Free Wings of Glass by Gina Holmes

“Yes, I certainly will, Miss Thing. You’ll just have to take one of her houses tomorrow.”
    Fatimah huffed and mumbled something in her native language that didn’t sound very nice.
    The tension made my stomach tight, but Callie Mae was content enough with the outcome to eat the last few bites of her sandwich. “You may get to see the baby on the ultrasound we talked about.” She wasn’t looking at either one of us, but since I knew she hadn’t talked to me about any ultrasound, I figured she must be speaking to Fatimah.
    “I will see the baby?” Fatimah grinned. “Seeing a baby inside his mother. Imagine!”
    “I thought they didn’t do that until you were further along,” I said.
    Callie Mae gave me a look that made it clear I was to shush.
    Picking up the check the waiter had set down, she threw me a glance. “And you, Penny, should get to hear your baby’s heartbeat.”
    I smiled, overjoyed with the fact I was going to be seeing a doctor and even more that I might actually hear your heart beating. “I want to see the doctor,” I said, hoping I didn’t make Fatimah mad. “I want to do everything I can for her—or him.”
    “I know you do,” Callie Mae said. “And you will.”

TEN

    THE DOCTOR squeezed in a quick visit with me for Callie Mae’s sake in exchange for a promise I would set up an appointment for a full workup before I left. Fatimah got cold feet at the last minute and, despite Callie Mae’s threats and pleading, insisted she could and would doctor herself just fine. When she plugged a finger in each ear and started making a loud whooping sound, Callie Mae got embarrassed enough to let it go.
    The doctor squirted cold jelly on my stomach and kept sliding what she called a Doppler farther and farther down until I blushed; then she slid it back up, stopped several inches below my belly button, and smiled at the steady whoosh-whoosh sound she located. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
    I closed my eyes and listened. I couldn’t believe that was your little heart beating inside of me. It made it all so real, so wonderful, and so scary.
    All I could think of as I drove home to Trent was thatwe were going to have a Christmas baby! Of course we both know now it didn’t work out quite that way. I drove home to your father, wanting to get there as fast as I could. It seemed like that fifteen-minute ride was two hours long. Finally, I pulled into the driveway. Carrying a glossy black-and-white picture of a blob the doctor assured me was you, I raced toward the house.
    When I opened the door, I knew right away he was drunk. There he sat, as usual, slouching on the couch with his eyes drooping into those telltale slits. The television was blaring, and there were half a dozen crushed beer cans at his feet, along with an empty whiskey bottle.
    The last thing I would have done is left that man alone with hard alcohol, so I knew one of his buddies or girlfriends had been over to supply him.
    His hair stuck straight up like a lunatic’s, and his white T-shirt had a mustard stain smeared across the shoulder like he had wiped his mouth on it, which, knowing him, he probably had.
    With one arm draped over the back of the couch, he turned toward the door and belched. It was all I could do not to run to the bathroom and get sick again.
    “Well, well, Mrs. Taylor. You finally decided to carry yourself home,” he slurred in my direction.
    I could smell the booze and cigarette smoke clear across the room. So much for not smoking in the house. The good news about your due date would have to wait until I had time to assess his mood. Trent could be a mean drunk justas soon as a friendly one. Only time and conversation would tell which way the wind blew that day.
    “I see you’ve been busy.” I made my way to the beer cans and started plucking them off the floor. When I picked up that glass whiskey bottle, I’m not proud to admit it, but the thought of smashing him over the head with it did cross my