Chapter 19: Corabelle
I swear my morning sickness just gets worse as I enter the second trimester. Most women find it’s easier, but I’m don’t. The next doctor visit goes fine. The Dopplers find the heartbeat perfectly.
But the sixteen-week sonogram is coming. That’s when we’ll look at the condition of the baby’s heart and find out the gender. As the date approaches, my stomach just revolts.
I can’t hold anything down.
The fall quarter has begun and I’m barely able to make classes. I haven’t worked on my thesis at all. I’m not sure I will graduate in January after all. Everything is going to hell.
I’ve avoided Professor White. I feel like I’ve thrown away all my opportunities. He went out of his way to get me a scholarship, and an adjunct job I had to turn down. And here I am, not even doing my work.
The day of my sonogram, I skip class entirely. My body is wrung out. The pills Dr. Jamison prescribed to help with the nausea have not helped much. Even if the baby doesn’t have a heart defect, it’s probably a malnourished skeleton.
Picturing this sends me on a terrible crying jag every time. I just want this to be over. Tell me the baby is dead, or will die, and just be done.
I want it done.
When Gavin comes home to take me to the appointment, I’m lying in the dark of the bedroom, still in pajamas, a wet towel over my face.
He curls up beside me. “You okay, Corabelle?”
I can’t even answer. Moving my head might jostle my stomach. I can’t throw up anything else. There’s nothing there. But the heaving is painful and brings on a debilitating headache.
Something fuzzy brushes my arm. It’s flat with round edges. A pillow, maybe.
I move the towel aside. It’s a rainbow butterfly, furry and soft.
“Thought we could use a little something extra today,” Gavin says.
I hug the pillow to my chest. “I love it,” I say.
“You want me to pick out some clothes for you?” he asks. “I’ll probably go for the slinky red dress.”
“I don’t think this belly will go in the slinky dress anymore.” I press a hand to my stomach. My hips have gotten bonier due to the sickness, but the bulge is pretty pronounced.
Gavin bends down to kiss it. “Looks perfect to me,” he says, and heads to the closet.
My head is still in all the wrong places, though, and when Gavin comes out with an outfit, it’s as if we’ve gone straight back to the day of Finn’s funeral. Gavin tried to help me find something to wear, but my belly was still all pillowed and I couldn’t find any shoes.
I wouldn’t leave then, just like now.
My belly convulses as I hold back a sob. This is never going to work.
“I don’t want to go,” I say. “I can’t bear it.”
Gavin sits next to me again. “So not knowing is easier?”
“If it’s bad,” I say.
“But what if it’s not?”
I don’t tell him that I don’t see any way it could be good. I can’t eat. I barely sleep. Even the vitamins come back up.
There’s no way this baby is healthy. Just no way.
I roll onto my side around the pillow.
“Hey,” he says, brushing back my hair. “Let’s not think about the sonogram, okay? Just the next thing. The very next thing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “The sonogram is the very next thing.”
“Nope, that’s way down the line,” he says. “First, I’m going to take off your pants.” He grins at me and tugs at the waistband of my pajamas.
They slide off and he tosses them on the floor. “Picking that up is way, way down the line,” he says.
This does make me crack a smile.
“Then these go on.” He tugs maternity jeans over my ankles. They slide up easily. Mom sent them last week when I told her I was just leaving my normal jeans unsnapped. This offended her somewhat prudish sensibilities.
And they were more comfortable, I had to admit.
She took care not to send anything I had worn with Finn. The box of my old maternity clothes is still in my old room in the closet.
I’m not sure I can ever wear those again.
These are new, still a little stiff. But Gavin gets them up. “This stretch panel is convenient,” he says, sliding his hand down inside. “Lots of room.”
Now I have to laugh, at least a little, and slap his hand. “You already did your damage down there,” I say.
“And I will do it again and again.”
I sober up a little at that because I know we haven’t been doing it again and again, not lately. I’m so sick, and so afraid. Every bump, every sudden movement, every time I trip on my own feet, I’m afraid I will hurt something and cause another baby to die. Sex seems impossible.
“Next is the shirt,” he says, lifting the bottom of my pajama top. I have to set down the pillow to give him room.
The air hits my skin as he works it over my head.
“Mmm, maybe we’ll stay this way for a bit,” he says. His hand traces the underside of a breast.
I’ll admit, I do feel a twinge of interest when he does that.
Gavin picks up the T-shirt. “Dang, a bra. Let me look.” He looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Or can I convince you to go without?”
All right, he’s got me. My mood has lifted.
“Not a chance,” I say. “At least not in public.”
He lets out a big heavy sigh. “Worth a shot.”
“Top drawer,” I say. “The peach one.”
He grabs it. “Uh, this is not what I expected.” He holds it up. “There’s no hooks.”
I sit up and take it from him. “It’s an athletic bra,” I say. “Underwire is just too much right now.”
Gavin watches as I pull it on, then I pick up the shirt from the bed.
“Can you get me a brush?” I ask.
He jumps up, relief on his face that I’m coming around. I always do for him. He has that magic over me.
“Let me,” he says.
The brush makes my scalp tingle as he runs it through my long hair. He finds a few tangles and carefully presses against my head so he won’t pull too hard.
By the time he’s done, I feel relaxed and good.
“Ready?” he asks, kissing my shoulder.
“Ready,” I say. I should have had more faith in him.
Faith in myself.
And in the baby.
I pick up the rainbow butterfly and take his hand. Then we’re off to the car, heading to the doctor’s office.
And on to whatever we’ll have to deal with next.