Page 97 of Geordie

Dr. Rivera switches on the machine, tapping in information while I wait for her to begin. She absently picks up the bottle of gel while studying the screen. “I remember now. We moved the baby's birth date back. Your baby was eight weeks. Good, there were no concerns,” she muses. “Are you ready?”

I nod.

She pulls the screen around to allow both of us to observe. Tucking the sheet just under my stomach, she squirts out the warm gel onto my belly, then runs the probe over the goo. We stare at the black-and-white image of the fetus on the screen. I stir under the probe, my gaze digesting what I'm seeing. “The baby doesn't seem to be bigger,” I say.

Dr. Rivera's brows knit together as she glances back at the console. She moves the probe, gliding it to a different spot, to another, then she turns to tap on the keyboard with her free hand as I raise onto my elbows. The tech at our last ultrasound explained what to look for in a sonogram. She pointed out the head, the body, and the beating heart. This time, with a rush of pain, I see no tiny flicker of light that is the heartbeat. When the doctor glances at my face, she switches off the machine. “There's no heartbeat?” I mumble.

“I don't see any movement, but this is a portable machine; I wouldn't take this test as the final word. I'd like to send you to Radiology for another ultrasound, if that's alright.”

I slump back and give her a quiet “yes” as she cleans the gel off my belly and replaces the sheet over my stomach.

“I'll find out if Radiology can get you in now. You can dress. I'll be right back.”

When the door closes, I claw the sheet off and swing my legs over the side, pushing onto the floor, wishing I had socks to protect me from the cold floor. I dress, keeping my mind off the test. Nothing is definite. We had a scare on the first visit and everything was fine. I feel pregnant; my body wouldn't lie.

I locate my phone at the bottom of my bag. I'm about to punch the call button to ring Geordie when I stop. If he's driving here, I don't want to upset him. He'll question my amplified voice coming through the truck console while he maneuvers traffic. I have no real answers to give him. I don't want him to worry until the radiologist performs a test.

There's a tap. “Come,” I say.

“If you go to Radiology on the fourth floor, they'll take you now. Come back to the office and I'll go over the test with you.” She puts her arm around me, giving me a hug. Until that moment, I didn't know how much I needed that support. “I'll let Geordie know where you are if he comes to the office.”

I hurry to the elevators, determined to get the second test done as soon as possible. It feels as if I'm in a race, and seconds matter.

No one is waiting for an appointment in the Radiology department's lobby. It's as if the building has emptied as day creeps into evening. I'm ushered into a bigger dim room with glowing equipment and a console behind a shield. The technician is pleasant, gives me enough directions to complete the scans, but won't comment on the results. They'll be sent to Dr. Rivera once they're read. I swallow hard and repeat,I feel pregnant. My body wouldn't lie, like a mantra.

My finger shakes as I press the elevator button to return to the doctor's office. Now that the exam is done, dread sweeps over me. This can't be good for the baby, so I take a few deep breaths to center myself. The doors open, I enter and hit the button for level two. I've got to text Geordie before talking to the doctor; I have to warn him. I pull out my phone as I walk into the waiting room, then slip it back into my pocket when I see Geordie sitting at the end of a bank of chairs staring at his phone.

Chapter forty-seven

No Country for Old Women

Geordie

Ijostletomyfeet when Lily enters the waiting room. Tiredness haunts her bonnie face, but she smiles when she sees me. “Sorry, I just got here. I was lucky, there were only two disasters at the winery. I was about to call you to find out where you were,” placing my phone back into my pocket. “Have you seen the doctor?”

“Good, we're all here,” Dr. Rivera says, appearing in the doorway. “Let's talk in my office.”

She offers no more information. I follow the women to an office that barely fits all three of us. I wait until we're seated to begin my questions. “Have you performed the ultrasound?” addressing the doctor. She exchanges a look with Lily, who nods.

“Yes, two, in fact, one here and another in Radiology.”

“And that would be why?” I look at Lily, and the pain in her eyes telegraphs what I fear.

The doctor folds her hands on the desk. “The first sonogram was concerning. Sometimes we can't see well enough at this stage, so we had a second done in the Radiology department.”

“It's the baby,” Lily says.

“What is it, Leannan?” reaching for her hand, but she retracts it, the move adding to my distress.

Lily glances at the doctor. “We couldn't see the heart beating. We had to confirm with another test.”

Dr. Rivera leans in, the three lines on her forehead in neat folds. “I'm sorry. The second test confirms the baby has passed.”

Lily's lower lip quivers. “No,” she whispers, as tears spill down her cheeks like bright beads of glass.

They've had time to process, to get used to the idea that this might be a possibility after the first ultrasound. I didn't have that small luxury; reality hits me with no warning. I'm shutting down like a mass of granite hitting the ground with the black grief that our child is gone. Sorrow is on both their faces and the room is thick with it. There's no showing what I feel; I'm the man. I can't break down, not here; Lily needs my strength.

“When did this happen?” I ask.

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