The Heart Doctor and the Baby (13 page)

“Little Sara's going to be fine. It's you we need to focus on right now.” Unlike René, Lisa had insisted on knowing the sex of her baby.

When the ambulance siren ripped through the air, René let go a relieved sigh. “The E.R. will do any tests necessary to rule out pulmonary embolism, and they'll treat you with anticoagulants. We caught it early thanks to your suspicions about something being wrong.”

Fifteen minutes later, with the patient in stable but guarded condition and on her way to emergency, René called in her report to the local E.R., only then noticing how shaky her hands were. When she'd finished, she called Lisa's husband on his cell phone to bring him up-to-date. Lisa's support system was in order. Her husband would soon be at her side. This was a luxury she didn't have, by choice, at least
in the beginning. Now she wondered how big of a mistake her original and seemingly well-thought-out plans had been. The baby kicked in protest, and she gasped.

Jon rushed to her side. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Just a little shook up from all the excitement.” Completely aware of his hands on her shoulders, she'd missed him, missed his company and friendship, and wished with all her heart things could be different.

“Let me bring you a cup of tea from the kitchen.” In a flash the warmth from his touch disappeared.

“Thank you,” she said, enjoying the brief respite in their strained relationship. “I'll meet you there.”

She made one last quick phone call, took a deep breath and gathered her shaken wits, then followed him down the hall.

They sat together in the kitchen and sipped the peace-offering tea, and for a fleeting moment René pretended life was as it had been before she'd asked him to help with her pregnancy plan.

“There's something I want to tell you before you hear it anywhere else,” he said, shifting in his chair, giving a wary glance.

She held her teacup with both hands, within sipping distance, swept her gaze from the pale honey-colored liquid to the tentative set of his eyes and the deepening crease between them.

“I've decided to take a job with another practice, and I'll be gone before you come back from maternity leave.”

Afraid she'd drop the cup, she set it on the table before it could spill. Her throat tensed and her stomach cramped. She carefully schooled her expression, working to shut down the sudden anxiety as it nipped at her composure.

How should she respond?
I'm sorry I've chased you
away. I'm sorry I used you, if that's what you think. Please know I never thought of it that way.
But as she stared at a lone crumb on the table, all that came out of her mouth was, “I'll miss you, Jon.”

She'd sacrificed their friendship and would have to pay the price. Their contract relieved him of any obligation to their child; he'd only agreed reluctantly to signing it in the first place, and with one major stipulation—that no one would know he was the father.

Rumors and suspicions were flying around the office like unwanted flies. It was only a matter of time before someone put it together. Maybe he should get out before her misguided plan could cast an unbecoming shadow over his spotless reputation.

How could she be disappointed? She'd set every single stipulation in place. Why should she feel abandoned? He'd never once promised to stick around. She swallowed the surprising words throbbing in her throat—
What about me? Do you care at all?

“I'll miss you, too,” he said.

They sat in strained silence, her unspoken words tensing the air.

A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he had something more to say, but thought better of it. He stood. “Guess I'd better get back to work.”

She blinked. That was it? How could she suddenly be so angry at him? She had no right. He wasn't a mind reader. He didn't know how she felt about him. But damn it, she was angry. Furious.

She wanted to hate him for being so casual about up-ending her life. Why did he have to keep coming around? Why had she let him? Hell, even his daughters liked her. Why couldn't she win him over?

Thanks to Jon she would have a baby of her own. Though she wished with all of her might that things could be different, under no circumstances would she let him back. The pain of losing him once had been enough for a lifetime.

Her mother's famous saying whispered through her mind again—
be careful what you wish for
—and the hair on her arms stood on end.

 

Two weeks later, on a bright fall morning, Jon walked with Phil Hanson from the clinic parking area. Phil had a smile on his face, and Jon figured that meant he'd had a great date the night before.

“How do you do it, my friend,” Jon asked.

“Do what?”

“Survive out there in that sea of women.” Jon had felt nothing but icicles whenever he and René were in the same vicinity at the clinic since he'd told her he was changing jobs. He wanted things to be the way they were before, but took responsibility for messing them up. If he could take back that moment of weakness when he signed her contract, rationally believing he could handle it, he would. Yet the crazy contract was what had brought them together like never before. Would he trade their intimacy for the status quo?

He hated the confusion.

“Ah, waxing poetic this morning, I see,” Phil said, with a Jack Nicholson smile and sunglasses to match.

