The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress by Ariel Lawhon Page A

you in when he’s ready.”
    Maria took the clipboard from her outstretched hand, gave her a grateful smile, then passed through a stark white door to the left of the reception desk. The corridor was long and narrow, with a gray-tiled floor and harsh white lighting. She found room number eight, set the clipboard into a metal bracket attached to the door, and dropped to the wooden bench to wait. She was alone in the hallway but could hear voices rising on the other side of the door.
    “We don’t provide that here, miss.” The doctor’s voice, insistent.
    “But I won’t be able to perform pregnant.”
    “I am afraid I cannot help you.”
    A wild sob. “They’ll kick me off the show. I’ll lose everything.”
    The sound of compassion in his voice and his choice of words were at odds. “Perhaps what you need is a lifestyle change, not that garbage. It’s not even medicine. It’s dangerous.”
    “Can you at least tell me where to go?”
    Tense silence, and then, “No. I can’t. What you’re asking for is illegal.”
    Her rage was almost palpable. “You think I did this to myself ? You think I had a choice ?”
    “I’m sorry—”
    “No, you’re not. You’re a man. You’re all the same.”
    The door flew open and Maria jerked. She recognized the young woman at once: soft brown hair and hazel eyes and a panicked, shamed expression. The girl from Mr. Crater’s bed. She slammed the door behind her and stood in the hallway trembling. Their eyes met.
    Maria eased onto her feet. She extended a hand in sympathy, but the girl knocked it away.
    “Don’t.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she swiped them from her cheeks. The smile she offered was bitter and no words came with it. She rushed off down the hall.
    Maria took a hesitant step after her. “You’re pregnant?”
    For one short moment, Maria thought they might have been friends, that perhaps they had an understanding. The feeling quickly dissipated when the girl said, “Just leave me alone.” She pushed through the door and back into the waiting room.
    Maria stood there wondering whether to run after her, but then her name was called.
    “Maria de la …” The doctor paused, tripping over her name, and finally added, “Simon. This way, please.”
    She followed him into the room. It was small and sparse and neat. Bare walls. An exam table covered by a clean white sheet that still had creases from being folded.
    “English?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Thank God. I get so tired of bad translations. No fault of my nurses, of course. They do the best they can, but still. So many people. So many languages.” He patted the exam table. “Hop up.”
    Maria sat on the end of the table and dangled her feet off the edge. She felt like a child.
    “I’m Dr. Godfrey.” He studied the blank space on her chart. “How can I help you today?”
    A blush spread across her cheeks, and she felt foolish for being there at all. Pregnancy should be a simple thing. God knows she and Jude had perfected the art of trying. “I’m not exactly sure,” she said.
    “Are you pregnant? That is my specialty, you realize.”
    She tried to smile but the effort fell short. “I can’t seem to get pregnant. We’ve tried.”
    “For how long? Sometimes it takes a few months. Perhaps a year.” He scribbled on the chart.
    “My husband and I have been trying for several years.”
    His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “Is this your first time visiting a doctor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can I do a quick external exam? I’ll need you to lie down.”
    Maria turned and lifted her legs onto the table. She lay on her back, arms at her side, as Dr. Godfrey probed her stomach with two fingers.
    “May I?” he asked, indicating the waistband of her skirt.
    She nodded, and he simultaneously lifted her blouse and folded her skirt down so that five inches of bare skin was exposed around her navel. He scrutinized her face while he prodded. Maria winced as his blunt fingers pressed into