Which, to her, last time, had seemed totally unreasonable!
But this time?
It was impossible!
How could she possibly be pregnant after one night of grief-driven lust?
True, there’d been more nights together since, but she’d gone onto the Pill, and Andy had been scrupulous in using protection until it was well into her system.
So, what the hell was Andy going to think?
She went cold all over, dreading a repeat of the storm her previous pregnancy had caused—remembering the tragedy that it had led to. Not that she had long to find out what Andy thought...
Deciding the best thing to do would be to cook him dinner that evening, and as they relaxed over fine food she’d—well, probably blurt it out!
She’d leave a note on her door that she was up in his apartment, and—
Stop!
First and foremost was the decision she had to make.
How did she feel?
What did she want?
The first was easy—she was delighted at the thought—and the answer lay in the second question—a baby.
She’d already lost one baby and although it had been barely the size of a fist, her arms had ached for it.
This baby she would keep.
And, yes, it would be difficult as she still wanted to work—would have to work in order to provide a decent life for herself and her child.
And, really, apart from wanting to keep working, she owed it to Andy, who’d employed her, to stay on. But working women had options these days, and a hospital as new as Port’s would almost certainly have a crèche and day-care centre tucked away somewhere in its building.
So, that was her decisions made.
In, what, in all of three minutes?
You really gave this a lot of thought, Sam!
But chiding herself didn’t stop the secret glee she clutched inside her, ignoring all she knew about the uncertainties tied to the first months of any pregnancy.
It would be the start of her family, her mum’s longed-for grandchild. She hugged herself in sheer delight...
Her happy secret kept her going all day as she shopped and prepared a meal for herself and Andy, but about the time he was due to arrive home it occurred to her that Andy would be entitled to some say in this matter. After all, it would be his baby too...
Although if he didn’t want a baby, wasn’t ready, or thought they should be married but didn’t fancy that idea, she’d be quite happy to raise the baby on her own.
All Andy had to decide was whether he’d like to take an interest in it—or even accept a fatherhood role—be part of its life for ever.
The glow was fading slightly, especially now she’d really considered Andy and his reaction. He might be horrified.
Probably would be horrified...
She had to stop thinking about it, and definitely stop projecting all the possible reactions Andy might have to hear the news before she became too worried about it that telling him would be impossible.
* * *
She did blurt it out in the end, but at least not until they’d eaten, and she’d stacked their dirty plates and cutlery in the dishwasher and left the kitchen sparkling clean. Eventually she’d joined him on the balcony, a glass of sparkling mineral water in her hand.
He’d taken her hand to draw her closer but she’d resisted, thinking it best not to be too close, actually edging her chair a little further away.
All the things she’d been going to say, all the ways of telling him she’d practised, vanished in a split second as she clutched her water more tightly in her hand and came out with an abrupt, ‘I’m pregnant!’
And apart from seeing his face freeze in reaction, she took no further notice of him as everything else she wanted to say came rushing after those two words.
‘I didn’t have a virus and this happened last time, the early morning sickness thing, and I’m happy to bring the baby up on my own, or if you want involvement then that’s okay too, and I know it will interfere with my work but I’ll make sure it interferes as little as possible because I want to keep working and—’
He held up his hand like a policeman, signalling her to stop, and as her flow of words did stop he said, ‘What last time? And how come you get to say if my involvement is okay or not? And, anyway, we need to talk about this, Sam!’ He paused, then added, ‘Seriously talk, Sam.’
Feeling completely deflated, Sam waited, and when he said nothing else, anxiety began to grow where the joy had once been. And well aware of how quickly anxiety could lead to anger, she had to prod.
‘So talk,’ she said, pleased her voice didn’t shake too much as she spoke.
He squeezed the fingers of the hand she was surprised to find he still held.
‘This is hard,’ he began, ‘but, seriously, Sam, you shouldn’t have this baby.’
Sam stared at him in total shock. She’d been prepared for him not wanting involvement, even for him to be angry at the place they’d landed in, but for his first reaction to be a termination, without any discussion or reasoning, that blew her mind.
And took her right back to three years ago when Nick had made a similar pronouncement, only his had been a blunt, ‘Get rid of it!’
And ten minutes later he’d been dead.
Red mist gathered in her head and she knew she had to leave, snatching back her hand and rushing off the balcony, through the living room and out the front door, only vaguely aware of Andy saying something to her, getting up to follow her and knocking over his chair on the way.
But she was gone, racing down the fire stairs rather than waiting for the lift, needing to get back into the small space that was her own, where she could hold herself and breathe and remember the excitement she’d been feeling all day long.
* * *
Andy let her go.
She had another three days off then a late shift. Hopefully she’d feel well enough to keep working.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, why the hell are you thinking about Sam’s work hours and shifts? You have to see her, tell her, explain, sort things out.
