Jacob had, she must mean, but Dee couldn’t afford to argue. “Thank you.”
Dr. Bennett flipped another page on the chart. “Your psychiatric evaluation came back basically normal.”
An airplane roared overhead and Dee flinched. Just the jolt of the unexpected noise, right? Not freaking out with a panic attack, damn it. Still she had to ask, “Basically?”
“You’re displaying moderate signs of anxiety, but that’s perfectly normal given the situation. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t at all stressed by the circumstances.”
A calm settled over her for the first time. “You believe me.”
Her brows rose. “Oh, yes, you passed that part of the psyche eval with flying colors. I can prescribe something for the anxiety.”
“No. Thank you.” A thought occurred to her. “Although I was carrying an EpiPen with me and I have no idea what I’m allergic to.”
Dr. Bennett frowned. “Were you wearing a medical alert bracelet?”
A good thought on the doctor’s part, but, “No, and I haven’t found one anywhere in my room.”
She pulled her pen from behind her ear. “It could be any one of a million things. The most common allergies I see are to bees, peanuts and shellfish. You should probably avoid those and keep the epinephrine close. I’ll send you home with a few extra to keep around, just in case one gets lost. I’ll also give you a printout of symptoms to be aware of in case of an allergic reaction.”
Dee slid her hand into her pocket, her fist closing around the medicine. “Thank you.”
“All right, then.” The doctor scribbled a notation on her chart, then tucked the pen back into her red braid. “You’ve managed well so far, but don’t hesitate to let me know if something changes.”
Jacob stepped from behind the gurney as if to block the door. “That’s all you have for us?”
The doctor’s hand fell to rest on the barely visible pregnancy bulge as if to soothe a restless child. “To be honest, Dee, I can’t explain why you’re suffering a memory loss. Until you remember, we have no way of knowing. On the bright side, you’re a healthy young woman, somewhere in your early thirties, I would guess. You’ve had your appendix and tonsils removed. You’re O Positive and don’t wear glasses. You weren’t battered, attacked or raped. No signs of a sexually transmitted disease.”
She paused, shuffling uncomfortably for the first time.
Dee couldn’t take her eyes off that hand circling a pregnant stomach. She already knew the answer before she asked the question. “And?”
“You’ve been pregnant at least once, delivering by Cesarean section.”
Dee exhaled, surprised how hearing what she already knew still sucker punched her. A baby. A child. Son or daughter. She squeezed her eyes shut for three calming breaths.
She opened her eyes and found Jacob’s hands clenched by his sides. She should have prepared him for this. It hadn’t been fair to surprise him, but how could she have slid it into polite conversation? By the way, I have this nifty scar on my belly that leads me to believe I’ve had a baby or two. Oh, yeah, and don’t forget the sexy stretch marks.
Jacob cleared his throat. “Any idea when?”
“Not recently, judging by the incision. Again, I’m sorry I can’t do more for you than that.”
Jacob pivoted on his boot heels toward Dee, and she turned away. She couldn’t face any more questions from Jacob, not yet. “Thank you, Doctor. At least I know I’m not dying or crazy. That’s something, right?”
“Yes, it is.” The doctor squeezed Dee’s arm.
But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t content to let time take its course and hope someone might be looking for her. She had a child to find.
She’d also started a new life, a life rapidly filling with people, responsibilities and debts to repay. Emotional as well as financial. To do that, she needed to hop off the gurney and stop feeling sorry for herself. She pulled her attention back to the doctor’s words.
“Jacob, I want to take a look at your arm before you two head out to the police station. And don’t bother to tell me you’re fine. I know all about the ego you boys tote around, and I’m not backing down.”
Jacob’s arm. How could she have forgotten his injury just because he’d ditched his sling? She’d been so immersed in her own mess that she hadn’t even given him any warning of what they would hear. She was being selfish, especially after all he’d done for her.
Now if she could just scavenge some communication skills she had no way of knowing she possessed.
Hunger roared to life within him, a hunger fired by more than the woman walking beside him as they left the police station and settled into his truck.
They’d filed an official report. During their afternoon at the station, they hadn’t learned anything new from the police about her. The cops had actually been more interested in the fact that the Suburban plates hadn’t appeared in any data bank. Had Mr. Smith written down the wrong number by accident or on purpose? No way of knowing.