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Authors: Heather Long
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apartment, she traded her scrubs for a tank top and shorts. More of a rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of girl, she went ahead and peed on all the sticks and lined them next to each other on the counter. Peeling off her surgical gloves, she tossed them into the trash and cracked open a bottle of Gatorade to drink.
Sitting on the floor of her bathroom was acceptable. She kept it virtually spotless—too many years of her father’s inspections and her mother’s habits were ingrained in her. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall. The tests would be negative. Clearly she was ill and her condition exacerbated by exhaustion. Sleep. She needed sleep and it would all be better when she woke up.
The ringing cell phone jarred her awake. Sitting forward, she grimaced at her dry mouth and stared around the bathroom befuddled. Why was she sleeping in there? The ringer split the silence again and she dragged herself up, to find her abandoned cell lying on the dresser.
Her mother’s face flashed on the caller ID. Coughing once, she answered with a quick, “Hey, Mom.” Sinking down on the bed, she fought to keep her eyes open. Stopping at the drugstore had been a mistake—momentary panic—the illness messed with her head.
“You sound terrible, sweetie.” Trust her mom to call it like it was, always keeping the faith.
“I’ve been better. How are you?” She grinned at the bad joke.
“We’re fine. We’re in Belgium. Your father has meetings at NATO.” Pride filled her voice and why shouldn’t it? At an age where he should have retired, her father instead wanted to be considered for a job with the medical staff and advisor at Allied Command Operations.
“Cool.” It was the best she could manage.
“Have you considered our offer to have you fly over for a vacation?”
Get on a plane? Ugh. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea. “I really can’t, Mom. I don’t have the accrued vacation time and we’ve been strapped for staff. I should be there right now but Jodi sent me home.”
“Oh, baby. You should rest then. I can call you later.” It didn’t take much to arouse her maternal instincts.
“I am. I have fluids and everything.” Sitting on the bed didn’t stave off her exhaustion. Rising, she headed to the bathroom. Maybe some cold water on her face would do wonders. Phone in one hand, she concentrated on not walking like a drunken sailor on her way home from a binge. “How long will you be in Belgium?”
“Just a month, then we’ll be back stateside. Your father is scheduled to teach a semester at West Point. If he earns the job here, we’ll be back in Belgium in the spring.”
“So then there’s plenty of time for me to visit, see the countryside, and play tourist with you.” The last thing she wanted to do was play tourist or travel. She was sick to damn death of traveling and not even a dozen years settled in Texas got her past the idea. She turned the faucet on. The cool water felt great on her wrists.
“Well, I’ll hold you to that. We should know by Thanksgiving.”
“What do you do if he doesn’t get it?”
“Oh, honey, pray he gets it. Your father does not want to retire. And frankly I’m not sure I want him to. You remember what it was like to PCS with him when his duty station didn’t need him immediately.”
The grimace in her mother’s voice almost made her laugh. Almost. PCS—permanent change of station orders arrived and turned her life upside down more times than she cared to admit. When the military said move, the family moved. Her father was a workaholic, proud to the bone, and dedicated to his country. He didn’t handle idleness well.
“I will, Mom. I promise. Look I need to—” She swallowed the next words and stared at the three home pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet.
Two blue lines.
A plus sign.
And a big, fat pregnant stared back at her.
“Lillianna? Did I lose you?”
Oh. My. God.
“I’m going to be sick, Mom—I’ve got to
Sitting on the floor of her bathroom was acceptable. She kept it virtually spotless—too many years of her father’s inspections and her mother’s habits were ingrained in her. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall. The tests would be negative. Clearly she was ill and her condition exacerbated by exhaustion. Sleep. She needed sleep and it would all be better when she woke up.
The ringing cell phone jarred her awake. Sitting forward, she grimaced at her dry mouth and stared around the bathroom befuddled. Why was she sleeping in there? The ringer split the silence again and she dragged herself up, to find her abandoned cell lying on the dresser.
Her mother’s face flashed on the caller ID. Coughing once, she answered with a quick, “Hey, Mom.” Sinking down on the bed, she fought to keep her eyes open. Stopping at the drugstore had been a mistake—momentary panic—the illness messed with her head.
“You sound terrible, sweetie.” Trust her mom to call it like it was, always keeping the faith.
“I’ve been better. How are you?” She grinned at the bad joke.
“We’re fine. We’re in Belgium. Your father has meetings at NATO.” Pride filled her voice and why shouldn’t it? At an age where he should have retired, her father instead wanted to be considered for a job with the medical staff and advisor at Allied Command Operations.
“Cool.” It was the best she could manage.
“Have you considered our offer to have you fly over for a vacation?”
Get on a plane? Ugh. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea. “I really can’t, Mom. I don’t have the accrued vacation time and we’ve been strapped for staff. I should be there right now but Jodi sent me home.”
“Oh, baby. You should rest then. I can call you later.” It didn’t take much to arouse her maternal instincts.
“I am. I have fluids and everything.” Sitting on the bed didn’t stave off her exhaustion. Rising, she headed to the bathroom. Maybe some cold water on her face would do wonders. Phone in one hand, she concentrated on not walking like a drunken sailor on her way home from a binge. “How long will you be in Belgium?”
“Just a month, then we’ll be back stateside. Your father is scheduled to teach a semester at West Point. If he earns the job here, we’ll be back in Belgium in the spring.”
“So then there’s plenty of time for me to visit, see the countryside, and play tourist with you.” The last thing she wanted to do was play tourist or travel. She was sick to damn death of traveling and not even a dozen years settled in Texas got her past the idea. She turned the faucet on. The cool water felt great on her wrists.
“Well, I’ll hold you to that. We should know by Thanksgiving.”
“What do you do if he doesn’t get it?”
“Oh, honey, pray he gets it. Your father does not want to retire. And frankly I’m not sure I want him to. You remember what it was like to PCS with him when his duty station didn’t need him immediately.”
The grimace in her mother’s voice almost made her laugh. Almost. PCS—permanent change of station orders arrived and turned her life upside down more times than she cared to admit. When the military said move, the family moved. Her father was a workaholic, proud to the bone, and dedicated to his country. He didn’t handle idleness well.
“I will, Mom. I promise. Look I need to—” She swallowed the next words and stared at the three home pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet.
Two blue lines.
A plus sign.
And a big, fat pregnant stared back at her.
“Lillianna? Did I lose you?”
Oh. My. God.
“I’m going to be sick, Mom—I’ve got to
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