The Heart Doctor and the Baby (3 page)

“So, I've been thinking,” Jon said, the second she stepped over the threshold. “A lot.” He engaged her eyes and held her motionless.

“And?” she whispered, closing the door.

“I'm bowled over by this, René. I'd be lying if I didn't say that. I don't understand why you insisted on asking me when Phil is single and available.” He held up a hand to stop her before she could begin with the plethora of reasons all over again. She'd recited A to Z quite thoroughly, twice, the night before last. “But I believe your sin
cerity in wanting this—” he glanced toward the door as if to make sure no one was within hearing range, and though it was closed, he lowered his voice anyway “—baby. I saw it in your eyes last night. This isn't some freaked-out biological-clock whim. This is the real deal.”

She nodded her head vehemently.

“I trust you'll stick to your word about my small role in it.”

“To the T, Jon. I promise.” Oh, heavens, she didn't want to anticipate too much, but it sounded as if he might take her up on the plan. She could only hope and pray. And hold her breath.

“It feels really callous on my part knowing how I plan to take a sabbatical and all, and I care about you as a coworker, and, well, I don't want things to change professionally.” He scrubbed his jaw, and the now-familiar facial hair. “This could really ruin our working together.”

“I wouldn't want that, either, Jon.” Oh, hell, in his swinging pendulum of emotions he'd convinced her from one second to the next to give up on him. Did she really want to sacrifice their professional friendship because of her desire for a baby? Could she blame him for wanting nothing to do with her outrageous plan?

“I'd want to think we could talk things through whenever we needed,” he said. “That though I'd be nothing more than a clinical donor as far as the baby goes, I'd like to be your friend. And as a friend and donor I should be able to share in your happiness, like everyone else here in the clinic.”

She nodded at his reasonable request, afraid to get too hopeful in case he pulled the rug out from under her dream. “I'd want that, too. I don't want to lose what we have, Jon. Never.”

He stepped closer. “What
do
we have, you and me?”

He studied her eyes, making her feel under a microscope. Those winged creatures returned, dropping anxious nectar over the surface of her skin. She took a slow, intentional, quivery breath.

“We have five years of hard work and wonderful achievements to share,” she said. “We've laughed, celebrated, mourned and prevailed together over every setback in our clinic.” She took a step closer to reach out for his hand. “No matter what happens, if you say yes, you will always be a special friend, Jon.” His long fingers laced through hers, still feeling foreign, though warm, regardless of how many times she'd clutched his hand lately.

“No one can know a thing,” he cautioned. “If it comes out, I'll leave the clinic.”

The importance of anonymity worried her. As with any risk, there was a cost. Was she willing to accept the guilt of changing Jon's future if someone found out? Was she willing to let him pay the price? Confidence leaked out of her pores, leaving her insecure and wobbly. Maybe plan A was the only way to go, but Jon gently stroked her thumb with his, and a silent soothing message transmitted between them.

“I promise,” she whispered. A sharp pang in her gut, over the thought of ruining whatever relationship they had, forced her to face the gravity of their possible pact. This was it. Right here, right now. Her dream, their deal, was about to become a reality. The air grew cool and seemed to rush over the surface of her skin, setting off goose bumps.

His molasses-brown gaze swept over her face, as if searching for honesty. Could he look deep enough to see the longings of her heart? She'd meant what she'd said with all of her being.

“After you're pregnant, I want superfriend status.” A
tiny tug at one corner of his mouth almost turned into a smile.

“You'll do it?” She grabbed his other hand and squeezed both, reeling with hope. The surge pushed her up onto her toes, ready to jump up and down, or kiss his cheek, based on his final decision.

“Yes,” he said. “I'll do it.”

At the beautiful sound of his reply, she did both.

T
HE
reward for getting the exquisitely lovely René Munroe to smile was one large dimple and a satisfying hint of an overbite. Jon had once read a study on facial esthetics and found that, in general, men preferred a slight overbite. Come to think of it, seeing her grin like that, he did, too. She'd squealed, jumped up and kissed his cheek when he'd agreed to go through with her plan. She'd kissed him so hard he felt the imprint of her lips half the afternoon. He'd never seen her so animated, and it surprised him, made him wonder how much more there was to know about her.

Since his divorce, after work, he liked his alone time. Preferred it. He'd already done his run for the day and wasn't sure how else to work off this new itchy feeling. And oddly enough, the last thing he felt like being right this minute was alone. Sure he had a day filled with patients ahead of him, but what about after that? He wouldn't get his girls until the weekend.

“You want to go for a coffee after work?” he blurted. The thought of going home to his “man cave”—as his daughters facetiously referred to it—after such a momentous agreement, had little appeal. “We should probably get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said.

Perfect.
She used the word frequently, and when it came to describing her it suited…well…it suited her perfectly.

“I'll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door with a new spring in his jogging shoes.

