The Heart Doctor and the Baby (14 page)

An amused look crossed her face. “I think you already did.” It only lasted a second before a grimace appeared, followed by the horrific painful expression only a woman in transition can make.

The doctor arrived and did a quick vaginal examina
tion, determining the position and station of the fetal head. Jon winced.

“Bear down,” the doctor said, as the next tsunami contraction rolled through.

Jon was there by her side, holding her hands, prompting her just like the doctor and delivery nurse were. “Push. Push, honey. Come on, baby, you can do it.”

His eyes latched on to hers and he could have sworn her look of terror changed to trust. She put her chin to chest, and let go a guttural animal sound and pushed so hard he was afraid she'd have a brain aneurysm.

“We're almost there,” the doctor said.

She went limp after the contraction eased off, as if too exhausted to move or breathe. He held her against his chest, wiped her sweat-wrung brow, kissed her head and cuddled her. She felt more precious to him than anything on earth. “You're doing great. You're almost there,” he whispered in her ear.

Soon the now-familiar fetal monitor started its earthquake detection and her moan seemed to originate from her toes.

“This is it,” the doctor said. “Bear down.”

Exhausted, Jon tensed and didn't make a peep when her grip and nails drew blood on his palms. “Push, René. Come on, baby, push. You can do it. We're almost there.” His voice was hoarse with fatigue, and he could only imagine how wrung out René must feel.

But she grunted and growled, and pushed and pushed like the trooper she was, and he admired the hell out of her for it. Loved her.

Soon a mewing sound came from the foot of the bed. From Jon's angle a slick and hairless object popped out and slipped into the doctor's awaiting hands.

René cried out in sudden relief. In awe, Jon bit his lip
and held his breath. Shivers of joy coursed through him. His blurry gaze melded with her watery amber eyes. He wanted to yell,
We did it!
but couldn't form the words. They smiled, clutching each other's hands, passing volumes of thoughts and feelings between them. How could a single word express the wonder, the elation?

The nurse burst their moment by handing the baby to René, and he became the center of their existence. The reason they'd come together in the first place. The final note of a beautiful symphony.

The tiny body jerked and spasmed and imitated a griping kitten. He and René laughed together with utter joy. Joy that Jon hadn't felt since his daughters had been born.

“It's a boy,” the doctor declared.

Chills ran the course of Jon's body as he looked at the baby. A son!

Overwhelmed, he needed to find somewhere to sit down as the blood receded from his head and down to his toes.

“Uh-oh, husband down,” the doctor said.

“Lean against the wall and slide down,” the nurse directed, busy with the newborn.

Jon found the nearest wall and fought the darkness overtaking his vision. He skid his back down the wall all the way to the floor, then put his head between his knees and snagged a couple of deep breaths. “Sorry, René,” he mumbled, as if this had been the only way he'd let her down. A beat later, everything else faded away.

A boy. Their baby was a boy. A small, but healthy boy.

Willing himself not to go completely out, he glanced up in time to see René cuddle new life to her chest. “Oh, God, he's gorgeous,” she said, with a grainy, exhausted voice.

Jon closed his eyes. Yes. Yes. They'd done great work, the two of them. Feeling a bit stronger, he took his time standing, and when he was sure he was back to normal, he approached the bed.

“Don't touch him,” the nurse said. “Your hands were on the floor.”

He pocketed his hands and leaned over René to have a look at the baby. She gazed up at him, eyes glistening, and with a joyous smile stretching her lips. “Thank you,” she said, serene and angelic. “I've got my baby.”

He wanted to say,
No, thank
you!
Thank you for reminding me what living is, for pulling me out of my cave and forcing me to interact with life and to feel again.
But his thoughts were flying too fast, and he couldn't form a single syllable. Instead, he leaned over and kissed the delicate crease on her brow, savored her warm skin beneath his lips, and when he'd recovered his voice he whispered, “My pleasure. Truly.”

Their eyes connected again. Something solid and everlasting passed between them, the sense of family he remembered so well from the birth of both of his daughters. A bond that could never be altered bridged between them, an impermeable connection in the form of a fragile baby joined them heart to heart, whether he wanted it or not.

A sting of panic shot through Jon's center, jolting him back to reality. This wasn't part of the contract. She wanted a baby, not him. He was nothing more than a conduit to her dreams. He had to remember his place, steer clear of the dangerous lure the thought of having a son had brought.

There was no place in René's plan for him.