This wasn’t the end of the world.
Then something she’d said—something else—echoed in his bemused brain.
‘This happened last time!’
When had she been pregnant before?
Not by Nick, surely, given Nick’s steely determination that they both finish their specialty courses before they even thought about a family.
And, slowly, a glimmer of light appeared. She’d said she probably had caused the accident—that they’d been arguing—and knowing Nick, nothing would have made him angrier than an announcement by Sam that she was pregnant...
He sighed, remembering the harsh words he’d flung at her at a time when her whole world must have been crashing down around her—when the pain of loss would have been crushing her usually indomitable spirit.
But that was the past, and right now he had problems of his own to solve.
Sam had been happy, her face aglow as she’d announced her pregnancy, and he’d said exactly the worst possible thing.
But how to explain?
How to tell her that genetic testing only identified eighty-five to ninety percent of carriers, which was great, of course, but oh hell and damnation, he’d already been through all this before, the first time after his engagement, but the second time he’d explained first.
And neither of those women, who had professed to loving him deeply and wholly, had wanted to go ahead with a marriage to him.
Could he watch Sam walk away if he told her—when he told her?
Especially now, when he’d known this ‘just for now’ talk was nonsense and he wanted her—loved her—more than anything else in his life. Probably had done for years.
He closed his eyes to the beauty around him
and tried to think, but his mind refused to work, blocked by fear of losing Sam.
He had to see her, talk to her, explain...
* * *
Sam lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, her hands cradling her stomach, although it had yet to produce the slightest of bumps.
Stupid, that’s what she’d been, reacting like that—like a spoilt child told she couldn’t have what she wanted.
She should go back.
Andy must have had a reason for saying what he had.
Surely he did!
But memories of that other time cut too deep—the bitterness, the implacability of Nick’s attitude, the anger then the crash—made her dread the conversation that she knew, only too well, she’d have to have with Andy sometime.
But not tonight. Tonight she was far too irrational; the two rejections somehow melding into one.
She had another three days off. She’d sleep and read, and maybe go to the beach or drive around the town, and tomorrow night—surely by tomorrow night—she’d be able to talk sensibly and calmly to Andy, explain how she felt, assure him she could do it on her own, that he needn’t be involved.
She shook her head.
Andy not be involved?
She’d seen enough of him around the ward to know he’d make a fantastic father. So maybe it was her? Maybe she was okay ‘just for now’ but not for long term, as a mother of his children.
Dear heaven, she had to stop thinking like this, stop her mind going round and round in circles. She should pick up a book and lose herself in it until she fell asleep. She’d been on night duty, she was tired...
She had a shower, thinking it would soothe her—help her sleep—but Andy’s words were a constant echo in her head—Really, Sam, you shouldn’t have this baby...
* * *
Rod woke her with a soft tapping at the door, calling her name. Face crumpled from sleep, hair like a haystack from her tossing and turning all night, she went to it, opening it a crack.
‘Andy is here. He wants to see you, just for a minute, before he goes to work.’
Rod was looking anxiously at her and a sideways glance at her mirrored wardrobe doors told her just how bad she did look.
Then the nausea came—she’d slept late and not eaten—and she had to flee, managing a garbled, ‘Sorry,’ to Rod as she shut the door in his face and rushed to the bathroom.
And as she sat on a cool, tiled floor yet again, her stomach empty and the muscles around it complaining, she wondered if Andy was right.
Maybe she shouldn’t have this baby?
But the mere word ‘baby’ made her smile, and she hugged her body and told herself she’d manage, get through this, and make a life for herself and her child.
* * *
The text was there when she awoke the second time.
I’ve booked a table for dinner at the Lighthouse Restaurant for tonight at eight. Bring a warm wrap so we can sit outside and talk. I’ll knock on Rod’s door about seven forty-five. Please let me know.
They did need to talk, but there was something very remote about the text—something detached—one colleague to another, rather than a text between lovers.
Not that love had ever been mentioned, although now Sam thought about that she felt distinctly unhappy. As if somewhere in the just-for-now scenario, love had entered the picture.
On her side, anyway.
So a cool, unemotional, colleague-type text made her heart ache.
But love wasn’t the issue right now, she reminded herself. This was about the baby—someone she could love unreservedly!
She’d bought fresh bread the previous day and was trialling dry toast and a cup of tea for breakfast, hoping it would quell the nausea so her work days wouldn’t be disrupted.
And if it worked, she’d head for the beach this morning, slathering on sunscreen and not staying long—just time for a swim and a short sunbake to dry off.
* * *
Andy stared at his phone. Sam had replied to his text, but somehow the single word—Okay—made him feel worse than no reply.
No, he couldn’t feel worse, but what the hell did Okay tell him? Abso-bloody-lutely nothing, that was what!
