up to the doctor’s office on her own or actually just taking off down the street. But when he got to the front of the building, she was sitting on the little stone bench near the front door, eyes closed and head resting against the wall behind her.
He paused for a moment, studied her. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked young and vulnerable—barely old enough to have a child, despite the fact that they’d celebrated her thirty-second birthday a few months ago, when they’d been together.
He didn’t make a sound, but she must have sensed him because her eyes opened and she sat up abruptly. He watched, fascinated, as her mask descended—the carefree, smiling face he’d grown to expect from her when they’d been dating. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before that she wrapped it around her like armor—just another way to keep the world outside from getting close to her? From seeing the real her.
A frisson of unease worked its way down Matt’s spine as he wondered, for the first time, if there really was more to Camille than he’d ever expected.
“I didn’t know the doctor’s name or suite number.”
And there she was, the woman who would as soon tell him to go to hell as look at him when he pissed her off, making sure he didn’t read too much into the fact that she’d waited for him. “Maybe I did that on purpose,” he answered.
“No doubt.” She stood and headed into the building, figuring—he was sure—that he would follow. Which he did.
“His name is Rick D’Amato—he’s in suite 370.” He punched the button for the elevator.
“And you went to grad school with him?”
“Not with him,” he said. “We were at Columbia at the same time—in different disciplines. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” She smirked. “You know, I just can’t see you in New York.”
“I like New York. There’s always something to do, something to see.”
“But it’s so chaotic.”
“There is that—but, hey, I have nothing against organized chaos.”
“Just unorganized chaos.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator dinged and he held the door for her with a smile. She had such a quick mind that it was easy to verbally spar with her—in the months she’d been gone, he’d forgotten how much he’d liked that about her. The fact that she never pulled her punches, and didn’t expect him to pull his.
“So, if you were in totally different disciplines—how did you meet Rick?”
“We played on the same intramural baseball team. He has a hell of a curve ball.”
“Something every obstetrician needs.”
“He’s a great doctor—graduated in the top ten his year at Columbia. Friend or not, I wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.” It was important that she knew that, that she understood how seriously he took her health—and the baby’s.
“Chill out, Matt. I was only teasing.” She headed up to the counter, pulling out her identification as she went.
He hung back, though it cost him. He wanted to take care of checking her in, wanted to take care of everything for her—for his baby—but as the receptionist handed her a clipboard full of forms, it struck home how little he really knew about Camille.
Oh, he knew that she was an incredible artist. That she was fun and exciting and had a sense of humor that could cut like a scalpel. But as he sat, watching her fill out forms on her family and personal history, he realized he didn’t have a clue about any aspect of her personal life. He didn’t know anything about what had made Camille the crazy gypsy he’d fallen for—hook, line and sinker.
The knowledge grated. He didn’t have much time to brood over it, however, because his old friend chose that moment to pop his head out of the door between the inner and outer offices. “Hey, Matt, come on back. I’ve been waiting for you two.”
“How are you?” he asked Rick, as the doctor escorted them back to his office.
“I’m good. Busy, but good. Can’t complain.” He extended a hand to Camille. “It’s nice to meet you, Camille. Congratulations on your pregnancy.”
Camille’s full lips twisted wryly. “Thanks.”
“So, Matt didn’t give me all the details on the phone.” He gestured for them to sit, then walked around to the business side of the desk and did the same. “What was the date of your last period?”
“January 27.”
He grabbed a little spinny wheel out of his desk drawer and Matt watched, fascinated, as Rick shifted it around. “You’re gunning for a November baby, then. Cool. You’re due on November 4.” He held the wheel out so they both could see the date.
Sheer astonishment rocketed up Matt’s spine as he stared at the little arrow pointing toward the beginning of November. November 4. He would be a father on November 4. God, he could barely wrap his mind around it. Sure, he’d been planning for the baby from the second the shock wore off last night, but still, knowing Camille was pregnant wasn’t the same as having an actual date when the baby would be born.
November 4 his whole world would change—and he had no idea how he felt about it.
“So, does that sound good, Matt?”
Rick’s voice brought him back to the present with a resounding thud. Glancing at his friend, he realized he had no idea what the man had just asked him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m going to take Camille into one of the exam rooms, check her out, and then you can meet us in the ultrasound room.”
“Uh, sure.” Then the words sunk in. “Ultrasound, already? But she’s barely three months along yet.”
“It’s standard procedure, Matt. We do it at every first visit, just to ensure that the pregnancy is viable.”
“Viable. What does that mean?”
Rick smiled indulgently. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll talk you through it.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
“Not at all.”
“But you said—”
“Matt, come on.” Camille stood and starting pulling him toward the door. “It’s normal. Rick’s just being organized, making sure everything is going the way it should. Everything’s fine.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Then why can’t I be in the room when he examines you? I have questions—”
“Because, I don’t really think you need to see me with my feet in stirrups and Rick between my legs with a speculum, okay?”
He froze, could feel his face draining of color even as he admired her candor. “Oh. You mean that kind of examination.”
Rick didn’t even bother to hide his laughter. “Yes, that kind.” He pointed him toward the waiting room. “I’ll have a nurse come get you before we do the sonogram.” Then he headed down the hall with an amused Camille.
Matt made his way awkwardly back down to the waiting room, not liking the sudden feeling of being superfluous. Sure, he had no desire to sit in on Camille’s pelvic exam, but still, it felt strange to be relegated to the sidelines. He glanced around the empty room, wondered if all fathers were sent out here, or just the ones who weren’t an active part of the life of their baby’s mother?
Were all fathers really so unnecessary? He sank down onto one of the cushy waiting-room chairs and tried to come to grips with the fact that for the next few months, he really didn’t have an important role in the whole drama that was about to unfold. He’d done his job, and now he just