And he had a life…with plans. He already knew he couldn't work side by side with her, and be uninvolved.
Now, with the birth of their son—correction,
her
son—the only thing left was for him to move away. Far away. It was best for all three of them.

From the beginning, she'd made it clear she wanted this baby all to herself. Hadn't she tried to banish him from the delivery room? He'd bulldozed his way in. This cockamamy baby-plan stunt wasn't how families got formed. Any fleeting thoughts about being a part of their lives were a sham. And no matter what, no matter how much his instinct contradicted his future plans, he was going to China.

He glanced at mother and baby, a near-perfect picture of bliss; still, he ached to be a part of it. Taking to heart the nurse's advice—
don't touch him, don't dare touch him
—he backed away.

As they cleaned up both mother and baby, Jon stood dazed, an outside observer. Finally, the nurse announced she was rolling René back to the ward.

Reeling with confusion, Jon hung back. If she loved him, maybe things could be different, but she'd never hinted at anything close to that, and he'd never had the guts to tell her…

Someone was speaking to him.

“Sorry. What?” he said.

“Spell your last name for the birth certificate.” The ward clerk was finishing up the paperwork.

That damn contract waved like the Great Wall of China between them.

“Oh. You've got it wrong,” he said. “I'm not the father.” How could he ever face himself again after this bold-faced lie? “I'm just the birth coach.”

 

René overhead Jon's faltering voice, heard it crack when he said he wasn't the father, and the euphoria slipped from
her grasp. She held her baby close, the precious life she was responsible for, as the point drove hard into her heart—it would just be the two of them. She tried with what little strength she had left not to let the devastating ache in her chest subtract from the most incredible moment of her life. She had a baby. With tears prickling her eyes, she swallowed hard against her reality.

She kissed her son's perfect little head and whispered, “It's just you and me, kid.”

Two weeks later

R
ENÉ
finished diapering Evan, and patted his thigh, then pretended to eat his toes. The baby squirmed and stretched, then yawned, obviously bored with her adoration. She grinned and made the final snap on his terry sleeper before swaddling him. Filled to the gills with her breast milk, he was ready for his nap.

She'd seen the dreamy look in the eyes of new mothers, but never, ever could she fathom the depth of emotion and love having a baby could evoke, until now. She mindlessly hummed and savored the intensity of her feelings for Evan. This was how life was meant to be, filled with love and purpose.

She cuddled her boy, sniffed his baby scent and kissed his ever-fattening cheeks, then put him in the bassinet.

A few moments later, she stood in the living room that had been half overtaken by It's a Boy balloons, congratulatory plant baskets and flower arrangements. She looked out the front window at the avocado tree in her yard, while Evan took his second nap of the day.

She should be ecstatic about her small but mighty boy,
and no doubt about it she was, but sometimes ladies got a little blue after giving birth and, unfortunately, she'd become one of them. She loathed the constant whispering sadness that subtly eroded her newfound happiness.

As if fresh out of rehab, she only allowed herself to think about Jon once or twice a day.

Jon had stayed by her side throughout the entire labor. Even after she'd acted horribly and banished him, he'd hung around to coach her through the ordeal. She didn't know how she would have made it through without him. Then, when it was over, he'd disappeared.

After they'd cleaned up the baby and announced he'd weighed five pounds, fifteen ounces, and she'd been rolled off to her room, Jon had never shown his face. And since she and Evan had been home, he hadn't called or come by.

His neglect stabbed at her and hurt worse than labor.

And the lingering heartache looped over and over in her brain.
You've got it wrong. I'm not the father,
he'd told the nurse. She'd heard correctly.

He'd given her free rein over the child, just like their contract agreed he would. She'd gotten her wish…and couldn't be more miserable if she tried.

Staring out at the tree, she shook her head, fed up with the blues trailing her everywhere she went. She'd been proactive her entire life, yet now she sat passively back like a hurt and sulking teenager.

Well, she'd had enough of this nonsense. Even if Jon wasn't going to be a part of their lives, he should at least come to see the baby now that his birth-misshapen head had rounded, his umbilical cord had dried and fallen off and his scrawny body had started to fill out. Evan was so beautiful. If Jon saw how the boy looked like him, even at this early stage, how his eyes were dark and intense just
like his, maybe he'd think twice about taking that other job or going to China.

If she told him how she really felt, not the part about being livid with him for staying away, but the depth of her love for him that she knew beyond doubt wasn't merely because of gratitude, maybe he'd reconsider.

