by Robin Gianna
She stared at him. At what could only be described as anguish along with the anger on his face. Obviously, he must have experienced the heartache he described because of his adoption history. Knowing he must carry some kind of deep pain about it, she felt her own anger at his attitude, at his apparent belief that he had a right to lecture her and tell her what to do, fade a little.
She pressed her palm against his chest and could feel his heart pounding. “I have good support, Aaron. My mum is excited about being a grandmother. She’ll be there for me and my baby. Close ties with grandparents will fill any small gap a child feels—I’m sure of it. After all, there are millions of children with only one parent.”
“And so many children with no parents, looking for a home.” His voice had lowered, the angry tone tempered, but his eyes were still sharp, hard. “You can’t count on your mother being here to help. Life has a way of destroying the things you count on. My own parents died just a year apart, both unexpectedly. Did it ever occur to you that you’re being selfish? What if you were juggling your job and three babies, and the people helping were gone in an instant? What would you do then?”
“I’d figure it out.” She pulled away from his hands, wanting to be done. Wanting to get away from his anger and deep disapproval, which painfully stabbed at her even though she shouldn’t let it. “I appreciate that you must know patients who have had difficult problems. But a person can’t just stop living because they might experience some challenges they didn’t expect.”
“I want you to cancel your appointment. Take more time to think about it. If you end up still wanting a child, you should consider adopting. Most already have abandonment issues, and they need a loving home they can call their own. And having one child wouldn’t overwhelm you. A single parent.”
“So you think I just couldn’t handle more than one, is that it? That I’m being selfish, thinking only about myself until the going gets tough?” Her own anger was back now, times ten. He’d said so many beautiful things to her, complimentary things, things that she’d thought meant he truly respected her. It had obviously just been part of the have-a-fling game she wasn’t experienced with. But now she sure was and would never make that mistake again. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do and what not to do? You don’t even know me. And this conversation is over.”
“Hope, listen, I—”
She shouldered past him, ignoring the way his voice had softened, ignoring the confusion and maybe even remorse in it. “Goodbye, Dr. Cartwright. Please stay out of my life.”
* * *
Aaron parked his car, then just sat there with his head against the seat back. He always looked forward to the adoption party. Enjoyed talking with everyone having a nice time, observing and encouraging good fits between kids and adults that looked very promising for a future together.
But not this one. Feeling like an ass and a jerk, and having to face the person he’d been an ass and jerk to, had him seriously considering skipping it this year.
Which of course he couldn’t do. He owed it to the children hoping for a real family to show up and help them feel at ease. He owed it to the parents who’d been invited to talk with him about various ways the foundation supported them before and after adoption. And damn it, he owed it to Hope Sanders to show up and apologize to her.
He sat there a few more minutes, gathering the guts to walk inside. Hope was probably still mad as hell about the way he’d confronted her and lectured her, and who wouldn’t be?
How had it happened, anyway? For the hundredth time, he inwardly thrashed himself about his loss of control. After his initial shock of learning Hope’s plans had passed, he’d been sure he’d shoved it aside as none of his business. Yes, he liked Hope, but what she did with her life wasn’t his concern. His own history didn’t give him the right to lecture people on their choices, and even being a fertility doctor only gave him the right to give advice to his own patients. Not try to dictate their decisions.
But in spite of knowing all that, what had happened? The moment he’d walked into Mrs. Smith’s room to see Hope’s tender smile as she touched the baby’s head, the reality that she was about to have the IVF procedure and get pregnant had punched him in the gut all over again, nearly knocking him flat.
Anger and frustration had welled up in his chest, consuming and overpowering. All common sense had been completely smothered out by bad memories. By the pain of his mother’s mental illness. The pain of her abandonment. The pain of never knowing anything about his biological father and what kind of man he was.
It had fueled a burning need to tell her she was being crazy, that she had no idea of the horrible things that might happen, that she didn’t understand the suffering she might unknowingly cause herself and her offspring.
So he’d blasted her with both barrels. And her reaction had been predictable. The way he would have reacted if someone had butted uninvited into his business and told him something he planned to do, wanted to do, would completely mess up his life and others along with it.
He heaved a deep sigh. He’d made plenty of mistakes in his life, done a few embarrassing things over the years, but this one was without a doubt one of the biggest. Hope probably assumed he was some macho man who believed he could boss women around, and her thinking of him that way sent a sick feeling to his gut.
He had to apologize. Probably, though, the only way she’d accept it, understand why he’d unleashed his verbal fury on her, was if he told her all of his history.
Which wasn’t going to happen. His late parents were the only ones who’d known, and it was just as well that information had died with them.
He shoved open his car door and headed into the hotel, his legs feeling a little lead-like. No choice but to accept that Hope doubtless couldn’t stand him now, and do what he had to do at the party to make it a success.
The room at the hotel was about a third of the size of the ballroom he’d used for the fund-raiser. He made a mental note to thank his office staff for the great job they’d done with the tinsel and garland draped everywhere. A few of the trees they’d used at the other party lit several corners, and various other Christmas decorations made it all look merry and festive for the guests.
