Immaculate (19 page)

chapter eleven

“It's hard to
believe that you're already twenty-two weeks in,” Dr. Keller said, flipping her folder open as she rolled her stool over to the exam table to face me. Her assistant Jamie hovered just behind, a quiet, obedient shadow. “How have you been feeling? Anything concerning you?”

“No, nothing I didn't expect at this point. A little aching in my back, some soreness and swelling in my feet, but otherwise I've been feeling good. Much better than the last few months, actually.” I was surprised to hear myself saying that out loud, and even more surprised to realize that I actually meant it. It had already been more than a month since the Three Wise Men debacle, and so far,
miraculously
, nothing else too cataclysmic had come out of the big reveal. Jesse, fortunately, had got away with only a warning, given that he'd had an unblemished record and Kyle had already been an established troublemaker. People stared at me more maybe, whispered more, but I was becoming a master at tuning them out. I hadn't seen visions of Iris again, either, and no matter how illogical I knew it was, a part of me hoped that she'd actually been there, even for a second. I wanted to believe that she was watching me, that she hadn't abandoned me to deal with all this on my own.

“Good. And have you felt the baby move at all yet?”

“No,” I said, my hands automatically settling around my belly, a position they were in more and more often lately. I usually woke up that way, holding my stomach in my sleep. My arms felt too heavy and inconvenient, unnatural even, if I just left them dangling at my sides. “But that's not abnormal, right?”

“No, not for a first-time pregnancy. It's true that most women feel movement closer to twenty weeks, but it's nothing to worry about right now, Mina. I expect it'll happen soon. Can you lie back for me?”

She was quiet as she and Jamie went through the motions, taking my blood pressure, feeling my abdomen, checking my hands and feet for any swelling. When it was time to use the Doppler to listen to my baby's heartbeat, I closed my eyes and let the sound flow through me. The perfectly rhythmic
thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump
was just as mind-blowing to me as it had been the first time I'd heard it, maybe even more so now. The more I processed and accepted what was happening to me, the more amazing it became. I wanted to carry the sound with me all day, a constant reminder that there was a real miniature person with a beating heart growing inside of me. Before now I had never thought about the fact that pregnant women held two working hearts—and I was pretty sure that even after the second heart was no longer physically inside my body, emotionally I would have double the hearts, double the love within me for the rest of my life.

“Well, Mina, everything is looking good, perfectly normal for this stage. I've gone over what the hospital sent me from your midpregnancy ultrasound, and your baby seems to be developing perfectly on cue. Speaking of the ultrasound, I take it you're still planning on waiting until delivery to learn the baby's sex?”

“Yes. Definitely waiting.” Everything else about this pregnancy was a mystery, so it only seemed fitting to keep this a secret, too. “You know, I never peeked at my Christmas presents early either. And I still refuse to help Gracie now when she begs me for hints. Surprises make life so much more interesting.” I smiled—that was certainly an understatement.

“Of course,” Dr. Keller said, her bright pink lips attempting a smile in return, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

She looked back down at her papers, jotting down a few notes, and I pulled myself up onto the edge of the exam table. I looked down and started to pull my gown closed in the front, but I stopped when I realized just how obvious my bump had become. How had my body changed so quickly? I'd already gained more than twelve pounds according to Dr. Keller's scale. What would I look like next week? Next month?

“Jamie,” Dr. Keller said, nodding toward her assistant, “you're free to go prep the next patient. I'll take it from here.” She waited for the door to click behind Jamie before she turned to face me.

“I've been wanting to check in with you about the recommendation I gave to talk to a professional counselor about some of what you're going through. I received the message that a coordinator has tried to reach you several times now, but they've yet to hear anything from you. Did you get the voice mails, or is it possible they were using the wrong number?”

“I did get the messages, yes,” I said, pulling my gown tighter around my chest and belly. “And while I really do appreciate the suggestion, I think I'm going to pass for now. I have the support I need and, to be perfectly honest, I'm really not in the mood to have one more person think I'm crazy. If you have any other questions you'd like me to answer for you, I'm happy to, but I'm not telling my story to some counselor who's going to send me off to the psych ward.”

“That's not what a counselor would do. They would just help you get to the bottom of some of what you're feeling right now. No one thinks you're crazy.”

“You mean by get to the bottom of it, they'd help me uncover what awful truth I'm actually hiding from myself, right? Like this is all some delusion I've created to cover up who really made me pregnant?” I could feel my cheeks burning, and I regretted the decision not to bring my mom into the room with me. She was out in the waiting room—she'd insisted on driving me—but I'd told her I wanted to do this part on my own. That I had to start feeling more independent and comfortable handling these sorts of things by myself. But I wanted her in here now, holding my hand while she made all of Dr. Keller's questions disappear.

“Oh, Mina,” she said, her voice low and subdued. “I don't know what I'm saying. I'm sorry, I really am. The truth is, I don't know what the best thing to say right now is. I don't know the best way to help you because, quite honestly, I still can't really wrap my head around what you're telling me, and what all this means. I want to take you at your word as my patient, but . . . we both know that you're an unusual case. One of a kind. I don't exactly have a lot of experience with handling this kind of . . .
situation
.” She paused, her hands flying to her face, covering her cheeks, which were now as red as mine felt. “I shouldn't even be saying any of this out loud. But you know what? Doctors are humans, too. And I want to be understanding and supportive for you. I want to know what you're really going through every step of the way.”

