She lifted her head, fighting past her mortification. “What do I use for birth control?” she asked curiously.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
That should have given her a clue. But she was too nervous, doubly so with Patrick watching her, to think about it. “It shouldn’t take long,” she said, sliding out of the passenger seat. “You could come back in about half an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said. And for some reason she didn’t find that the slightest bit comforting.
Comfort didn’t have much to do with her exam either. After she was finally maneuvered into that embarrassing and inelegant position on the examining table she met the doctor’s annoyed face with innocent trepidation.
“You’re here to see me about a possible pregnancy, Mrs. Winters?” she demanded with the awfulness of a member of the Spanish Inquisition.
Molly nodded mutely. In a moment Dr. Turner drew back.
“That’s all,” she said brusquely. “You can get dressed. See that she gets a complete series of blood tests run on her, then bring her to my office.” She started for the door, and Molly sat up, yanking the sheet up over her.
“Am I pregnant?” she demanded nervously.
Dr. Turner stared at her for one long, incredulous moment. “In my office,” she repeated abruptly.
Molly was to remember that look of incredulity as she underwent the nastiness of blood tests and three painful finger-pricks. The nurse was a bloodthirsty butcher who took fiendish delight in probing for her recalcitrant veins. It was a full two and a half hours after she first entered the building, and she was practically in a state of nervous collapse by the time they brought her back to Dr. Turner’s office. Molly sat there in the small, paneled room, trying to force an interest in the framed licenses and degrees, the walls of medical texts, bracing herself for the news that could change her life forever.
At least no one had brought Patrick in to hear the news. There was something to be said for good old-fashioned sexist GPs, Molly thought with a trace of gratitude.
Dr. Turner entered the room quickly, and sat down opposite Molly, her head lowered. She was the very image of the old-fashioned country doctor, lined face, tired eyes, and Molly wondered what she had done to earn her displeasure, or to cause this sudden...was it embarrassment?
“I hear you’ve lost your memory?” the doctor said abruptly, staring out at her from faded blue eyes.
“That’s true,” she answered slowly.
“I guess that accounts for it,” Dr. Turner said, half to herself. “You’re perfectly recovered from that fall except for a few bruises.”
“I know that.” Molly brushed the information aside. “What I want to know is whether I’m pregnant or not.”
The doctor leaned back, a look of sudden amusement crossing her weary face. “Well, now, Mrs. Winters, virgin birth is not a medical impossibility, but in your case I think we needn’t worry.”
Molly stared at her in unblinking shock. “ ’Virgin birth’?” she repeated, astonished. “You’re telling me I’m a virgin?”
She nodded. “First one I’ve seen on a girl over seventeen in I don’t know how long.” She chuckled, then sobered suddenly. “Is there something I should be treating your husband for?”
“You should know that better than I,” she said bitterly. “Aren’t you his doctor?”
“Well, he’s never complained, but then, men are funny about that sort of thing,” Dr. Turner reflected. “They’re ashamed of it.”
“I doubt that he has any problem in that area,” Molly answered, thinking of Lisa Canning’s smug self-assurance. “He just doesn’t care much for me, I suppose.”
“Could be, could be. I think maybe I better see him anyway.” She peered at Molly across the desk. “You tell him to come in next week some time.”
“I don’t think so,” she answered, the idea horrifying her. “We’re not on very good terms.”
“So I noticed,” Dr. Turner said, then wheezed with laughter at her own joke. “Nevertheless, I want to see him anyway. In the meantime we’ll see what those blood tests turn up—you look a bit peaked to me. We’ll find out what’s causing you to toss your cookies, young lady, don’t you worry. Though I imagine if s nothing more than stress. We’ll call you when we get the results.” She dismissed her with a wave of her hand, and there was nothing Molly could do but leave, with one question answered and a million more started.
Patrick was sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by sneezing parents and wailing children. He was large and out of place in that feminine setting, and yet he looked curiously at ease amid the chaos. He rose when she came out, raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and then followed her out into the parking lot.
A light rain had begun to fall. She waited for him to unlock the car, climbing in as she prayed he wouldn’t ask her what she’d gone to see Dr. Turner for.
She should have known it would be a waste of time. “So,” he said, as he pulled out into the highway, “are you pregnant?”
She glared at him. So much for her illusion that she’d manage to fool him. “No,” she said in a little more than a snarl.