If he'd been released in a sea of women, he'd surely be dead, because he could barely survive the effects of one special person. René. She'd talked him into her motherhood plan, and he'd taken things one step too far. Now he'd been relegated to mere office associate, and the whole thing stunk to high heaven.

“Nah, just licking my wounds,” Jon said.

Phil's smile took on a whole new dimension, as if they were old military buddies and had been in battle together. “You think I never have to do that? Come on, a man works without a net and he's bound to get hurt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Us guys jump into dating with our zippers opened and forget about the consequences. We forget about the Pandora's box of complications that goes along with sex. Once the ladies find out we're really as shallow as they suspected, they dump us. What do we do? We dust ourselves off and jump right back in with someone else. It's a wild ride.” He patted Jon on the back, and forked toward his office next to René's. “But it's exciting and well worth the adventure.”

Jon stood watching him, wondering if that counted as a heart-to-heart talk between guys. And more importantly, had he learned anything?

Yeah, he'd learned that René deserved someone more exciting than him. Wasn't that what Cherie had opted for after seventeen years?

He glanced in the direction of René's office, but her door was closed. She hadn't arrived at work yet.

He thought about her every single day and hated the fact that he'd fallen for her. She hadn't bargained for that, didn't deserve the extra frustration, and though it had been the toughest thing he'd ever done, he'd stayed out of her way the past couple of weeks like she'd wanted when she'd slammed the door in his face.

They'd signed a contract and he'd honor it.

Damn straight he would.

By midmorning, Jon couldn't help but notice René still wasn't at work. He checked his calendar to see if he'd mis
calculated the beginning of her maternity leave. Nope. Not due off for another two weeks.

He strolled out to Gaby, who talked excitedly to René's nurse, Amy. “Did you hear the news?”

“What's up?” he said.

“Dr. Munroe is in labor!”

J
ON
raced into the maternity ward, straight to the secretary's desk. He leaned over the counter, catching his breath. After he'd told Gaby to cancel all his appointments for the day, he'd broken a speed limit or two on the drive over. Though he worked closely with this hospital, Labor and Delivery wasn't a regular stop on his rounds.

Fortunately the ward clerk recognized him from when he'd followed up with Chloe Vickers's heart condition.

“I'm looking for René Munroe,” he said, breathless and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hi, Dr. Becker. She's in labor so she's not having visitors.”

How should he put this, direct and to the point? “I'm not a visitor, I'm her birth coach.”

That got the clerk's attention. From above her computer monitor, her eyes sprung open and she gave him a disbelieving stare, complete with eyebrows nearly meeting hairline. “You're her coach?”

He nodded, putting on an air of authority, while straightening the knot of his tie and catching his breath. “Where is she?”

The clerk pointed him to the room number, and he rushed around the corner. The labor room was surprisingly homey with hardwood floors, an overstuffed chair next to the hospital bed disguised by a bright quilt comforter and soothing pastoral prints framed and hanging on the walls. But she wasn't there. He stepped outside and glanced up in time to see her walking toward him. She pushed an IV pole along the carpeted hall, and was draped in nondescript hospital gowns, one on backward acting like a robe to cover her hind end.

Surprise stopped her midstep when she saw him. “What are you doing here?”

“Reporting for duty. I'm your birth coach.”

“No, you're not. I dismissed you, remember?”

He'd play along, but having let her down enough lately, he had no intention of leaving. He pulled on his ear. “It was so obvious that you didn't mean it.”

She tossed a glare at the ceiling. “Did so.”

He decided to try the tried-and-true distraction method. “Who's helping you?”

“I'm doing fine by myself.”

“When did you go into labor?” he said, joining her step for step.

“Last night.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

She broke the pace. “Because you're not my coach anymore.” Irritation oozed over each word. He knew how edgy labor could make a woman, and chose to ignore it.

“How far dilated are you?”

“None of your business.” She resumed the pace.

He took off his jacket, flung it over his shoulder and loosened the knot of his tie. “I'm not leaving.”

“Nurse?” she said, to a passing L&D employee in
bright pink scrubs and with a blond ponytail halfway down her back. “I don't want him here.”

She turned out to be a student nurse, who had no idea how to handle the situation. “I'll get the charge nurse,” she said, looking at a loss and extremely anxious.

Ha, Jon thought, he knew one of the L&D charge nurses. He'd taken care of her father's heart attack last year. If he was lucky it would be her and he'd convince her to let him stay regardless of what René said. In the meantime, he followed her down the corridor.

