Nora dropped a tablet in water and took a deep breath. She was craving Gatorade like no one’s business, but the doctor in her knew that she didn’t need all the sugar that came with those kinds of drinks.
There was a knock on her office door. “Your first patient is ready in Exam Room One.”
“Thanks,” she called to Amber. “I’ll be right out.”
It was ten thirty in the morning, and her first patient was waiting for her.
Because mornings were no longer for working; they were for barfing. Had been for the past month.
“Take your time,” Amber said.
She was pretty sure Amber was onto her. She had suddenly asked Jacques—the new receptionist—not to schedule any patients for the first ninety minutes of the day. That wasn’t normal.
Also, it was hard to hide the sounds of her violent retching.
Jacques might not realize what was happening. Out at the front desk, he was farthest from the barfing. And he was very young and not medically trained like Amber was.
But Amber was being cool about it. “Did you see that there’s a new midwifery practice forming in Grand View?” She handed Nora a brochure for Lambton County Midwifery. “I was thinking we should make contact with them. We might want to…make some referrals. Obviously, as a family doctor you’re more than qualified to provide primary care to pregnant women and babies. I mean, your town square emergency delivery is legendary. But you know how this place can be. Some people might be more comfortable seeking care a little farther away.”
Should she keep deflecting? Amber winked at her. She clearly already knew. Nora sighed and opened the brochure. “I’ve been driving to London, but it would be nice to have someone closer. I just never thought of myself as a midwife person.”
Amber beamed and gave her a quick, affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before reverting back to professional mode. “They’re fully licensed by the province. They have hospital privileges.”
“Right.” She referred women with low-risk pregnancies to midwives all the time.
Amber lowered her voice. “I’m guessing you’re about eight or nine weeks?”
“Ten.”
“Well, then you should be feeling much better soon, regardless of what kind of care you choose.”
“And showing soon, too.” Her pants were already tight.
“I can’t help you there. You’re just going to have to fess up.” She grimaced. “And in this town…Well, I’m glad I’m not you.”
She almost fessed up a week later when she threw up on Mick.
“Oh, shit, are you okay?”
Jake did his signature at-her-side-in-an-instant thing. It startled her. Made her realize how much she had missed his solid, quiet presence in her life.
But in answer to his question, no, she was not okay. She was mortified. “I’m fine. I have a bug.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“I live across the street.”
He looked at her like, So?
“I have patients.”
“Patients you want to give your germs to?”
She pulled a packet of Kleenex out of her bag and started trying to clean off poor Mick, who was, she comforted herself, taking this all in stride. She should just tell Jake. She was going to have to soon anyway. The end of first-trimester hell—she vehemently hoped she would not be one of those unlucky women who were sick through their whole pregnancy—was in sight, and here was the perfect opportunity.
The problem was, things were starting to feel more…normal between them. Not sexy-normal. Her libido was in the toilet, but still. Things were less weird. He was bringing Mick around more often. He’d brought her some fish the other day. It felt like maybe they were getting their friendship groove back. Probably it was weird that they’d just stopped having sex, as if by silent agreement. Probably they should at least acknowledge that fact? Agree that the benefits phase of their friendship was over? But honestly, she was so tired and sick. And she didn’t know how to have that conversation.
So she kept her mouth shut.
Which had an added benefit: it made her less likely to throw up again.
Jake couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong with Nora. She wasn’t her usual self. He knew because he’d been watching her extra closely. She just seemed…heavier. Not her body, really, though she might have put on a few pounds, but her gait. Her way of moving through the world. She seemed less sparkly than usual, like all her silver icing had faded to gray.
It was probably her grandma.
It was probably grief.
He had handled this all wrong. He had been trying to put some distance between them.