Page 43 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

I told Glenda before I left that she might as well not bother calling me, and I meant it. There’s too much going on right now for me to drop everything and rush back into the hospital. I’ve never looked at work this way before, but Bonnie has never looked this disappointed over it, either.

I take a few steps away from the bench and fish the phone out of my back pocket, answering it without even bothering to check the number first. There are only two people who ever call me: Glenda, when she needs me to come back into the hospital, and Amanda.

And I know that it’s not Amanda because she set her own ringtone on my phone—the opening tune forCurse Or Cureblares through my speakers whenever she calls.

This is just the standard ring.

“I told you not to call me,” I say, in lieu of a more polite greeting. “I’m not coming back in to work today.”

“Good,” says a familiar voice. “I was hoping that you weren’t at work.”

Surprise rocks through me. “Lawrence?” The surprise is quickly overtaken by concern. “Has something happened?”

I mean with Amanda, but I know that he’ll take it as a general inquiry. The man never calls out of the blue. He always sends a text first—are you available—with the same proper punctuation that I always use. Call it the texting of another generation. Anoldergeneration. Lawrence is right around the same age as me.

“Damn right something happened,” says Lawrence but I cannot discern the tone of his voice. “Can you come over?”

“I’ll be there soon as I can,” I tell him, not even bothering to ask what the emergency might be. As soon as I hang up, I tell Bonnie, “Come on, darling. We’re going to see a friend of mine.”

She seems confused by the change in plans but glad that I’m not sending her off to the house so I can go to work. Her chatter about ducks and baby brothers and being a big sister fades into the background as I drive through the city. I need to be careful in case she decides to talk about all this where we are going.

But just as it often does, the long ride through town eventually lulls Bonnie, tired from a day of school and the park, into an easy sleep.

At least one of us is peaceful.

My mind spins a thousand miles per hour, trying to figure out exactly what kind of a disaster I might be walking into.

Chapter twenty

Amanda

Thehouseisbuzzingwith energy, my mother having retreated into the kitchen. She cooks whenever she’s upset, or nervous, or excited, and right now I wish that I had a habit to keep my hands busy too. Instead, I’ve found myself biting at my nails until the tips of my fingers are sore, pacing back and forth from one room to the next as I try to calm my racing heart.

It seems to take forever for Jackson to arrive. I can see his car whip into our driveway through the living room window. A moment later, the door bursts open—he’s in such a hurry that he didn’t even knock, not that he needed to. We’d left the door unlocked for him.

The moment that I see him, the composure that I’ve been trying to hold onto the last few hours cracks. I burst into tears and throw my arms around his shoulders. My father steps up, taking charge when he spots that Bonnie has come with him.

“Hey, kiddo,” says Dad. “Our dog, Baby Girl, is out back, if you want to go play with her.”

“Yes!” Bonnie cheers, rushing toward the sliding glass door on the other side of the living room and out into the backyard. Baby Girl is a very old, very well-behaved, and very sleepy basset hound that my parents have had for years.

There’s never been a child in the house that didn’t love to spend time in the backyard, hanging out with the sweet dog. It’s a great distraction when there’s a lot going on. And there’s a lot going on.

Mom comes out of the kitchen, takes one look at Jackson, and starts crying too. Jackson, wide-eyed, looks at my dad for some kind of an explanation.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson demands. His arms are a firm, solid grip around me, helping hold me together. “What happened?”

There’s such fear in his voice. I instantly realize that when he got the call from my dad, he thought that something must have happened to me. Guilt presses up into my chest, tainting the relief and the worry already there.

I cry even harder. Stupid pregnancy hormones. Everything makes me cry and knowing that my mom isalsocrying doesn’t help.

Dad says, “No one’s hurt. Amanda, hon, come here.”

He pulls me away from Jackson and walks me over to the couch. To my mom, he asks, “How about a drink for everyone?”

“Right, right.” Mom sniffles, but she seems to be grateful for the excuse to vanish back into the kitchen and get away from things for a little bit. A few moments later, the sound of the coffee pot burbling to life fills the air.

Jackson insists, “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

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