The Family Gathering (Sullivan's Crossing #3)(85)

Stan and Paul both chuckled. “We do, don’t we,” Stan said. “And pretty soon everyone will. We might be this little out of the way town but I expect at least seventy-five percent of the population has Facebook and Twitter. Hell, that’s our president’s favorite form of communication. Though you gotta ask yourself...” He cleared his throat. “Your stalker is going to be exposed.”

Dakota was silenced for a moment. “Aw, shit, she’s going to burn my house down,” he said.

“It’s on the Timberlake Police page, buddy. Just camp at Cal’s awhile longer till we hear from the lady. And I’d bet my retirement we’ll be hearing from her quick,” Stan said.

Dakota sighed. He wasn’t encouraged. “You guys are just a bunch of candy asses,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be a lot more effective to go cuff her and charge her?”

“I might do that eventually,” Stan said. “Right now I’m thinking long-term.”

“Oh, man,” Dakota said. “I’m truly fucked.”

When Dakota got back to his brother’s house, he helped himself to a cold beer. Cal emerged from his office, took note of Dakota’s beer and got one for himself.

“What’s the latest?” Cal asked.

“Stan’s planning to catch her with Facebook.”

Cal whistled. “Crafty,” he said, a facetious tone in his voice. “You think maybe Stan’s been police chief too long?”

*

Sierra sat on the exam table in a paper gown. She swung her feet, midway between hysteria and euphoria. There was a light tap and the door opened. A lovely woman around her age walked in, reading the folder. She smiled. Dr. Culver’s name was embroidered on her white lab coat. “It appears you’ve explained the mysterious fatigue?” she said by way of a question.

“So the pregnancy stick says,” Sierra answered.

“Congratulations. How do you feel?”

“Nauseous in the morning, tired in the afternoon. And a bit worried.”

“About?”

“I was taking birth control pills,” Sierra said. “I looked it up on the internet—it says that’s nothing to worry about.”

“For once, the internet is correct. The worry comes a bit later, when you’re aware that at least that particular pill isn’t going to keep you from getting pregnant. You’ll have to try something stronger. Or different. Or maybe double up. But you can cross that bridge when you get to it. Right now I’d like to do a checkup.”

“To be sure I’m pregnant?” she asked.

“To be sure you don’t have anything else going on. I don’t have an ultrasound and I’m not set up for a pelvic, but I can get that ready fast. If you want me to have a look.”

“Would you know for sure? If you looked?”

“I trust those darn pregnancy tests, to tell the truth. But I can get some other bases covered—like rule out ovarian cysts, uterine tumors, et cetera. I just can’t tell you how far along without an ultrasound. I’ll get some routine bloodwork done, a urine test, and we can find you an obstetrician.”

“I’m very worried about hereditary disease,” Sierra said.

Dr. Culver put a blood pressure cuff around Sierra’s arm and it automatically pumped itself tight. “Anything in particular?” she asked.

“My father is mentally ill. He isn’t under the care of a doctor, but he has so many special friends it’s certainly schizophrenia.”

“Onset of that particular mental disorder isn’t usually until the early twenties. You have years before something like that might show up. Any other relatives with mental illness?”

“My sister has OCD and anxiety...”

“Not related to schizophrenia,” she said. “Your blood pressure is fine. Let me go get my bucket—I’ll draw your blood.”

“Bucket?”

“My supplies,” she said. “Be just a minute.” She exited and was back almost instantly. The doctor fixed the rubber band around Sierra’s upper arm, and while she looked for a vein, she chatted. “If you’re having a lot of worry about mental illness, we can certainly fix you up with a counselor. But the bottom line is there is a ninety-five percent chance your child is going to be in excellent health and live to a ripe old age, provided you take care of yourself. There is a three to five percent chance he or she could develop a medical problem or have an accident. He could get meningitis or Lyme disease from a tick or fall in a backyard pool. You’ll have to be on your toes, but you know that already. With you and Connie obsessing over the baby, I predict he or she will be strong and healthy and outlive you by many years. Of course, you could encounter something rare, something frightening.” She popped another tube on the needle. “A counselor could help you not be scared until you have some reason to be. And a counselor would also help you resist dreaming up shit. Oops, I apologize. Yes, the doctor has been known to swear. So sorry.”

Sierra was grinning. “I like when you swear.”

“I’m trying to quit. So, I’m going to make sure you’re not anemic—pregnant women suffer from that sometimes. And that you don’t have diabetes or blood in your urine. And if you’d like me to, I’ll measure your uterus and see if I can guess the sex of the baby.”