Absorbed in paperwork, Henry Morgan first became aware that he had a visitor when she knocked on the door of his office.
"Detective Martinez." He stood instinctively, and his smile was equally instinctive.
Jo looked over her shoulder. "Are you … alone?"
He glanced quizzically around. "Yes. Lucas has gone to an appointment." He paused, opened his mouth, then closed it.
"What do you need?"
The simplicity of the question and the gentleness of his voice shook Jo. She dropped into a chair, and tears pooled in her eyes. She willed them back, cleared her throat.
"I, uh … can I ask you a question? I mean, a medical question."
"Certainly." Henry rose again, came around his desk, and perched on the edge of the other visitors' chair. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "You may ask me anything."
"I might be pregnant," Jo blurted.
Only 200-plus years of living, most of it as a physician, allowed Henry to keep his face impassive. One of his eyebrows might have flickered – just a twitch. But he displayed no other symptoms of surprise.
"But…"
Henry drew a deep breath. There was a but.
"But I really can't be. I've been on the Pill for five years."
"Are you … sexually active?" Henry asked the question as gently as he could manage, which was very gently.
Jo looked down and blushed. "On rare occasions. But, like I said, the Pill."
"What makes you think you might be pregnant?"
"My period's late."
"How late?" Henry reached over for a clipboard and pen.
"Ten days. And it feels like it's about to come any minute. And my … my breasts feel strange."
"Strange how?"
"Heavy. Kind of tingling. Just … different. And I'm having trouble sleeping, and I'm going to the bathroom a lot. Like every hour or so."
"Have you taken a pregnancy test?"
"No. I've read that some of them give a lot of incorrect results."
"Would you like me to administer one?"
"Do you have to kill a rabbit?" The joke made them both smile.
"No … if you can give me a urine sample, I can have a definitive answer for you in a few minutes." He rummaged around in the desk drawers and produced a cup.
Jo vanished into the bathroom, and a few minutes later returned with the sample.
"Lovely," Henry said. "Give me just a couple of minutes." He strode to one of the lab tables and fiddled with a strip, then drew it out. He checked his watch. After a couple of minutes, he placed the strip under a microscope and examined it.
Then he returned to his office and sat down opposite Jo.
"You are not pregnant," he said.
"Are you sure?"
Henry nodded. "A hormone known as human chorionic gonadotropin is present in female urine only after a fertilized egg has been implanted in the uterine lining. If it is, it will bind to the pigment and antibody indicator that I attached to the test strip. That's how home pregnancy kits work. I also checked under the microscope to be sure that the result was not a false positive. You are not pregnant."
Jo sighed in relief … and then burst into tears.
Henry was utterly astonished, but he was also a gentleman. He stood, pulled Jo to her feet, and drew her into his embrace.
"There, there," he soothed, rubbing her back. "Shh. Go ahead and cry."
As her outburst slowed, he handed her his handkerchief. "Excuse me," he said. He returned with a glass of water and handed it to her. She took it and drank convulsively.
"Um. Sorry," Jo said tightly, pressing her lips together.
"No need to apologize," Henry said. He paused. "Did you want to be pregnant?"
"Oh, very graceful, Henry," Jo said, smiling in spite of herself.
"It's a fair question," Henry said, "in light of your unexpected response."
"Yeah, it is." She squinted at him. "Are you sure I'm not pregnant? Because my hormones lately…"
Henry nodded. He gave her a steady look. One that said that she wasn't going to be able to duck the question.
She looked down, then gulped some more water. "Sean and I talked about it. A lot. We were both so busy and so fulfilled. We never could decide if we did or didn't. I guess in the background we kind of felt the clock ticking, but to be honest, it's very hard to make police work mesh with raising children – if Mom's the cop, anyway.
"We were … we were … that was what our argument was about. The night before he left for D.C. He said it was time. I said I wasn't ready to give up homicide and I didn't think I could balance both and do both well."
Henry dropped his gaze. This was uncomfortable territory, to be sure. He also knew it would do Jo good, to get some of this out, to talk about it.
"I was going to … I was going to … to tell him … that I was ready too." She started crying again, a little. Henry waited. It was hard for him to remain quiet – but silence is extremely effective in the right situations.
After a long minute, Jo seemed to regain her composure. She looked up. "I shouldn't be pregnant. And if I were – it sure wouldn't be Sean's. But I guess some tiny part of me was hoping for some miracle that completely defied the laws of biology, and time, or something."
Henry reached for her hand. Jo let him take it.
"So you not only miss Sean," he said. "You also miss the family that might have been. And there will always be an ache, an absence that you cannot explain, a sort of grieving for a child who never was."
Jo looked up, startled. Henry's lips twitched.
"Abigail and I had the same discussion," he admitted.
"And then she … left you."
Henry nodded. "She left."
They both sat in silence for a moment, mourning their losses. Then Henry straightened up.
"Jo … how long has it been since you've last had a thorough medical examination?"
"Define 'thorough,' " she said. "We get a full checkup every six months."
Henry stared her down.
"Almost six months," she admitted.
Henry drew in his breath. "There are several medical explanations for displaying symptoms of pregnancy without being pregnant. It might be a simple hormonal imbalance, easily correctable with medication. Or it might be something more serious."
"Serious, like what?"
"One possible explanation is an ovarian cyst." Henry stood, readily slipping into lecture mode.
"Many women have ovarian cysts and some point. Most of them are harmless, and they simply go away. No treatment is needed.
Some, though, cause symptoms. If a cyst is pressing on your bladder, for example, you may need to urinate more frequently.
"I strongly recommend that you schedule an appointment with a gynecologist immediately. Have you been experiencing any pelvic pain?"
"A little," Jo admitted. "Here and here." She indicated her lower back.
Henry shook his head. "It could be uterine fibroids; it could be ovarian cysts. At any rate, see a gynecologist, and see one within the next few days. It's not usually serious," he added. "If you do have one, they're very easy to remove. But you don't want to delay."
Jo sighed.
"Did you want to be pregnant?" Henry asked again, very gently. He put his arm around her shoulders.
Jo shook her head. "No. And yes. I don't know."
"Any time you want to talk … you know where to find me," Henry said. He stepped back.
"Goodbye, Jo. Take care."
"You too," Jo called back. She walked briskly to the elevator, stepped on, and waited for the doors to close.
Henry returned to his office, sat down, and gazed out the window. Seeing nothing. Feeling an ache of absence.