The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  “I love you, Jenna.”

  He loved her. They both felt the same way. “I’m beginning to think love is highly overrated. It hurts,” she whispered.

  “Sometimes.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “And sometimes it makes you feel like dancing in a bowling alley. Or making snow angels.” The warmth of his mouth pressed against hers. “Or making love to the angel next door.” With his tongue, he coaxed her lips wider, kissed her deeper. A low groan rumbled in his throat. “I wasn’t going to do this, I swear, but one taste of you, and I’m lost. I was lost on our very first kiss.”

  “Do it. Make love to me, Sloan.”

  As if they had all the time in the world, he did just that, exploring the changes in her body, making her feel every inch a sexy and desirable woman. When they were both sated, she rested in his arms. One of the votive candles sputtered and went out, sending a plume of smoke spiraling upward. “That’s probably my cue to leave,” he said.

  “I wish you could stay.” That was one of the things she’d been looking forward to if they married—sharing a bed with him every night, always having his warmth at her side.

  “I wish I could, too, sugar.” He rolled from the bed, retrieving his clothes from the floor and putting them on.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” Jenna pulled on her red kimono, stuffing her feet into the dragon slippers. In the silent darkness of the night, she followed him through her apartment. At the island, he picked up his keys, jangling them in his hand before cramming them into his pocket.

  When they reached the little braided rug near the coat tree, he pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “For what?”

  “Being with you, loving you, has taught me to look at things from a very different point of view. Especially Brook. I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that she’s coming between us, but I can’t explain what it means for me to be able to reconnect with her, to see her for who she really is, instead of who I’ve wanted her to be.”

  “You’re a good dad, Tex. I told you that.”

  He slid one hand to her belly, caressed the firm roundness through the satin. “I swear, Jenna, I’ll be here for this baby. And for you. I’m just a phone call and a short jog away if you need me.”

  “I know.” The man had proved that all the weeks she’d been sick.

  A quick kiss, and he slipped out the door. Jenna flipped on the security monitor in time to catch a final glimpse of him as he shut the metal door at the base of the stairs. He paused just outside, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, head hung low. For a moment, he stood there, shoulders slumped. She pressed a finger to the screen, wishing she could touch him, ease the obvious turmoil he felt. Then he turned and jammed the buzzer. “Jenna? You still there?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked into the camera. “I just have one more question. Give me a straight answer, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Earlier tonight when you came to my place, before we knew about Brook’s plans, and her feelings, were you going to say yes?”

  Grateful the video transmission only worked one way and he couldn’t see her fresh batch of tears, Jenna cleared her throat, working hard to keep her voice even. “Yes. I was going to say yes.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “DADDY! Make the pain stop!” Brook squeezed his hand until Sloan thought his fingers were going to turn black from lack of circulation.

  “I would if I could, sweetie. You can do it. Breathe!”

  “Grrr, you breathe! I just want it to stop!”

  Alarmed, Sloan glanced over at the monitor, finding comfort in the technology that let him know more about his daughter’s labor than she did. The digital numbers began to descend. “The contraction is almost over, honey. Hang on. Not much longer.”

  When she relaxed back into the birthing-room bed, he sank into the chair at her side.

  Being her birthing coach hadn’t been a great idea, in his opinion. But she’d insisted the only person who could help her get through it was him. She’d begged and pleaded.

  And given that they’d made so much progress with the assistance of the family counselor James had hooked them up with, he hadn’t really had much choice. The counselor had thought Sloan supporting his daughter through the birth of her child was the perfect opportunity for him to prove his love.

  Fortunately the Lamaze teacher—who’d eyed him rather suspiciously the first time he’d shown up at the second course with Jenna in tow instead of Brook—had told him he might feel more comfortable at the head of the bed.

  “Dad! I think another one’s coming!”

  Sloan stood up, checking the monitor. Sure enough, the numbers were rising again. “Yes, okay, get ready. Take a deep breath.”