“Don't make a scene, René. I want to help you.”

“Not going to happen.” She turned to walk in the other direction.

“Come on, let's go back to your room,” he said, reaching for her arm.

She pulled away from his grasp. Grumpy from labor or not, her reaction surprised the hell out of him. He might need to take another approach.

“I'm supposed to keep walking to help speed things along.” She shot past him in a new direction.

He strode up behind her. “Then I'll walk with you.”

She stopped again, and he almost ran into her. “I want you to leave.”

The charge nurse approached. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one he knew. This called for drastic action, and he'd do whatever it took. He flung his arm around René's shoulder. “Come on, honey pie, let's keep walking.” He'd play the patient partner to her testy labor lady.

She responded with an alien death glare.

“Is this man bothering you, Dr. Munroe?”

“I don't want him here.”

“I'm the birth coach,” he said, fighting to keep his hand on her shoulder even as she pinched his fingers. “Her
doula. I see the labor has really made her cranky.” He smiled and sidestepped when she tried to kick his foot. Fortunately she was only wearing the hospital-issued no-skid sock slippers.

The no-nonsense charge nurse glanced back and forth between them, appraising the situation.

“If you don't believe me, check her paperwork,” he said. “My name's Jon Becker, Dr. Jon Becker, and it should be there.” They'd filled out the forms together in the first Bradley birthing class. “And while you're at it—” he decided to go for broke in case he got thrown out of the hospital in the next few minutes, and because he wanted to make sure René didn't get dehydrated in his absence “—can you bring her a cup of ice chips?”

René gasped and grabbed her side, standing like a statue as the obvious contraction mounted.

Jon seized the opportunity to take over. “Okay, let me get a wheelchair and I'll take you back to the room.” He saw one halfway down the hall and charged toward it. “Don't worry, I'm here and I'll take care of you,” he said, rolling it back. “I'll even make the pillows just how you like them.”

He had the wheelchair behind her knees before René could say “ouch” and Jon assisted her to sit, then rolled her to the room.

“Don't forget the sleep breathing. Think like an animal, go inward.” He used calming low tones to help her stay focused, the way he'd been taught.

The charge nurse must have gone to check the paperwork, because they were alone again, and Jon helped René get into the awaiting bed. She let him.

He whispered encouraging words and rubbed her arm while helping her lay on her side. He put a pillow behind
her back, two under her head and one between her knees the way they'd practiced in class, and again, she didn't protest.

He lightly stroked her hair and massaged her neck. Every lesson they'd learned together came back to him, plus a few he'd remembered from the birth of his daughters. He'd be useful to her. He owed her no less.

When her breathing returned to normal, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered a surprising, “Thanks.”

“You're not kicking me out?” He smiled tenderly at her, wanting more than anything for her to understand he'd be there if she needed him, as long as she let him.

She shook her head, eyes half-mast. A second later her earnest gaze went directly for his pupils. “The baby's almost four weeks premature. I had a bloody show yesterday after work, then I realized I'd been having irregular contractions most of the afternoon. It's too early—I'm scared.”

“Hey, you're in great hands.” He reached for her fingers and offered a reassuring squeeze. “This hospital is top-notch. The baby will get all the help she needs.”

“She?” she said, with a toss of her thick lashes. “You know something I don't?”

“Actually, with my two-girl track record, just call it a hunch.”

The L&D nurse stepped back into the room, ice chips in one hand, monitor wires in the other. She went to work setting up the external device, then did a cervical check. Out of courtesy, Jon looked away while she did.

“You're six centimeters dilated and fifty percent effaced. Looks like we're getting somewhere.”

A combination apprehensive and excited smile creased René's lips. Her raised eyebrows cried out for reassurance. He wasn't used to seeing her look insecure, but the
pyramid of lines on her forehead and the constant lip licking told him she was. She glanced toward him and he made an encouraging nod.

“Piece of cake, huh?” he said.

“That's easy for you to say.” She huffed.

He ducked when she tried to swat him with one of the pillows.

“Things might get ugly,” she warned with a flinty look.

“I can take it,” he said, giving in to the need to smooth her hair. “Hey, I've got my mp3 player—you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure.” She nodded, a whole new attitude to his being there, which buoyed his spirit.

She sat up and he put the ear buds in place, and let her choose whatever she wanted to listen to from his personal list.

She settled back into the pile of pillows. He spoon-fed her a couple of ice chips, treating her like Cleopatra.

