Page 41 of Salty Pickle

“I can’t have you going hungry.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m pretty resourceful.”

“Even so. There are probably certain foods you should be eating. Vitamins, perhaps?”

A knock at the door interrupts. A mid-forties woman with two puffs of black hair peeks in. “Hello! I’m Gina!”

I step aside as she enters.

“I hear we’re having a baby!” She sets an iPad down on the counter. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”

“I’m Lucy.” Lucy extends a hand. “Sorry to drop a late-term pregnancy on you.”

“Happens all the time. People move. Get new jobs. We haven’t been able to access your old records yet, but hopefully, they’ll catch up.” She turns to Court. “Who do we have here?”

I like that she doesn’t assume I’m the father. “I’m Court.” I shake her hand.

“This is a delight. Let’s meet baby!” She helps Lucy lie back on the exam table.

“Let’s see where the baby’s lying.” Gina separates the gown and presses both hands around the edges of Lucy’s belly. “Have you had any troubles so far?”

“Just the tendon pains.”

Gina nods and keeps feeling. “Tell me about those.”

“I was teaching yoga until a couple of weeks ago. But I started getting darting pains and kept having to stop.”

“And you saw your doctor?”

“I did. They were thorough, but there was only the tendon issue left.”

“It’s very common. The place where the ligament connects to the muscle gets stretched to its limit near the end. If you rest, does it resolve?”

“Yes.”

Gina picks up Lucy’s wrist. I’m fascinated by everything.

“I’m going to take a listen and do some measurements. Then a quick cervix check, nothing too invasive.”

The room goes quiet as Gina looks at her watch, holding Lucy’s wrist. “Your heart rate is 82, which is fine. And now I’ll know which is yours and which is the baby’s. Do you know the gender?”

“It’s a boy.”

I almost interject that she’s only done a test with a string, but Gina says, “Good. The sonogram will confirm it if it wasn’t perfectly clear before.”

“Oh, I’m clear,” Lucy says.

“Mothers often know.” Gina folds the paper sheet down. “Baby is in the proper head down position, and everything feels perfect. Let’s listen to that heart.”

She squirts clear gel on the end of a probe the size of a small flashlight. “We’ll go for baby first, but we might get Mom.”

When she flicks on the power, a static sound fills the room, like an old television set on an empty channel. But when she presses it to the side of Lucy’s belly, there’s an immediate rapid whomp, whomp sound that eradicates the static.

“There it is,” Gina says. “One-fifty, perfect heart rate.” She turns to me. “Do you hear that?”

“It never gets old,” Lucy says.

I shouldn’t feel anything. This child could belong to anyone. But Lucy’s dreamy smile, Gina’s happy grin, and the proof of the life beating inside her do something to me.

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