Page 26 of Airborne
“Catherine. My husband is gone.”
“Jackie. I just retired and planned to tour Germany.”
“We will get through this together,” Doris said. “Please, ladies, try to sleep. If you need to speak to me or anyone privately, the phone’s right here or walk back to the cafeteria. The staff are stationed 24-7. We don’t lock your room door or the outside doors. You are not a prisoner or being punished. A member of the National Guard will be stationed in the cafeteria during every meal. At times tempers flare, and none of us need additional problems. Our goal is to keep you healthy and safe while monitoring and testing your bodies for any signs of infection or discovering a reason you are currently immune to the illness.
“Inside each metal chest is a brochure that explains what quarantine means. Meals will be in the cafeteria at designated times. Snacks and beverages are available 24-7. Later today, you’ll be given more information about Adam’s Island and what’s available for your use. Recreational equipment inside and out is designed to alleviate stress. Any questions before I speak to each one of you privately?” They shook their heads. Like Heather, sleep evaded them. Doris gestured to Heather. “I’d like to see you privately.”
Heather followed her into the hallway. “Is this about my pregnancy?”
“Yes. The CDC worker who talked to you on board the plane alerted us.”
“I gave her my doctor’s name. But what precautions do I take for my baby?”
The woman held up a finger and spoke into a radio. A few moments later, she clipped the radio onto her belt. “Dr. Natalie Francisca is on her way by ferry from the city to speak to you. She’s a gynecologist who works with the CDC. I’ll notify you when she arrives.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d like for the other women staying with you to know your condition. In the event of an emergency—”
“All right.”
Back inside the room, Heather sank onto her assigned bed and buried her face in her hands. She managed one breath after another to gain control—for her baby, those who’d died, for the sick hospitalized, and Chad. She grappled for strength.
Doris called for the women’s attention. “Heather and I agree you should be aware of her pregnancy. Needless to say, she has more than one concern as do many of you. I encourage you to support each other.”
Arms enveloped Heather, and she looked up to Catherine and Tatum.
“I’m sorry,” Tatum said. “What can I do?”
Heather should tend to them, not the other way around. She was the behavior analyst for the FBI, trained to provide logic and comfort. “I’m just hormonal.”
“Right.” Tatum clasped Heather’s arm. “You’re FBI, pregnant, wrestled down a jerk on the plane, and in need of sleep.”
Heather fought for composure. “We all fit on the exhausted list. Everybody’s hurting.”
Catherine wrapped her arm around Heather’s shoulders, the woman who’d lost her husband only hours ago. “Dear, I watched you in action with sick people. You deserve a good cry.”
Heather wiped her eyes. “Thanks.” But she craved confirmation God had not abandoned them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A SHOWER AND CLEAN CLOTHESfailed to rid Heather of death’s cloud. A lingering bitterness on her tongue added to the mix. No point slipping into pajamas. She didn’t want to keep the doctor waiting. A snuggle beneath a sheet and blanket provided the best creature comforts on the face of the earth. The mask and gloves proved cumbersome, but those were the instructions.
She read Chad’s attempts to contact her.Was she okay?As though he cared about her health or safety. She listened to the voice message and deleted it. How had he seen the manifest? She should text him, but her attitude stank. He’d find out the plight of flight3879 when the rest of the country learned what happened.
Strange how his words were unlike recent conversations. In the last seven months, he’d avoided her as though she’d grown a wart on her nose. He failed to look at her even in the same room, preferring grunts to handle their communication.
Unless his recent caring covered up something else... someone else?
She shook her head in the darkness. The doubts were simply a part of hormones and sleep deprivation while witnessing the night’s terror.
He’d be furious about the baby. At some point, she’d have to tell him. He’d accuse her of not taking her pill and purposely getting pregnant to wreck his career. As if he was ever home anyway. He’d made it clear fatherhood wasn’t in his future. Why would she bring a child into that environment? When she’d learned about the baby, she chose not to tell him in light of their noncommunicative marital status. Mixed emotions had assaulted her—hope and fear of potentially facing single parenthood.
At least Chad wouldn’t accuse her of having an affair. He knew her better than that. She’d accepted the responsibility of single parenthood, and her parents would help teach her child about life and God.
She hadn’t decided if requesting child support made sense. Stubbornness mostly. Chad claimed he no longer loved her, so what made her think he’d be willing to contribute financially for his child? Legally, he’d be forced to pay, and she could save the money for the baby’s future. He might offer a generous amount as a bargaining tool for her signature on the papers. Broken promises, words hurled like bullets, regrets, and the many tears had left her weary and drained.
A sickening apprehension persisted. What if the virus damaged her baby? She forced down the perpetual lump in her throat. Abortion for any reason was not an option. She’d face the future with her baby regardless if it was born with defects. Her mind drifted to images of infants whose mothers contracted the Zika virus. She cherished the life inside her.
