Page 55 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Fourteen

Except, of course, it was not okay. Because the next day was marked with nausea and vomiting too, and as much as Rowena told herself it wasn’t possible to be pregnant, that insidious little thought wormed its way into every waking moment. And some sleeping ones.

Like it had for a decade of her life.

A decade of hormonal hell with a side of mechanical sex and marital discord, punctuated by hope and devastation in equal measure. An emotional roller coaster that she’d clung to no matter the cost, until it had terminated at the platform labelled D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

Trying to think logically amongst the tangle of emotions was difficult, but it was imperative she did, because allowing herself to spin unrealistic fantasies wasn’t an option.

FACT: there was a vomiting and diarrhoea virus going around town and she’d been at the coal face.

So it had to be that. Even if it was acting atypical to what she’d seen in the community, that was entirely possible. Variances were normal. Although she was surprised, given the virulence of the strain, that she’d dodged the diarrhoea part.

But …

FACT: She’d had unprotected sex seven weeks ago.

FACT: She was on no contraception.

FACT: Her period was overdue.

Inasmuch as her period could ever be called overdue. It swung wildly anywhere between three and six weeks and had always been a guessing game. This year, what with everything that had happened, it had been particularly erratic.

It was why her absence of a period hadn’t even registered, especially with how busy and exhausted she’d been lately.

FACT: She’d tried for ten years to get pregnant, with all the best that science had to offer, without success. Which was, ultimately, the most important fact of all.

Add to that Lachlan’s mention of his own fertility status.

But, also, FACT: She was due to go back to work tomorrow. And they needed her there. She couldn’t keep taking days off because she felt sick particularly if it was from a non-infectious cause.

Like a baby …

No. This was crazy. She couldn’t be pregnant. But if she wasn’t and this nausea wasn’t virus related, she’d need to seek treatment so she could get back on deck. And the first thing they’d ask was could you possibly be pregnant?

So … the easiest thing to do would be go into town, get a test kit, pee on the stick and be able to confirm she was absolutely one hundred per cent not pregnant.

Easy.

*

One hour, two litres of water, three fits of crying and four vomits later, Rowena was staring disbelievingly at three positive pregnancy tests.

Three.

They’d only had one four-pack left in stock so she’d taken it.

When the first one came up positive, she’d shed a bunch of tears, drank some water then gone again. Because it had to be wrong. When that one was positive she’d actually sobbed, drunk some more water then gone again. When the third gave the same result, she’d crawled into bed and bawled for an hour.

And now she was just staring at them all lined up on the dining table.

Three. Positive. Tests.

How could life be this cruel? Because she couldn’t be pregnant. It had to be a bad batch—that was the only answer. Batches could be bad. It happened. Maybe not often but it did happen. And with her fertility history, it was statistically more likely to be the batch.

The only way to prove it was to wait for new stock to come in with a different batch number. The assistant had said there’d be a box of single tests coming in overnight. Or she could sneak one of the test kits from the storeroom at work tomorrow.

But there was no way she could wait until tomorrow. Which only left the third option.