  “Oh! I think I have to push!”

  He glanced around the birthing room. Shift change had left him on his own. “No, no, don’t push! There’s nobody here but us. No pushing! I’ll go get the nurse and she can call the doctor. I’ll be right back!”

  When he blasted out of the door, he saw Frank and Claire Richards, the parents-to-be of Brook’s baby. The pair looked at him in alarm, rising from their chairs in the corridor. He barreled to a stop at the nurses’ station. “Brook says she’s got to push! I am not delivering this baby, so could I please get some help in there?”

  The nurse behind the desk grabbed the phone, punching several buttons. “Dr. Fielding? We need you in Birthing Room Three.” She strolled from behind the desk. “Okay, calm down. First babies are notoriously slow, especially for teen moms. I’m sure we’ve got plenty of time.”

  Sloan followed her back to the birthing room. Frank Richards reached for him as he passed. “Is everything okay? How’s Brook?”

  “It hurts!” Brook’s shrill voice came into the hallway as the nurse opened the door and hurried inside. “I have to push!”

  “Brook, as you can hear, is in pain, and I think we’re getting closer to having a birthday here.”

  Claire looked at him hopefully. “Has she changed her mind about letting us—or at least me—in during the delivery?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m sorry. I know you’re both excited about the baby, and I’m happy about that. But Brook feels like this is her only chance to have the baby to herself.”

  “You’ll let us know when the baby’s born, right?” Frank put his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “Yes. You’ll be the first ones outside that room to know.”

  Sloan went back into the room, averting his glance from where the nurse was stationed between Brook’s sheet-covered legs. His daughter extended a hand in his direction. “Daddy!”

  He winced even before she clutched his fingers in the same death grip. “Hey, honey. See, I brought the nurse.” He pushed her sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead with his working hand, taking care where the strands had caught on the silver eyebrow stud. “She called the doctor, and everything is going just great.”

  “Nooo, it’s not. She won’t let me push and I need to!” Brook’s grip tightened as the numbers climbed on the monitor. Her face contorted and she clenched her teeth.

  “Brook, honey, I said don’t push until the doctor gets here!” The frantic edge to the nurse’s voice had Sloan looking over at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Fear made a cold sweat break across the back of his neck. Oh, God, and he could look forward to a repeat of this whole process in another month. He mouthed a silent prayer for the health of the two women he loved and the babies they carried.

  “Nothing’s wrong, but I think we’re about to have a baby.”

  The door to the room opened and Dr. Judy Fielding walked in with another nurse. “Without me?”

  Everything after that moved at warp speed. The doctor got gowned and gloved, and Sloan counted, helped Brook rest between contractions, kept her focused. And not fifteen minutes later, the doctor announced, “It’s a girl!” As a nurse carried h
er to a warming table to clean her up, the baby cried.

  And so did Brook. “I want to see her. Please? Can I hold her?”

  “Of course, honey. Just let us get her cleaned up and weighed. You want her to be pretty when you see her.”

  Joy and sorrow mingled deep in his chest when the nurse placed the pink-blanket-swaddled bundle in his daughter’s arms.

  His granddaughter.

  His heart squeezed, as though it were trapped in Brook’s grip.

  Fresh tears streamed down Brook’s face as she cradled the newborn. “Oh, look at you. You’re beautiful.” She edged the blanket aside near the tiny face and shifted her, holding her out so Sloan could see better. “Look, Daddy. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Yeah, honey. She sure is. Just like you.”

  “Get the camera, Dad. Take a picture now. While she’s just mine.”

  Luckily the digital camera had a good-size screen and autofocus. Because there was no way in hell he’d be able to see through a little viewfinder with his blurry eyes.

  ANTISEPTIC CLEANERS from the hallway clashed with the scents of burgers, fries and burnt coffee in the hospital’s café. A lot of the folks at other tables and lined up at the counter had shell-shocked expressions, as though they ate without tasting. Taking another swig of coffee, Sloan grimaced, wishing his own numbness extended to his taste buds.

