Page 31

T he scent of sizzling garlic wafted through the cottage. “Hey, hon. Something smells good.”

Sarah wasn’t in the kitchen, yet the pan was still spitting. He turned off the stove. “Sar?”

He went upstairs. Nope. No sign of her. Then he heard the downstairs toilet flush. He hurried down the stairs as she opened the door. “Hey, are you okay?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I feel gross. Happy that you’re back, though.”

“Hey, come here.”

She backed away. “Don’t kiss me. I just threw up.”

Okay, then. A hug would have to do. He took his time with that, then murmured, “Is this a new bra?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re feeling a little fuller than normal.”

She looked at her chest. “I feel more sore.” She winced.

“Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“I’m so sorry. I just feel so tired, and I had a big headache today, so I didn’t clean up like I’d planned, and—”

“Hey, it’s okay. Go sit down, put your feet up. I’ve got this.”

“Thank you.” She nuzzled his jaw with her cheek, then staggered to the sofa.

He rushed to grasp her arm, steady her feet. “Whoa.”

She sank onto the sofa. “Sorry. I feel so gross.”

“Close your eyes. It’s all good.”

She obeyed, and he found a blanket and laid it over her. Poor thing. She didn’t seem good at all.

He looked at the meal she’d started cooking, and salvaged what he could. By the time it was cooked, she still hadn’t stirred. Hmm. This definitely wasn’t the welcome home he’d envisaged.

He went over and gently shook her awake. “Hey, Princess, how’s your headache?”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s mostly gone.”

“Are you ready to eat?”

She yawned. Then covered her mouth and winced again. “I’m so sorry. I’m not hungry at all.”

“Want to keep me company while I eat then?”

“Sure.”

He helped her up, and she clung to him, arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry for being such a wussy little dandelion.”

He laughed. “You can be my wussy little dandelion any time you like.”

She sank into the kitchen stool, while he plated his meal. “So how was the skills camp?”

“Good.” He told her about the defensive skills he’d taught alongside Brendan and Marc.

He moved to the dining table, prayed, then ate. He felt bad to be the only one eating, but she still looked too pale. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you seen a doctor?”

“I don’t think there’s any point. They’ll just tell me to sleep better.” She brightened marginally. “Which I probably will now, now that you’re home.”

“You don’t mind me snoring?”

“You don’t snore too bad. It’s when you steal the blankets that I have a problem.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Blanket Thief? That’s you projecting, that’s what that is.”

“Ugh.” She covered her mouth. Winced. “Projectile vomiting. Excuse me.”

He watched her exit, frowning. Maybe he should call Dr. James and see if he made house visits. She seemed a lot worse than when he’d left four days ago.

He tapped on the toilet door. “Sarah? Are you okay in there?”

“I’ll be out in a few.”

Hmm. That wasn’t convincing.

He got his phone, found James’s number, and dialed. “James? It’s Dan Walton. Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering, do you do house calls at all?”

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Sarah. She’s been exhausted for weeks, and I’m getting concerned, especially now she’s vomiting.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, there have been some cases of the flu around here lately.”

That must be what it is.

“Unless you think she might be pregnant.”

His heart thudded. “What? No. She was bleeding last week.”

James paused. “Are you using contraception?”

“What?”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Wouldn’t she know?”

“Get her to take a test. Then you’ll know.”

“’Kay. Thanks.” He ended the call. Felt like a fool, even as a tiny hope started dancing in his soul.

He knocked on the door again. “Sar? Have you got a minute?”

She flushed the toilet, and opened the door, her eyes blotchy, as if she’d been crying.

He moved to hold her.

“Don’t touch me. I was sick again.”

“I don’t care.” He held her. “I love you.”

She clung more firmly. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

He led her to the sofa and helped her sit again. “Sar, how long have you been feeling like this?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Since we had dinner at Jackie and Lincoln’s.”

He nodded. He didn’t want to freak her out, he had to stay calm. But now he thought about it, these symptoms weren’t that dissimilar to what she’d experienced in the past. “How did the fundraising meeting go?”

“It was good.” She glanced up at him, her face pale. “I think getting involved is a good thing.”

“Me too. I’m glad you went.” He gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “Especially when you haven’t felt well.”

She nodded. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Speaking of right things, it’s not right that you’re feeling so unwell. We should take you to the doctor’s.”

“I hate going to the doctor.”

