Page 12 of American Hellhound
Dr. Martin’s brows tugged together over the rims of her glasses. “Just okay? You didn’t want to be?” It was said without judgement, more like friendly concern.
Maggie shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised. Maybe a little worried – I’m forty-one.”
“Ah,” Dr. Martin said with understanding. “That’s where I can give you some good news.” She rolled her stool closer. “You’ve already had a successful pregnancy, and you’ve had regular pap smears every year. So we know, to put it bluntly, that the plumbing works and is healthy. We know thatyouare healthy, overall. We’ll want to monitor this pregnancy a little more closely, as we would with any expectant mother your age.”
“My age. Ugh.”
Dr. Martin patted her knee. “I’m confident, Maggie. Let’s not get worried before there’s anything to worry about, okay?”
Maggie nodded, taking another shivery breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
When the doctor was gone and she was getting dressed, she thought about the worries she couldn’t share with the doctor: her club worries.
If she was honest, there was no such thing as a good time to bring a baby into the MC way of life. There was always a new war, a new drama, a new threat to the family structure. Violence lurked around every corner, so it was never a matter of waiting for a lull.
Even so, she hadn’t expected this news to rattle her the way it had. She felt unmoored, and that made her nervous in a way no outside threat ever had.
On the way out of the office, she allowed her eyes to travel across the black and white photos of the babies brought into the world by the OB team, fat little handfuls of dough with dimpled knees and impossible lashes. It was just a short time ago that she’d brought Aidan here to see the sonogram of his Lainie for the first time. Maybe that’s what this was about: she was agrandmotherfor God’s sakes. It was her time to lend support to the parents in her life, to be the mother of adult children.
The receptionist wished her congratulations on the way out, and Maggie hoped her smile wasn’t too thin. The smell of the café in the main part of the hospital made her stomach turn, so she left through the outpatient wing, hurrying toward the fresh, fall-scented air that awaited beyond the sliding doors.
The sight of her mother stopped her in her tracks.
“Mom?”
Denise was dressed, as usual, in sleek layers of slacks, silk shirt, and sweater, her jacket folded neatly over one arm. Her pearls gleamed beneath the fluorescent overheads. She stood in front of a vending machine, lips pressed together in a subtle show of distaste as she surveyed the offerings.
She jerked a little at the sound of Maggie’s voice, hand fluttering toward her throat. Maggie had always wondered if she was grabbing for her heart…or for her pearls, as if she was afraid she was about to be robbed. The latter seemed most likely.
“Margaret.” Her gaze swept Maggie like a sergeant’s during troop inspection, searching for flaws. “What are you doing here?”
Maggie imagined the tiny life inside her cringing in terror.
“I had my annual,” she lied. “What about you?”
“Oh, well.” Denise straightened her pearls and smoothed her blouse, gaze flicking away over Maggie’s shoulder. “Your father’s just having a little outpatient procedure.”
Maggie’s stomach tightened, and this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. “What kind of procedure?”
“A heart cath.” She said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like it was an earache or something.
“What? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Maggie’s heart was kicking a fast, dull rhythm against her ribs. The waiting room seemed to tilt, just slightly. “Has – has he been having problems?”
“A little short of breath, a little too fatigued,” Denise said with a shrug. “We won’t know anything for sure until the doctor takes a look.”
“You didn’t…why didn’t you let me know?”
Denise sighed and tilted her head back, so she could look down her aristocratic nose at her. “You don’t exactly like to hear from me.”
And just like that her mounting fear turned to anger. “No. I don’t like to be ridiculed. I don’t like it when you pass unfair judgement on my kids–”
“You only have one child, dear, the boy isn’t yours.”
“See? Just like that.Thatis why I don’t call you like I should.Thatis why we can’t have the kind of mother-daughter relationship I have with Ava. When I do talk to you, you tell me what a disappointment I am. But then when Dad’s in the hospital with a catheter shoved in him, you can’t bother to let me know? God, what the hell, Mom?What the hell?”
