Chapter Three

Joan and I had become very close, since even before Martin and I became a couple. I had liked her from the moment we met; she was the perfect combination of caring warmth and no-nonsense. She loved Martin fiercely, but she didn't cut him any slack when it came to his idiosyncrasies. She had no qualms about telling him off for being rude, which I had witnessed myself on numerous occasions. Martin sometimes said things to me that were completely inappropriate, like the time he mentioned that my perfume smelled faintly urine-like and that it was possibly because of my pre-menstrual hormones. I just laughed and rolled my eyes, but I thought Joan was going to turn him over her knee, she was so incensed.

"What is the matter with you, Marty?!" she exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" He genuinely had no idea.

"You can't say something like that to your girlfriend, it's completely rude!"

"Why is it rude? It's an observation."

"You just told Anna she smelled like urine…you don't think that's rude?"

At this point, I was nearly howling with laughter. I appreciated her sticking up for me, but at this point, I knew Martin well enough to know he hadn't meant it that way.

"I didn't say that, I said the pheromones were faintly urine-like," he argued. "I didn't say it was bad!"

I was really looking forward to spending the day with Joan, especially to let her know Martin had given me the ring and we had finally set a date for the wedding: July 12. I knew she would love the idea of using her gazebo for the ceremony. I couldn't wait until Mom and Granny got here so they could all meet each other.

I kissed Martin goodbye later that morning and got in my car to head toward the farm, but I only made it about half way before another wave of nausea hit me and I had to pull over to the side of the road. Well, so much for breakfast, I thought to myself as I leaned against the car and took a few deep breaths. What in the world was going on? Maybe I had actually come down with something after all. If that was the case, I certainly didn't want to give it to Joan. I decided to call her and let her know I was going to take a raincheck on the shopping and go back to the surgery to lie down.

"I'm so disappointed in myself, I was really looking forward to going with you," I told her.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well…of course I understand," she said. "I know Martin will take good care of you though, in case you have a bug of some sort. Just try to get some rest and give me a call later."

I made it all the way to the front steps outside of the surgery before I was throwing up again. I shakily made my way around to the kitchen door and let myself in. Martin was walking in from the living room and looked at me in surprise.

"I think I'm sick," I told him pitifully. His surprise turned to concern, and he felt my forehead.

"Have you vomited again?" he asked, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He handed it to me and I took a sip.

"Twice," I admitted. "I feel okay right now, but I think I might go upstairs and lie down for a while."

"Can I do anything for you?" Martin asked gently. I shook my head and gave him a hug, and it just felt good to have his arms around me. "I will be up to check on you in a little while. Try to drink some more water."

As I laid there trying to stop the room from spinning, there was a thought niggling me at the back of my brain. What if this wasn't just a virus? What if…but no. It couldn't be that.

But there was the sudden aversion to the scent of Martin's soap. There was the queasiness and dizziness at odd times of the day.

But…it couldn't be, though…could it?

This was ridiculous. I sat up gingerly and put my feet on the floor, and was satisfied that the nausea had abated enough for me to stand up. I went down the stairs and through the living area into the kitchen, where Martin was drinking coffee and watching something on his laptop. He was so engrossed he didn't even really notice I was there, which was good…I didn't want to talk just then. I was on a mission to end this once and for all.

I opened the door to the consulting room and went straight to the cupboard that held the pregnancy test kits. I had just pocketed one when Martin came in behind me, and I jumped.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked concernedly. "You should be resting." He felt my forehead for the third time that morning.

"Oh…I uh, was looking for a Bandaid. Er…plaster. I have a hangnail." I grabbed one quickly from the drawer by the sink and held it up to him as proof. "I'm going back upstairs right now."

"How are you feeling? Any nausea or vomiting?" he asked, clearly in doctor mode.

"I'm okay, really…please don't fuss." I kissed him on the cheek and high-tailed it out of there before he could ask more questions.

In the bathroom with the door locked, I sat down and followed the directions on the box. Before I even had a chance to set the test on the edge of the sink, two pink lines emerged, bright and clear, in the little window. There was no question what the results were.

Two. Two lines. I was most definitely pregnant.

And that's when the panic set in.

All of the memories of my first pregnancy came flooding back to me, from the moment I had taken that test, to the first flutter of movement inside me that felt like tiny bursting bubbles, to the terror of going into labor so early and the absolute devastation of holding my dying baby in my arms…it hit me so hard, it almost felt as if I had been physically slapped. I didn't think I was prepared for the possibility of that happening again. Because it very well could…I could just as easily lose this baby too.

And what was Martin going to say…would he be happy? He had said so many times that he thought he would be a terrible father, but I think what he really meant was he was afraid he would be-that he would turn out to be like his own father. I knew there was no chance of that at all, but he was still harboring so much hurt from his upbringing. Would he still want to be with me though this…or would it be too much for him? What if he decided he wasn't able to handle it?

Oh god. I had to get out of there. I couldn't tell him yet…I had to have some time to think.

I tripped down the stairs in a daze and went to the kitchen to fill a bottle with water. Martin was talking to me, but it took me a minute for it to register.

"Anna? I said, what are you doing? Are you all right?" He touched my arm, momentarily bringing me back to my senses.

I blinked. "I'm fine…I just need to get some fresh air. I'm going to go for a walk."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You've been vomiting all day and you look very pale…I think it would be best if…" he began, but I cut him off.

"I feel fine now! I am just going for a walk. I won't be gone long, okay? I have my phone and I'll call you if I need you, but please just stop fussing over me!" It had come out a lot harsher than I had intended, and Martin was taken aback by the vehemence in my voice. I immediately felt guilty for lashing out at him, but I had to get out of there before I burst into tears. I grabbed my coat and quickly escaped through the back door.