Holding my breath, I wipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my jeans then push open the door. The moment I enter, all eyes are on me.
Mary, the receptionist, looks pale as I approach the desk. She definitely didn’t expect me to come in after she told me over the phone that they had no slots open. And yet, here I am.
“Hi.” I keep my voice calm and friendly. “I called earlier.”
“I’m aware of that, Mrs. Watson. And I told you that we don’t have any openings today or in the next few weeks.”
“I know. I heard you.” I remove my sunglasses so I can look straight into her eyes. “But I don’t believe you.”
I don’t know where my courage is coming from, but I no longer feel scared.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “There’s nothing I can do.” She peels her gaze from mine and starts to shuffle papers around her desk. She won’t look at me again.
Whispers break out around the waiting room. People go as far as pointing at me. I don’t care what they say. All I care about is getting my baby treated.
I wait for Mary to say something more, to apologize, to tell me that she made a mistake and they actually do have an opening. I’ve come to Dr. Rogers many times before, and it has never been a problem to fit me in last minute.
Mary picks up the phone and murmurs something into it. I’m guessing she’s talking to the doctor, probably telling her that the woman who’s making headlines in town has paid them a visit.
She hangs up and gives me a triumphant smile.
“I checked with Dr. Rogers. We don’t have any slots open. I can give you a list of doctors in nearby towns.”
“Look, my baby has not kicked much for hours and I’m worried. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “Like I said, we can’t fit you in today.”
I try harder to change her mind, but she doesn’t budge. Finally, Dr. Rogers comes out of her office, a stern look on her lined face. She tells me exactly what Mary has told me and asks me to leave.
Heat flushes through my body as I face her point blank.
“I feel that something’s wrong. If anything happens to my baby, it will be on you. I hope you can live with yourself.” With that, I turn my back to her and burst through the door, slamming it behind me, praying that the glass doesn’t break.
Back inside my car, I take a few minutes to calm down, my fists pressed against my thumping temples. My mood plummets even more when I turn on the radio to hear that Alex has, indeed, been transferred to Nashville, where he appeared before a judge and was denied bail.
When I return home, the reporters and cameramen seem to have multiplied. They must have heard about Alex being denied bail. It must give them even more reason to believe he’s guilty.
I ignore them like I did earlier. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll burst out crying.
“How could you not know?” they shout.
“How could you live under the same roof as a murderer and not know what he’s up to?”
I manage to push through them and into the house.
I’m not planning to stay inside for long. I can hear them at the windows, still shouting out their poisonous questions and making threats. The sound of something being hit makes me think my car is being trashed. I need to get out of this town before they slash my tires.
I toss a few stretchy pants and maxi dresses into a small bag, followed by toiletries, then I return to my car.
The swarm of people circles me, both paparazzi and protesters. I suddenly feel nauseous. What would happen if I threw up right on their expensive microphones and cameras? That would give them something to talk about.
I don’t.
I simply get back into my car and drive off. Every few minutes, I glance in the rearview mirror, afraid someone is following me.
Someone is. Two cars that I saw parked in front of my house are after me. They won’t let me get away easily. I’m too much of a good story. They won’t let dollar bills slip through their fingers.
I try not to speed, driving just fast enough to outrun them. My head is buzzing as I navigate the narrow, winding streets in an attempt to lose them. At times I think I have, only for them to appear again. Fifteen minutes later, I notice that only one of the cars is still following me.
