Chapter 20: The Heartbeat

The scan was at nine, in a small dark room at the women's clinic.

Dorinda sat on the stool by my head.

I lay on the table with my shirt pushed up and cold gel on my stomach.

The sonographer ran the wand across my skin and watched the screen.

I did not look at it.

I looked at the ceiling, because I had spent a week looking at ceilings from above, and I was afraid this one would take it back.

The door opened behind us.

Winslow stood in the doorway, with his lip stitched and a yellow bruise along his jaw.

Dorinda had told him, on my orders, that he could come as far as the frame.

He had not asked for one step more.

He stood with one hand flat on the doorpost, and the rest of him was in the hall.

"Mrs. Holloway," the sonographer said gently. "Ready?"

I nodded.

The room filled with a sound.

It was fast and wet and steady, and it was not my own heart.

I knew that at once.

Mine had never beat that fast.

I turned my head and looked at the screen.

There was a small gray shape with a bright flicker in the middle of it.

It had a head.

It had a spine, drawn in dots, and a hand that opened and shut.

"That's a strong heartbeat," the sonographer said. "One hundred and sixty, right where it should be. Thirteen weeks, one day."

My breath went out of me in a sob.

I put both hands over my mouth.

Dorinda took my elbow and held it.

From the doorway I heard a single, broken sound.

I looked.

Winslow had not moved.

He stood with his hand on the wood and tears running down his face, silently, openly, with his eyes on the screen.

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