Page 19 of Forever Full Circle
Emily wanted to nod, to play the role of model patient, but her head felt too heavy. The words stacked up like loose blocks:risk, anomaly, complication. She felt Daniel’s hand close over hers. Her pulse thudded so hard she was sure the doctor could hear it across the table.
Lieberman’s tone softened further. “I want you to know, most of the time the risk numbers are less frightening than they sound. They’re statistical, not predictive. We have excellent tools now to monitor everything, and you have a lot going for you: healthy lifestyle, low blood pressure, no history of metabolic issues.” She checked her notes. “No personal or family history of clotting disorders, which helps.”
“Can you just… go over the basics?” Emily said. “Like, from the top? I want to know what’s coming.”
Dr. Lieberman nodded. “Absolutely. For now, you’ll have standard prenatal labs. I’m adding a few extra markers for your age bracket—just precautionary. In your second trimester, we’ll do more detailed ultrasounds, and if you want, there’s a blood test at ten weeks that can give us a lot of information about chromosomal risks.” She angled the tablet so Emily could see. “There’s also amniocentesis and other diagnostic options, but we don’t jump to those unless the screen shows a reason.”
Emily tried to look at the baby’s heartbeat again, but the monitor had gone to sleep, and now all she could see was her own reflection in the black screen.
Lieberman continued. “Increased risk doesn’t mean guaranteed outcome. Most women your age have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies. We’ll keep a close eye, and if we see anything concerning, we’ll talk through options together.” She paused. “You’ve done this before, but every pregnancy is different. If at any point you feel off—dizzy, blurry vision, headaches that won’t quit—I want you to call, day or night.”
The doctor rose from the stool. “I’ll give you two a few minutes. I’ll send in the nurse for your blood work and get you scheduled for a follow-up in two weeks.”
Emily wanted to ask if they could wait on the blood work, maybe come back next week when she felt less like an insect pinned to a specimen tray. Instead, she just nodded.
The door closed behind the doctor, and the nurse came in almost instantly. The new woman wore a name tag that read “Monica.” She was brisk but gentle and not one for small talk. Daniel watched the draw with a deliberate neutrality, hands steepled between his knees, while Emily turned her head and stared fixedly at the ceiling’s fluorescent grid. With every click and snap—the tourniquet, the rubber-capped vials, the needle’s whisper into her vein—she could feel her panic threatening.
“You’re a good stick,” Monica said, removing the needle and pressing a cotton ball to the puncture. “Most folks tense up way more than you just did.”
Emily managed a smile, though she felt a little lightheaded. She glanced at the vials—three of them, each labeled in a looping script—and tried not to think about how easily the body gave up its secrets, when pressed.
“I’ll let you get dressed. Beth will check you out at the front.” The nurse left as quickly as she’d come, closing the door with a muffledthunk.
Daniel helped Emily gather her things. She dressed in silence. As they walked down the hallway, Daniel’s hand foundhers again, this time more tentative, as if waiting for permission. Emily took it, and together they made their way toward the exit, the murmur of the clinic fading behind them.
Outside, the parking lot was bright and sterile, the sun too high and sharp for comfort. Emily blinked against it, and for a moment, the world was just noise and light and the faint, persistent echo of her own heartbeat, now actually doubled.
“Areyouscared?” she asked Daniel when they climbed into the car, and the question hung in the air, unexpected.
He swallowed. “Yeah. But not of the baby, or what could happen there. Just… not being able to fix it. I’m good at fixing things, but this—” He gestured at the building, at her, at himself. “This I just have to ride out.”
Emily blinked, surprised by his confession.
She started the engine. The radio blared on, the bickering hosts quickly replaced by a song she recognized from high school. Emily let the noise wash over her, the cheap pop chorus filling the space.
She wondered, briefly, how something she wanted so badly could also be the thing that scared her most. Feeling flushed, she rolled down the window and let the salt air fill the car.
Then she put the car in gear and drove them home. There was breakfast to get taken care of at the inn.
CHAPTER NINE
Breakfast at the inn had always been one of Emily’s favorite times—half her love of hospitality was an excuse to hover, to watch the guests enjoy the eggs and toast, to keep track of who liked the jam and who doctored their coffee with extra sugar. But more so than even catering to her guests, Emily loved breakfast with her family. And now that she’d seen to it that the buffet downstairs was going off without a hitch, she was back in her own kitchen, tending to the guests that mattered most.
Roy took his usual place at the head of the table in the family suite dining room, posture straight. Emily loaded a plate with scrambled eggs and fruit, then hovered near the oven as the first batch of blueberry muffins dinged, finished baking. Roy always claimed not to have a sweet tooth, but by the third cup of coffee, he’d usually accepted a muffin “just to be polite.” Today, though, he seemed uninterested. When Emily slid the plate in front of him, he stirred his eggs into a pastel yellow mush, then just watched steam curl off the surface of his coffee mug.
She brought the muffin pan to the table anyway, letting the aroma of sugar and lemon zest fill the air. “Still warm,” she said, setting it within reach. “You’ll hurt my feelings if you pass.”
Roy looked up, smile flickering. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He reached for a muffin, the movement slow. When his fingers brushed the edge of the pan, Emily caught the tremor again—small, but definite. He cradled the muffin in his palm, but didn’t eat it.
Daniel joined them with Charlotte balanced on one hip, the baby’s arms already stretching toward whatever food was closest. Once buckled into her highchair, she dove into her pile of minutely-crumbled pancakes and quartered blueberries. Daniel ruffled Roy’s hair in passing, an old joke about alwayshaving woodshop dust in his hair, but Roy didn’t bat his hand away as usual. Instead, he focused on Charlotte, who squealed at him, mouth smudged with berry juice.
“Little princess,” Roy said, making a face that made Charlotte squeal in laughter.
Roy sipped his coffee, and again his hand wavered, just a shade. When he set the cup down, he closed his eyes for a half-beat, as if that effort had drawn on something deeper than caffeine.
Cassie swept in from the hall, brandishing the morning paper like a victory flag. “Anyone want the comics before I claim them for my own?” She poured herself a mug—half decaf, per doctor’s orders, which she ignored whenever Emily wasn’t watching—and wedged onto the bench beside Chantelle, who was glued to her phone. Pancake syrup was dripping dangerously off the edge of her fork, which she held aloft but forgotten. Cassie tucked a napkin into Chantelle’s shirt.
Emily took her seat, folded her hands, and tried to eat a few bites of melon. The room was too quiet; even Cassie’s banter couldn’t disguise the odd little pauses, the stretches of empty air that used to be filled with Roy’s opinions about sports or politics. He barely glanced at the paper Cassie slid toward him, and when she needled him about baseball, he just grunted.
