Mommy Tracked by Whitney Gaskell Page A

into. There was a loud retching sound from inside.
    “Is he okay?” Anna asked, walking along next to the wheelchair.
    “I think he had a lot to drink,” Chloe said, glancing back worriedly. “That might have been him being sick.”
    “Thank God he didn’t puke in my car,” Juliet said.
    The nurse rolled them into the examination room. “Here’s a robe. Take everything off, and hop up on the table there,” she said.
    “Hop?” Chloe repeated. The idea that she, in her current state, was going to hop anywhere was ludicrous.
    “Is there someone else you want me to call? Your parents?” Anna asked supportively.
    Chloe shook her head. “They’re in Austin,” she said, swallowing hard so Juliet and Anna wouldn’t see her cry. She wanted to impress them, wanted them to think she was the sort of woman they’d want to be friends with. “We don’t know many people here yet.”
    The shame twisted like a knot in Chloe’s throat. Even though they had only just moved here and hadn’t met many people, she felt so pathetic to admit it. These two clearly had lots of friends, close friends, women who would drop everything to be with them in an emergency. Chloe didn’t have anyone. Well, except James, of course—but that wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought at the moment. He still hadn’t made it out of the bathroom.
    “I’ll stay with you,” Anna offered. “At least until James gets back, or longer, if you want me. Grace already said she’d keep Charlie for the night, so I don’t have to hurry back.”
    “What the hell, I’ll stay too,” Juliet said.
    Chloe looked at them wordlessly, her shame dissolving into gratitude.
    Anna, mistaking the look, hurriedly added, “Although if you’d rather be alone, we’d completely understand. We don’t want to intrude.”
    “No!” Chloe said urgently. “Please stay! Please!”
    “We won’t go anywhere,” Anna promised, and she reached forward to squeeze Chloe’s hand.
             
    Two hours later, Chloe had had enough. She was sick of the contractions, sick of the waves of pain, sick of nurses waltzing in and sticking their hands up her crotch, sick of the steady beat of the fetal monitor, which she had initially found so reassuring. She was also fed up with the glaring fluorescent lights, the background noise of the Friends rerun playing on the television, and especially with James, who was sitting, relaxed and apparently recovered, in the orange vinyl upholstered visitors’ chair, humming tunelessly, which was annoying Chloe to distraction. She gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t snap at him.
    Juliet and Anna had gone off in search of coffee—the nurse had promised it would be a late night—and Chloe hoped they’d be back soon. They’d been distracting her from the pain of the contractions. Juliet was telling a story about a deposition she’d attended where all of the lawyers, except for her, ended up in a fistfight, and Anna chimed in with a story about reviewing a restaurant where the chef was so drunk he’d mistakenly sent out a live lobster to one of her dining companions. Chloe was very, very glad for their company.
    The door opened and her doctor came in. Dr. Camp had always reminded Chloe of a classic movie star. An older Jimmy Stewart, maybe, or Gregory Peck. He was in his late fifties and had a strong jaw, wide shoulders, and thick silver hair.
    “Hey, Doc,” James said. He stood and shook hands with Dr. Camp.
    “How are you feeling, Mrs. Truman?” Dr. Camp asked.
    “I’m fine,” Chloe said, and then smiled at her knee-jerk politeness. “It’s starting to really hurt,” she admitted.
    “Do you want an epidural?”
    “Yes!” Chloe said, with such enthusiasm, the doctor smiled. “I asked for one earlier, but no one’s come in yet.”
    “I’ll see what I can do to hurry the anesthesiologist up,” Dr. Camp assured her.
    Dr. Camp was gentle and quick as he examined her. Chloe lay still, staring up at the drop-in tile