Merry and festive. Not a chance he’d feel even a twinge of that.
He tried hard to get into party mode, smiling at several women dressed as elves, complete with pointy hats and curled slippers with bells, who were handing out small wrapped gifts to excited children. Other folks from the hospital were setting up games or already in the middle of one, and more volunteers were unveiling cupcakes and fruits and other treats that had been placed on a long table covered by a cheerful red tablecloth.
What he didn’t see anywhere was Hope Sanders.
Could she have decided not to come? He sure couldn’t blame her if she had.
He scanned the room again, and to his shock realized the tightness in his chest wasn’t about hating to see disgust or dislike or anger in Hope’s eyes. Or some kind of weird manifestation of relief that he apparently didn’t have to face it. The squeezing sensation that made it a little hard to breathe was instead a deep and heavy disappointment that she hadn’t come.
And how messed up was that? Despite everything, he’d wanted to look at her, talk with her, spend just a little more time with her, no matter if he stood on the lowest rung of her opinion now or not.
Then a flash of golden hair caught his peripheral vision, and he turned, hardly believing it was her emerging from behind one of the Christmas trees with a ball in her hand, holding it up with a beautiful smile on her sweet face. “Here it is! Hiding!”
“Thanks, Miss Hope! I can’t believe it rolled all the way back there,” a little girl said, giggling as she took the ball and ran back to whatever game she’d been playing.
The hard thump in his chest seemed to obliterate tha
t nasty, squeezing sensation, and he found himself walking toward her before he’d even thought about what he could say. Should say. Or even if he should approach her at all.
But before he got close she was swept away by some other children to play what looked like musical chairs. A game like that wasn’t his thing, so he decided to just stand back and watch her. To enjoy the way the light caught in her hair, making it gleam. To see her enthusiasm and laughter and the patient way she explained the game to those who didn’t know it. To take in the heartfelt hugs she gave the children when they won or lost, encouraging them to try again.
He shook his head, upset with himself all over again. How could he have thought for one second this woman might struggle with having children on her own? No matter his own dark history, he should have realized that warm, sweet, upbeat Hope Sanders had plenty of resilience, love and caring to handle it.
With a toddler propped on her hip, Hope headed toward the snack table and handed the child over to a smiling auburn-haired woman he was pretty sure was a midwife new to the CRMU. As Hope turned back to the game their eyes met across the room. She stood very still for a moment, and Aaron’s heart about stopped with her. His brain spun through the ways he might approach starting a conversation.
A conversation and an apology.
But before he came up with anything that felt right, that he thought Hope might be willing to hear, she’d begun to move across the room. His heart started back up again, thumping hard with every step she took, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the way her skirt swayed gently on her slim hips. The way her hair, too, moved with the same rhythm and suddenly he was struck right between the eyes with another bizarre and awkward revelation.
He felt jealous of the damned anonymous sperm donor that would father Hope’s children.
Crazy, idiotic and ridiculous, yes, but he couldn’t deny that emotion, stunning though it was. Couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been part of the reason he’d been unable to keep his opinion to himself instead of confronting and lecturing her.
Which maybe meant he should schedule an appointment with a damned shrink.
He’d never wanted to be committed to one place or one person, and sure as hell had no idea what it took to be a father. Yes, his adoptive dad had been a good role model, though Aaron hadn’t been able to see or appreciate that for a long time. But his sperm-donor biological father? He’d gotten half of his genes from that man and didn’t want to think about the kind of person he might have been. And the genes from his poor, unstable biological mother?
Not something he wanted to pass on to any child.
But that kind of introspection was disturbing, unwelcome and pointless. He moved to talk to some of the party guests, shoving it all aside, trying very hard to concentrate on everyone he was speaking with and not looking at Hope. But when he did, she seemed clearly focused on a similar goal of not looking at him.
“Nice party you’ve got here,” one of the adoptive dads said to him as they stood by a table of children and adults enjoying the various snacks together. “My wife and I have met quite a few kids the past few months, but this has been hands-down the best environment to talk with them and see them in action. They’re a lot more relaxed, you know? And I guess we are, too.”
Aaron smiled. “That’s the goal, so I’m glad to hear it. Have you—”
The sound of a metal chair toppling over with a clatter interrupted him. He glanced over to see a boy, probably about six years old, pretty much underneath it and kind of rolling around on the floor.
A woman sitting next to the toppled chair shook her head and grinned. “I think that’s the fourth boy who’s tripped over a chair to get some attention. Guess they don’t need to play a game to be silly.”
But the blood-curdling shriek that came from the child instantly wiped the humor from everyone’s face. Aaron quickly strode over and pulled the chair off the child, setting it upright, and adrenaline rushed through his veins at what was more than obvious.
CHAPTER TEN
AARON CROUCHED DOWN, putting his hands on the boy to try to keep him from writhing around so much and hurting himself worse. “It’s all right. You’re going to be fine. I’m Dr. Cartwright. Take a breath and tell me where it hurts.”
