Kinley shifts her talented hands to the side of her belly. “Just chilling. She’s active but currently not trying to treat your spleen like a soccer ball.”
Big fat tears spill down the sides of Lucy’s temple.
“Have you been getting faint recently?” Kinley asks, dipping a napkin into the one water glass that wasn’t knocked over and wiping Lucy’s forehead.
She starts to shake her head, then grimaces. “I got a little woozy the other day, but I’d forgotten to eat.”
“Have you eaten today?”
She grimaces again. “I had some toast but couldn’t really eat much more. I’m always a little queasy in the morning.”
One of my buddies in Nashville has a kid, and she says that the people who say the morning sickness only lasts for the first trimester have clearly never been pregnant.
“Not to nag you or anything, but you’ve been racing around this place like your ass is on fire, and a piece of toast ain’t gonna cut it, sweetie,” Kinley says, only mildly scolding her.
Lucy’s eyes widen. “Do you think I hurt the babies? I just…sometimes all I can do is eat, and other times, I can’t even look at food.”
“No, you did not hurt your babies. You’re allowed to be queasy and not want to eat. You have clearly been taking really excellent care of yourself overall,” Kinley assures her, gesturing to her general appearance. “Besides, we’ve been monitoring you closely. Do you think you could eat something now? Maybe one of these rolls?”
Lucy nods. I grab the butter knife and add some butter to the roll, handing it to her. She takes a few tentative bites, then shoves the entire roll in her mouth.
Looking sheepish, she says, “I guess I was hungrier than I realized.”
“We’re still gonna get you into the hospital at least to examine you, but do you want to try and sit up and maybe eat a little more?”
She nods, and we help her right herself, then Kinley pushes the table back into place. The plates of food are a bit of a mess, but it’s all still edible. Kinley sits next to Lucy as she tears into the chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It’s actually kind of impressive.
By the time she’s wiping her mouth, Freddy comes rushing in.
Lucy’s chin trembles. “I…I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss. This is going to be a really expensive missed breakfast, isn’t it?” she asks, looking into Kinley’s eyes with worry etched across her brow. “Can we go in your truck? When they took my mom in for her heart attack, the ambulance ride was one of the most expensive items on her bill.”
I put my hand on hers. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll have my finance guy contact you, and we’ll take care of it, okay?”
More tears fall. “I can’t ask that of you.”
Healthcare in America is such that it would cost the pregnant woman who just fainted several hundred dollars, even with insurance, to take the ambulance to the hospital. I can’t stand by and watch that happen to a waitress making minimum wage plus tips.
I hold up my hands. “You’re not asking. I’m telling. Just…keep it under your hat for me.”
She nods, and I let out a relieved breath.
“How’s our mama?” Freddy asks, eyeballing her and the empty plate of food in front of her.
“She’s okay. It’s just a precaution at this point, but Dr. Zamora is meeting us at the hospital,” Kinley says.
Lucy looks at me and mouthsthank you.
Freddy works with the other EMT who helped me the night of the TIA—Jackie, I think—to get Lucy on the stretcher.
“Don’t you worry, little momma,” Freddy says, patting her back. “We’ll be at the hospital in no time, and Dr. Zamora will take good care of you.”
She gives him a watery smile, and I wonder if Mason knows what a good guy he is. I might have to say something about it to him, if for no other reason than if I’m going to be sideswiped by someone in this small town, maybe I don’t have to be the only one.
Temporary arrangement, my country ass.
Kinley and I walk alongside Lucy to the ambulance.
“Guess it’s not every day that a huge country music star takes care of a pregnant woman,” Lucy says, looking sheepish.