She'd given him two weeks to mull things over, to come to his senses and accept they were meant to be together. Still, he hadn't come. She didn't want to lose Jon; the thought loomed overhead, sending shivers through her like a cloud of ice. The breath left her lungs too quickly as she worried she may already have lost him.

He needed to know she loved him.

She remembered his smiling face and encouraging comments when she wanted to give up during labor, and how his hands seemed to find the perfect spot to massage when the baby's head pressed on her spine. He'd seen her at her worst. God, did she really say some of those horrible things? After so many hours in labor she must have looked more like a horror movie star than human. And she'd never, ever, admitted to anyone that she knew all the steps to
Thriller!

She covered her face in her hand and couldn't help but smile along with the grimace. The man knew everything about her. Except that she loved him.

Another anxious pang sent her striding across the room, chewing at her lip.

René didn't know what she would have done without Claire, who'd come by every day since Evan was born. The look of shock on her face when René finally opened up and told Claire who the sperm donor was had been priceless. If she weren't so miserable, she might laugh. Just yesterday, Claire warned that Jon and Jason were actively looking for his replacement at MidCoast Medical, as if she
knew more was at stake than just a change in job. René had shuttered her reaction and changed the subject back to the baby rather than let on how the news had quaked through her.

But the news tore at her already-punctured heart, and after Claire had left, she'd cried. She'd sobbed until her ribs ached and her eyes were swollen, and the baby's nursery monitor forced her to put her attention somewhere else. Thank goodness for Evan, for holding her together, for giving her something to live for.

She settled on the couch and stared at her lap and the hands with a noticeably empty ring finger. She'd never even tried to tell Jon her real feelings, and as smart as he was, he wasn't a mind reader.

René made a ragged sigh. She'd had enough wallowing in self-pity. Like the story went, if she wanted change, she have to make it. Standing, she walked to the kitchen, to the wireless phone charging in its cradle, as electrical currents strong enough to light the moon coursed through her. With a trembling hand, she punched in his number. If she didn't at least try, she'd never forgive herself.

It was late enough Saturday morning to know he'd be finished with his run. And, by God, she'd talk to him today, no matter how hard or scary, and find out why he hadn't been by to see their baby.

Or her.

There was no excuse for it, unless he was a coward, and how could she possibly love a coward?

Her shoulders slumped from their militant tension. She was so full of nonsense. The only thing that mattered was the truth. How could he change his mind about leaving if she didn't tell him how she truly felt?

She was in love with him. He deserved to know.

 

Jon's hand cramped as he finished another page in his journal. How did a man explain to his son why he wouldn't be a part of his life? It seemed he'd been writing everything he wanted the boy to know in life for two straight weeks.

Notes to my son.

Was it even fair to use the word
my
in referring to Evan? He only knew the boy's name, after his middle name, from the women at work. Claire and the other nurses couldn't stop talking about René's new baby. They gossiped openly about who the father might be, suspecting she'd used a donor. Claire had started looking at him different, but maybe he was being paranoid about that.

At the clinic, he'd clenched his jaw so tight so often it had started crackling when he ate. But who was eating? He'd lost his appetite, had turned into an insomniac and had been listless for two weeks.

How many times had he started out the door to go see René and the baby? As many times as he'd turned back.

The phone rang and his pulse sped up when he saw René's name in the caller ID box. As rough as it had been, twisting and ripping at his conscience, he'd kept his word. The baby was hers and hers alone. She needn't worry about that.

“René,” he said, disguising the uncertainty. “I was just thinking about you.”

“You were?” She sounded surprised, and it sent another pang of guilt through his chest. “I need to talk to you. Will you come to see us?”

Could he handle being near René and seeing Evan? If he saw everything he'd be leaving behind, would he be able to hold it together in front of her? By now she'd heard his hesitation, and he needed to say something.

“Yes. When?”

“Now. Please.”

He'd been hiding behind a contract, but now that he'd heard her voice again, he knew something much deeper had been the real reason he'd been avoiding her and their baby. He was torn between his longing for freedom and allowing himself to love her…and start a family all over again. Some misguided loyalty to his daughters still held him back.

Funny how a man can convince himself he's a great guy, a fantastic father, live a decent life, be a fine doctor who cares about his patients, give to all the right charities, yet still be a coward—a coward who longs for freedom, whatever the hell that is, but who would never find happiness even if he stumbled through freedom's door. Not under these circumstances. Not since knowing René.

