Ten Mountain Men's Baby (Love by Numbers 9)

I clutched my purchase and staggered out of that brightly lit pharmacy with one thought playing in a loop in my head: Just make it to the curb before you vomit. Just make it to the curb.

Thankfully, I did make it to the curb. But despite feeling slightly better outside in the fresh air, I didn’t make it much farther than the curb before my breakfast came back up and demanded an exit—a demand I summarily granted, right onto the front tire of a convertible Mercedes.

I felt slightly better after that, and better still once I’d driven away from that pharmacy, away from that gossip rag that advertised on its cover a look into my personal affairs.

Dammit, Wendy! You picked a lousy time to ruin my life.

I drove to the hospital to see my mother. The day before, she’d been too weak and too sedated to talk. I could only hope that today would be different. By the doctors’ accounts, she wasn’t expected to make it to many more tomorrows.

Before entering the room my mother was in, I slipped into the bathroom to take the pregnancy test.

Positive.

I was not surprised.

Good job, Holly. And how do you plan to tell the father? Over the phone?

Oh, God. Wait. Who’s the father?

I washed my hands and washed my face. The nausea had subsided slightly, but now my heart was pounding in my chest.

I’m pregnant.

I splashed more water onto my face, then studied myself in the mirror and said, out loud, to the reflection, “You’re going to have a baby.”

I should have been filled with panic or dread, but to my surprise, I was overjoyed.

I’m going to have a baby!

My mother was asleep when I entered her room. The nurse said she hadn’t been given anything, that she was sleeping soundly on her own, but that I should let her, that she would wake up in her own time. Though, I knew, to an extent, that her waking up was wishful thinking.

My father sat in a chair at her bedside. He looked better than he had the day prior. The color had returned to his face, and his eyes, unlike mine, were neither red nor puffy.

“She’s been sleeping all morning,” he said to me, his voice barely audible.

I nodded. “The nurse told me.”

I stood beside the bed, on the other side, across from my father. “She looks so peaceful.” I looked at my father. “How long have you been here?”

He glanced at his watch. “Not long. A few hours.”

I put my hand next to my mother’s and slipped my index finger just under hers. “You know.” I cleared my throat. “If I’d known she was sick, I wouldn’t have gone on the hike.”

My father didn’t say anything till I cleared my throat again and looked at him. Then he averted my gaze, let out a breath, and nodded. “That’s why we didn’t tell you.”

“But then… but she didn’t want me to go.”

“She did.” He looked up at me. “Deep inside, she did. She knew it would be good for you. She was just.…” He wiped his eyes and got out of the chair. “I need to get some fresh air.”

I nodded.

On his way out, he stopped and put his hand on my arm. “The day after you left, do you know what she told me?”

I shook my head.

“She said to me, ‘We raised her right, you know. Imagine if I’d been able to talk her out of following her heart; I never would have forgiven myself.’”

I chuckled. I felt a tear coming on, so I wiped my eye with the back of my hand.

“I’m going to get some air,” he said, “maybe lie down for a while. You’ll call me if.…”

I cleared my throat. “I’ll call you.”

He patted me on the shoulder and left.

I stood there a long moment, not moving, just looking, just waiting. My mother lay on the bed, her head aimed at the ceiling, but her eyes were closed. I took a seat next to her on the mattress.

I sat there a long moment, just looking, waiting. My mother didn’t move. I laid my head down beside her, my legs dangling off the side of the bed.

“I followed my heart, Mom, like you always taught me.” I turned my head to better see her, to see if she had woken, but she lay perfectly still. I returned my gaze to the soft yellow ceiling.

“I met a boy. He’s handsome. You wouldn’t believe it: tall, broad-shouldered, dark eyes, dark hair. His name’s Ryker. You’d like him. He’s a doctor—well, a doctor in residency. But he’s going to be a doctor. And he’s going to be a good one.”

I felt a slight movement from my mother’s finger resting atop my index finger. And I wondered if I had caused it or if she was stirring from her sleep. I looked at her face again but didn’t register any sign of her awakening.