 

At the end of the workday, they locked the clinic and hiked the two blocks over to State Street, and caught the electric trolley heading north to an alfresco coffeehouse. They'd committed to coffee, not dinner. It was a start. Even though it was late January, the temperature was sixty-five degrees, and the outdoor restaurants all had outdoor heating lamps for their patrons' comfort. If he inhaled deep enough, he could smell the crisp, tangy sea.

“Do you ever get tired of delivering babies?” he asked, as they rode.

“No. It's wonderful, isn't it?”

Jon nodded and thought back to the birth of both of his daughters. Amanda had been born at a midwife center eighteen years back, and Lacy, at home, under water, eighteen months later. His ex-wife had wanted it that way. He'd felt as if he'd run a marathon after each labor and delivery, but had never been more ecstatic in his life. Watching Jason and Claire last night had brought back long-forgotten memories.

Somehow lecturing patients about their tickers didn't quite measure up, though of course he understood the importance of the heart sustaining life. It just couldn't quite compare with the theatrical bang of a delivery.

“I never thought I'd see Jason happy again,” she said.

Hmm? Oh, he'd taken a tangential thought trip, and quickly focused back in. “I guess there's hope for all of us, then,” Jon said, deciding, on a scale of one to ten, he
probably sat around six on the happy meter—not ecstatic, not miserable, just making due, especially since his divorce.

He'd forgotten what this type of elation felt like, being more used to the endorphin variety from his long and hard runner workouts. Emotional highs were…well…unusual these days. Definitely nice, but different.

He glanced at René smiling with cheeks blushed from her hard work and the brisk evening air. Her amber eyes hinted at green, probably because of the teal-colored sweater she wore.
As a pool reflects the sky, light eyes reflect surrounding colors
. Where had he recently read that, and why had he lost his train of thought again?

“You've sure made me a happy camper,” she said, with a perky glance out the window, which made her earrings sway.

Never having been in the business of granting wishes before, he enjoyed the swell of pride and rode along with it.

He noticed René always wore extralong earrings, and right now the colorful beads and loops almost reached her shoulders, and for some odd reason it fascinated him the way they swayed with the movement of her head. Mesmerizing. But that was neither here nor there; he was on a mission to get to know René better, not notice her earrings or how they swayed with her long, thick hair. There had to be some relevant question he could think of to ask.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why a woman such as René wasn't happily married. She should be having a baby with her doting husband instead of soliciting his services.

His services? The thought tickled the corner of his mouth into a near smile and he looked straight ahead so she wouldn't notice. He'd really agreed to do this crazy
thing. For René. Two years ago, when Cherie had kicked him to the curve without so much as a hint of being discontent, who would have ever thought about agreeing to such a ridiculous idea? That smile kept edging up his face, and he kept staring out the front window to hide it.

When they reached their stop, they hopped off the trolley, walked half a block and ordered their brews at the shop, then sat outside to enjoy the clear evening sky. In the distance, he could see the lights flicker on Stearns Wharf and wished he could hear the waves crashing against the pilings.

Beneath her shrouded gaze, René sat quietly, as if waiting for him to break the ice, to bring up the next step in their plan—admittedly, the trickiest, as far as he was concerned.

Not ready to go there yet, Jon took a drink of espresso and winced at the bitterness. “Since we don't know much about each other, I'll start. My girls are both in high school. Amanda's going to graduate this June, and Lacy next year. Amanda has applied to every Ivy League school she could think of since she's got it in her head that, if she wants to go to Harvard Law, she's got to do her undergraduate studies at an equally prestigious school.”

Everyone in the medical clinic was well aware of his divorce two years earlier, how hard it had hit. But no one could possibly know, since he'd worked extrahard at hiding it, how devastated he'd been. How he never saw himself ever loving again, beyond his daughters. They'd seen the happy family guy turn into his current recluse status, and he'd complained bitterly to anyone who would listen about how Cherie had practically cleaned him out financially. But he'd always stopped short of the point of how he didn't think he could go on, and how he never ever wanted to commit to another relationship because of it.

On a more practical note, he didn't need to bore René with the difficulty of supporting his family at the level to which they'd become accustomed, while living on his own and saving for both daughters' college funds.

Still, having taken the business risk with his colleagues and opened the clinic, he'd refused to bail for a higher-paying job when Cherie demanded the outrageous monthly alimony. The clinic was all about autonomy, which mattered a lot to him. It was all he had left. That same autonomy was what fueled his sabbatical dreams.

René sipped her tea concoction as coils of steam circled her face. He could smell the peppermint all the way across the table. She lifted intriguingly shaped brows, brows he'd never really noticed before now.

“And Lacy?” she asked. “What are her plans?”

Jon barked a laugh. “She's thinking more in line with Oahu U.” He made the “hang loose” hand gesture associated with the laidback Hawaiian Islands. “My girls couldn't be more different if they tried.” He shook his head, knowing both daughters had genius IQs. Sometimes he wondered if his genes were a blessing or a curse.

“As long as they're happy, right?” she said.

He nodded wholeheartedly. Ah, to be young and free to start over again, but happiness was such a subjective state of being. At forty-two he was the picture of health, which should make him happy, yet sometimes he felt unnecessarily weighted down by responsibility. At times like that, his sabbatical plans helped keep him going.

