The Secrets of Midwives (23 page)

“She was not. She acted in the best interests of her client and the baby at all times.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bradley. You've been very helpful. I'll let you go.”

“Wait. What happens now?”

“I have a few more people to speak with yet,” Marie said. “Then the notes will be reviewed by a subcommittee and a recommendation made to the Board of Nursing on a course of action.”

“What kind of course of action?”

“It really depends. If no evidence is found to support the complaint, we will recommend the case be closed.”

“And if
evidence
is found? Not that it will be.”

“If Mrs. Bradley is found to have been negligent, it is possible that she could be fined or even lose her license.” Marie's voice softened. “But as I said, I still have a few more people to speak with. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

Infuriatingly, Marie was calm, impartial, and fair—not at all the villain I'd thought she would be. She was just doing her job. I wanted to believe from her tone that Mom would be given a fair hearing, that was all I could really ask for. Because if she did get a fair hearing, there was no doubt in my mind that the case would be closed.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I hung up the phone. Even though I believed Mom would be vindicated, I felt a little sick. Mom losing her license was too wrong to comprehend. Like a world-class sprinter losing their legs. Or an opera singer losing her voice. It wouldn't just be her who would lose. The world would.

I pulled up in front of my apartment. As I took the stairs, I rang Patrick. In my building, another phone was ringing. I shoved a finger in one ear, anticipating his voice. It rang again, and then he answered.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello,” I said, feeling shy. I took the last three steps to my door and found it ajar. “Hey, can I call you back? The door to my apartment is open, and I need to check that there isn't an intruder.” I laughed. “If there is, he'll be disappointed with our abysmal lack of technology and easy-to-move goods.”

The door peeled open, and Patrick appeared in the doorway. He pressed the phone to his ear and raised his other hand, palm toward me. “Please don't call the police.”

I crossed my arms. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.”

“I'll put back your 1990s VCR and your collection of Spice Girls CDs.”

“Even
Greatest Hits
?”

He pouted. “Fine.”

It probably wasn't romantic, but I loved being with Patrick like this. Other than my Dad and Gran, he was the only one I felt completely comfortable with. It had to be a good omen for us. He stood aside and I entered the apartment.

“It's a good thing you decided to let me keep my 1990s VCR,” I said. “How else would we watch a movie and then fall asleep on the couch?”

“Ah, you got my message.”

He shut the door and turned to face me. In a gray T-shirt and jeans, he was deliciously rumpled and weary-looking. His gorgeous looks gave me a burst of courage, and I sidled up to him and touched his chest. “I did. But I have a better idea.”

The oven beeped, and Patrick retreated toward the kitchen. “Oh yeah?” he called over his shoulder. “If your idea is nachos, I'm way ahead of you.”

“Uh…” I followed him to the kitchen and lingered in the doorway. “Nachos are good. But that wasn't my idea.”

Patrick's head was in the oven. “What was your idea?”

“It was … something else.”

I let that sink in. Then Patrick unfolded into a standing position. I knew I was blushing, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.

His brow was furrowed. “But … nachos are terrible cold.”

I blinked.

“Kidding!” He crossed the kitchen in two large steps. “I mean, they
are
. But I don't care. Sorry.” As he talked, he covered my face in kisses. I accepted them, and his apology. “Let's eat the nachos later,” he said, his lips pressed against mine. “Let's eat them … never.”

He marched me backwards toward my bedroom, all the while mumbling about the insignificance of nachos, about how, actually, he didn't really even like nachos. In fact, apart from the fact that they'd kept him alive throughout college, he hated them. I laughed between kisses as we made our way through my kitchen and living room. We stopped when the backs of my knees hit the bed.

“Enough about nachos,” I ordered.

His smile fell away, replaced by a serious, intense expression. “What nachos?”

I reached for the top button of his shirt and flicked it open. I undid another, then another, releasing each button until the shirt slid off his shoulders and onto the floor. Carefully, we unfurled on the bed. And after what felt like an eternity, he kissed me.

