Anne Eames - The Pregnant Virgin

“I don’t follow.”

“Let me give you a clue. It starts with w-i and ends with f-e.” She started to turn, but he caught her elbow.

“You think I’m married?”

He was a good actor; she had to give him that.

“Pizza after the game? Your ‘old lady’ waiting for you at home?”

He let go of her arm and started to laugh. “You mean, Sally?”

“Yes, Sally.”

“She’s my sixty-five-year-old landlady. A very protective and dear lady who watches over me like a hawk, that’s all.”

She gave him a sidelong look, wanting to believe him, but afraid he’d soon dash the hope and excitement building behind her rib cage.

He drew an X over his heart and held up a palm. “Honest. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Ali folded her arms and let a smile slip across her face. “What would you lie about?” His dimples reappeared and by the quickening of her pulse she knew she was in trouble. Big trouble.

“Nothing with you. I have a feeling I’d never get away with it.”

“Smart man.”

“So, what about it? I was thinking if the weather is nice we could take the People Mover down to Hart Plaza and listen to a little jazz, watch the freighters go up the river. You know…your basic cheap date.”

She was flirting with danger and she knew it. He was simply The Face, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be wise—

“Sounds terrific. I’d love to.”

They firmed up the details and went their separate ways, with Ali doing her best to act as though this was no big deal. It wasn’t until she entered the next wing that she realized she was holding a witch in one hand and a ghost in the other, neither paid for. She raced back to the gift shop and made good on her purchases, then somehow got through the rest of the afternoon.

That night, though, she found herself obsessed with Friday’s date. She laid out half a dozen outfits on her bed, finally deciding on casual navy slacks and a two-piece powder-blue sweater set. She debated whether to wear these to work or to take them in a bag and change afterward, since he was meeting her there. Decisions, decisions. Now she knew why she didn’t date. It drove her crazy.

In the end she wore the outfit to work, but at quarter to five, with her stomach in knots, the phone rang and it was Brad.

“I’m really sorry, Ali. I’m going to have to ask for a rain check. There’s been a three car pileup on the Lodge Freeway. Serious injuries. I don’t know when I could get away.”

“I understand,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Unfortunately I’m on call the rest of the weekend.”

“Such is the life of a doctor.” She shrugged and remembered another doctor who often called and canceled.

“E.M.S. is just pulling up. Gotta run.”

She listened to the dial tone for a moment and then slowly replaced the receiver. What a fool she’d been to allow herself to get her hopes up. But she had no doubt he was telling the truth.

This time.

Yet memories of other times when she’d heard her mother crying into her pillow in the next room came back to haunt her. How many birthdays and anniversaries had her mother spent alone? And how many of Ali’s recitals and basketball games had her father missed? For that matter, how many had he ever made? She couldn’t remember a one.

She locked up her desk and left the clinic, feeling sadder but wiser.

Maybe Brad had fathered her child. Maybe. But it was best she remembered that doctors weren’t meant to be dads.

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