Since divorcing and moving out, he'd occupied eight hundred square feet of high-tech loft where he practiced urban minimalism. His daughters were the ones to name it the “man cave.” As long as he had his books and stereo equipment, and visitation rights with his girls, he'd make
do—even if he couldn't satisfactorily explain the temporary feel of his current living situation.

She watched him closely, forcing him to say something. Anything. “And I suppose this deal we're making will make you happy?” he said.

With warm eyes hinting at wisdom well beyond her thirty-plus years, René studied him as if on the verge of telling her deepest secret. That near-perfect smile stretched across her face. “You have no idea.”

The moments yawned on with the two of them cautiously watching each other. She told him how her parents had retired and moved to Nevada. How she was an only child. How all of her best friends were married and how she always felt like the odd woman out whenever they got together. He asked where the men in her life had all gone. Her relaxed expression became peppered with annoyance.

He knew the war chant—men, the callous heartbreakers! He could repeat the same, only changing the gender. Yet he wanted her to open up, to tell him something personal, so he bit his tongue. If they were going to make a baby together, he felt he had the right to know more about her.

“Ten years ago, I'd thought I'd found my soul mate, but instead, he dumped me, crushing my heart beneath his feet as he walked out the door.” She glanced at him. Could she tell he knew exactly how she felt? “Sorry for sounding overdramatic, but that's how it felt. Since then, I've had a series of less-than-satisfying relationships, and I'm pessimistic when it comes to the topic of permanent love.”

Jon had been married so long, and hadn't pursued much in the way of romantic relationships since his divorce out of commitment fears, but he'd heard enough women around the clinic moan about the same thing. Love and
permanence didn't seem to fit. He figured the world of dating wasn't such a great place to be these days, but for the life of him and his old-school ways, he couldn't figure out what kind of guy would let a woman like René get away.

Watching René sip her tea, Jon figured the ticking of her biological clock influenced her every thought. Sure, lots of women were waiting until their early forties to have their first babies, but she'd have to risk the time to find the right guy, get married and get pregnant when it was a well-known fact that fertility declined with each year after thirty. She'd made it very clear she wasn't willing to take the chance. He'd computed that if she waited much longer, she'd be in her late fifties with teenagers, and that thought, having two teenagers himself, gave him pause. It was all luck anyway, and if he knew one thing about René, it was that she wasn't a gambler. If she was going to respond to her brewing and strengthening desire for motherhood, she'd have to act…well, soon.

“Have you really given up on finding the right guy?” He lifted his brows, prodding, then when she didn't immediately answer, he switched to a more challenging look.

Her gaze danced away. “Not completely.”

Since she wasn't about to open up, he let slip a sudden thought. “Someone like you could make the right guy very happy, but after you have a baby—”
my baby;
the quick thought took him by surprise and not unpleasantly “—it may be more difficult to find him.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Him. The right guy.”

“Having a baby on my own may not seem like the perfect solution, but it's what I want. I don't need a man
to validate me. And if the consequences are being a single mother, I'll deal with them like a big girl.”

For the third time in as many days she placed her hand on top of his. Her warmth enveloped his and on reflex he responded and twined his fingers through hers. This handholding business was starting to feel normal. His eyes latched on to her almost-caramel gaze and held it, unwavering.

She squeezed his hand. “You're giving me the most important gift I've ever wanted. How will I ever be able to thank you?”

He thought long and hard about the right response. He thought about the greatest gift in his life—his daughters—and though his answer might come off as being lame, he meant it. “You can thank me by being a good mother.”

 

René had pulled the lucky straw when it came to choosing offices. Hers was in the front of the American version of the Queen Anne Victorian house. The three-story, cream-colored structure proudly bore the official Santa Barbara historical site emblem. Her corner office was nestled in the polygonal-shaped tower, which came complete with ceiling-to-floor bay windows. She'd covered them in sheer white lace, and loved how the sun danced in patterns across the walls in the afternoons.

She'd splurged on a Chinese-inspired walnut desk with cabriole legs, and one huge Oriental rug over the wood floor. The office seemed more befitting of a princess than a middle-class girl from Tustin, California.

Her parents had cashed in early on her brains, and scholarships flowed throughout her high school and college years. She'd never relied on anything but hard work and innovative thinking to get her through, though many attributed her success to her looks rather than sweat and
elbow grease. It didn't seem worth the effort to hold a grudge for their uncharitable assumptions.

She'd tried her best to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect girlfriend—that one had never paid off—and the perfect medical practice partner and doctor. The last required long hours and dedication to the clinic, and left little room for a normal social life. Now, thanks to Jon's decision, she could skip over all of the preliminaries and have her shot at motherhood.

His one request? To be a good mother. He hadn't said perfect mother, no, just a
good
one. A good-enough mother. And that's what she'd try with all of her heart to be.

A rap at her door, followed by her nurse escorting her next patient into the office for a consultation, forced her out of the all-consuming thoughts.