The Holmes Family: A Collection of Short Stories

Say That Again? (Part 3)

Ally was twenty weeks pregnant and wouldn't let me forget it. It seemed with every breath she took, her ever expanding girth grew more expansive, and as did her bad attitude about it. She was moody, sad, temperamental, hormonal, and hungry. So hungry.

I was run off my feet every day cooking for her, as she couldn't cook worth crap. I had been to more doctor's visits than I care to count, I had looked at more cribs and more strollers and more carseats than anyone ever, it felt like.

I was so ready for this baby to be born.

But I was also so scared.

Scared shitless.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to come to terms with the fact that you are afraid, especially when your friends, and I use that term loosely, believe you to be incapable of fear? Lemme tell you. I am not incapable of fear.

I sat back on the sofa, remembering the one of the first doctor's appointments we had to go to.

I stood with my back to the door, giving Ally, who was sitting on the little bed inside of the doctor's office, a little smile. A smile which she returned, with just a hint of fear in her eyes.

The doctor entered and introduced himself as Dr. Corinth. He asked Ally a few questions, and before we knew it, was pulling out a needle and vial. He needed blood.

I could see the fear in her eyes, needles reminded her of some awful past experiences. I reached out to hold her hand, and she grabbed it instantly. I could feel her elevated pulse, and my mind was flooded of conjured images of Ally from another time.

Her eyes her sunken and hollow, her hair shaggy and unkempt. She was thin and dirty, and had a wild look. Her clothes were grungy, and her face dirty. And with an expression of absolute destitution, she picked up a syringe.

She gave a little whimper as the doctor drew her blood, breathing rapid and shallow. I continued to hold her hand, murmuring peaceful words.

I opened my eyes, trying to clear my mind of the sad memory. Ally walked into the room. "When's my appointment with Dr. Corinth, Sherlock?"

I thought for a second. "Tomorrow at four."

"Thanks Sher."

"No problem."

She walked into the kitchen. "Sherlock! I'm hungry!"

"As always, Ally."

"You're not eating for two."

"You have a perfectly valid point."

"I know I do." I walked into the kitchen, and made her some spaghetti. As I was cooking, she came over and touched my shirt. "Is this new? I like this one."

I looked down at the garment in question. It was dark green, and really tight fitting. "Yes, this one is new."

She grinned. "I knew it."

The spaghetti was done soon, and I gave her a double portion, which she bolted down in record time. She also made me eat some, much to my chagrin.

She went to go play her cello, and as I heard the first strains of music float through the air, my phone rang. "Sherlock Holmes," I said, holding it up to my ear. My automatic response.

"Hey, Sherlock, it's me," Lestrade's voice came through the other end of the phone, scratchy and crackly due to the small speaker.

"Who?" I asked, in a bored tone.

"Erm, Greg, Greg Lestrade." he said, in an unsure tone.

"Oh c'mon, you know what I mean. Who was it?"