23

Tick Tock

LUKE

Three days since the bomb had been triggered, and every tick of the clock had brought me to this moment.

Silence crackled in the room, sharp with anticipation as the doctor watched the ultrasound monitor.

My lungs were empty and locked, my pulse loud in my ears. Wendy lay on the exam table, her face tight and eyes bright. She reached for my hand, and I let her, the feeling of her clammy palm against mine sending a shudder of aversion through me.

Everything about this felt wrong.

Wendy’s presence. The cold exam room. The static on the monitor. The fluttering sound of a baby’s heartbeat. The disbelief that the creator of that heartbeat was me. The sick sensation that I didn’t want it to be and the subsequent guilt that it could be. And what a shitty father I was for wishing for something so abhorrent.

The only sound was the bow, bow, bow of a heartbeat and the clicking of the doctor’s mouse as she took measurements.

Every second was protracted, unending, the suspense slithering its way through me.

“Well,” the doctor said with a smile, “baby’s looking great. Strong heartbeat, which is a good sign. Looks like we’ve got our due date wrong though. You’re measuring two to three weeks ahead.”

Just like that, my lungs opened up, and I breathed in fire.

Wendy’s eyes widened, but she smiled, laughing casually. “No, that can’t be right. I know when my last period was. I marked it.”

My hand unwound from hers. I took a step back, mind racing.

The doctor chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. There are a lot of reasons it could be off, like when you ovulated, when you conceived. Plus, a lot of the time, we just have the dates wrong. But the good news is, everything’s looking like exactly what we’d expect. You’re almost in the safe zone.”

Shallow sips of air, stoking the emotion stirring in my ribs.

“I don’t have the dates wrong,” Wendy insisted, her voice sure and light. “Are you sure I’m not just measuring ahead?”

Lied. She lied.

The doctor spun on her stool with a ghost of a frown on her lips. “The margin of error on a pregnancy this early on is only about a week. You’re easily two weeks ahead, more like three based on my experience.”

Numb hands. A tingle of disbelief. A satisfying sense of rightness, coupled with overwhelming revulsion.

“You should check again.” Her voice trembled. She hadn’t yet looked at me.

Out. I had to get out. I had to get away.

The doctor’s gaze darted to mine in confusion, her frown fully formed. “I can, but the numbers will be the same.”

“I know when I conceived!” White ringed her eyes.

“You lied,” I breathed.

The doctor’s frown flattened, lips pursed as she stood. “The date that you gave me is not the conception date based on the development of your baby.” She moved around the table, giving us both a knowing look that lingered on me. I saw an apology in her eyes. “Let me give you the room for a few minutes.”