“Something wrong?” He suddenly wondered why she looked the way she did. She looked worse than usual, even before a trial, and she didn't answer him as she tiptoed into Annabelle's bedroom. She stood there for a long time, watching her, and then knelt down next to her, and kissed her. And then she walked into their own room. He was watching her, concerned, and she started undressing, and left her clothes on the chair as she put on her nightgown. She didn't even have the energy to take a shower or brush her hair. She brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed and lay there with her eyes closed, knowing she had to tell him.
“Baby,” he tried again, as he lay down next to her, “what's wrong? Did something happen at the office?” She took her work very seriously, and if she'd done something that had injured a client she would have tormented herself just as she seemed to be doing now. But she was quick to shake her head and deny it.
“Anderson called me again today,” she said in a low voice, and he watched her.
“And?”
“I went to see him at lunchtime.”
“What about? You can't have figured out already that you're pregnant?” It had only been two days, and he smiled at her. She was so anxious to have a baby.
She hesitated for a long time, torturing both of them, but she hated to say the words, to tell him and make it real. She hated to do it to all of them. But she knew she had to.
“There was a shadow on my mammogram.” She said it like a death knell, but Sam seemed a lot less impressed than she was.
“So?”
“It could mean that I have a tumor.”
“ ‘Could.' That means they don't know squat. And Martians could land on Park Avenue at midnight. But will they? Not likely. Probably just as likely as your ‘shadow' being a tumor.” She liked the way he thought about it. It restored her faith in her own body, which, in the past twelve hours, seemed to have betrayed her. But maybe it hadn't. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she was just overreacting. “They don't know anything. It's probably just what it appears to be, and nothing more than that. A shadow.”
“Anderson wants me to see a surgeon and have a biopsy. He gave me three names to call, but I don't have any time before the trial. I thought I'd call one tomorrow, and see if he could see me at lunchtime. Otherwise, I'll have to wait till after the trial,” she said, looking worried.
“Did he think that would make a big difference?”
“Not really,” she admitted, feeling better than she had all day, “but he said I should get to it soon.”
“Obviously, but there's no need to panic. Half the time these guys are protecting themselves, they don't want to get sued, so they tell you the absolute worst, just in case, so you can't ever say they didn't warn you. And then if it's good news, everyone's happy. They never take into account the damage they cause by scaring you to death. For chrissake, Alex, you're a lawyer, you should know that. Don't let these bozos scare you!” She looked up at him with a grin, suddenly feeling both relieved and foolish, and he was smiling at her. He wasn't panicking. He didn't think she was going to die. He wasn't clinging to her, or being melodramatic. He had put the matter completely into perspective. And she suddenly realized that he was right. Even John Anderson wouldn't want to leave himself open to a lawsuit.
“What do you think I should do?”
“Get through your trial, have the biopsy in your own sweet time, but stay calm, and don't let these clowns scare the pants off you. And I'll bet you the profit on my next deal that your shadow is just that …and nothing more. Look at you, you're the healthiest woman I know. Or at least you would be if you ate occasionally and got some sleep.” But just talking to him now she felt better, and so relieved. He was intelligent, he kept a cool head, and he was probably right. It was probably just a scare, and not a tumor.
She felt immeasurably better when they turned off the lights that night, and only slightly worried again when she woke up the next morning. For an instant, she remembered that something terrible