Teresa Southwick - The Doctor's Secret Baby

“Translation?” Em said, pulling the gown closed over her breasts.

“That’s a small, wartlike growth in a milk duct. Since you nursed Annie, that would be my guess. But we need to do some tests.”

“Mammogram?” Cal asked.

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Em. “Because you’re so young, I’d like to start with an ultrasound. It’s noninvasive, painless and radiation free. It should determine if the lump is a mass or just a harmless, fluid-filled cyst. If that’s the case, testing is over and there’s nothing to fear. Although we might want to aspirate the contents.”

“What if it’s not?” Cal asked.

“Then we get a diagnostic mammogram. It’s a digital, electronic image,” she explained to Em, because he already knew this stuff. “The pictures can be computer manipulated, making them cleaner, clearer and easier to read. We focus on the area of concern, compressing tissue and magnifying images so that we can get a much more detailed look.”

“Will that tell us what it is?” Em asked.

“We’ll know more about what it isn’t,” Rebecca explained. “If it’s not a cyst, we’ll need a biopsy.”

“Surgery?” Em’s heart started to hammer and she met Cal’s eyes over the doctor’s shoulder.

“No.” Rebecca touched her hand. “An ultrasound-guided core needle biopsy. It’s an in-office procedure to extract a small sampling of cells, which we’ll test. I want to stress that there’s absolutely no reason for you to believe the worst. If you’d like, I can recommend a breast specialist. Or I’d be happy to consult with one and coordinate your care.”

Emily glanced at Cal, still holding a peacefully sleeping Annie. Emotion swelled inside her and pressed against her heart. “What do you think?”

“Dr. Hamilton is right. It’s one step at a time. If you’re comfortable, it’s clear that she’s got the situation under control.”

“Here is good.”

The doctor nodded. “Then for now I’ll coordinate everything. I’m going to have Grace set up an appointment at the breast imaging center at Mercy Medical. That’s step one. And you’re not to worry.”

“Right.”

Rebecca put a reassuring arm around her shoulders and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

When they were alone, Cal let out a breath. He looked like he’d worked a double shift in the E.R. during cold and flu season. “How are you?”

“Probably better than you.”

He glanced at the little girl cradled in his arms. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“There’s the understatement of the century.” She met his gaze. “I want to go home.”

He nodded. “I’ll take her in the waiting room so you can get dressed.”

“Thanks, Cal.”

And she didn’t mean for leaving her alone. He’d hung in there with Annie. And with her. Running interference with the medical stuff. Advice. A sounding board. She could have done it on her own, but she was incredibly glad that hadn’t been necessary. Far too glad.

Too glad meant she had lingering feelings rattling around inside her. When she’d made the decision to tell him about his daughter, she’d been so sure that wasn’t possible. Now she knew she was wrong. Leftover feelings were like embers after a forest fire, which could burst into flame with very little encouragement.

Considering he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, that made it a one-way street. Just like the last time and the scars on her heart were a continuing reminder of how that had turned out.

Cal now knew that Emily wasn’t lying, at least not about the lump in her breast. He’d thought about little else since leaving the doctor’s office yesterday and still didn’t know what to think or how to feel. That was the only reason he could come up with for stopping by her apartment without calling.

After parking across the street, he knocked on Em’s door and waited. When there was no answer, he tried again and the door beside hers opened.

Redheaded Lucy Gates stood there and somewhere behind her there was a child crying. “What do you want?”

Great. Miss Congeniality. “I stopped by to see Emily. And Annie.”

“Em’s not home.” Distrust rolled off her in waves.

“I see. Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”

She glanced over her shoulder and called out, “Patty? Did Em say how long she’ll be?” The answer was muffled and she said, “Soon.”

“Patty. Your roommate.”

“Right.” Her hostile look didn’t change, so it was a good guess that there were no points for remembering that. The child was still making unhappy noises.

“Who’s crying?” he asked.

Lucy’s expression asked why he cared, but she answered, “Henry.”

“Who’s Henry?”

“Patty’s little boy. He’s sick,” she volunteered.

“What’s wrong with him?”

She shrugged. “Probably a cold.”

“Fever?” he asked.

“Yeah. A little bit.”

“Do you want me to take a look at him?” Cal asked.

“I thought you didn’t do that stuff. It’s not an emergency—” She glanced over her shoulder when someone behind her spoke. “You’re a doctor, right? A pediatrician?”

“That’s what my diploma says. Does Henry have a pediatrician?”

“Not a regular one. We take the kids to a clinic.” Again, there was a muffled voice before she opened the door wider. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a look at him.”

Cal nodded and stepped inside on the beige carpet. From what he could see, this apartment was a carbon copy of Emily’s floor plan—living room, small kitchen with dinette and a hall with two bedrooms on each side of it. On one wall sat a re-covered sofa, not a professional job, but still a charming floral print. The coffee table looked like a do-it-yourself dark-stained plywood number, but complemented the rest of the decor. The walls were filled with photos of children and kid-friendly prints. Other than toys scattered around, the place was spotless.

A blond girl about Lucy’s age stepped forward with a whimpering, sniffling, towheaded toddler in her arms. “I’m Patty. And this is Henry.”

“Hi.”

“Lucy said you’re a doctor.”

“That’s right.”

“Since you’re here…Would it be okay for you to take a quick look at him?” she asked, worry widening her big blue eyes. She should be at cheerleader practice and fretting about finals, not sharing an apartment with another teen mother.

“Sure.”

Another baby, Oscar, he remembered, was on a quilt beside the sofa with stuffed animals spread out around him. The little guy looked clean and well fed, what with the chubby arms and legs sticking out of his denim overalls.

Cal walked over and said to the under-the-weather boy in her arms, “Hey, buddy. You’re not feeling so good?”

The kid’s nasal discharge was clear, a positive indicator of no infection. Cal palpated his neck for enlarged lymph nodes or swelling and didn’t find anything abnormal. “He feels warm.”

“I just took his temp,” Patty said. “It’s a hundred.”

Cal nodded. “That’s not too bad. Do you have a flashlight?”

Lucy looked more puzzled than hostile now. “What for?”

“I’d like to look in his throat and I can see what’s going on better with a light.”

“We have one in the kitchen,” Patty said, walking into the room and opening a drawer.

“Set him on the counter for me, and let’s see if we can get him to open wide,” he directed. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen months.”

Patty did as directed and when Cal came close, Henry started to cry, which meant opening his mouth. Attaboy. He aimed the light and saw some mild redness, which was probably a result of postnasal drip. “I don’t have an otoscope—”