Baby, I'm Yours. Carrie Weaver
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have to do this.”
“I’m not so sure. He’d hate to see how hard you’re pushing yourself.”
“There’s no other way. Now, do you have a few minutes to sit down and go over what I can expect in the next couple weeks as we prepare to return leased vehicles?”
“Pull a chair over. I’ll show you what I have so far. Then you can go with me to the body shop and we can check on repair status.”
“Good.”
For the next hour Rick explained how the system worked. “The factory won’t take back vehicles with extensive repairs or obvious damage,” he told her once he’d run through the procedures.
“So we’re stuck with them?”
“We’ll have to sell them at auction, probably at a loss.” He handed her a computer printout. “These cars should be on the lot today. We’ll thoroughly inspect them and avoid renting them out again if possible.”
“What if we do have to rent them?”
“We’ll want to reinspect them even more closely than usual. Come on, I’ll show you what to look for.”
They went out on the lot.
“I also pulled the repair history on each vehicle, so we can eyeball the repairs. Everything has to be pristine. The new cars will be arriving as these leave, so it’s going to be chaotic.” He grinned.
“Why do I get the feeling you thrive on this?”
“Probably because I do.”
“This process used to kind of stress Gabe out. Not that he complained or anything. He wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. I wonder if he’d still be here if I’d worried more.”
“You can’t second-guess yourself, Becca.”
“How can I not second-guess myself?”
“Focus on what you can do. You’ve got some pretty intense challenges right now.”
They checked the vehicles one by one, a time-consuming job with a midsize fleet. Fortunately, many were rented out at the moment. Becca was amazed at how easily Rick could find a flawed repair or minor damage.
He shook his head. “Roger’s usually not this careless. He’s been at it for so long, he could do bodywork in his sleep.”
“Gabe thought the world of him. Said he was the best in the business and we were very fortunate to have him run our body shop.”
“He’s got a couple kids working with him to help get the cars ready for return. This must’ve got past him. I’ll talk to him about watching the guys more closely.”
“See this fender.” Rick squatted, pointing. “Run your palm over it.”
Becca knelt next to him on the asphalt, glad she’d worn jeans today. She ran her hand over the fender the way she’d seen him do it. “I can feel it’s rougher there. And it looks like the paint is bubbled up.”
“Yep, that’ll need to be sanded and repainted. If we had to send out the repairs, this would be a substantial expense. But since we have our own shop, that keeps costs down.”
Nodding, Becca said, “Yes, one of the women at the salon was rear-ended, a fender bender really, and repairs cost over a thousand dollars.”
“Absolutely.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “I gotta run. I’m meeting Valerie for drinks.”
“You two have the most amicable divorce I’ve ever seen.”
Rick stood, brushing off his hands. Grinning, he said, “Too bad the marriage wasn’t this amicable. We just get together once a month to compare notes on Kayla.”
Becca rose, too, bracing her hand against the car, hoping she didn’t sway.
“Are you okay?” Rick steadied her.
She managed to smile. “Fine. Just stood up too quickly.”
“This dizziness worries me. And you’ve lost weight. Maybe you should see someone about it.”
“I’m really fine.” She smiled brightly. “Besides, I’ve got a checkup next week. I’ll mention it to my doctor then.”
“Be sure you do. After what happened to Gabe, I’m kind of jumpy about my friends not feeling well.”
“I’ll talk to the doctor, I promise. And thanks for caring enough to nag. I’m fortunate to have friends like you.”
Though just this once, she wished Rick were a little less observant.
CHAPTER FIVE
A WEEK LATER, Dr. Barker finished the examination. “Go ahead and get dressed, then meet me in my office.”
“That sounds…ominous.”
The doctor smiled, kindness in her warm brown eyes. “Not at all. Just a better place to talk.”
“I read the material in your waiting room about perimenopause and that certainly describes some of the symptoms I’m having. Fatigue, mood swings, difficulty concentrating, decreased appetite…or it could have something to do with stress.”
“We’ll discuss it in my office.” The doctor closed the door behind her.
Becca dressed as quickly as possible, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. She avoided looking at the diagrams of a woman’s reproductive organs on the wall. One of the drawbacks to having her ob-gyn handling her general checkup.
When she emerged from the examination room, the nurse took her to Dr. Barker’s office.
The doctor glanced up from a file and smiled warmly. “Have a seat.”
Becca sat in the padded chair, wishing they could dispense with formalities and get right to the point.
“We checked your hormone levels to see if perimenopause might be the culprit. We also checked for pregnancy hormones.”
“Pregnancy? No, that couldn’t…”
But it could have happened and that’s why she’d been trying to avoid panicking. Trying not to think about it at all.
“Becca, you’re not perimenopausal. You’re pregnant.”
The room spun and Becca felt as if she might be sick.
“I understand the timing may not be the most opportune…”
“No, it’s not.” She started to tick off items on her fingers. “I’m forty-one, recently widowed, working two jobs to keep food on the table and supporting three children and my two elderly in-laws.”
Dr. Barker reached across the desk and grasped her hand. “I’m sorry. There are options…”
Becca drew back in horror. “Abortion? Absolutely not.”
“Adoption.”
“No, I couldn’t live with myself. I’ll work through this. Raise the child myself. H-how far along am I?”
“We’ll need to do an ultrasound to determine that. You said you haven’t missed any periods?”
“No, but my last one was very light. I thought it was because of stress.”
“Maybe this baby will bring you joy—a gift from your late husband.”
“Yes, of course.”
Becca was barely aware of grabbing her purse and fleeing the office.
She couldn’t face going back to the agency. She called Rick and, wonder of wonders, something worked out right for her. Her call went straight to his voice mail.