It continued like a dream. On and on, we kissed, hands trailing, mouths exploring. I lay back as he kissed my nipples, rubbing and caressing and even nipping me gently with his teeth. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and I began to get excited about what would happen when he went farther down.

As if reading my mind, his mouth descended farther, obscured completely by my belly. I stared at the ceiling and then …
ahhh
.… his mouth was warm and wet as it rolled over me. I lifted my hips to meet him and threw my head back.
Oh. God
.

Abruptly his mouth pulled away and cold air hit where his warm mouth had been. I whimpered, about to protest, when all at once his hands were on my waist, lifting me, turning me. Then I was on my knees and his lips were on my back.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I breathed.
God, yes
.

When he entered me, we both gasped. And for a heartbeat, we remained just like that, with Patrick deep inside me. Finally, he took me by the hips and began to move.

I pushed back against him as he filled me. Again. And again. To his moans, I started to let go. I felt confident. Sexy. Safe. And, maybe for the first time in my life, like I was in the exactly right place.

*   *   *

The next month passed like a movie montage: little snapshots whizzing by so fast that all I registered was the happiness, rather than the individual moments. I could almost hear the background music, something soft and beautiful like Sarah McLachlan. Patrick and I were a couple. We were expecting a baby.

Eloise moved in with Ted at the end of November, and though Patrick didn't officially live at my place, he pretty much did. Eloise's room was now the baby's room, which meant it housed the boxes of stuff we'd bought at IKEA but still hadn't opened—a crib, a changing table, a bassinet. Patrick bought a stroller online that, according to him, was top-of-the-line, but when it arrived neither of us could figure out how to assemble it, so that had gone into the room too, still in the box. If Patrick wondered who the baby's actual father was, he never brought it up. So I decided I wouldn't either. Patrick was the father, and that was that.

In the meantime, I was getting on with business. I'd made an appointment to see the ob-gyn and I was meeting Patrick there in twenty minutes. I trudged through the snow, my boots crunching in the ice that was forming on the sidewalk. Setting up the appointment had been almost as tumultuous as the snow.

“I've made an appointment with Dr. Hargreaves on Friday morning for my scan,” I'd said to Patrick between bites of toast a couple of mornings earlier. “Nine
A.M
. Can you make it?”

“Lorraine Hargreaves?
Chief Resident
Lorraine Hargreaves? You know how to hobnob with the important people, Nev.”

“She offered, remember?”

“So she did.” Patrick nodded, duly impressed. “Of course I'll be there. Hopefully she'll give us some good news. Maybe she can turn the baby?”

“Unlikely. I already went over it with Sean. He felt the position, said it didn't look good.”

Patrick blinked at me several times before he could respond. “Sean
examined
you?”

“No.” I grabbed a piece of his toast, took a bite. “He just felt my stomach. In the hallway.”

There was a long, uneasy silence.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just … don't want Sean touching you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It's … weird. And he'll never let me hear the end of it.” He picked up his coffee and stared into it.

“Are you okay, Patrick?”

“Sure.” With his eyes still downcast, he gave me a halfhearted smile. “Fine.”

We finished our breakfast and went on with our respective days, but the exchange left me feeling wary. If Patrick felt that strongly about Sean examining me, how would he feel if he knew what we had actually done together? I knew on some level it suited Patrick to keep his head in the sand, to keep pretending my baby was the result of the Immaculate Conception rather than the child of another man. But how long could that last? It felt like we were skating around a precarious section of ice, and as soon as either of us stopped concentrating on avoiding it, we were both going to fall straight in.

Now I pulled up the hood of my jacket. It was wicked cold. I tugged at the middle of my puffer coat, but it was no use, it wouldn't close. My belly was officially enormous. Fall had been kind this year, but today it was as though Mother Nature had looked at the calendar and, realizing she'd overslept, was overcompensating.

