And as soon as she’d finished her solitary meal, she got in her car and headed over to the women’s center. It wasn’t her night to be there, but she knew what to do when she started to struggle with anything. Go help someone.
That night she watched a couple of toddlers, sitting on the padded floor of the playroom and interacting with them, distracting them, while their bruised mother sat a couple of doors down. She was talking to the police and accepting arrangements for overnight housing for her and her children.
Christine was there until after ten and half fell in love. And when the embattled little family waited to hear where a room was available, she thought about offering to take them home with her.
She couldn’t, of course. She wasn’t licensed nor was her home equipped to serve as a safe house. But it felt good to care.
It always did.
* * *
On Monday, Christine was at her desk at six, getting her mind fully back into her life’s focus. She might be pregnant, she might not be. Either way, her life would only be impacted short-term. She’d continue to take the uterine lining thickening hormone she’d been prescribed, and she’d abstain from wine and fried foods, but otherwise, she had to continue moving forward with her own life. Until her appointment a week from the upcoming Friday—two weeks after implantation—there was absolutely no further reason for her to have contact with Jamie Howe.
She told him so, as gently as she could, when he called.
“At this point, I’m supposed to resume normal activities.” She gave him a pretty close rendition of the version she’d rehearsed in the shower that morning.
“I agree...”
“And I might not even have anything of yours living inside me,” she interrupted, reminding them both.
“Exactly...”
“We might just be going through the process again next month.” She cut in, again.
He could change his mind. Or she could. The contract gave them each that choice. She’d just be required to return the money already deposited in her account.
Which was why she wasn’t starting on any major renovations until they heard a heartbeat: roughly six weeks from time of successful implantation.
“So... I’ll see you at the doctor’s office for the urine test?”
They’d already made the appointment. Together. Friday, by phone from the fertility specialist’s office, before the procedure.
“Yes,” she said, swallowing disappointment. Did he have to be that eager to have time apart from her?
Show that little interest in seeing her, even once?
Maybe getting to know her a little bit better? After all, she was hopefully going to be carrying his child.
He’d hung up before she could speak further. Or even come to her senses and choose to keep her mouth shut.
Leaving her unusually disgruntled, even a bit put out.
She was a person. With feelings. Not some... Some...
Shaking her head, Christine got up from her desk, heading out to see where she could be of service in the clinic for a few minutes before getting back to the fundraising correspondence. She had an inbox full of responding emails. Had functions to schedule.
Of course she was only a body to Jamie Howe. A machine. She’d known that going in.
It was the only reason she’d agreed to help him in the first place.
But after the weekend... His attention...
Most definitely, they needed the space between them.
Implantation, the beginning of any new project, tended to prompt emotions to run high. Add in the element of the intimacy involved with her part of the process, along with hormonal increases, and it was natural for her to feel a little different than normal.
To begin to accept a familiarity between her and the man whose child she intended to carry. It meant nothing more than that. Wasn’t a permanent change in her life. She’d feel the same for Emily Howe, too, were she still alive.