The Heart Doctor and the Baby

by Lynne Marshall

  “We’re not going there, remember?” she said.

  “Yup.” He finished the last of his half of the sandwich and rose to leave.

  A bittersweet pang made it hard to swallow. He was the smartest guy in the room—any room—and he always acted the humble and perfectly mannered doctor. Even now.

  Her decision had already blurred the lines of their working together, and they both felt completely awkward about it. Unfortunately, that was the way they’d have to handle their business association—all manners and etiquette.

  No matter how unsatisfying that approach would be.

  Two weeks later, word of René’s pregnancy had obviously gotten out when one afternoon Jon witnessed every female in the clinic circling her, fawning and gushing with well wishes. “Oh, congratulations!” “I’m so excited for you.” “When’s the big day?” What he didn’t hear was, “Who is the father?” And for that, he thought, ducking his head and making a U-turn, he was grateful.

  René proudly stood in the center, beaming, as Jon knew pregnant women often do. His ex-wife seemed to walk on air when she’d first gotten pregnant—that is, until morning sickness kicked in. René held her head high, chin up with pride. She wore a white peasant blouse with a paisley patterned knee-length skirt, and looked so damned pretty he could hardly contain himself. Her exotic almond-shaped eyes sparkled with happiness, and when she glanced at him just before he made his turn, their gazes met and merged for the briefest of moments. He read her gratitude, nodded, and though wanting to make a beeline for his office, he went against his will so as not to come off suspicious acting.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping his high school thespian days might still serve him well.

  “Dr. Munroe is expecting!” Gaby was the first to respond.

  “What’s she expecting?” He’d go for the lame-and-loving-it facade.

  His nurse and two others groaned over his sorry joke. René was the only one gracious enough to smile. If he’d been at arm’s length, she probably would have cuffed him.

  He drew closer as a rally of mixed emotions made him stiffen. “When’s the due date?” He’d been so busy kissing her the night she’d come to his loft to celebrate, he’d forgotten to ask the most basic questions.

  “November,” she said softly.

  “Hey, that’s a great month—that’s my daughter Lacy’s birthday month, and she’s a great kid.” Why the sudden onslaught of nerves? Could he overexplain more if he tried? How ironic that this baby would be born in the same month as one of his other children. Other children? Only children. He had no claim on this one. The contract said so.

  “From what you’ve told me, I can only hope my baby will have half the verve of Lacy,” she said with a smile, and a subtle knowing look.

  Out of the blue, he wanted to hold René, to stroke her hair and run his thumb over her lips. To kiss her, deeper than he had the night they’d almost crossed the line. Did it show on his face?

  The nurses had gone quiet. The fact he and René were staring at each other as if everything else on earth had disappeared may have had something to do with it. He knew he had to do something, knew this invisible thread joining them had to be severed. He schooled his expression and finished the last steps to reach her, awkwardly patted her back, and when she reached for a hug, he made sure there was at least a foot worth of air between them. This was the kind of hug coworkers gave each other; he’d seen it countless times, but it bothered him to fake it with René.

  “Hey, congratulations. I’m really happy for you. Really.”

  He knew of all the phony business he’d just pulled off, this was the one true statement. He definitely was happy for her, just didn’t know where he fit into the picture. Actually, he did know where he fit as far as pictures went, and that would be out of it. Completely. Which suited him just fine.

  “Thank you,” she said, patting his back.

  “Hey, it was nothing,” he said. Oops! He’d taken her superficial thanks and applied it to their personal business.

  His nurse, Lois, stared at him with a screwed-up face. “You are such a dork. You didn’t have anything to do with the doctor’s baby!” she snorted.

  Oh, if she only knew…

  Grateful Lois had saved his slipup, he cleared his throat and made a self-effacing smile, striving for the absentminded professor effect. “You know what I mean.” His eyes never left René’s, and now her cheeks were tinted peach, which was very becoming with her light olive-toned skin. She nodded her understanding, and he turned and headed back for his office, feeling moisture under his arms, and a grimace on his face.

  If this was the way things were going to be at the clinic now that the pregnancy was out in the open, he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

  The next week, Jon arrived at work later than usual. The early April morning had been bright and clear after a string of rainy days, and he’d made up for it with a long, solid run. After ten miles, showered and feeling like a new man, he strode through the clinic toward his office when he overheard the distinct sounds of someone heaving. The sound came from the forgotten, sequestered bathroom in the far corner of the ground floor. He paused and verified that someone was definitely losing their breakfast, and rather than risk also getting queasy merely from the sound effects, he pushed on.

  A few minutes later, René emerged from the tiny bathroom. She tried to slink by Jon’s office, but failed.

  “You okay?” he called out, brows raised, eyes dark with concern.

  She self-consciously ran the back side of her hand across her mouth, and stopped at his door. “That hormone surge really messes up the system.”

  “Tell me about it. I used to puke right along with Cherie.”

  He could always manage to get a smile out of her, even after she’d thrown up for fifteen minutes straight. “I’m interviewing doulas today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re people who take care of the pregnant woman. They offer physical and moral support. Sort of like a preggers woman’s girl Friday.”