  “That bad, huh?” Jenna asked.

  “Yeah, but I need the caffeine.”

  “If I’d known, I’d have brought you some good stuff.”

  “This’ll do.” He pulled the camera from his shirt pocket, turned it on review mode. “You want to see my grandbaby?”

  “Of course.” Jenna took the camera and began scrolling through the pictures. “She’s adorable. But poor Brook looks like she’s been through the wringer.” She sighed. “I wish I could go upstairs with you and see the baby in person. And Brook, too. I can’t even imagine how she must be feeling right now.” The camera chimed as it shut down. Jenna slipped one hand from the table to caress the spot on her belly where Sloan could actually see movement beneath her soft blue T-shirt. Only one more month before their child was due.

  “I wish you could, too. But she’s too overwrought right now to see you. Not to mention still exhausted from giving birth yesterday. I’m sorry.” Sloan caught a glimpse of a tall young man through the coffee-shop window and cursed under his breath, grabbing the camera and returning it to his shirt pocket. He shoved back his chair and rose.

  “What?” Jenna asked.

  “Sorry, sugar, but I have to go. I think I just saw Dylan and his mother heading for the elevators. I’ll call you later.” He leaned over to place a quick kiss on her mouth, brushing his hand over her belly at the same time.

  “Okay. Call me if you need anything! And Sloan,” she called to him as he reached the doorway, “don’t do or say anything hasty!”

  He grunted. Hasty. Not going to be a problem at all. The elevator took forever to reach the maternity floor, giving him plenty of time to think. When the doors opened, he shot out, barreling toward Brook’s room. The wooden door to the private room was still closed. He opened it and slipped through. Save for his napping daughter, no one was there. Turning on his heel, he headed for the nursery.

  He found Dylan and his mom standing in front of the Plexiglas window, staring at five babies in their bassinets. “I’m not sure which one is her,” Dylan said.

  “Second from the right.”

  The kid jumped, turning. His eyes widened, and he took a step back. “M-Mr. Thompson. I— I—”

  “We—” Mrs. Burch slipped her arm through her son’s as she spoke “—just wanted to see the baby.”

  “I suppose I can understand that.” Actually, it shocked the hell out of him, but Sloan kept his best poker face in place. He nodded again toward the window. “That’s Emma, there.”

  “How’s Brook?” Dylan asked. “Is she okay?”

  “Physically she’s all right. Well, as all right as any woman who just had a baby. Emotionally…” Sloan narrowed his eyes at the boy responsible for his child’s pain.

  The lanky teen’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t think she’d want to see me.”

  “You thought right.”

  “But I…” The boy’s voice dropped as he turned his attention to the nursery, to the baby he and Brook had created. “I wanted to see her at least once.” He leaned his forehead against the glass, raising his hand to press his fingers to it.

  Maybe it was the fact that the kid’s first question had been about Brook’s well-being. Or maybe it was because Sloan was just getting soft in his doddering grandfather-hood. Whatever the reason, he found himself asking, “Do you want a closer look? You want to hold her?”

  “Really?” Dylan pushed off the glass. “You’d let me?”

  “Yes,” his mother said. “Please?”

  “Let me see what I can do. Wait here.” He left them admiring Emma through the window and went down the hall alongside the nursery, to the back entrance. After getting the attention of one of the nurses, who were well aware of Brook’s situation, he explained that the baby’s birth father wanted the chance to hold his daughter.

  When Dylan was settled in a chair in the empty family room across from the nursery, his mother hovering at his side, a nurse wheeled the bassinet into the room. She placed the baby in the boy’s arms, instructing him in the proper handling of a newborn. Assured everything was under control, she left them alone.

  Emma chose that moment to yawn and open her eyes, staring up at Dylan.

  “Wow,” he said. “Hi.” When the baby squirmed, he looked to his mother in panic.

