave them a reassuring smile. “If we’re right about your being nine weeks pregnant, you’ll even be able to see the heartbeat today.”
Next to her, David swallowed. What was he thinking? His gorgeous face was alarmingly unreadable.
This time last year, although they were obviously having problems, Rachel would never have guessed there would come a day when he felt like a stranger to her. She had no clue whether he was remembering previous doctor’s visits, if he rued the unorthodox timing of this pregnancy, if he hoped for a son or daughter … Suddenly he turned, his gaze arresting hers. Whatever he was thinking, the emotion behind it was potent.
“I’ll just leave the two of you alone,” the nurse said. “Mrs. Waide, you’ll need to get completely undressed and put on the gown.”
Gown? Fancy term for a large piece of paper with two holes on the sides and a strip meant to tie in the back. When the nurse shut the door behind her, Rachel gulped.
David wasn’t meeting her gaze now. “I guess I should go wait in the hall.”
Considering that she was standing there pregnant with his child, that seemed a lot like closing the barn door after the horse already got loose. “You could turn around. Promise not to look?”
“You’d trust me?” He turned toward the wall and a pink poster about new Pap smear methods.
“Trust was never the issue between us,” she said. Whatever else his faults—or annoying lack thereof—it wasn’t as if she’d worried David would betray her.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “There’s more than one kind of trust. What you said today about needing to protect yourself from getting hurt …”
There was a raw pain in his voice she hadn’t expected, and she paused in the act of unfastening her bra. He was keeping his word, not watching her, which presented an unusual opportunity to look her fill. He wasn’t basketball-player tall, but he was a nice height for her, strong and solid. His posture had always been correct; no one needed to remind him to stand up straight. Even so, there was a slight rounding to his broad shoulders, the tiniest sign of dejection. Or defeat.
“David, I wasn’t trying to hurt you with what I said this morning.” She folded her bra inside her discarded shirt, then reached for the waistband of her pants. This was a surreal conversation to be having while she stripped.
His laugh held no traces of humor. “See? We really don’t trust each other. You weren’t trying to hurt me, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. So why, instead of giving the other person the benefit of the doubt, do we jump to the worst conclusions?”
Because love made people vulnerable.
She couldn’t voice the thought without admitting that she still loved him, not in the bright, think-about-you-all-the-time way she had when she’d first met him. This was more bittersweet and weather-beaten. They’d shared so much, both good and bad. They’d grown apart like vines reaching for separate suns instead of becoming stronger together, but the memories they’d created would never fade completely. Especially since we created something a lot more tangible than a memory. She splayed her fingers over her navel.
“You almost done?” he asked, shifting his weight restlessly.
She grabbed for the paper wrapper. “Just about.”
“I can’t believe I’m alone in a room with you, you’re finally naked, and I’m stuck reading about innovations in cervical health.”
An errant giggle escaped her. “Sorry.”
“Really?” His shoulders straightened. “Because there are ways you could make it up to me.”
“Not that sorry.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
There were two quick knocks on the door outside before Lydia McDermott stuck her head inside. “Everyone decent?”
“We’re ready.” Rachel scooted onto the table as the beaming doctor entered the room.
