Читать книгу The Other Mother - Кейт Хьюит, Kate Hewitt, Kate Hewitt - Страница 19

As soon as my cell phone rings at work I know it’s Alex. I set her number to a different ringtone, a soothing cricket chirp because God knows I’m tense enough already.

And I’m even tenser when I answer the call, because I hear the ragged note of tears in her voice.

“Martha—”

“Alex? Alex, what’s—?”

“I’m bleeding, Martha.”

“Bleeding?” Everything in me freezes. “What? What happened—?”

“It just started all of a sudden.” She makes a choking sound, as if she’s holding back a sob. “There’s a lot of blood.”

“Where are you?” My voice is high, sharp with anxiety. With terror.

“I’m at the center.”

Way downtown. I feel icy with adrenalin and shock. “Let me call the OB,” I say, striving for calm. “I’ve met with her before. I could get you an appointment today.”

“I’ll call,” Alex says after a moment, her voice still shaky.

“Okay. You have the number? You’ll call me when you hear?” My voice is sharp again.

“Yes,” she says, subdued now. “Yes, I’ll call you.”

I spend the next twenty minutes staring at my computer screen, simply waiting. Finally the phone rings and I snatch at it. “Alex?”

“They’ll see me today,” she says quietly. “At four.”

“I’ll be there.” Too late I realize that Alex might not want me there. But I need to be there. Still I force myself to say, “Only if you want me to. If you want somebody to go to the appointment with.”

Alex is silent for a long moment and I wait, my breath held, my heart beating hard. “I’d like that,” she finally says, softly, and I try to let my breath out slowly, so she doesn’t hear my rush of relief.

I leave the office at three-thirty and run into my direct supervisor, Mark Sheehan, in the corridor. He sees me obviously on the way out and raises his eyebrows.

“Going somewhere, Martha? We’re meeting in five upstairs, I thought.”

Shit. There is a pitch meeting for our newest account. I gave the main pitch to one of my juniors but I absolutely should be there, backing him up and adding my own spin. But I can’t. I can’’t.

“I’m really sorry, Mark,” I say. “I have a family emergency.”

“Family emergency,” he repeats, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me, which pisses me off. I haven’t taken all of my vacation days in any of the last three years. And most of the ones I took were for IVF appointments.

“Yes,” I say firmly, and meet his eye. “Family emergency.”

His mouth thinning, he nods, and I hurry towards the elevators, everything forgotten except for Alex—and my baby.