“I know.” After her car accident injuries meant she’d spent months in hospital, she avoided medical appointments like the plague.

Hmm. Clearly, he had to find another way to broach this.

“It’s just, well, I was wondering, seeing you’ve been feeling off-color, do you think there is any chance you might be, uh, expecting? ”

She squinted up at him, clearly confused. “Expecting? Expecting what?”

He smothered a smile. He had to make this plain. “Do you have a pregnancy test somewhere around here?”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He grabbed his car keys. There had to be a pharmacist still open at this hour. “I’ll be back in—”

“Wait. There might be one upstairs. Why?”

He looked at her.

“Oh, Dan. No.” She shook her head. “I was bleeding last week, Dan. Remember? I even had cramps too, and I—”

“Sar, sit down, and relax. I’ll go see if there’s one upstairs.”

“But—oh.” She slumped back onto the sofa.

Whoa. That wasn’t supposed to happen. “Sarah?”

She opened her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

“Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“What?”

As he’d hoped, the threat woke her up. She didn’t like hospitals, after her months of enforced stay after the accident. Call him cruel for suggesting it, but it worked.

“Wait here.” Like she was going anywhere.

He hurried upstairs to their bathroom and soon found the packaged kit. Then returned downstairs. Handed it to her. “Can you take this test?”

“Why? So you can be disappointed again?”

“Please?”

She sighed, he helped her up and she moved back into the toilet. Closed the door. And he prayed.

The sound of flushing and rinsed hands preceded her return, a little stick in front of her.

“How long do we need?”

“Two minutes.”

She placed the test on the plastic packaging, and he set the timer. They held each other, not looking at it. He didn’t want her spirits crushed again.

He so needed to man up right now and be the husband she could lean on, no matter what happened to that little white stick.

“Hey, Sar, it’s gonna be alright. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He gazed into her green eyes steadily, watching as the worry and fear faded and a measure of peace filled them instead.

“Whatever happens. God is with us, He’ll help us, we can trust Him.”

She exhaled, nodded, and their torturous wait continued.

Lord, please…

The phone alarm beeped, and they studied each other. “Ready?”

She shook her head.

He smiled, swiped her hair behind her ear. “God’s got this, no matter what it is.”

“But it won’t be, because I was bleeding last week.”

“Let’s see what the test says.”

She drew in a shaky-sounding breath. Nodded.

And they turned back to the stick.

* * *

Sarah held a special secret inside her. No-one, apart from Daniel and Dr. McKinnon knew.

That first test in Muskoka had seen Dan rush out to buy another two, and they all said the same thing.

She was pregnant. With none of the tests holding the wavery pink lines of the previous three times.

They’d returned to Toronto and made an appointment with Dr. McKinnon as soon as possible.

The bleeding she’d thought was her period he’d put down to implantation bleeding.

And while he’d said her blood test result indicated her hCG level was healthy, it wasn’t until last week’s ultrasound had showed a little heartbeat that she’d dared believe this could actually be real.

Still, Dr. McKinnon’s cautions about their history, and the likelihood of spontaneous miscarriage given their supposed incompatibility, or health issues should she carry their baby to full term, threaded fear into what otherwise would have been pure joy.

Because they’d been here before. And while they knew God was good, there was always the chance that—miracle though this may be—that God’s timing would see heartbreak much like before.

Faith was a hard place to live in. And so once again, the hard challenges of faith meant they hadn’t told anyone yet, despite their recent attempts to be open.

“You almost ready, Sar?”

“Yes.” She pinned her hair behind her ears, her movements flattening her dress across a stomach that revealed no telltale sign of a bump.

That was no surprise. She’d been sick most days, so she’d been losing weight, even if her chest was fuller than usual.

That was a good sign she supposed. Something must be working okay.

Dan entered the bathroom, his eyes widening at the dress. “Is this new?”

“It’s another vintage piece.” Also known as second-hand designer. The world didn’t need to drown in more cheap cast-away clothes. She’d bought it when she’d been less busty.

“Well, I like.”

He drew close, as if he wanted to kiss her, but she inched away. “You’ll have to wait.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “You look great.”

“Thanks.”

It was nice to have this feeling of accord. He hadn’t liked it yesterday when she’d said she still wanted to go on the Heartsong tour. “But this is our child’s health you plan to risk.”

“I don’t plan to risk anything,” she’d snapped. Man, hormones that exacerbated her tendency to fly off the handle were the pits.