“I get that, really I do,” I said. “I'm sure they don't teach divine intervention as part of the reproductive unit in med school. You're not trained to deal with someone like me. And honestly, I can't expect you to believe me. I mean, my own dad thinks I'm a liar, and he's my
dad
. All I want is to not have to defend myself every time I come here to see you. Because now that everyone in Green Hill knows what's going on, I spend way too much of my time defending myself. I don't need that here, too. I look forward to this, you know, hearing the heartbeat, knowing everything is normal and healthy and happening like it should. It's when everything feels most real. Most special. So please, can we agree to that?”

She looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed and watery beneath her pink plastic eyeglass frames. I could practically see straight through them to the struggle happening beneath. Was it more important to get to the bottom of what could have happened, to some dark, repressed sexual memory? Or to stand by me? Focus on me and the baby, the future—not the past?

Dr. Keller nodded, coming to her decision. “Absolutely, Mina. I want you to feel safe here. I want you to be able to say what you're really thinking and feeling. You know that everything is completely confidential.”

I nodded, and I could feel my own tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” She reached out to me, her hand grasping mine as our fingers briefly interlaced. “So I'll see you in another four weeks, Mina, but please know that you can call whenever you have any questions. I'm here. I'm always here.”

• • •

I could see the mystery green car sitting in our driveway from a quarter mile down the road.

“Mom? Who is that at our house?” I asked, turning to get a clear view of her expression. She bit her lip and looked out the driver's side window, avoiding my eyes.

“I think it's . . .” She trailed off, ticked her fingers against the wheel. “Well . . . Mina, your father mentioned something this morning about
maybe
having Pastor Lewis stop by. You've had such a long few weeks at school, and you had your appointment today, and I just . . . I don't know, I didn't want to add to everything else. I figured he'd probably even change his mind, or that the pastor would already have plans.”

“And why would he have Pastor Lewis come to our house?” I asked, a burst of anger pouring through me so red-hot that my hands were already shaking as I balled them into fists. Pastor Lewis had tried calling me a few times, had left a few polite messages to check in, but I had never followed up with him. I was too scared to hear what he might have to say. “Does Dad think the pastor will talk sense into me? Make me confess or something?” And, silly me, here I'd thought my dad and I had been slowly working our way to an understanding. Clearly, I'd been mistaken. He was just trying to soften me, maybe. Knock down my defenses until I was ready to finally tell the truth.

But I'd already told him the truth. I'd told
all
of them the truth. He just didn't want to hear it.

“No!” I yelled, my voice so unexpectedly loud and high-pitched that my mom jumped, banging her shoulder against the window. “No,” I said, steadier this time. “I have nothing to say to Pastor Lewis, Mom. I'm not defending myself.”

“You don't have to defend yourself, Mina. He's not going to interrogate you. You know Pastor L. He might be able to help you make more sense of all this. Maybe he'll give you more perspective.”

I snorted. “Perspective, huh? So you agree with Dad on this one?”

“Mina, I know this may be hard for you to believe, given how strained things have been around the house. But your dad still wants what's best for you. He cares about you, and he's worried. He's incredibly worried, Mina, about how stressful all this has been for you.”

“Well, if he's been so
worried
this whole time, why hasn't he just talked to me about it? Asked me how I'm doing? I can count on one hand the number of times he's said a word to me in the past few months.”

She sighed, finally turning to look at me as she parked the car and turned off the ignition. “I don't know, Mina. He has a different way of dealing with things. I know it's not the best way, but we can't force him into this, sweetie. He needs to find his own path back to you. He loves you. You have to remember that.”

“Loving someone means having faith in them. Trusting them. Supporting them. Last I'd checked, he's failed to do much of that over the last few months.”

“Please just give this a chance, Mina. Talk to him and Pastor Lewis. Just for a few minutes at least. For me.”

I could hear the tremor in her voice, the needy, pleading undertone, and I wanted to give her some kind of relief, some kind of hope that things would get better. I knew that this wasn't easy for her, either, her husband and her daughter barely speaking.

“Fine. A few minutes.” I clenched my sweaty hands as I got out of the car, kicking the door shut behind me. As soon as I stepped into the cool damp of our foyer, I could hear voices from the kitchen, Gracie and Dad with Pastor Lewis. They were all laughing, joking about something I couldn't quite make out. The sound of it hit me like a kick to the stomach. How could my dad sound so happy? Why wasn't he as torn up as I was?

Their laughter stopped as soon as they heard my footsteps in the hall. Gracie ran to me, wrapping her little spindly arms around my waist and burrowing her head into my side.

“Hi, Pastor Lewis. Hi, Dad,” I said, nodding toward both of them. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, Mina, I think that a family talk with Pastor Lewis would be a good thing for all of us,” my dad said, his gaze fixed somewhere on the yellow-checked wall behind me.

“Well, you know, Dad, I have been here since August, living in the same house as you. You haven't seemed all that interested in talking to me.” I bit down on my lip to stop myself. I would be mature about this, at least in front of Pastor L.

“Let's go sit in the living room,” I continued, starting for the hallway before either of them could respond. I was suddenly feeling exhausted and every bit of twenty-two weeks pregnant. I pressed my hands against my back as I walked, rubbing out the dull, persistent ache. My baby was now roughly the size of a papaya, or (finally!) a much more appealing description—a small doll, coming in at a whopping one pound, eight or so inches long. A doll that was developing senses, a doll that was beginning to touch, see, hear, taste.