The Garneau Block by Todd Babiak

Assuming it was one of her father’s friends hoping to meet up and be exceedingly right-wing sometime soon, Madison ignored it. Then the phone rang again. And again.
    She pulled into a gas station. “Hello, David Weiss’s phone.”
    â€œWhy weren’t you picking up?” Her father cleared his throat. “I’ve been calling.”
    â€œYou need me to grab something for you, Dad?”
    â€œNah. How’s the old girl running?”
    â€œThe Yukon? Fine, I guess.” Madison turned off the engine. “Do you need groceries?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œSo why did you call? I left the house five minutes ago.”
    â€œCan’t a father call his daughter just to talk once in a while?”
    â€œWe ate breakfast together. And I don’t like talking on the phone and driving. It’s dangerous and I look like a goof.”
    David Weiss sighed. “The old girl runs like a dream though, doesn’t she?”
    â€œNot my dream. And stop calling it an old girl. It’s a 2003.”
    â€œOh, don’t get all David Suzuki on me. Buy your own hybrid, you want one so damn much. They aren’t cheap, you know. And what if it blows up, with that big weird battery? It’s not like we’re gonna run out of oil around here, right? Right? You haven’t heard that, have you?”
    â€œI’m gonna go, okay Dad?”
    â€œDon’t worry about filling her up. I’ll take care of that.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œLove you.”
    â€œLove you too, Dad.”
    â€œLove you. Bye. Love you, sweetie. Say bye to Maddy, Garith. Woof woof. I ruh you. I ruh you ro ruch.”
    In the waiting room at the clinic, Madison chose from among five 2002 Maclean’s magazines and looked at the words in an article about Leonard Cohen’s son without actually reading.
    She doubted the machine would hear the baby’s heart over the insistent hammering of her own. Reaching twelve weeks in her pregnancy meant it was actually going to happen. Soon, toosoon, Madison would be a mother. A mother. The thought sent a jolt through her so potent that she pressed a thumb through Adam Cohen’s neck.
    When the nurse called her name, Madison surveyed the room. Maybe someone else wanted to go first? Large woman with a beard in the Old Navy shirt? Terrified teenager with her parents? Anyone?
    In the examination room, Madison looked at the illustrated chart. According to the full-colour drawing, at this stage in her pregnancy the baby resembled a naked mole rat. There was a knock and without waiting for a response Dr. Stevens opened the door.
    On Canada Day, Madison had run into Dr. Stevens at a bar downtown. There, out of her white doctor coat, Dr. Stevens was known as Cecile. They hugged and reminisced about that party Madison had hosted in grade eleven while her parents were in Italy. Burned carpet downstairs, that couple no one recognized having sex in the bathroom–with the door open. Where you living now? Yep, same basement.
    At the clinic, there was no Cecile. Dr. Stevens said hello, asked if Madison was still throwing up regularly, and told her to lie down. Madison pulled her shirt up and pushed her skirt down while Dr. Stevens put clear goo on the Doppler.
    â€œAny questions for me?”
    Abby had suffered uterine rupture when Madison was born. Both of them had almost died in labour. At her last visit, Dr. Stevens had assured Madison that it wasn’t a concern. “If I was at risk for uterine rupture, how would I know?”
    â€œShhh, just a second.” Dr. Stevens was hunting around with her machine. “Hear that? That’s gas.” Then, a whooshing spaceship sound came out of the speakers. “There it is. Can you hear that?”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œThe heartbeat.”
    Without giving it much thought, Madison started crying. The whooshing spaceship sound faded.
    Dr. Stevens smiled and pulled the machine off