Convicted - Romig Aleatha (мир книг .TXT) 📗
Tony asked, “Are there always planes at the ready and pilots? Or do they need to be reserved in advance?”
“Reserved is better,” Francis answered. “However, most requests can be accommodated quickly.”
Tony decided, since they had time, he wanted to see the airport. Claire wasn’t interested. She decided to spend her time walking around the town until her doctor’s appointment. First, she entered what she considered to be the equivalent of a grocery store. Many of the town’s people spoke enough English to help Claire if she had any questions. There were also stands or booths along the side of the road with items for sale. It appeared many of the natives did more bartering than buying and selling. The road was defined and hard, but not paved—well-tried dirt. On her way to the doctor’s office, Claire passed two taverns and decided alcohol was a universal language.
The waiting area of the doctor’s office was full of people, yet when Claire entered, the nurse immediately led her back to one of the examination rooms. “My husband will be here in a few minutes. I’d like to wait for him.”
“Your husband?” the nurse beamed. “But of course. Will you learn your baby’s gender today?”
Claire smiled. “I sure hope so. Can we please do another ultrasound?”
“Let me check with the doctor. It’s his decision.”
After a few minutes of being alone, the door opened. When Tony entered, Claire knew why she hadn’t heard the customary pre-enter knock. Grinning toward his handsome face, Claire thought how knocking had never been his forte. Tony’s deep voice and sparkling eyes revealed his excitement. “I thought your appointment wasn’t for another half an hour. I didn’t miss anything, did I?”
“No,” she reached out to hold his hand. “They brought me back as soon as I arrived. I have a little habit of being early for appointments.”
Tony snickered. “I like that habit.”
“I know you do.”
As their lips united, there was a knock on the door. Claire’s eyes twinkled as she called, “Come in.”
The nurse entered, “Oh, hello, you must be Mr. Nichols?”
Claire watched as Tony’s lips twitched. Suppressing her giggle, she replied, “This is my husband. Rawlings is our last name. Nichols was my maiden name.”
The nurse apologized and explained that, after Claire’s exam, the doctor would allow another ultrasound. When they were alone again, Tony asked, “Are you sure there isn’t a problem using our real names?”
“Francis assured me and so did Phil, this place as well as others like it, are known for their discretion. Apparently, we aren’t the only people here, or in the world, willing to pay big money to hide. It’s a great source of income for areas where resources are limited. They’re paid very well to keep our information private.”
Tony nodded. “If they’re paid that well, then I’d think we could have an ultrasound whenever we wanted”—he squeezed her hand—“And I want one!”
She grinned. “Me too!”—her smiled faded—“Tony, I hope you aren’t disappointed, I mean I know you keep saying you don’t care if our baby is a boy or a girl, but I think you do.”
“I really don’t. I promise I won’t be disappointed. Healthy is what I want. I also want you healthy and safe. The only things that we’ll accomplish today will be learning whether we need to order blue or pink baby things and narrow our name discussion to one gender.”
Claire smiled. They’d discussed names a little bit—mostly, they seemed to discuss boy’s names. When they Googled the most popular names for the last year, Sophia came up for girls and Aiden for boys. Tony immediately nixed Sophia. When he explained his reasoning, Claire was shocked. She had no idea Catherine had a daughter. The story was especially wild when he explained that Sophia was the artist who painted Claire’s wedding portrait. Apparently, he’d been watching her since Nathaniel died. It wasn’t done for vengeance—Tony’s voyeurism of Sophia was the fulfillment of a promise to Nathaniel—to watch over Catherine’s daughter. Tony didn’t know why Catherine didn’t want to see her, but the night he was taken into FBI custody, Tony was about to tell Sophia the truth about her mother. Obviously, he never got the chance.
Claire agreed. The name Sophia wasn’t in the running.
Neither one had a reason for not liking Aiden—they just didn’t. Tony didn’t want to use family names. As much as he had admired Nathaniel, he now realized that perhaps his grandfather wasn’t as good of an influence as he had once thought. Claire contemplated names from her family. She knew, without asking Emily, was a no. Her mother’s name—Shirley was very close to Tony’s grandmother Sharron. Claire’s grandmother Elizabeth was close to Emily. None of them seemed worth arguing for. So far—the only girl’s name that they were both receptive to—was Courtney.
When it came to boy names, for every suggestion Claire made—Tony had a counter. He liked names that could be shortened. He said, from experience, he believed it made a nice separation between business and personal. Claire didn’t ask if Tony assumed his son would follow him into business. After all, if—and that was a very big if—their public issues could be resolved, Anthony Rawlings was a man worthy of having a son follow in his footsteps; however, late at night, when Claire would wake and stare up to the ceiling while Tony slept soundly, she worried. Anthony Rawlings, businessman, had so many worries and concerns. Did she want that for her son or daughter? The larger looming concern was Tony’s predilection for perfection. Claire had no way of knowing the personality of the child within her, yet if he were anything like his father, would the combination in a professional setting be potentially combustible? Would it be different with a daughter? Claire didn’t know.
When the doctor entered, Tony stood near Claire’s head, kept his hand on her shoulder and listened. She loved his presence—just knowing he was near gave her more confidence. The doctor reassured Claire, her weight gain was within normal limits and expectations. When she complained about filling so fast, he recommended multiple small meals as opposed to three larger ones. She looked up to Tony’s knowing eyes and realized he wasn’t only filling the role of father and offering emotional support, but also acting as informant. Madeline would know the new meal requirements before Claire made it home.
After the exam, the nurse led them to a different room for the ultrasound. The doctor used the same machine he’d used during Claire’s last visit. She and Tony watched silently as the grainy image came to the screen. Again, he used lines and made measurements. They both breathed a sigh of relief to learn their baby was right on target for thirty weeks, measuring fifteen and a half inches long and weighing about three pounds.
“Three pounds”—Claire repeated—“Then why have I gained almost twenty?”
The doctor laughed and said, “Because, Claire, you aren’t just carrying a baby; there’s a whole lot more in there.”
She knew he was right.
“And”—the doctor continued—“your baby will continue to gain, about a half a pound a week from now until you deliver, so eating those small meals is important.”
Before Claire could respond, Tony answered, “Don’t worry, she will.”
The doctor moved the large wand around Claire’s abdomen. The coolness of the gel didn’t register as she watched the screen. Ever present in the background was the steady heartbeat of their child. As usual, it brought back memories of her lake. They watched in amazement as the doctor pointed out the baby’s nose in a profile. When he repositioned the wand, they were able to count fingers and toes—they weren’t able to see the gender.
“I’m sorry. Your baby’s being modest. I’d hoped if we continued, he or she’d move and reveal their secret. So far, that hasn’t happened.”