  “I see,” he said, wearing an expression that gave the distinct impression he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

  “Since I’m going through this alone—” she purposely avoided his pointed stare “—I thought I’d hire one earlier than necessary for the extra help.”

  “Sounds wise.”

  She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, but speculated there might be a twinge of regret. Was he sorry he’d donated the sperm? She hoped not. “This is the first time in my life I’ve felt complete.” She glanced at Jon. Well, almost complete.

  He’d paused behind his desk, and she suspected the significance of what she’d just said had sunk in. “I’m really glad to know that,” he said, an earnest expression on his face.

  They spent more time than necessary gazing at each other, searching each other’s eyes, which got awkward. She needed to make her feet move, to start her day, before the next wave of nausea swept through.

  “I better get back to my clinic,” she said, looking down the hall.

  “René?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to get in touch. Remember, I’ve got superfriend status now.”

  The damn hormones stretched her emotions as if rubber bands, and Jon’s simple offer made the room blur. “Thanks,” she said, as she made a swift getaway. She couldn’t let him see her cry; he might think she wasn’t happy, and she was. “I really am happy about being pregnant.”

  “Good. And for the record, I never thought you weren’t.”

  She was; she was happy. It was the alone part that kept stumbling her up.

  She rushed into her office and closed the door. What was the matter with her? She’d been going back and forth between throwing up and crying for two weeks now. She knew pregnancy wouldn’t be easy, but being an obstetrician, somehow she thought it might feel more clinical for her. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Being pregn
ant ran the gamut from elation to hysteria, exhilaration to total exhaustion, confidence to near panic over the thought of raising a child. Alone. There was that word again.

  She collapsed into her desk chair, resting her head on the back. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She swiped them away, refusing to slip into another crying spell. Here she was carrying a baby, two beings sharing one body, her body, yet she’d never felt more alone in her life.

  Week sixteen of the pregnancy, mid-June

  Gretchen Lingstrom, Stephanie Ingram’s doula, was her choice after several interviews, and Gretchen had already given her homework. René lay on her bed reading at midnight, refusing to rest on her clinical laurels. Determined to experience the pregnancy as a future mother and not a doctor, she dutifully perused the pages of The Natural Way to a Successful Pregnancy and Delivery. Gretchen’s special mix of essential oils brewed on the bedside table, and though she would have preferred human company, the scent offered her a degree of comfort.

  It had been a long day, and she was tired. At least she wasn’t throwing up anymore now that she’d made it through the first trimester. She stretched out on her bed; the pillows looked so inviting. With hands behind her head, she allowed her mind to drift to fanciful thoughts about decorating the second bedroom as a nursery. What colors would she use? What style of crib? Would she keep a bassinet in her bedroom? And for how long?

  Something odd happened. A vague flutter south of her navel stole one hundred percent of her attention. As if a large butterfly were trapped beneath her abdomen, she felt the first movement of life in her uterus. Her hand flew to her stomach. “Quickening,” she reverently whispered the medical term for what she’d just felt.

  She held perfectly still so she could savor the magical flapping motion to memorize it forever. Normally a woman didn’t feel the first signs of life until eighteen to twenty weeks, but she’d noticed her obstetric training had made her profoundly aware of her body and each stage of the pregnancy, and this was no exception.

  She’d had the ultrasounds, knew she was pregnant. Felt it in her tender and growing breasts; saw it in the insidious change in size of her waist, hips and stomach. But nothing could compare to this feeling, this affirmation of life. Warmth bubbled up and over her skin from a depth of emotion she’d never imagined. Riveted in the sensations, she couldn’t move. Her eyes prickled and leaked with joy. She grinned and lay still, taking it all in for several more seconds.

  René wanted to share the special moment with someone. Her parents were in Nevada, and it was too late to call them. Likewise, any of her girlfriends who had young families themselves would already be asleep. Though Gretchen had told her she could call day or night, the only person she really wanted to talk to right now surprised her. Jon.

  He’d kept his distance over the past month, and she’d missed him. But hadn’t he been the one to insist on superfriend status?

  She reached for the phone and punched in the numbers. On the second ring a husky voice answered.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked, knowing full well she probably had.

  “No! I was reading and must have dozed off,” Jon said, and she was grateful he knew who she was without asking.

  She liked how he sounded and imagined him on his navy-blue sofa, cardiology journal opened on his chest, hands folded over it, feet crossed at the ankles on the coffee table, goosenecked lamp positioned just so over his shoulder.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Beyond fine. I just felt the baby move for the first time.”

  “You did?”

  She heard the genuine interest in his voice. “I did.” She smiled so wide her lips felt as if they might split. “Just now. It was the strangest sensation. I loved it.”

  “Wait until that little one gets bigger and starts kicking—you won’t be nearly as amused.” A smoky laugh rumbled from his chest. She liked it.

  “We’ll see.”

  “We will?”

  “Figure of speech,” she said. He’d signed a contract releasing him of any duty to the child. She knew it. He knew it. So why had she called him?

