pocket of his white coat.
“In the meantime, these are neonatal vitamins. Good for you, and the baby.” He held them out, and she reached for them. He handed them to her and stepped back, nodding toward the bottle now in her hands. “That’s enough for one month, but you should see a doctor before then. You’ll need a prescription for the rest.”
She watched in silence as he turned toward the door and Alice stepped aside. As the nurse followed the doctor from the room, she turned and glanced over her shoulder, giving Rebecca a reassuring look that everything would be all right.
8
Driving home from the doctor’s office, Rebecca put the top down on her British Racing Green Jaguar convertible and let the wind blow through her hair. She switched on the radio to station WTIX and listened to music from the sixties, turning the volume up high. The news did not seem real.
Bracing her elbow on the windowsill, she raked her fingers through her hair and thought about the Spin-it interview scheduled for the next morning, and then considered what she’d look like in comparison by the time the article was published, and then she imagined how Raymond and Preston and Doug and everyone else at the firm would react to this situation, what they’d say when she wasn’t around. With only three women lawyers in the firm, she could hear it now—hire a woman, and that’s what you get.
When she reached home, she parked the car on her side of the two-car garage. Inside, holding onto her purse and the booklet that Dr. Matlock had given to her and the vitamin bottle, she walked up the stairs to the master bedroom suite. There she kicked off her shoes. She took off her suit jacket and tossed it on the foot of the bed. She slipped the booklet into the drawer of the table on her side of the bed and deposited the vitamins in the cabinet behind the mirror over her sink in the dressing room.
For a moment Rebecca studied her reflection in the mirror, wondering if she was still looking at the same person she’d looked at this morning as she’d readied herself for work. At last she turned away and walked back into the bedroom.
Slowly she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, hands on her lap, feet flat on the floor. She could feel her heart beating, pounding as she opened the table drawer and pulled out the brochure. Opening it quickly, before she could change her mind, she began paging through it, looking at the pictures and descriptions underneath. Each page had a photo of a blurry sonogram with captions underneath for week one, week four, week eight . . . she stopped there. She couldn’t make out much from the sonograms, but there was an artist’s rendering on the page opposite that gave detail.
She began studying the picture, and without thinking, dropped her hand down over her midsection. She studied the spine curving protectively, tucking in for the adventure. She studied the tiny arms and legs, and feet with toes already distinct. So soon? The fingers curled near the mouth and nose. And she could see an ear growing on the side of the profiled head.
She looked at the picture for a long time. It was a personal choice, she’d always replied when asked what she would do. Her own personal choice. Then she shut the booklet and stuck it back into the drawer.
There are options, Dr. Matlock had said.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and pulled a Tab from the refrigerator, then wandered back through the living room, drinking from the bottle. Crossing the living room and the hallway, with the stairs to her right, she stopped in the doorway of the study that she and Peter shared. She leaned against the doorframe drinking the Tab, looking over the room without really seeing it as she tried again to absorb the news and what it meant. There was a choice to be made now, or so she told herself.
When does life begin?
She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of this.
And, whose choice was this to make—hers, or theirs?
Peter loved her
“In the meantime, these are neonatal vitamins. Good for you, and the baby.” He held them out, and she reached for them. He handed them to her and stepped back, nodding toward the bottle now in her hands. “That’s enough for one month, but you should see a doctor before then. You’ll need a prescription for the rest.”
She watched in silence as he turned toward the door and Alice stepped aside. As the nurse followed the doctor from the room, she turned and glanced over her shoulder, giving Rebecca a reassuring look that everything would be all right.
8
Driving home from the doctor’s office, Rebecca put the top down on her British Racing Green Jaguar convertible and let the wind blow through her hair. She switched on the radio to station WTIX and listened to music from the sixties, turning the volume up high. The news did not seem real.
Bracing her elbow on the windowsill, she raked her fingers through her hair and thought about the Spin-it interview scheduled for the next morning, and then considered what she’d look like in comparison by the time the article was published, and then she imagined how Raymond and Preston and Doug and everyone else at the firm would react to this situation, what they’d say when she wasn’t around. With only three women lawyers in the firm, she could hear it now—hire a woman, and that’s what you get.
When she reached home, she parked the car on her side of the two-car garage. Inside, holding onto her purse and the booklet that Dr. Matlock had given to her and the vitamin bottle, she walked up the stairs to the master bedroom suite. There she kicked off her shoes. She took off her suit jacket and tossed it on the foot of the bed. She slipped the booklet into the drawer of the table on her side of the bed and deposited the vitamins in the cabinet behind the mirror over her sink in the dressing room.
For a moment Rebecca studied her reflection in the mirror, wondering if she was still looking at the same person she’d looked at this morning as she’d readied herself for work. At last she turned away and walked back into the bedroom.
Slowly she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, hands on her lap, feet flat on the floor. She could feel her heart beating, pounding as she opened the table drawer and pulled out the brochure. Opening it quickly, before she could change her mind, she began paging through it, looking at the pictures and descriptions underneath. Each page had a photo of a blurry sonogram with captions underneath for week one, week four, week eight . . . she stopped there. She couldn’t make out much from the sonograms, but there was an artist’s rendering on the page opposite that gave detail.
She began studying the picture, and without thinking, dropped her hand down over her midsection. She studied the spine curving protectively, tucking in for the adventure. She studied the tiny arms and legs, and feet with toes already distinct. So soon? The fingers curled near the mouth and nose. And she could see an ear growing on the side of the profiled head.
She looked at the picture for a long time. It was a personal choice, she’d always replied when asked what she would do. Her own personal choice. Then she shut the booklet and stuck it back into the drawer.
There are options, Dr. Matlock had said.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and pulled a Tab from the refrigerator, then wandered back through the living room, drinking from the bottle. Crossing the living room and the hallway, with the stairs to her right, she stopped in the doorway of the study that she and Peter shared. She leaned against the doorframe drinking the Tab, looking over the room without really seeing it as she tried again to absorb the news and what it meant. There was a choice to be made now, or so she told herself.
When does life begin?
She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of this.
And, whose choice was this to make—hers, or theirs?
Peter loved her
Similar Books
