Sara rolled her eyes while Lincoln fidgeted in the chair next to the bed, as if the situation weren't bad enough already. She sighed loudly and glared, so he got to his feet and stood at the side of the bed, hovering, his cologne invading her mouth and nose.
"I'm starting to go nuts here," he muttered, "what's the hold-up?"
"The doctor has to an ultrasound."
He nodded and took a deep breath. "Tell me again. Last time."
"This is the only option," she said for the hundredth time, having told the lie so many times now that it sounded like truth, "and it's the right thing to do."
Lincoln shivered like someone had walked over his grave. "Okay," he muttered, nodding repeatedly, "okay. That's the-" he stopped short as the door opened.
The doctor breezed into the room, introduced herself brusquely, then lifted Sara's shirt, lowered the waist of her pants, and applied a thick squiggle of gel to her exposed abdomen. She jumped at the chill of it, placing her right hand against the base of her throat, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a sob.
The doctor looked up sharply, "I wouldn't put you through this, dear, but I do need the gestational age. I'll turn the monitor away."
Sara nodded gratefully, turning her head as the ultrasound wand spread the gel over her midsection. Her bottom lip trembled as she met Lincoln's eyes, but they held no recriminations and never had. The seconds and minutes ticked away while the doctor muttered to herself and fussed with the machine. Sara wondered how she could let this happen again, ten years later, a junkie sweating it out in an abortion clinic.
"I'm afraid it's out of the question," the doctor started. "With this gestational age you won't get an abortion in this country."
"How far along am I?"
"Far enough for me to determine the sex."
A cold shock settled over Sara's body and her lips started to tingle. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to her feet, grabbing her purse off the counter and throwing the door wide. She heard Lincoln calling her name as she hurried down the hall and out into the parking lot, then as she climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The nausea prevented her from closing the door, instead forcing her lunch out of her stomach and onto the asphalt. Once the gagging stopped she leaned back into the seat and closed the door.
"I paid them," Lincoln said as he settled into the driver's seat, "but we better go. This isn't the best way to keep a low profile."
Sara nodded through her stupor as he started the car and zipped down the road. She pulled the seat belt across her chest, buckled it, and grimaced as the lap-belt pressed her shirt into the goop remaining on her abdomen.
They sat in silence during the drive home, Sara numb with renewed grief, Lincoln casting sidelong glances her way every so often, but never pushing. The car finally lumbered into the driveway and he shifted into park, cutting the engine.
"That wasn't the end of the road," he said quietly, voice low and soothing, "we'll find somewhere else. We'll figure it out."
"That's not it," she muttered, wiping her face with the towel he kept in the console.
"Then what?"
She unbuckled the seat belt and turned to face him, holding his gaze with her eyes.
"Jesus, Sara, you're scaring the shit out of me here."
"They can't tell the sex until after 18 weeks." She said firmly, watching his gears turn, knowing he'd figured out the math when he rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
