*****037:

Aubrey

It was hot, so awfully hot. I mean, it's June in Southern California, and that reeks of heat. But we were on the ocean and were at least supposed to have some respite from it. Even from the front door to the car door in the garage I felt gross and sweaty.

Angie politely held the door for me, and I begrudgingly thanked her. Begrudgingly, because I simply was so hot and gross feeling, I couldn't be nice about it. Virgil was at the garage door waiting to push the garage door release button, and wave at us.

"How are you feeling, Aubrey?" Angie said as she got in the driver's seat.

"You tell me, you're dripping on the leather seats in an air-conditioned car."

It was true, she was glistening-- and it rolled off me in slimy fat rolls. I felt disgusting.

I wouldn't even be going out, but I had a doctor's appointment, and Gerald Breckinridge didn't do house calls. Even for me.

I turned the AC all the way up and the fan that blew it. We waved to Virgil and now Abbie holding Rein who was screaming his head off at the separation, and Felicity and Celeste were nowhere in sight. As we pulled out I nodded to Keeva and Kodey, stationed close to the house and the grounds. I looked back over at my former home, to see Ben's car parked there, just him. Rafe would be meeting us in Santa Monica--- coming from Dark Avenue in LA.

Angie knew me better than to keep asking mundane questions, and wisely turned on the radio. A little Fleetwood Mac on an oldies station and I had closed my eyes and was humming along to Stevie Nicks' voice in my head: And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again, I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain....

I was escorted into the cool cream and gold waiting area. Three other pregnant mom's looking about as uncomfortable as I was were waiting. We signed in and sat down. You'd think--- this being my former practice--- I'd have been privileged to just wander around, walk into the interior, get choice on-demand performance, but no. I behaved like the rest. Waiting my turn.

One gal was looking at a magazine, she was across from me, her eyes tortured in the less than ideal circumstances. "Your first?"

I flashed a conspiratorial smile, since we pregos had to stick together in our fatness. I nodded. "You?"

She flashed that tired and true smile back. Not like pregos didn't answer these same questions fifty times a day. Congratulations, when are you due? Are you having a boy or a girl?

"I wish it wasn't so god-awful hot out." The girl said, twisting her blonde hair into a ponytail and using her teeth to open a hair tie for it. "I can't stand the heat. I feel there's already an oven inside me, let alone being cooked from the outside!"

"Yeah, the AC doesn't seem to be taking the edge off like it should." I commiserated ingenuously.

Angie picked up a cooking magazine.

"So, you look ready to pop. Have you scheduled an inducement?"

"No, I've got 8 weeks till 40, but it's not likely I'll go that long." At this point, I thought in selfish discomfort, I won't even care if he says let's get them out today. I want my body back!

"Oh, you poor thing! You look miserable, and you're huge. I've got only four weeks left, and we're going in today to schedule the C-section."

"Why? Is there a medical need for the C-section?"

"Oh, yeah, my blood pressure is high, and-----." They called her name and off she went with a wave and a smile, and I was left to scowl about the possible reasons for scheduled C-sections. Heat being one of them.

Angie launched into all the reasons midwives would prefer to not schedule a C-section, but let the baby come on its own, and how too many women didn't want to feel even one contraction, and therefore scheduled C-sections. I doubted that was why women scheduled C-sections, but I let her ramble. From the doctor's point of view scheduled C-sections were due to medical issues that precluded the mother carrying full term.

Rafe walked into the office, alone for once, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no desire to play happy hostess to the band today. He spotted us and came over, bringing all the fresh air in California with him. His white rib-knit shirt revealed his lovely arm sleeves of tattoos, and exposed the clear delineation of heavy musculature. He worked out heavily every day, without me now--- but we used to work out together. I felt the sting of two tears, one behind each eye, as I indulged in much-deserved self-pity. I wanted to work out. I wanted to be myself, alone sometimes. It would probably never happen again.

"Aubrey." Rafe laid his arm along the chair back behind me, but did not touch me. He knew I was hot, he knew I was uncomfortable, he knew I did not want to be touched right now. He was super-humanly in tuned to me that way.

I turned my face and waited for him to lean forward and kiss me. No way was I leaning. I'd just found a somewhat comfortable position. His lips were not platonic, ever. If he gave me a peck in public, like now, there was that deep pressure, the slightly inner lip linger that let me know he wasn't distracted, he wasn't turned off by me, and he still wanted me even though I was ten sizes bigger than I had been when we'd met.