The boy stared up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. “It’s my arm. It hurts. My arm hurts.”
“I thought so. Let me see if I can help.” He turned to the crowd gathering around. “Someone call the emergency squad. Everybody back off, please, so he can breathe.”
He gently put his fingers on the child’s arm, gritting his teeth at the shriek his barest touch had elicited. Even if he hadn’t been a medical professional, he’d have known the kid’s arm was broken pretty badly. His forearm was curved at such an odd angle a compound fracture was likely, but thankfully the bone hadn’t torn through the skin.
“Oh, my heavens, Aaron, what happened?”
He glanced up to see Hope’s worried face just before she crouched down next to him. He hadn’t said anything to the boy yet, so he addressed him first, hoping to keep him from getting more scared. “Looks like you’ve probably got a broken arm, buddy. We’re going to have to take you to a hospital to get it fixed up. How do you feel?”
“It hurts. I feel...sick.”
He glanced at Hope, who leaped up to grab a small trash pail, just in case. Aaron pressed his fingers to the wrist of the child’s uninjured arm to check his pulse as Hope crouched next to him again.
“He looks clammy,” she said in a near whisper.
“Yeah. His pulse is a little thready, too.” They didn’t want the boy fainting on them or going into shock, and he turned to the child again. “We’re going to get you a little more comfortable, okay?” He raised his voice to the crowd. “Can somebody find us a tablecloth, or a few coats? And I need one or two of those cupcake boxes emptied and brought over here, and some sturdy twine or a rag I can tear into strips.”
Numerous adults sprang into action, and in no time several coats were dropped onto the floor by their feet. Obviously knowing why he’d asked for them, Hope quickly folded the coats as Aaron tried to barely move the boy into position, doing it as gently as possible. Just enough to get his feet up, being careful to not jostle the broken bone. The child cried out and moaned again, clutching his arm close to his body.
Damn. “Try not to move your hurt arm at all, okay?” The boy nodded, but Aaron knew that might be difficult for him and decided he had to get it stabilized fast to make sure he didn’t. Last thing the kid needed was to move in such a way that the bone broke through the skin.
“Anybody able to get those cupcake boxes to me?”
“Working on it,” someone answered.
Hope slid the jackets under the boy’s feet before he’d had to ask her to, then placed a folded tablecloth under his head to keep it from pressing on the hard floor.
“Better, buddy?” he asked the boy, glad that he nodded in answer.
“His name’s Ethan,” a woman’s tremulous voice said.
“Ethan.” He patted the child’s chest. “You’re doing a good job staying still, Ethan.”
“I’m trying. But it hurts so much.”
“I know. I’m sorry it hurts.” He took the kid’s good hand and pinched the nail bed of several fingers.
“Checking his capillary refill?” Hope asked.
“Yes. Want to make sure the break hasn’t impinged on his arteries. But the nail bed’s pinking back up nicely, so it doesn’t look like that’s happened.”
“Good.” Hope clasped the boy’s hand after Aaron let go of the child’s fingers. “You’re being so brave, Ethan. Hang in there just a little while longer, okay? The ambulance will be here soon.”
Aaron marveled at her soothing and reassuring tone. So reassuring, the boy actually managed to give her a wan smile in ret
urn. The warm, sweet smile she sent back, the way she held his hand gently between both of hers, would make anybody feel better. CRMU was damned lucky to have this woman as a nurse and midwife, and so were her patients.
And he’d been lucky to get to spend even one day with her. Which made him want to kick himself all over again that he’d lost control and said things he shouldn’t have.
Reassured a little though he seemed to be, the child’s worried brown eyes kept moving from Hope to Aaron and back again. He’d fidget then cry out in pain, but in another minute he’d be fidgeting again. Injury or not, expecting a young child to stay completely still was probably asking the impossible, and Aaron knew he had to get the arm stabilized fast.
The EMTs would have the right equipment, and he wished he could wait for them to get there. But all it might take to damage the arm worse would be for the boy to slide it down his belly or clutch it to his chest.
“Is this how you want the empty boxes?” a man asked, holding them out. “Or is there something else you need me to do with them?”
“We’ll take them just like that,” Aaron said. “Thanks. We’ll need that twine, too, or rags. Anybody find something like that?”
“I’m on it,” the man said.
Aaron set the boxes on the floor and Hope’s eyes met his. “Are you planning to use those as a splint?”
“You’re one smart woman, you know that?” He had to believe not many people would have realized that, including plenty of doctors and nurses.
“I know.” Her lips curved. “How do you want to do this?”
“That’s the tricky part. I don’t know exactly, because obviously I’m trying to avoid moving his arm and don’t want trying to splint it to end up making it worse instead of better.” The boy was looking more scared again, and he gave him a smile. “We want to splint your arm, using a kind of field medicine, like soldiers might do. Maybe you can pretend you’re in the army and you’ve got a battle wound we have to fix up.”