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, honey-warm tones in his voice.

  She held her breath, hoped he wouldn’t notice how eager she was to answer. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  Wishing she could say anything but what she knew she had to, she cleared her throat. “Nothing, Jon. We made our deal, now we have to stick to it.”

  “Ah, our pact with the devil,” he said.

  What could she say?

  After a brief silence, rather than hang up on her, he changed the subject, brought up how he’d overheard his nurses discussing who the father of the baby might be, and as she vocalized her protest, they conversed like old friends hooking back up after a vacation. They quickly moved on to other topics, and skirted the reality of their situation—that she carried his child and he was going to China—and managed to talk on and on.

  And on…

  René squinted and peeked from under her lid. The bedroom light was still on, glaring in her face. She glanced at the clock; it was two in the morning. She clutched at the phone on her chest and moved it back to her ear. Instead of the beep-beep-beep of the disengaged line she’d expected, she heard soft, deep breathing through the receiver. She hadn’t fallen asleep on the phone since junior high school. And sweet Jon hadn’t hung up, either.

  After a murmured snore, Jon swallowed. She smiled with a distinct picture in her mind of a guy with tousled hair and a sexy shadow beard. What would it be like to wake up next to him?

  “Jon? Jon? Wake up.”

  “Huh?”

  He yawned and obviously stretched. Did he have a clue where he was and who he was still on the phone with?

  “Good night, Jon.”

  “Love you,” he said, midyawn before he clicked off.

  What? Her hand flew to her mouth. Did she just hear what she thought she’d heard? A chill snaked its way down her spine with the possibility he might actually love her.

  Nah. Couldn’t be. It was the middle of the night; surely she’d imagined it.

  Still, René hung up and relived those two haunting words over and over again, and each time tingles tiptoed over her skin. Until she couldn’t bear to indulge in the fantasy anymore, she put on her scientific hat, then rationalized away every possibility: She hadn’t heard him correctly; he’d thought he was talking to one of his daughters; he was dreaming; he’d been sleep talking; the poor man was out of it and confused on top of that. At two in the morning any explanation would do, except the one that whispered he’d meant it, the explanation that stirred her hoarded hope and made her tremble inside.

  A little part of her, a part she’d buried and kept throwing more dirt on, wanted to believe he’d meant what he’d said. Hoped with all her might he had. Okay, there, she’d admitted it. She weaved fingers through her hair and stared at the ceiling—she wished things could be different with Jon. This time a cold chill settled in her chest and dug an icy trail to her heart. This had never been part of the plan. Now, besides dealing with her pregnancy, she had to wrestle with the reality that she wanted something more with Jon.

  The next morning, when she saw him at work, he nodded and acted as if nothing, absolutely nothing, had changed between them. All right, so he had been more than half-asleep, and didn’t recall or have a clue of how he’d ended their phone conversation.

  Case closed.

  She’d be a big girl and get over it. Though the instantaneous flicker of hope that maybe he’d meant exactly what he’d said, gave her pause. It sent her off to her office wishing she hadn’t rushed into this contract with Jon, knowing if she had to choose over again, she’d go right back to Jon Becker to be the father of her child. But for the second chance, she’d make sure her proposition involved the old-fashioned way.

  There was no way Jon would be able to continue to work here and remain unin
volved in René’s pregnancy. How in hell had he managed to skim over that incredibly important detail when he’d made his decision to be the sperm donor?

  Superfriend status, my eye.

  He scrubbed his face and leaned against his office door. He had to think of a way around the consequences.

  In the meantime, he must avoid René whether he wanted to or not. He’d sneak in the back of the clinic in the morning, eat lunch in his office and sneak out the back door at the end of the day. He’d survived worse, like divorce after seventeen years of marriage when he’d never even suspected his wife was unhappy. He was the last thing in the world René needed, and staying out of her life should be a walk in the park, comparatively.

  There was a tapping on his door, and he glanced briefly at his watch. Not quite time for his last patient appointment, but this could be a chance to finish the afternoon clinic early for a change.

  He opened the door and found René standing on the other side. She’d pulled her hair back today and wore large silver hoop earrings. If she were any other female colleague, he wouldn’t have even noticed. But with her, he had—immediately after noticing the depth of her eyes and the few golden flecks sprinkled judiciously in her irises.

  “Can you do a cardiac consultation for me?” she asked, all business.

  “What have you got?”

  René handed him a heart test strip and he saw several premature ventricular contractions—PVCs—scattered across the six-second, twelve-lead EKG.

  “Where is she?”

  “In my office,” she said, already starting down the hall.

  René ran the patient’s medical history by him as he followed her to the examination room. “She’s eight months pregnant with her fourth child. She’s undernourished, her blood pressure is mildly elevated and she states it’s always like that. And when I listened to her heart, I thought I heard a third beat in diastole.”

  A distant picture gathered in his mind, a unique condition that affected one in ten to fifteen thousand deliveries. The patient history had the markings of high-risk pregnancy all over it, one that should have been followed from early gestation, maybe even counseled against long before conception. Why hadn’t René consulted him before now?