Tear sting again.

He blew out his breath. His knees were spread, the jeans fashionably vintage 501's. He wore the sneakers again, Virgil's gift, to please him. They were going to a baseball game at Angel's Stadium tonight, just the two of them, if all went well here.

He was a tall guy, and he habitually sat in these kind of chairs, like--- butt on the edge?--- you know? Like tall guys sit, sprawled. He didn't exactly sprawl, but he did sometimes relax this way. I think he is relaxed here. He never anticipates hearing anything other than that everything is perfect.

I—on the other hand--- tend to spend my pre-office moments going over medical emergencies in my mind, anything at all that could be told to me inside those rooms, anything they could possibly find that could be of concern. I myself would be the one telling myself these things, as if I were the bearer of bad news. My own doctor.

He took my hand. "Nervous? Why?"

"I don't know. I'm always nervous."

"Well, stop it, everything is fine, and that just makes your blood pressure high and we have to wait while you lay down and get it back to normal. Just breathe. You're fine. They're fine. Everything is fine."

And then the first thing Gerald said, which we already knew, from Patrice taking my blood pressure was that it was high. I was already laying on my side.

Rafe stood. He sometimes paced--- he has ADHD--- always has.

Gerald perused my file. We'd had some tests done a while ago.

"Well, Aubrey, looking good. The tests do show some possible abnormalities, but nothing conclusive. Do I need to quote statistics at you? You're twenty-nine weeks." His brows rose. He was asking how I felt about him doing a sonogram and possibly taking the babies soon. Gerald firmly believed that at some point the risks of leaving them inside were greater than what we could provide for them outside. Antiquated idea. And he knew--- really knew how I felt about it.

I reached out to snatch the file, and Rafe intercepted it. "Not a good idea. Relax, chick, and remember everything is fine."

My eyes widened in irritation. "Who is the doctor here?"

"Are there risks involved with the abnormalities? What will change knowing about the abnormalities?"

Gerald considered, as my hand waved around frantically for the file. He shook his head. "We could do amnio to determine which child is actually showing the abnormality and possibly get that child, or twin set out, and leave the others inside."

"Oh, honestly! That is far too risky!" I snorted. "We aren't doing that."

"Then nothing changes." Says my pragmatic husband. "We go onward with faith, Au-ber-rey."

"God gave us medical knowledge so we could be informed. I want to be informed. I don't want you telling me what to do." I was feeling even more agitated. The whole blood pressure issue combined with the heat.

"Given your non-office uneducated gut feeling protocol, Aubrey, I suggest we wait another week. Possibly consider delivering at 30 weeks, if you can hang on that long. Judging by your level of agitation I would guess I will see you before then." Gerald's voice grated on my last nerve.

"You won't." I said getting up. "I'll have Angie run the blood pressure when I get home and text Patrice the results."

Gerald smiled at Rafe over my head. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, and I almost commented, but was feeling too annoyed, and knew I would regret anything and everything I said. They thought they knew me so well. They thought they could manipulate me. They thought they knew what was best, but I was smarter than them both.

Or not.

As we walked out Rafe nodded to Angie who had opted out of going in with us, giving us some private time.

"She's doing great!" He assured, and I gave him a skeptical glance and caught him shaking his head at Angie with a conspiratorially concealed slight frown.

"For pity sake, Rafe. I am fine. Stop making faces behind my back." Pretty sure that was Rafe code for sticking his tongue out at me.

He held the door as Keeva stepped up to hold the second and outer door. I felt like the queen, but I wasn't in the mood for it. At all.

And as soon as we got outside the heat blasted me, and I wanted nothing more than to pitch a freaking temper tantrum.

Rafe's palm on my back was altogether sweaty, and then I literally felt him stiffen. I looked back and therefore missed the signals flash between him and our security people.

But when I flashed forward, I felt lightheaded. Really lightheaded.

And it wasn't light in my head. It was growing dark.

"Rafe---."

"Just get in the car, honey." His tone was urgent, but I was unable to obey as my field of vision had simply closed off.

"I feel--- woozy." I managed before bracing myself against the car.

"Angie, take her back inside instantly." I heard Rafe's voice from far away.

*****