“Just do me a favor,” she said, around a mouthful of ice.

“Sure, anything.”

“Don't ever call me ‘honey pie' again.”

A laugh tumbled out of his mouth as she gave her warning. He took note. A gaze passed between them, communicating a book's worth of regulations, and maybe forgiveness. For now they'd put all the confusion about where they stood with each other aside and work as a team for one goal, the birth of the baby they'd made together.

Four hours later, during a lull between contractions, René twirled her hair around her index finger. “Tell me something silly about you,” she said.

“Me, silly? Man, that's a tough one.” After some thought, and under the time constraint of wanting to say something before the next big one came along, he remem
bered a long-buried factoid. “I used to, probably still do, know all the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.'”

She bleated a laugh. “You're kidding. Okay. Tell me.”

He'd do anything to smooth the furrow between her brows and ease this ordeal she was going through, and figured what the hell. After a moment of digging through his memory, he recited every single word to the old Queen song.

Her laughter trickled out, and he savored this sound compared to her last contraction and the injured animal echoing in his memory. Thankfully, the nurse had started titrating a mild sedative into her IV to help her relax between contractions, and the result was noticeable.

“Your turn,” Jon said, taking advantage of her new and relaxed state.

She looked all innocent, as if the game had changed.

“Come on, I told you mine, now you tell me yours,” he chided.

“Okay.” She sighed and glanced at the ceiling, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “I used to know all the dance steps to
Thriller.
”

“Ha!” He could just imagine René dancing like a zombie, and it cracked him up. “Someday I'm going to make you show me.”

The sentence had slipped out with little thought. The consequences sent them spiraling into the reality of their relationship. There would be no someday. Their eyes fused and communicated questions and answers and regrets, though no word was spoken.

“Sure,” she said.

After several more seconds of strained silence she shook her head, then grabbed her belly with both hands. “Oh, oh, oh. Tumbler wants out.”

“Come on now, breathe.” He jumped back to duty, soothing her, helping her find a tolerable position, waiting for the contraction to pass.

The L&D nurse checked in, did another cervical exam and monitored the baby. The fetal heartbeat had become a mesmerizing rhythm and a reassuring sound in between the contractions. Their little Tumbler was working hard, too, and Jon wouldn't forget that.

“Maybe you should take a break,” the nurse said to Jon. “Go eat something. You don't want to run out of steam when the real show starts.”

He thought he'd been watching the real show for more than four hours. He'd been holding René's hand, and neither of them seemed to realize how natural it was. She let go and prodded him with a direct look, then a wink. “Go on. Take a break. I'll be fine.”

He didn't want to leave her, but the nurse had made a good point. “I'm not hungry, but maybe a quick visit to the men's room and a bottle of water will do me some good.”

“Go, go,” she said, acting as if she didn't need him.

Once alone, Jon dealt with his torn feelings. It felt so right to be with her, yet he had a job transfer arranged for the end of the month. And China? What about China? Was he here out of a sense of duty or because he cared for her? When he saw their baby, how would he react?

He splashed cold water on his face and washed his hands, avoiding the answers, soon rushing back to her side.

Back within five minutes, she was noticeably glad to see him. He resumed his position at her bedside, touching, massaging, and repositioning her—anything she wanted to make her relax between contractions as the afternoon dragged on into the evening.

Two hours later, drenched in sweat, writhing in midcontraction, René rolled onto her side. Jon rubbed her lower back until he thought his arm would fall off. She clutched his other hand so tight, he'd lost feeling in his fingers.

“You can do this, René. Don't quit.”

“I can't. I'm dead.”

“Come on, honey. Don't give up.”

After the contraction eased up, she got a peculiar expression on her face; a laugh vibrated and rolled out of her chest, taking him by surprise.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“I'm an OB doc. You'd think I'd know how horrible labor is. Truth is, the nurses take care of my patients, and I just show up for the grand finale.”

“Humbling, eh?”

She gave a self-deprecating glance, then slid into the next contraction with a
“Yeow!”

After another quick check, the nurse made the call. “Okay, it's time to deliver this baby.” She pushed a button on the wall. Then over her shoulder and through the com line, she called the charge nurse. “Page Dr. Stevens. We're ready for a baby to get born.”

René looked at Jon with a see-what-I'm-saying lift of her brows.

He grinned. “Are you ready?”

“I changed my mind. Can I check out now?”

He laughed. “I know you can do this, honey, and if I can help in any way I will.”