If he could make it through this visit and hold his ground, he'd be free to go back to the life he'd planned. Regardless of how empty it would be.

Jon arrived at René's house with armor firmly in place. He couldn't let her mesmerizing eyes lure him into changing his plans. He'd earned his freedom, damn it, and their contract spelled everything out. At least he hadn't let her down in that regard. If she expected more, well, that was her mistake. Not his.

One glance at her standing in the doorway with her hair full and resting on her shoulders, wearing oatmeal-colored pants and an olive-green tank top, and he forgot his house-of-straw plan.

 

René's heart had been bouncing around her rib cage since she'd called Jon, almost making her dizzy. Seeing him walk across her driveway toward her house sent a thousand flapping wings through her chest. She clutched
the door frame for support, praying she'd recover before he came inside.

She couldn't help but stare at him. He wore his usual Saturday morning warm-up suit and running shoes, and he looked pale, maybe a little thinner than she'd remembered. He delved into her eyes with a questioning stare.

How should she begin?

She'd take the perfect hostess route, then work her way around to the heart of the matter—her
heart
and whether or not she
mattered
at all to him.

She forced a smile and held open the door for Jon. As if strangers, she wasn't sure how to greet him. A kiss on the cheek? A friendly hug? A mere handshake?

He saved her from making the decision by saying hello and giving her a quick, lackluster squeeze on the arm when he entered her house. The kernel of hope she'd sheltered and groomed in his absence withered a bit.

“You look good,” he said, far too casually, his eyes betraying him.

“Thank you.”

His gaze wandered around the room, as if looking for evidence of her son.

“Wow, I guess I should have sent a plant like everyone else,” he said, looking a bit chagrined.

It tortured her for him to act like such a stranger.

“Evan's sleeping. Would you like to see him?”

He avoided her eyes, but nodded yes. If he didn't react to her son, she'd know for sure that he didn't care a damn about either of them.

“Of course,” he said.

He followed her quietly down the hall to the scene of their crime, her bedroom, where she'd set up the bassinet. When she opened the door and he could see the boy's
head, he inhaled. A smile stretched across his lips and he leaned over the white wicker, the bassinet he'd helped her pick out and set up for her, to study the baby up close.

“Wow,” he whispered.

After several seconds that seemed more like an eternity for someone holding her breath, he glanced at her.

“He's beautiful, René.” The tender eyes she'd grown used to had returned.

Chills skimmed her skin. Their baby was living proof they should be together, but unless she told him how she felt, he would stick to the rule of contract.

“He looks like you. Don't you think?” she said.

He narrowed his eyes and pulled in his chin, then with a tilted head took another look at his son. She watched his forehead smooth, and his eyes soften. Slowly, like the sun peeking over the horizon, his smile returned.

He nodded. “He does, but I have a better hairline.”

A laugh bubbled up her chest, the first in two weeks. The baby squirmed, and Jon put a finger over his lips.

They tiptoed out of her bedroom. Once safely back in the living room she sat on the sofa since her knees felt like noodles. The thought of baring her soul made her hands tremble.

He sat across from her, studying her every move. How would she get this out without collapsing? This might be her only chance to tell him, and she wasn't about to waste it.

“I think you should know I haven't been completely honest with you,” she said.

He sat beside her with hands on his knees, eyes alert.

“Jon.” Her voice quavered and she closed her eyes. “I love you.”

He took a deep breath. “René.” If he had anything else
to say, it had stalled. His fingers found her hand and stroked it. “René.”

This wasn't the response she'd hoped for, far from the bear hugs he was so good at giving, but she wouldn't give up. “I think I started loving you the day you said you'd be my birth coach, and when we made love, I knew for sure.”

“But you never even hinted at it.”

“I'd asked enough of you, and we had a contract.”

“And I talked nonstop about leaving for China.”

“And China,” she repeated.

She sensed panic in his voice. Maybe it was a mistake, but at least now she knew for sure that he didn't feel the same way about her. That he was counting the moments before he could escape. She'd never have to guess again.

She pressed her lips together, to fight off the threatening tears. “Don't worry.” She glanced at his restless eyes. “The contract stands. I just thought, that is, I hoped, that maybe…”

He shot up. “Love and commitment weren't part of the deal. Remember?”

“I wrote the rules. Yes. I remember.” Her ribs clutched so hard she could hardly breathe. She didn't dare try to stand. He knelt in front of her and grasped her shoulders, his dark eyes piercing through her.