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The sultry night we shared together during the seminar was an experience I would never forget. The air was thick with heat and passion, and my senses were heightened by the alcohol coursing through my veins. As our lips met and our bodies moved in a synchronized rhythm, I was overwhelmed with pure delight, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time. It was like every nerve in my body had come alive, igniting a fire within me that could not be extinguished.
Sam raised his brows heavenward. “In that case, buckle up because you’re going to have to learn to change diapers. It’s much harder than you think.”
“I handle complex surgeries every day. I’m sure I can manage a diaper.”
Sam laughed, a deep rumble emanating from his throat, which reminded me of a lion’s roar I’d heard on a safari trip with Vicki to the Kruger National Park last year. “Your funeral.”
I sent him a look and then glanced back over my shoulder to a young girl being wheeled in by a nurse. Her name was Eleanor and she’d snapped her ankle falling off the gymnastics bar. Apart from the tears streaking her face when she’d first come in, she was a brave twelve-year-old who desperately wanted to get back into the gym.
She waved and I waved back.
“I’ll see you in a bit, Ellie. We’ll get that ankle fixed up and make sure you’re back on the mats in no time.”
She smiled, and for an instant there I wondered what my daughter—I’d always had a feeling I’d have a girl—would look like one day. Would her hair be as blonde as Sophie’s? Her eyes as gray? Would she be brave like Eleanor and dream of being an Olympic gymnast, another
Simone Biles? Or would she be as inflexible as her dad? Barely able to touch her toes?
Sam and I watched them go.
Sam then pushed himself forward, away from the counter, and slapped a palm across my back. “Don’t get your hopes up too high, alright. The first trimester is always tricky. Miscarriage rate can be as high as thirty percent.”
“It will be fine, Sam,” I said, not sure where the confidence was coming from. But it was there, and I was holding onto it as tightly as a kid with a balloon who refused to let go, no matter how strong the wind was.
My phone vibrated.
Fishing it out of my back pocket, I held my breath and checked the screen.
It was Vicki.How’s your back? Dad wants to know if you want the rest of the walnut set.
Apparently, he’s made a dining room table and chairs. Walnut’s too dark for the house.
I must have been frowning because Sam flicked his chin toward my phone. “Is that the mother of your future child texting?”
“That would be nice. Just Vicki,” I replied, not wanting to admit that Sophie hadn’t called me, not even once since I had showed up at her house two nights ago. Not that I was worried.
Or maybe I was.
Maybe her silence was eating me up from the inside. Maybe every time my phone pinged or vibrated, goosebumps ran over my skin like tiny ant feet and my breath hitched in my throat.
“Have you told Vicki yet?” Sam asked, folding his arms over his chest.
He had a reciprocated love-hate relationship with Vicki. If they weren’t at each other’s throats about basically everything, then they were shooting each other venomous glares whenever they thought I wasn’t looking. The one time I left them alone in a room together, they had ended up in a heated debate about pineapple on pizza—Sam’s big, burly body facing off against the small dynamite that was Vicki.
Their mutual friendliness was limited to once a year on my birthday.
At least Sam didn’t have to worry about pretending this year.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s a can of worms I’d rather open another day. When everything’s more settled. When I’ve got a better picture of what lies ahead.”
“Can I be there when you do? A fly on the wall?” chuckled Sam. “I’ve always imagined her head exploding. You got the woman who works for her pregnant, and that woman is younger and hotter. I think this will do the trick.”
“She’s not the wicked witch of the west, Sam. She’s a good person.”
“Yeah. Deep, deep down. Beneath all those layers.”
“You know, she probably says the same thing about you," I replied. “Actually, I think she once referred to you as Sam the Ham and I don't think it was a compliment.” Then, I laughed out loud when the patient in traction sent a frown in our direction.
He was eavesdropping.
