I arch an eyebrow. “Why?”
“It’s kind of fun watching you squirm around on the table and get paper stuck to your butt.”
I narrow my eyes. “Funny.”
“Very, actually.” He stands up and walks over to me with a grin. “You sure you’re going to be okay while I’m gone?”
“Hmm…” I look up to one side. “Will I still be pregnant when you return?” I look at him and nod. “Most likely. Will I be okay watching you fight Carey Valentine from eight hundred miles away?” I shake my head and look down at my bare feet. “Probably not.”
He stands between my knees at the end of the examination table and puts his hands on my thighs. “I’m ready this time, Luc. It won’t be like the Crawford fight.” He lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “I promise.”
There’s a knock on the door. “How’s my favorite patient?” Dr. Fletcher asks, walking into the room with a smile. He pauses when he sees us. “Everything okay?”
Sam reaches out to shake his hand. “Just giving Lucy a little reassurance about my match tomorrow night.”
“Ahh, that’s right.”
“Now, I just need you to give me a little reassurance about the baby. Still three weeks, right?”
“Well, let’s take a look and see. Lucy, why don’t you go ahead and lie back?”
I’d rather no one be poking around my lady parts, but I’ve come to realize it’s a necessary part of having a baby. And I’ve also come to love Dr. Fletcher. He has five children of his own and the patience to prove it. He always takes his time with me and never makes me feel like I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Which I don’t.
“How have you been feeling, Lucy? Any contractions?”
“Just Braxton Hicks,” I say, trying to get comfortable on the crinkly paper that covers the padded table. “Same as the past few months.” I pull my shirt up over my stomach, which is now the size of a beach ball, and Sam reaches for my hand.
Dr. Fletcher puts his hands on either side of my stomach and pushes gently, but it feels like he’s rearranging my organs. “She’s head down now,” he says, pressing down hard.
“That’s good, right?”
“Very good. Breech babies don’t come out very easy,” he says.
“Breech. What’s that?” Sam asks.
“Bottom first. That’s not what we want. But not to worry, your baby’s bottom is right here,” he says, pushing on the top of my stomach again. “Feel right here,” he says to Sam.
Sam puts his hand on my stomach and pushes his fingers against the spot. “That’s it? That’s her bottom?” he asks fascinated, and I smile. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sam use the word bottom before.
“Yep.” Dr. Fletcher reaches for Sam’s wrist. “Push a little harder,” he says, pulling his fingers down the side of my stomach. “Feel her back?”
“Yeah.”
“And that?” He pushes Sam’s hand against my lower stomach. “That’s her head.”
“Wow,” Sam says. “That’s incredible.”
Dr. Fletcher grins. “Cool, huh?”
“She’s so big now,” Sam says, smiling at me.
“I’d say she’s about six pounds,” Dr. Fletcher says, pulling out his measuring tape. He stretches it from my pubic bone all the way up to my breastbone. “Right on track for thirty-seven weeks.”
Sam squeezes my hand and I smile at him, until Dr. Fletcher raises the dreaded stirrups and locks them into place. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on inside and then—since you are my favorite patient—I’ll do an ultrasound just to be sure,” he says, redeeming himself.
“Okay.” I scoot my bottom down toward the edge of the table and prop my feet up in the stirrups. “Sam,” I say, tugging him back a little.
He stands by my shoulder and waits patiently for the verdict.
“Well, Lucy, you’re not dilated at all,” Dr. Fletcher says, pulling his gloves off. “As far as I can tell, you’re still two to three weeks out.”
I exhale a relieved breath and so does Sam.
“It’s your first baby, they usually take their time. In fact, I don’t want you to be discouraged if you’re still pregnant on your due date.” He grabs a pamphlet and hands it to me. “I want you to read this. It’s explains the stages of labor, so you’ll know when it’s the real thing.”
“Okay,” I say, taking it from him.
“Now, are you ready to take a look at your baby?”
I bob my head and smile. “Yes.”
Sam smiles at me while Dr. Fletcher turns on the ultrasound machine and squeezes warm jelly on my stomach. “How does that feel? Okay?”
“Mm-hmm, it’s fine.”
He presses the wand to my stomach and the fast swooshing sound of the baby’s heartbeat echoes through the room. “That’s a great sound, isn’t it?” he says, smiling at us.
“The best,” Sam answers, and I squeeze his hand.
“There she is,” he says, pointing to the black-and-white monitor. “See her face?”
“I see it.” I gasp, watching her open and close her mouth.
“Is she sucking her thumb?” Sam asks, astonished.
“Yeah. Look, you can see her whole hand.” He freezes the frame. “Five perfect fingers.”
I stare at the screen with awe. “She’s perfect.”
He moves the wand around some more and takes a few measurements. “Everything looks really good.”
“Could you maybe just check her heart?” Sam asks, and I glance up at him, because I know he’s thinking about Tristan.
“Sure let’s take a look,” Dr. Fletcher says, clicking something on the computer that lights up the screen with red and blue. “This shows her blood movement. See it in the umbilical cord?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling Sam tense beside me.
“You can see it moving through her heart,” he says, pushing the wand around on my stomach. “And it’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to. Her heart looks great.” He smiles at Sam. “Nice and strong.”
I look up Sam. “Just like her dad.”
Dr. Fletcher prints a few pictures for us and turns off the ultrasound machine. “Everything looks great, guys. A few more weeks and you’ll get to meet your baby girl.”
“Thanks, Dr. Fletcher,” Sam says, shaking his hand.
“My pleasure.”
“Dr. Fletcher, you’ll definitely be the one delivering the baby, right?” I ask, sitting up.
“I only have one other patient due this month, and she’s being induced tomorrow. After that, I’m all yours, Lucy.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling. “Just making sure.”
“I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and champ?” He holds his fist out in front of Sam. “Knock his ass out tomorrow.”
Sam smiles and hits Dr. Fletcher’s fist with his. “You got it, Dr. Fletcher.”
* * *