Free Deliver Me by Farrah Rochon Page A

speak up
for themselves.   Expensive fertility
treatments had made college out of the question until one day when Jeffrey had
just said screw it. He’d taken on a second job in order to pay for Amanda’s
education. After losing a semester due to Hurricane Katrina, it was no doubt
killing her to have to put school on hold yet again.  
    “Do you plan on starting back next fall?” he asked.
    She shrugged.
    Jeffrey went over to the kitchen and deposited the bags on the counter.
Dinner could wait. After all, he’d accomplished what he had sought to achieve
with his gourmet meal.
    His wife was speaking to him again.
    He walked back into the den and took a seat on the armchair.
    “How are you feeling today?” Jeffrey asked, mentally crossing his fingers
that his question didn’t set her off. She didn’t take too kindly to his
inquiring about the baby, but he wanted to know. He’d suffered through the same
hell she had all those years as they struggled to get pregnant, and then last
year’s miscarriage. He wanted this baby just as much as she did, and he
deserved to know what was going on with her pregnancy.
    “The nausea’s been more bothersome than usual,” she answered. She looked
over at him. “It used to be just in the morning, but for the past few days, it
hasn’t been going away.”
    Concern skirted up Jeffrey’s spine. “Do you need to see Dr. Holmes?”
    “I doubt it. All the pregnancy books say it’s not unusual.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure, Jeffrey,” she said, a hint of aggravation in her voice. Then
it softened. “Don’t worry. If it gets too bad I’ll go and see the doctor.”
    “Promise you’ll let me know.”
    “Why?”
    “I want to be there, Amanda.”
    She stared at him, a solemn, sorrowful expression crowding her eyes.
    “But for how long, Jeffrey?”
    She unfolded her legs and rose from the couch, leaving him with the same
question that had plagued him for the last year and a half.
    What had gone wrong?
     
    ***
     
    To say the culinary selections in Methodist Memorial’s cafeteria were
lacking was a definite understatement.
    Monica pulled a bowl of lime Jell-O from under the Plexiglas shield and
placed it on her tray. She filled a plastic cup with ice from the dispenser and
opted for Diet Coke. The caffeine would be a blessed gift.
    Monica debated whether or not to get two glasses of soda. After yesterday’s
bombshell about the fundraising, she’d had the hardest time falling asleep, and
now she was dead on her feet. All she could think about was the banquet, and
how it could be her foot in the door...or a nail in her coffin. But there was
no way she would allow that to happen.
    She wanted to show that she had more to offer than just being a stellar
ER physician. This was her chance to prove what she could do outside of the emergency room. And if
she could save a vital program to the community in the process...well, that was
just the chocolate icing on a very sweet cake.
    The only sour part of the deal would be working with Dr. Pessimistic.
    “Want to know why most of these tables are empty?”
    Speak of the devil.
    Monica nearly dropped her tray. Eli had come from out of nowhere,
sneaking up behind her like some thief in the night. She had to take several
quick breaths before she could speak. The scent of his subtle cologne wafted
through her nostrils, spurring a sudden burst of wanting. When her heart returned
to a normal rhythm, Monica turned.
    “You must get a secret thrill from scaring the living daylights out of
people?” Her voice came out more calm than she’d expected. Good. She didn’t
want him catching on to the fact that he could fluster her. Lord knows he
could.
    “I apologize,” he said. “My intention wasn’t to frighten, but to inform.
Most of the people who work here eat at Ethel’s, the little shop across the
street. At least, those of us who have taste buds do. They sell a good roast
beef po’boy.”
    “Oh, I didn’t know.”
    “Thus,