Chapter 9

Dr. Sanders pulled some strings with the schedule and got Vic in for an ultrasound and MRI almost immediately. I was left alone for a time, feeling out of place and out of sorts while I waited in yet another uncomfortable chair for more news I couldn't predict and had zero control over. I had offered to wait with Vic in the tiny radiology cubicle prior to her procedures, but she had informed me in no uncertain terms that I was not invited to be there while she was 'ass out in a paper gown.' Instead, I flipped through a two-year-old issue of Field and Stream, and tried not to think about how our future was, once again, being written in a hospital room.

Afterwards, the same nurse that had escorted us earlier brought us back to the obstetrics department and showed us directly into the doctor's office. It was less aggressively cheerful than the exam room, with more books than lurid diagrams decorating the walls, and few real indications of any kind that Dr. Sanders delivered babies for a living. There was also a half-empty box of tissues sitting on our side of the large glass-topped desk. I had a feeling that the conversations that took place in this room weren't the joyful kind.

I held Vic's hand, letting our entwined fingers rest on her denim-clad knee. She hadn't cried since we left the exam room, but her face was pale, and she mostly kept her eyes focused on the carpet.

"It's going to be okay," I said as the silence stretched out in front of us. I absolutely wasn't sure that was true, and I absolutely had no idea what to do about anything, but I also had absolutely no idea what else I could say to her.

"Am I cursed?" she asked suddenly. She looked me in the eyes for the first time all afternoon. "Am I just the kind of person that bad things happen to? Or do bad things keep happening to me because I'm a bad person?"

"What are you talking about? Of course, you're not a bad person."

She ignored me and extracted her hand from mine, covering her face with both of her own as she slumped down in her chair. "I mean, I'm all for suffering the consequences of your actions, but, dammit, Walt, what could I possibly have done that deserves this?"

"You don't deserve this, Vic," I said. "Nobody deserves this."

She looked at me again from over the tips of her fingers. "So, it's what? Just shitty luck? My babies keep dying because I'm unlucky?" There were tears in her eyes again, but she turned away before I could see them fall.

The door opened then, and Dr. Sanders came into the room.

"Thank you both for waiting. I wanted to get you some definitive answers as soon as possible." She took a seat across the mahogany desk from us and opened her tablet, tapping on the screen until she had pulled up the black and white image of a sonogram, vague shapes and outlines as incomprehensible to me as random dot pixilation static on an old analog television. "The pregnancy is not ectopic as I had feared. It is implanted in the uterus, so immediate surgery won't be necessary. But the scans do show severe scarring and multiple adhesions from your previous d&c. There is also diffuse thinning of the myometrium in the area of the surgical repair." She placed her thumb and forefinger on the screen and spread them apart, causing the image on the tablet to increase in size, bringing a section of the screen into larger focus. "As you can see here, the lower left quadrant, which is the area that was most damaged by the bullet, is almost completely fused."

"What are you…" Vic stopped and cleared her throat and then went on. "What are you telling me, Doc? What does all of that mean?"

Dr. Sanders looked up at us then, and her voice was gentle. "I'm sorry, Vic, but these findings, coupled with the instability of the uterine lining confirm my suspicions. It is simply not safe for you to continue on with this pregnancy. The risk of an adverse outcome to both you and the baby is much too high."

Vic processed this information silently for a long moment before she replied. "So, you're saying there's no chance at all? I mean, what if we just give it some time and see what happens?"

The doctor weighed her words carefully. "Nothing is ever a hundred percent certain. But I am telling you that the odds aren't good." Her warm eyes were creased with sympathy. "The risks of an abruption, or a complete uterine rupture are significant, and the further you go into this pregnancy, the higher the risks become." She clasped her hands together on the surface of her desk and leaned forward to emphasize her words. "I need to know that you understand what I'm saying – if either of those things happen, and you are not already physically in the hospital when it does, the chances of you dying are very high – not just greater than average, but actually, statistically high. I'm not talking about a percent chance that goes from .04 to 1%. I'm talking about a chance that goes from .04 in the average population to as much as 60 or 70% in cases that present like yours."

Vic nodded, but distantly, as though she were only half listening to the conversation.

"So, how do we proceed?" I asked.

The doctor was looking at Vic, but she answered me. "We have a few options, but my recommendation is to make an appointment sooner rather than later. The fetus is currently measuring eight to nine weeks, so it's only about two centimeters long at the moment, but it is getting ready to enter into a period of rapid growth. It won't be long before it's putting serious strain on the uterine lining. Abruption can happen quickly, with no warning, and with catastrophic results."

