Patrick

He was on his phone when she reappeared, looking incongruous sitting on her faded sofa. He looked up when she entered the room, his eyes going over her attire before lingering on her generous bre*sts. “Ready?”

She nodded and reached for her light jacket. It was late afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky but a breeze had sprung up cooling the air somewhat.

He held the door opened for her to get in and made sure she was secured in the seatbelt before driving off in still yet another vehicle; this time a serviceable black SUV with Copeland’s Software on the side of it. She rested her head back and closed her eyes trying to still the roiling of her stomach. She had just drunk some tea and had dry toast this morning and in the afternoon some plain soup, and she was feeling hungry but afraid to eat. Her eyes flew open as she felt the vehicle stop. It was at a gracefully towering white building that had a sign out front saying: ‘Doctor Henry Whittingham – Obstetrician.’

“He works on the weekend?” she asked, looking at the curving driveway and the beautifully manicured lawn.

“For friends.” He opened the door and she got out.

They were greeted at the door by a uniformed maid who ushered them into an elegant foyer. “He said you should come right in,” she told them with a smile.

Carrie felt self conscious as they made their way through a passageway and into a large room that apparently served as the doctor’s office. He got to his feet as soon as they entered. He was a tall man with a heavy head of white hair and light blue eyes. “Patrick, my boy!” he said as he shook Patrick’s hand and then turned to Carrie. “How are you, my dear?”

“Sick as a dog,” she admitted wryly.

He laughed and told her to go into a room behind them. “Take your clothes off and put the robe on. The nurse will be with you, and I will be there shortly.”

He came in soon after while she was lying on the bed with her feet in stirrups. To her surprise, Patrick came in with him. “I want to be here,” he told her quietly.

Doctor Whittingham examined her thoroughly and then told her to get dressed and meet him back in his office. To her relief, Patrick went with him, and she was given privacy so she could get dressed.

“Sit, my dear,” he told her, ushering her to a chair by the desk. “You are going on three months and the nausea is a part of it. I am going to write a prescription for you to start taking some vitamins and folic acid and of course something for the nausea. The fetus is healthy. I expect to see you here in September. Congratulations,” he told them both.

The prescription was filled right there at the pharmacy, and Carrie took the pills immediately before they left the building. They sat inside the car for several minutes before he turned to her. “My parents want to meet you,” he told her abruptly.

“What for?” she asked him alarmed.

“I suppose because you happen to be carrying their grandchild,” he told her mildly.

She twisted her hands together in agitation. “You told your parents.”

“Of course,” he said with a grim smile.

“How did they take it?”

“Not very well.” He did not tell her how angry his father had been that he had gotten some waitress pregnant.

“Did you happen to tell them that I am not rich and famous?” she asked him sarcastically.

He looked at her, a glimmer or amusement in his eyes. “Of course.”

“I can just imagine their reaction,” she said grimly.

They sat there in silence for a little bit; the only sound was the humming of the air conditioner. “Look, we are in this situation because both of us gave in to the heat of the moment, but there is a child involved. I want you to marry me.”