Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(66)
“Will you excuse us?”
Laire had spent a few minutes online yesterday, reading through the symptoms for hypothyroidism, and with every additional page of information, she was more and more certain that she was suffering from a precursor to the disease that had killed her mother.
In a strange way, she felt at peace with this realization. If she was sick, it would supersede her transgressions. She would have to undergo surgery in Carteret, like her mother, and maybe even chemotherapy on a weekly basis. Her father and sisters would have to drive her over to the mainland, fuss over her, and worry for her safety and care. And maybe it sounded crazy, but if cancer was what it would take to draw them all back together, Laire was ready to face it. No. More than that. She was ready to embrace it.
The nurse reentered the room, taking a deep breath and cocking her head to the side as she stared at Laire.
“Laire, on your admittance form you said you weren’t sexually active.”
She stared at the nurse, who held a piece of paper in her hand. “I’m not.”
The nurse took another deep breath, her brow knitting as she looked down at the paper. When she looked back up at Laire, her expression was severe. “Not at all?”
Laire’s mind skated back to her night with Erik, but he’d barely been inside her for more than a few seconds, and he’d climaxed on her stomach. That didn’t count, did it?
“Really, I—”
“Laire, honey,” said the nurse, taking a step forward and placing a calming hand on her arm, “are you sure you haven’t been with anyone? Sexually? Maybe . . . it wasn’t your choice? Did someone . . . force you or—”
“No!” she said, shaking her head as she jerked her arm back. “Nothing like that! I swear.”
“Then . . .”
She glanced at the printout in the nurse’s hand, her stomach clenching with worry. “What does it say on that paper?”
“Well, it seems that your urine test revealed the presence of . . .” She paused, searching Laire’s face. “. . . the pregnancy hormone hCG. In fact, we found 288,000 mIU/ml in your urine. That level is commensurate with a woman who is ten to twelve weeks pregnant.”
Laire. Stopped. Breathing.
She stared up at the nurse blankly, in stark horror, trying desperately to get her head around what the nurse was saying.
The nurse smiled gently. “It would also explain your fatigue, increased appetite, and weight gain, especially around the abdomen.”
“No.”
“Yes, I think—”
“Pregnant? You’re saying I’m pregnant?” she cried.
“It looks that way. Yes.”
As the nurse reached for her arm again, Laire shook her head, murmuring, “No. No, no, no, no, no. You’re wrong. You’re . . . wrong.”
“I don’t think we are.”
“You are!” she screamed.
“Calm down, Laire,” said the nurse, squeezing her arm gently. “You need to calm down.”
“No! This can’t be happening! I thought cancer. It’s cancer, like my mama!”
“We can still do blood tests if you want, but you have no real symptoms of hypothyroidism that can’t be explained by pregnancy. This diagnosis makes more sense, and the urinalysis—”
“I don’t care about that! It’s wrong!”
“It isn’t wrong.” The nurse looked down at the sheet in her hand again. “It’s correct, Laire. You’re about three months along.”
“Oh, my God, no! This can’t be happening!” she shrieked, leaping off the table and backing away from the nurse.
“Dear,” said the nurse, standing back and holding up her palms. “It’s okay. You need to calm down, or you’ll hurt the—”
“Shut up!” she screamed. “It’s not okay! It’s not! It’s not true!”
Tears were streaming down her face as the nurse opened the door, called to the other nurse, spoke to her briefly, then turned back to Laire.
“Laire, there are options.”
Options? On Corey Island? With her father? With her sisters? No. There were no options. There was nothing but rejection and shame and humiliation. Options?!
She shrieked with a high-pitched laugh that sounded as crazy as she felt.
“Please sit back down, Laire. I just asked the nurse to get your sister.”
“What?” gasped Laire, her eyes widening almost impossibly. “No! Noooo! Don’t tell her! Don’t—”
She lurched forward, pushed the nurse away, and ran from the exam room, trying to reach Kyrstin before she heard the shameful truth, but as she arrived in the waiting room, one look on Kyrstin’s face told her she was too late.
“Laire,” said Kyrstin, looking over the nurse’s shoulder, her voice a whisper, her face white. “What have you done?”
Chapter 16
Laire and Kyrstin walked down the road, to the Dancing Turtle coffee shop, in silence, the only sound a bottle of prenatal vitamins shaking like a baby rattle in Laire’s purse with every step she took.
Sitting at a table by the windows, Kyrstin ordered them two cups of coffee, then folded her hands on the table, waiting to speak until Laire finally looked up and met her eyes.