A coolness had settled in my chest like I was still drawing cold, winter air into my lungs rather than the warm, vaguely antiseptic-scented hospital variety. I thought about what the loss of her first pregnancy had done to Vic, and I hoped this one wouldn't break her. But, by god, I would be there to pick up the pieces if it did. And then I thought about what losing Vic would do to me, and it was like an icy hand had cleaved through my breastbone and seized my heart with brittle fingers. "Do we make the appointment with you?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vic's head come up to look at me. But she said nothing.

"Unfortunately, no," Dr. Sanders replied. "We're strictly a level one facility. She'll need a higher level of acuity than what we can provide here." She reached into her desk and came out with a prescription pad and started to write while she spoke. "I'll give you the information for a couple of places that I can recommend. Banner Medical Center in Casper is an option, but there are several women's health clinics – "

"Abortion clinics."

I looked up at Vic, who had resettled her attention on the doctor.

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Sanders said, with her pen poised in the air.

"Isn't that what you're saying? There are several handy clinics where I can get an abortion?" She held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I'm strictly pro-choice. I just want to make sure that I'm understanding what you're telling me."

Dr. Sanders put her pen down and gave Vic a sympathetic look. "Vic, I know this is hard. I know what this pregnancy must have meant to you. Please believe me when I say, I wouldn't be recommending a reduction if I didn't 100% believe that it was the best course of action."

"You mean an abortion?" Vic said again. Her cheeks were pink, and I could see the storm brewing underneath the sadness. "Can you just please call it what it is? It's not a termination. It's not a reduction. It's an abortion."

"Vic – " Dr. Sanders tried again, but Vic had reached her breaking point.

She stood up, picked up her jacket and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

I pushed to my feet, feeling suddenly about a hundred years old. "I'll take that list, please."

Dr. Sanders finished scribbling and then handed me the paper. I took it, folded it in half and tucked it into the breast pocket of my flannel shirt. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And for what it's worth, Sheriff, I am very sorry."

"It's just Walt," I said with a nod. I picked up my coat and hat. "And I am, too."

We rode home in relative silence. I made several attempts to draw Vic into conversation, but her responses went from monosyllabic to nonexistent. She slouched against the passenger door, and stared hard out the window at the snowy landscape, with her fist pressed to her lips. I couldn't tell if she was crying or not, but I could tell that she wouldn't want me to know if she was, so I let her be until we pulled into the driveway back at the cabin, tires crunching loudly over the frozen ground.

"I don't want to go home," she said suddenly. She looked at me, and there was something a bit like panic behind her eyes.

I put the truck in park, but kept the motor running. "Okay," I said calmly, ready and willing to take her to the moon if that's what she asked of me. "Where do you want to go?"

She shook her head viciously, sending her ponytail swinging. "I don't know. Just not here. Please."

I thought for a moment and then pulled out my phone and sent a quick text. While I waited for a response, I took the truck through a three-point maneuver so that we were pointed back towards the road. Before I had even had the chance to put the quarter-ton back into gear, my phone chimed with a reply. Henry's message said simply, 'mi casa…etc. etc.' With that blessing, I pulled back out of the driveway and headed towards Indian territory.

The Red Pony wouldn't open for a couple of hours yet, and Henry was doing his diligence keeping the rabble from rousing at the casino, so when we pulled into the parking lot outside the bar, I knew we would have the place to ourselves for a while.

Vic looked up at the red neon pony sign with a wry expression as she slid out of her seat onto the parking lot, which was still mostly a slushy mix of snow and ice. The plows had hit the main roads with a vengeance, but it was up to the individual businesses to excavate their own parking lots, which was hard to do on gravel. "You sure do know how to show a girl a good time."

I shrugged, as I reached for her elbow, helping her to navigate the treacherous terrain between the parking lot and the front door. I was a little surprised that she let me. "It's too cold for a walk in the park. And I knew nobody would be here, so."

"Fair enough," she said. We both slip-slided our way to the front door, which I unlocked with an old key that Henry had given me years ago. I'm not sure I'd ever used it before. Normally, when I came to the Red Pony, the person I was coming to see was tending the bar.

I closed and locked the door behind us once we were inside. No reason to encourage any early-comers that happened by and saw a truck already parked in the lot. The lights were off and the heat was turned down, both problems which I solved by flipping the appropriate switches at the panel behind the bar. I kept the main, overhead lights off, so we bellied up to the bar under a circular glow from the inset cannister lights above us, surrounded by darkness, listening as the heater kicked in and began the slow business of warming up the chilly interior.

I reached out and took both of Vic's hands in mine, gently chafing her knuckles to warm them. "Why didn't you want to go home?" I asked, keeping my eyes on her fingers. They were slim and strong, and pale from the cold. She hadn't worn a ring since her divorce from Sean, but, for some reason, tonight I noticed now how bare they looked.

