Apologies for the delay. I am really determined to get these chapters out at my old, prompt pace, but, as always, life got in the way. Chapter 3 WILL be along much more quickly. (It's almost done, and could have easily been part of this one, but I figured you'd waited long enough.)
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Abby put her last chart in the discharge rack and looked around. She'd been avoiding thinking about this moment all day. Time to go home. But where was home? Luka's place had been her usual destination for the past 5 months. Not that they were living together, of course. The lease on her own apartment still read 'Abigail Lockhart;' plain as day.
A familiar voice at her elbow. "You off?" Neela stood there.
"Yeah."
"Do you have any plans?"
"Pizza and tv, I guess."
"Feel like a girl's night out?"
Abby considered. Neela was just being polite, of course. She knew that Luka was gone. Still, they hadn't seen much of each other in ages, not since Neela had started her surgery elective. And with Michael in Iraq, Neela no doubt could use some company too.
"We can still do pizza if you want," Neela went on. 'Ray's on tonight so we'd have the apartment to ourselves, or we can go to your place."
"Sure," Abby decided. "We can go to my place. I need to pick up the mail anyway."
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An hour later Abby and Neela were comfortably munching pizza. Neela nursed a beer while Abby bravely choked down a glass of skim milk. The things she was doing for this baby ...
"So," Neela said, "Have you decided on names yet?"
"We've talked about it, but haven't settled on anything. Luka has his heart set on a Croatian name but … I dunno … Dragan Lockhart just isn't going to fly."
"Dragan?"
"That's about the best of the lot. The other names he's suggested are worse, I guarantee it."
"So it's going to be Lockhart then, and not Kovac?"
"That part we haven't discussed," Abby admitted. "I think he thinks it's going to be Kovac."
"You could always go back to Wyczinski. At least it's Slavic."
Abby snorted and shook her head. "Please … the poor kid's gunna have enough problems as it is."
"Well, why don't you just split it down the middle? You pick the first name, he picks the surname. 50-50, right? Sounds fair to me."
"Given that I'm the one who's going to be left with the stretch marks and leaking breasts, I think 60-40, or 70-30 sounds a lot closer to 'fair'.
Neela reached for another slice of pizza. "Well, you're going to need a middle name."
"He didn't even ask me!" Abby suddenly blurted out.
"About names?"
"About going to Africa. 'Hey Abby, I'm off to Darfur. See you in 6 weeks. I'll send you a postcard."
"Did he really say that?" Neela asked.
"Not quite, but he may as well have."
"And if he had asked you," Neela asked quietly, "What would you have said?"
"No fucking way."
"Then I think it's pretty obvious why he didn't ask you, right? I mean, if he had his heart set on going he was going to go. And if he'd asked you, and you'd said no, he would have had to do it against your wishes." Neela sipped her beer then rolled the bottle for a moment between her palms. "Michael didn't ask me either."
"Michael's in the army. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. They sent him back."
"No, he wanted to go back.He volunteered to go back. He still has two years to serve, but he could have done it stateside. He was supposed to start working at the VA hospital, but he changed his mind, volunteered to do another tour."
"You told us …" Abby started, but Neela interrupted.
"I lied." A wry smile. "It made the explanations a lot easier. 'I love you, Neela. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But only after I get my ass blown to pieces in Iraq.' It didn't sound good when he said it to me. It wasn't going to sound any better when I told it to you."
"What is it with men, Neela?" Abby asked. "They don't feel … complete … unless they are risking their lives in some Godforsaken corner of the globe? They all have to do it, don't they? Michael, Luka, Carter."
"Testosterone poisoning, I guess," Neela said with another half smile.
"Or just plain stupidity."
"Oh, I don't know." Neela was serious now. "Is it so stupid to want to help people? I mean … I really wish that Michael was here with me instead of in Iraq, but I also know that I'm being selfish. He's doing important work over there, and if he wasn't doing it, it would have to be someone else …someone else's husband … someone else's son. Someone else's father."
"Do you really think about it that way?"
"I try. It beats the alternative, which is sitting around and feeing sorry for myself. And crying a lot." Another swig of beer. "I figure it's this way, Abby. As long as there are wars … mostly started by men, there are going to be other people … also usually men … who have to wade in and pick up the pieces, patch up the victims. And I guess I can bejust a little bit glad that Michael's in the second group … that he's doing the patching up, not the killing."
"Well," Abby said after a moment. "I guess I'm just selfish then, because I think the whole thing sucks. Luka's the one who convinced me to go through with the pregnancy in the first place. He's the one who wanted this baby."
"You don't want the baby?" Neela looked shocked.
"I do now, but at first I wasn't sure. I didn't think I was ready to be a mother. I still don't think I'm ready. But I knew that Luka would never forgive me if I had an abortion. Hewants to be a father." Abby shook her head. "Or I thought he did. He said he did. But not, apparently, enough to stay around."
"He'll be back before the baby is born."
"I know. I keep telling myself that. It doesn't help. I just keep thinking that if he really … " Abby trailed off.
"If he really what?" Neela prompted.
A breath. "That if he really loved me, he would want to be here with me."
