How does my doctor know Michael? He’s never accompanied me to any appointments. And the medical records are under my name, not his. It’s from the news, I realize with chagrin. Our faces have probably been featured on most news stations around the country.
“Oh,” I say, feeling my shoulders slump. But a part of me is pleased he assumes Michael and I are married. “You heard about the investigation.”
“Hard not to.”
“I suppose everyone knows by now.” He stares blankly at me, and I realize he wants me to continue. “We’ll be fine. Everything should die down in a few months.”
I wince when I hear my words. Poor choice. Stupid of me.
“Have you been sleeping?” he asks, checking my folder.
“It’s getting better, but on the whole, not much. I get so tired at night, I can’t help but crash on the couch. And I can’t seem to find the energy to do, well, anything.”
I mean that I don’t have energy for sex, but I’m not sure if he picks up my subtlety.
“Fatigue is common in the first trimester, though it can continue through the entire pregnancy.” He hugs the folder against his chest and nudges his glasses up his nose. “It’s possible that hormonal changes might be responsible for the exhaustion you’re feeling. Iron-deficiency anemia can also cause fatigue, but as long as you’re still taking your iron supplement, you should be fine there. We’ll do a test that’ll monitor the level of iron in your blood, along with a handful of others that are routine at this point. Those should give you some answers, though I’m not concerned. If you’re feeling anxious or stressed, that can also cause you to be overwhelmed and exhausted at the end of the day.”
“I don’t know why a murder investigation revolving around my boyfriend would make me anxious or stressed,” I say, forcing a smile.
“Ah, your boyfriend. Pardon my mistake earlier. I’m not sure why I assumed you were married.” He doesn’t smile back. “Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?”
I pause too long, and I fear he sees through me. “Not much. This is affecting him too. He’s having a hard time.”
Dr. Souza nods. “I imagine the grief would be unbearable.”
Grief. There’s that word again. I suppose Michael must be grieving for Joanna, but the only time I saw him shed tears over her was the first day we spoke with the detectives.
“Have you been nauseous?” Dr. Souza asks.
“No, thank heavens. Not since the beginning of the first trimester.”
“That’s good. Have you had any spotting since your last appointment?”
“Nothing.”
“All of that is wonderful news, Colleen.” He pulls a rolling cart from the corner and lets it rest beside the bed. A large machine with a screen fills the width of the cart. “Why don’t you lie down?”
I do as instructed and pull up my shirt, grinning. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. He squeezes a tube filled with cool gel over my stomach, then goes to work smearing it around with the wand.
“Michael have to work today?” he asks. I guess Michael has been in the headlines so much lately, everyone feels they can call him by his first name.
I nod, watching the screen for signs of our baby. I see black-and-white splotches, but no shapes that make sense.
“It’s too bad he couldn’t make it,” Dr. Souza says.
At that, I feel my smile drop. He presses a button on the machine. I hear a muffled thwump-thwump-thwump, and my heart leaps.
“Is that it?”
“Your baby’s heartbeat. Yes.”
Tears well in my eyes. I wish Michael were here to see this, to experience it with me. It’s a miracle. It’s everything. And he’s missing it.