“That’s correct,” she answers.
“Can you please make sure anything not covered by insurance is billed to me? My name is Evan Chamberlin.” The overly-friendly receptionist looks to Misty for guidance, who she nods her head. I rattle off my address.
“I’ve got everything I need. You can have a seat and they’ll be with you shortly,” she chirps.
Misty doesn’t acknowledge her as she turns and walks away. I smile at the receptionist, trying to cover for Misty’s rudeness. Her blinding smile in return lets me know she’s used to it.
I take a seat next to Misty and pull out my phone. Opening my email, I see a message from Mr. Fields. He’s in court, but will call as soon as he gets a break. I reply that I will be unavailable for the next hour or so, but any time after that, no matter the time, he can call. I don’t want to delay getting her signature.
“Misty,” a short blonde nurse calls her name from the door leading back to the exam rooms. As Misty strolls toward her, I follow behind like a puppy. “You can wait in exam room three while we get her weight,” the nurse tells me. I nod, letting her know I understand, and take a seat in one of the empty chairs next to the exam table. Misty and the nurse join me not a minute later.
“Climb up on the exam table. I need to take your vitals.” She proceeds to take Misty’s blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. She then hands her a cup. “We need a urine sample. Leave the cup in the silver door behind the toilet. The doctor will be in shortly.”
“I’ve already been here and taken a test. Why do I need another one?” Misty asks. Her voice is flat, uncaring.
“Yes, we will do this at each visit to check the levels in your urine.” The nurse smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
Misty grumbles under her breath as she, too, leaves the room. Leaning over, I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands. My world has been flipped upside down in the last two hours. I’m going to be a father.
A single father.
Misty comes back into the room, and this time, the doctor follows her in. “You must be dad? I’m Dr. Combs.” He extends his hand for me to shake.
“Yes, sir,” I respond. I’m going to be a father. I swallow the lump in the back of my throat.
Dr. Combs takes a seat on a stool and opens his laptop. After a minute or so of scrolling and clicking, he looks up. “Misty, vitals look good. Weight is the same as last visit. Make sure you’re eating three full meals a day. It’s good to add a healthy snack in between. You’re eating for two now,” he grins.
Misty just stares at him.
“Right, well, you’re eight weeks along and sometimes at this point we can hear the heartbeat. Lie back on the table and lift your shirt.”
She does as instructed, still showing no emotion. Me, on the other hand, I feel like my heart is about to throb out of my chest. “We can really do that? We can hear the heartbeat?” I question. Even I can hear the excitement in my voice.
“Sure can. Eight weeks is sometimes a little early, so don’t be alarmed if we can’t. Most definitely by your next appointment,” he explains.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I don’t bother looking at Misty. I know she’s wearing that same bland expression, and I will not let her take this moment from me. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on Dr. Combs. I watch as he pulls out a tiny device he calls a Doppler and places one end against Misty’s belly. As he gently moves it back and forth, I hold my breath, not willing to make a sound; I don’t want to miss this. He moves the machine a little to the left and a whooshing sound encompassed with a steady thumping rhythm comes from the box in the physician’s hand. I exhale at the sound, and the lump in my throat grows along with the well of tears in my eyes.
Hearing that sound for the first time is going down as the most amazing moment in my life to date. “Holy shit.” The croaked words fall from my lips.
This causes Dr. Combs to laugh. “That’s usually the reaction I get from first-time parents.” He smiles at me and glances at Misty.
“It’s his baby. I’m signing my rights over as soon as it’s born,” she blurts out.
Dr. Combs doesn’t comment. He just nods in understanding as he places the Doppler back in the drawer. The room is silent as he measures her belly and asks a few questions about morning sickness and diet. “Everything looks good. We’ll see you back here in a month. You can make your appointment on the way out.” He then turns to look at me. “Do you have any questions?” Seems he understands all too well that Misty wants no part of this.
“Honestly, I’m too…overwhelmed,” I say. “Maybe after I wrap my head around this; after it sinks in. I just found out a couple of hours ago.”
Dr. Combs nods again, letting me know he understands. “Well, call anytime. We’ll see you all in four weeks.” With that, he grabs his laptop and flees the room.
The ride back to my place is silent. I have nothing to say to her that’s nice, and I’m scared as hell if I piss her off she’ll go back on her word. I park in front of the garage and turn off the engine. “So what can I do? Do you need clothes? Money?” I ask. I plan to hold up my end of the deal.
“Not yet. I’m good.” She wrings her hands together in her lap. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She reaches for the handle.
“Wait!” I grab her wrist gently. “I want to be there for all of it. You need me, you let me know. I think we should get together a couple times a week and have dinner or something. Keep in contact.” I sound desperate, but I don’t give a fuck. I need to stay front and center. I don’t want to miss a minute of this even though we are no longer together.
“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Call me,” she says as she jumps from the truck and briskly walks to her car. I stare after her, watching as she drives down the lane. My ringing cell phone startles me. Looking down, I see it’s Mr. Fields on the caller ID.
Perfect.
Chapter 2
McKinley
I’m officially a college graduate. I’ve enjoyed my reign at the University of Miami, but there’s no place like home. I wanted to go away to school, see how the rest of the world lived outside the state of Kentucky. I experienced it, and I’m glad I did, but it’s so damn good to be home. Aaron, my older brother by two years, is supposed to be picking me up from the airport. Our parents are in Tennessee for a cattle sale. Mom called three times offering to cancel, but I assured her it’s fine. I’ve lived away from home for four years. I think Aaron and I can keep the house standing for a few days on our own. I am twenty-two after all.
As I’m standing in baggage claim, I pull my cell phone out of my purse and turn it on. A text comes through from Aaron.
Aaron: Hey, running a few minutes late. Got caught up in traffic.
I smile to myself. Aaron hates to be late for anything, so I know this is killing him. He’s just like our father: always prepared and always on time. Both take their time and think things through, never making a rash decision. Me, I’m more like our mother. We live with our heart on our sleeves—often times volunteering and taking on too much just to help others. Not that Dad and Aaron aren’t up for helping others, it’s just they know when to say no. Mom and I, on the other hand, not so much. In college, I don’t know how many times I’d gotten roped into helping with events around campus when I had my own projects and studying to do. Part of that could have been my roommate, Lisa’s fault. She could be very persuasive.