Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he OB/GYN's waiting room was full of new leather furniture in pastel colors. The whole place smelled like new paint and sawdust, the perfect ambiance for making a new start with a new little life in their future.

The wall of baby pictures promised the doctors were not as new as the building. Beaming mothers, swaddled bundles, proud fathers and grandmas nearby. Alex couldn’t help looking forward to her own big day—and knowing only she and her baby would be visible.

“Well, Grandma, you wanted me to find magic…”

“What’s that?” Since all the seats nearby were taken, Spreag stood halfway across the room and read a magazine over another man’s shoulder.

Alex held her phone to her head, like she often did in public. “Just talking to my grandma.”

“As long as ye’re not really speaking with the ghost of her,” he said, then went back to reading. He pretended to be calm, but behind him, his fidgeting hands gave him away.

Actually, Alex couldn’t think of anything she wanted more at that moment than to speak with the old woman, to get a little comfort on such a big day. In a minute, she expected to hear her baby’s heartbeat.

Hopefully, that’s all she’d hear. If the “gifted” child sat up and started talking to her, they’d be picking the doctor up off the floor.

Her hand drifted to her middle and she silently prayed her appointment would be normal and boring.

Then she went back to filling out forms. Family medical history. Father's side unknown. She wondered what genetic surprises might come with having an 18th century Highland ghost for a father.

"Alexandra Tulloch?" A nurse held the door open, clipboard in hand.

Alex gathered her purse and followed her down a cheerfully decorated hallway, with Spreag beside her.

"First baby?" The nurse asked as she took Alex's blood pressure.

"Yes."

"Are we waiting on the father before we do the ultrasound?"

"Passed away." The words still hurt, but not as sharply. Not with him standing right there, watching the numbers on the blood pressure cuff as if he understood what they meant.

"I'm so sorry,” the nurse said with genuine sympathy. “Do you have family nearby?"

"Some friends." Alex managed a smile. "I'm not alone."

Spreag leaned down and murmured close to her ear. "Never alone, my love.”

Alexandra had parked near the summit of Hayden Butte, where ancient Hohokam petroglyphs shared space with modern radio towers. The juxtaposition seemed fitting--old magic meeting new world, past touching present. Like her life with Spreag.

The accordion of ultrasound photos lay stretched across the dashboard, memorized now, even though their baby was little more than a solid thumbprint inside the black void of her uterus. Neither of them had been ready to go home after the appointment, still in awe. So they'd driven here, to this quiet spot where desert met city, where once they'd come late into the night and ended up in the back seat.

Maybe it was time for a new spot.

As the sun began its descent, the valley spread out before them like a gathering of stars. One by one, lights winked on in office buildings and along Mill Avenue below. Students walked the paths around the base of the butte, unaware of the centuries of history etched in the rocks above them. How many love stories had played out on this mountain? How many prayers had been whispered to the sky?

She pulled the photos to her again to trace the outline of their miracle, their child. This was real. This was really going to happen.

Spreag sat beside her, no doubt trying to soak it in. He'd wanted this so badly, and after his death, she'd understood why. They'd been married just over a year, so it was time, he'd said, just before the trip to Scotland--when he'd known he wouldn't be coming back. No doubt he'd heard her railing at him for making the trip anyway, when he knew... But they hadn't had that conversation face to face yet. But they would.

Today wasn't the day to rip him a new one. Today was a happy day, wasn't it? At least, as happy as it could be.

It would be dark soon. It was always good to stop thinking when it got dark. But she couldn't. Not yet. There was one thing that had to be said, right here, right now. She couldn't pretend another minute.

She set the pictures aside, gripped the steering wheel, and cleared her throat to break the silence before it broke her. "Spreag?"

"Aye?" His voice carried that forced lightness she'd come to recognize. He was still tiptoeing, worried she'd fall apart all over again.

"I know you heard her too. Lorraine or Loretta, I forget which."

"Heard what, love?"

"She said, 'The Sight runs strong in Spreag's line, and now it's giving you a connection to the spirit world. Temporarily. You remember that?"

"Aye. I remember. And it was Loretta."

She rolled her eyes. It didn't matter which sister said it. "And now we have a due date. June 3. When our baby is born, she thinks I won't be able to see you anymore."

He nodded. "Aye."

"Aye? What does that mean? That yes, that's what she was implying or that you believe the same thing?"

His silence was answer enough.

She looked at him. The movement sent fresh tears spilling. He was so clear, so present, exactly as she remembered him. The same man who'd well and truly won her heart, had swept her off her feet, and had loved her with an intensity that should be spoken of in history books.

"I keep thinking about our wedding night," she said, watching the last rays of sunlight paint the sky purple and pink. "How nothing seemed impossible then."

"Alexandra, listen to me. Ye have a full life ahead of ye. Nothing is impossible...for ye, and for our bairn."

She didn't want to hear that, so she leaned forward to look up at the stars, each one a wish she needn't waste. Their child would be born in June, the start of summer. Would she really lose him all over again?

"Nae point of fashin', woman. We'll take one day at a time for the now. Our love will see us through this. I can see--" He stopped short, which got her attention.

"You can see? What can you see?"

He shrugged. "I can see enough to assure ye just that--that our love will see us through this. Can ye trust me?"

"I don't know." She faced forward again and squeezed the steering wheel even harder, knowing she had just caused him pain, which made her hate herself. "Are you telling me you can see our future? I thought you were never able to see your own."

He huffed. "Aye, that would still be true if...if I still had a future."

She winced, and all she could eek out was a whisper. "So you can see my future, and I'm without you?" Her head was already shaking.

"Alexandra Tulloch, ye will listen to me, and ye will take me at my word, do ye hear? Our love will see us through this. If ye believe nothin' else, believe that." He reached for her stomach, but before completing the action, he slowly drew his hand back. "Believe I love ye. Believe that our bairn will be hale and healthy. And put yer worries aside for the babe's sake. Can ye do that?"

She took a deep breath, then another. Then nodded. "I can do that."

"And I swear," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I swear upon everything I am, everything I've ever been, I will never truly leave ye."

The city lights burned like the tears she couldn't wipe away. Red rocks and ancient symbols surrounded them, testament to both permanence and loss. Generations of peoples had come and gone from this mountain, leaving only shadows of their presence behind. Just like Spreag, in June, would likely leave her behind, whether he could admit it or not.

It was so unfair. She wished they'd never called for those witches to join them for breakfast. Then she could look forward to the day her baby would be born...instead of dreading it.

If Loretta was right, she'd be trading the sound of one voice for another.

She pressed her fingers against the cooling glass of the window. The desert wind buffeted the car, and an image inserted itself into her brain--of that same wind passing through Spreag, shattering him, then scattering him like a mist as she tried to catch him and put him back together again. She couldn't help but wonder if the vision was a symptom of her greatest fear...or if it was a peek at the future, a result of Spreag's blood in her veins.

Was that what it was like, not knowing for sure?

If so, she could almost forgive him for taking that trip, taking that chance.

Almost.

She turned on the engine and headed back to the road, terrified. Spreag’s assurance was too vague to help. Their love would see them through…what?

How many more sunsets did they have left?

How much longer before the magic failed?