"I don't know, honestly." She sighed. "I guess I just felt like there wasn't enough room in there for how much I was feeling."

I nodded, still massaging her fingers. "Well, you've got room to spread out in here, if you need to."

She gave a short laugh, but there was no humor behind it. "This really sucks, Walt," she said, and I thought it was perhaps the biggest understatement that I had ever heard, but all I said was,

"Yep."

She pulled her hands free and placed them over the still-flat plane of her abdomen, fingers splayed as though she was covering as much of herself – and our child – as she could. "I didn't plan on this, you know?"

"Mann Tracht, un Gott Lacht," I said, and then translated in response to the quirked eyebrow I received in exchange. "It's Yiddish. Man plans, and God laughs."

She managed a lopsided smile, and her fingers fell away from her belly. "Boy, does he ever. Just once I wish…," she trailed off and shook her head. "I guess it doesn't matter what I wish, does it? Whatever is going to happen just…happens."

"We do the best we can with the hand we're dealt," I said, knowing damn well it was a platitude at worst, and cold, hollow comfort at best.

"I'm tired of being dealt these shitty hands, Walt!" she cried and got to her feet. "How am I supposed to deal with this? How am I supposed to deal with losing another baby? With knowing that I'll probably never be able to have a baby?" She disappeared beyond the ring of light at the bar, and I could see her moving around in the semi-darkness beyond, winding her way between the tables with their upside-down chair legs splayed in the air like the braces on a sawbuck fence. "It's not fair. And I know that's a stupid thing to say, because, what is fair in life, right? But I'm just so angry. I'm so angry, and I'm so…I'm so sad. And it's not fucking fair! I didn't want a baby. I never wanted a baby. I was fine with my life – with our lives, with being together just the way we were. But then I saw those lines on the test this morning, and, I was happy. Do you get that? Like, I saw a future. I saw tiny fingers and tiny toes, and a second chance to have what I lost when Chance…" She cut the sentence short and went on, her voice growing thicker by the word, "Goddammit, Walt. I've never wanted something so badly in my entire life. I want this baby. I want our baby."

And then she was back with me in the ring of light and her face was buried in my chest, and she was sobbing into my shirt. I wrapped her in my arms, held her tight, and let her cry, while my own tears fell unregarded into the golden curtain of her hair.

We left the Pony right as the evening staff started to arrive. Aaron Blackwolf gave us a curious look when we passed him in the parking lot, but I merely raised a hand and said, "Have a good night," as we climbed into the truck.

Vic regained most of her usual equanimity during the drive, but I could tell she was still lost somewhere in her own thoughts. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, to make sure she was doing alright, to let her know I was here if she needed to talk, or even if she didn't. But, in the end, I let her have her peace by keeping my own, and we rode home in a silence that was broken only by the hum of the tires against the road.

When we got back to the cabin, I started a fire in the fireplace, hoping to burn off the chill that had settled in the air while we were at the hospital. Once the flames had devoured the kindling and started licking around the edges of the wood, I went to the fridge and started pulling out sandwich fixings. I wasn't particularly hungry, but it gave me something to do with my hands, and I wanted Vic to eat. I had at least had breakfast that morning, but, as far as I knew, she hadn't eaten anything all day.

She dutifully sat down at the table across from me, but did little more than pick at her food. I was starting to understand how helpless everyone around me must have felt when they noticed that I wasn't taking care of myself the way that I should. She did drink most of the iced tea that I poured for her, so I chalked that up as a win for the time being.

"You sure you got enough to eat?" I asked when she pushed away from the table.

"I'm just not very hungry," she said.

I didn't want to nag, and I knew she wouldn't let me baby her, so I let it go at that.

She got to her feet while I cleared away her mostly untouched plate. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Alright," I said, but I was already speaking to an empty room.

Later, when we went to bed, she let me hold her, her warm back pressed against my chest, my arm resting lightly against her hip. I thought about the tiny heart that still beat like the wings of a hummingbird, so close to where my fingers lay. I wanted to put my hand over her belly, to be as close to our child as I'd ever be able to be, but I resisted. Vic wouldn't appreciate the reminder, and maybe she wouldn't understand the impulse. Instead, I curled my hand into a loose fist and listened to the even sound of her breathing as I drifted into an uneasy, dream-filled sleep.

A/N: This was a hard chapter to get through. I'm pretty sure I rewrote the whole thing at least eight times before I was finally somewhat satisfied with it. Pregnancy and child loss are difficult subjects to explore, and I kept thinking about giving it up entirely, but the idea for this story has had a hold of me for literally *years* at this point, and I just don't think I'm going to be able to get past it until it gets written.