Marker of Hope by Nely Cab Page A

Dr. Gunn moved behind the ultrasound machine.
    “No,” David said. “But I’ve lost control over
other things, like traveling between realms and flying.”
    “I see.” The scientist turned to look at me.
“Isis, is it okay if we proceed with incredible caution…on your
end?”
    “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I told
him.
    Hesitantly, Dr. Gunn stepped around the
ultrasound machine, which he’d been using as a barricade. He
flipped the switch on the machine, and it beeped to life. He asked
me to lift my shirt and lower the waistband on my sweatpants to
expose the lowest area of my abdomen. The blue gel he squeezed on
my stomach was cold, but it felt refreshing in the warm temperature
of the garage. He took a fan-shaped wand from the side of the cart
and placed it on my stomach between my hips. A distorted
black-and-white picture appeared on the machine’s screen. The
doctor moved the wand around and around until he found his
target.
    “There,” the doctor said. He clicked a button
on the keyboard several times, and the image enlarged. “Can you two
see this small flicker?”
    “Yes,” David answered.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “A heartbeat,” Dr. Gunn said. David squeezed
my hand. I had never seen him smile so wide in all the time I had
known him. “And by the looks of it, this baby has a strong and
healthy heartbeat.” Dr. Gunn pressed another button, and a line
with numbers appeared on the screen. “He—or she—measures 5.3
millimeters, which tells me you’re six weeks along in your
pregnancy.” He pressed the wand deeper into my stomach. “Eileen
told me you suffered a few falls today.”
    “That’s putting it lightly,” I said.
    “It was a violent attack.” David ran his
thumb over my hand. “I can’t believe she didn’t suffer any broken
bones or worse.”
    “Trauma of such magnitude may have caused
others drawbacks.” Gunn looked closer at the monitor. “If there’s a
tear…”
    “What happens if there’s a tear?” I
asked.
    “One second, please.” Gunn continued gliding
the wand.
    I held my breath. David stood very still
beside me, awaiting the doctor’s diagnosis. It seemed like hours
had gone by, but Dr. Gunn still didn’t say anything.
    “Are you going to say something, or do we
have to torture it out of you?” Galilea asked Dr. Gunn,
exasperation in her tone. “What do you see in there?”
    “From what I can observe,” the doctor
squinted at the screen, “the gestational sac is intact, and I don’t
see anything indicating a problem. As a matter of fact, it looks
like a normal human pregnancy.” He looked baffled. “Nothing out of
the ordinary. At all.” He clicked the keyboard, and a piece of
paper ejected from the bottom of the machine. “Here you go.” He
handed it to David. “Baby’s first portrait.”
    David propped his elbow on the examination
table and showed me the black-and-white image, displaying a black
circle encasing a pea-sized, white dot, which Dr. Gunn pointed out
to be the fetus.
    “It’s so small,” I said.
    “Not for long.” Galilea peered over David’s
shoulder at the picture. “Can I have a copy, Dr. G?” The scientist
clicked a button, and a replicated image ejected from the machine.
“Thanks,” Galilea said, prancing around with the image. “I’m going
to be such a cool aunty. I have to frame this. I’ll see you guys
back at the house.”
    “Congratulations,” Dr. Gunn said, handing me
a wad of napkins. “Clean up. I’ll need to take some blood samples,
and then we’ll be done.”
    Dr. Gunn walked to the other side of the room
and fiddled with some papers. I didn’t know if he was trying to
give David and me some privacy or if he was genuinely working.
    “Let me help you,” David said, taking the
napkins from me. He set the picture of the sonogram beside me and
started to wipe the gel off with gentle sweeps.
    “There’s a baby in there,” I told him, as if
he didn’t already know. “There’s a tiny