Somehow he made it through the day, pleased to see improvement in most of his patients, although some of the new admissions were causing problems, including a fourth measles case.
Given the high percentage of children who did receive all their immunisations, he hated to think how many there would have been if more parents had opted out.
But at least the people at Infectious Diseases had isolated the carrier now, an older man who’d fallen ill in Port, but unfortunately he hadn’t been ill enough to take to his bed and keep away from the general population.
‘It was just a cold and a sore throat,’ he’d told his interviewer. ‘Yes, maybe a bit of a rash, but I didn’t connect the two. You can brush against something, get a rash anywhere!’
It was the only real diversion in a long work day, which finally ended with a Heads of Department meeting that dragged on and on.
He’d finally stood up, apologising but saying he had to leave for another appointment, surprising not a few of the other department heads, who all assumed he had no life outside the hospital.
Not that they’d been wrong about that—not until recently, anyway...
Now, as he drove home—having driven to work to avoid being late—his gut was clenching and his nausea was probably rivalling Sam’s morning sickness. Just thinking those two words filled him with so much confusion he had to shut down his wretched imagination and concentrate on practical matters, like what shirt to wear.
Did it matter?
Not one jot, he suspected, but he had to think about something.
* * *
Sam had been waiting by the door and opened it when Andy knocked.
Her mind had played out so many scenarios of this moment, most of them as formal as his text, so she was totally undone when he opened his arms and drew her close, murmuring, ‘Oh, my love, I’m so sorry!’
Hugging her to him, rocking her in his arms, just holding her.
‘This is the main entry foyer and a public space,’ a voice behind Andy said, and they broke apart, Sam glaring at Rod’s huge smile and furious with herself for blushing.
Grabbing hold of Andy’s hand, she said, ‘Come on, let’s go!’ and all but dragged him out the front door.
Andy’s car was sitting in one of the drop-off, pick-up bays.
‘I thought we’d walk,’ she said, embarrassed now by her reaction to Rod’s tease.
‘Driving, we can talk,’ Andy said, turning so he could take both her hands in his. ‘And we do need to talk.’
She looked up into his anxious blue eyes.
‘It’s not the baby, Sam. There’s nothing I’d like more,’ he said quietly, then he opened the car door for her, and she slid into the seat.
‘But there’s something I need to tell you,’ he added, as he joined her in the car.
Sam waited, her anxiety, which had vanished in Andy’s warm hug, slowly squirming its way inside her once again.
They drove up to the lighthouse, the moon sparkling on the ocean below, the night picture perfect. As was the restaurant, with elegant starched white tablecloths and gleaming silver and glassware, while the outside deck looked north along the coastline and the ocean, occasional clusters of lights suggesting small beachside hamlets.
But it wasn’t until they each had glasses of sparkling mineral water in their hands, and the waiter had departed with their orders, that Andy broke the tension that had been gathering between them.
‘It’s a genetic thing,’ he said, and she knew she’d frowned because he held up his hand to stop her questions. ‘I’m a carrier for cystic fibrosis. I had a younger sister who had it, so I was tested as well. It means you
will need to be tested because most carriers have no idea they are carrying it, unless they’ve been impacted by a relative with the disease.’
‘And you were?’ she asked, thinking of very sick children with CF that she’d cared for in the past. ‘You had a sister? She died?’
She saw the sadness in his eyes, but he waved her questions away, needing, she guessed, to get said what he wanted to tell her.
‘Unfortunately testing only reveals eighty-five to ninety percent of carriers. There are rare mutations that aren’t revealed.’
He sounded so stressed she reached out and took his hand, aware that this was very difficult for him, while her own mind whirled through possible consequences. Survival rates for cystic fibrosis were much better these days, and if a sufferer could get a heart-lung transplant they had a good chance of leading a good life.
But it was a condition that limited a child’s life enormously, and not something she would ever want to see a child of hers go through.
‘So, I get tested to see if I’m a carrier,’ she said, ‘and hope I’m not one, for a start. I guess there’s nothing we can do about the chances of my being one of the five to ten percent who might have it but don’t get picked up?’
She could hear the hesitation in her voice and knew how hard it was for him to tell her this.
Andy nodded. ‘Yes, but in case you are in that group, we should test the foetus too,’ he said. ‘CVS testing at ten to twelve weeks or amniocentesis at sixteen to twenty weeks, although even if we are both carriers there’s only a one in four chance the baby would have it.’
Sam could only stare at him, aware he’d lived with this for most of his life so the facts and figures rolled off his tongue.
CVS—chorionic villus sampling—was where a small number of cells were taken from the placenta close to where it attached to the uterus. Her hand went automatically to her belly, as if she could hold the baby safe from this intrusion.
‘Did your parents know?’ she asked, wondering if she’d be willing to take the chance of having children if something like this could occur.
One Night to Forever Family Page 13