I hurried through the sliding doors of the hospital and, feeling the rush of warmth from the heaters, lowered my hood. Eloise crossed the foyer, and I lifted my hand to wave but she didn't see me. Patrick stood at the information desk, chatting to, by the looks of it, the parents of a patient. His green scrubs exposed a deep V of olive skin and chest hair, partially covered by an orange lanyard holding his hospital accreditation. He looked tired after an all-night shift in Emergency, but he smiled at the couple and ruffled the hair of a little boy who wore his arm in a sling. I stood just inside the door and waited, rubbing my hands together to get some feeling back.

When Patrick noticed me, he excused himself and came over. His smile told me the strange conversation about Sean had been forgotten. For now.

“Hi.” His lips brushed against mine.

“Long night?” he asked.

He shrugged, sliding my coat off my arms and tossing it over his arm. He took my hand as we began to walk. I eyed his unusually large smile.

“What?” I asked.

“I'm excited about seeing the baby.”

“Oh, yeah.” I grinned. “Me too.”

He led me down through the hospital, a maze of halls that even after all these years could get me lost. On the way, we passed several acquaintances of Patrick's, who nodded at him but seemed to avoid my gaze entirely. Before I could analyze it too much, we arrived in front of a white door with a glass panel and a sign that said
DR. LORRAINE HARGREAVES,
followed by a lot of letters. We slipped in.

“Neva Bradley and Patrick Johnson,” Patrick said. “We have an appointment.”

“So you do,” Dr. Hargreaves said, appearing at the desk alongside a heavily pregnant woman and a man who I assumed was the father of her baby. Though one never really should assume. “Go straight in,” she said, gesturing to the room she had just exited, before chatting to her receptionist about billing for the couple who were leaving. Patrick and I skulked into her office and sat down. Dr. Hargreaves joined us a little while later.

“Breech, huh?” she said, after a quick look at her notes. “Shame. You could always try a vaginal birth next time, though.”

“Maybe,” I said. I didn't want to get upset about it. Not in front of Dr. Hargreaves. “We'll see.”

“Would you like to find out the gender today?”

“No,” Patrick said immediately, although we hadn't discussed it. He turned to me as an afterthought. “I mean … we don't, do we?”

I grinned. “I guess we don't.”

“Good,” Dr. Hargreaves said. “I like surprises. Now, let's take a look. Up on the table, Neva.”

I felt a smidge of excitement; Patrick was rubbing off on me. With his help I climbed onto the table and sat still as Dr. Hargreaves took my blood pressure. Then I lay on my back and pulled my T-shirt up to my bra-line. Patrick held my hand, his gaze already focused on the monitor.

“I'll measure you first.” Dr. Hargreaves reached into her pocket for a tape measure and stretched it across my belly from pelvis to ribs. She clicked her tongue. “Good size for thirty-six weeks,” she said mostly to herself. “Got your height, Patrick.”

Patrick's smile froze.

“Now, just a little bit cold, Neva.” She squirted some clear, sticky liquid onto my stomach. “Let's take a look.”

She lowered the device onto my belly and the beating heart immediately came into focus. Patrick clutched my hand.

“There it is.” Dr. Hargreaves continued to swirl the device around. “Head, bottom—the wrong way around—and there's the heart, the brain.” Patrick, I noticed, was smiling at the monitor. “Right arm, left arm, right leg, left leg. I'll avoid this area since you don't want to know the sex.”

I found myself smiling too. When I found out I was pregnant, I hadn't expected to have this. A loving man, a father-to-be, by my side. And although I'd never allowed myself to go there, the idea of doing this alone was suddenly unimaginably sad.

“Good-looking little thing, I think,” Dr. Hargreaves said. “Right then, you can hop down.”

She wiped my stomach with a sheet of paper towel. When we were all back at her desk, she opened a new document on her computer.

“Okay, I have a few questions for each of you. Any hereditary conditions I should know about? Heart defects, spina bifida, blood disorders, Downs?”

“Nope,” I said.

“And in your family, Patrick?”

“Uh, no. Not that I know of.”

Patrick shook his head a little too fast, almost like a twitch. Dr. Hargreaves didn't seem to notice, but I did.