  “It’s all right. You’ve got her.” Mrs. Burch leaned forward and ran a finger over the baby’s cheek. “Hi there, sweetheart. Aren’t you just precious?”

  Sloan pulled his camera out, snapped a picture without even thinking about it. The flash made the baby scrunch up her face. Dylan looked up at him. “Can I get a copy of that?”

  “Sure. You want me to take a few more?” These pictures would probably be the only thing the kid ever had to remind him he had a daughter out in the world. Seemed like the least Sloan could do.

  After a variety of poses, including some with Mrs. Burch holding the baby, a soft knock on the door was followed by the hesitant appearance of the Richards. “Hi. The nurses said Emma was in here. Is it all right if we join you?”

  Sloan looked at Dylan. “This is Frank and Claire Richards. Emma’s parents.”

  “Oh.” The boy, who’d already signed his relinquishment papers, glanced from the couple in the doorway back to the baby in his arms. “Oh. Yeah, uh, sure, come in.” Cradling the infant like the fragile, valuable thing she was, he rose from the chair. “We, uh, should probably get going anyway. Dad will be looking for us before too long.”

  Mrs. Burch’s startled expression made it plain that Mr. Burch had no idea his wife and son were visiting the baby.

  Claire Richards held out her arms, but Dylan turned toward Frank. He leaned over, awkwardly kissing Emma’s cheek before he transferred her into the adoptive father’s embrace.

  Sloan found his throat tightening. He rocked back and forth on his feet, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

  “Mom, do you have that thing we brought for her?”

  Dylan’s mother fumbled in her purse, pulled out something and passed it to her son. Dylan handed the little stuffed bear with the Georgetown University T-shirt to Claire. “I hope it’s okay to give this to her. I didn’t know what to get her, and this is where… I leave for Georgetown in a few days. I wanted her to have something from me. Something so she knows I— I was thinking about her. You’ll save it for her, won’t you?”

  Claire clutched the bear to her chest, nodding. Moisture glistened in her eyes. “Yes. We’ll make sure she knows this was from her birth dad.”

  The boy swiped the back of his hand over his eyes before leaning over for one more look at the baby.
Then he turned and strode from the room. Mrs. Burch, tears spilling down her cheeks, followed him.

  Sloan locked gazes with Frank Richards and cleared his throat. If it hurt this much to watch Dylan take his leave of the baby, he could hardly wait to do it again tomorrow with Brook.

  “FIVE MORE MINUTES, Dad! I just need five more minutes alone with her.” Brook sniffled, rocking the baby in her arms. Prepared to leave, with her packed bag sitting alongside the chair, she knew the time had come for her to surrender Emma to the Richards. She traced the tiny flowers on the soft pink dress Aunt Rae had bought for the baby at Brook’s request. She wanted Emma to be irresistible when the Richards took her home.

  “The longer you drag this out, the more it’s going to hurt,” her father said gently.

  “How can it hurt any more than it already does?” She felt hollow inside. “Doing the right thing sucks, Dad.”

  “Tell me about it.” He let go of the door handle and came to kneel at her side. “Honey, you still have a choice here. The Richards are good people. You’ve talked to the birth mothers of their two older kids, and you know they’ll honor the stipulations you made for the open adoption. They’ll love Emma and take good care of her. But…you don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.” Brook squeezed her eyes shut, lifting the baby higher. She inhaled, barely registering the sweet baby smell through her clogging nose. “It’s the right thing for her. She’s going to have a stay-at-home mom, a dad, an older brother, a big sister, and a dog. She’ll have her own bedroom in a two-bathroom house. With them, she’ll have everything.” Tears slid out from between her eyelids. Except me, she wanted to add. But with the open arrangements they’d made, Emma would get to have her. Sort of. If Brook could stand to see her. If the pain didn’t get any easier to handle than this, she might have to rethink the amount of contact she wanted with her daughter.

  “Sometimes love means letting go,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. I suppose sometimes it does. Most parents don’t have to do it quite this soon, though.”