Once Upon a Pregnancy

by Judy Duarte

  Mike watched as Simone returned to her young patient, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking upon the tile. He’d suspected that the person who’d hurt her had been a man. That the wrongs she’d suffered and her subsequent pain might be something he could heal and rectify.

  But maybe he’d been wrong.

  Chapter Six

  Three days later, Mike was still coming by the house to watch the dogs whenever he could, and Simone continued to drop off Wags at the Baxters’ store when she didn’t want to leave the dogs alone.

  “I feel like a real parent,” he’d told her earlier as he prepared to leave for his next shift at the station.

  She’d imagined him as a father, too—to real children; not the kind with four paws and fur.

  “This isn’t the same,” she’d responded, wanting to change the subject to one that wasn’t so…so steeped in truth.

  Something warm and tender had simmered in his gaze, something that threatened to not only pull her in, but to drag her through a rush of emotion.

  “I can’t help wondering what our kids would look like,” he’d said, “if you and I were to have them.”

  The statement had nearly knocked her to the floor, and she’d struggled to recover.

  Ever since learning that she was pregnant, she’d been thinking a lot about the baby they’d created and had tried to imagine whether it was a girl or a boy. But she couldn’t allow herself to focus on the child being theirs—or even his. Instead, she’d forced herself to think about the joy the baby would bring to its new parents, a couple who’d been hoping and praying for a child to love.

  A couple like Fred and Millie.

  “You’ll make a fabulous father,” she’d told him. “But I’m not the maternal type. Trust me on that, okay?”

  He’d cupped her face with both hands. “And I say that you are.”

  For a long, heart-stopping moment, she’d wanted to believe him—for his sake.

  And for the child’s.

  But she knew things Mike didn’t. Things that would make him change his mind.

  “You’re going to be late,” she’d told him, trying to shoo him out the door before she was forced to tell him the truth sooner than she was ready to do so.

  Now she’d just parked in front of Tails a Waggin’.

  “Here we are,” she told Wags as she reached for the handle of his carrier and took him inside the pet shop.

  Simone had called the store earlier, and Millie had agreed to take Wags home for the night. Although Simone was feeling better about leaving the dogs alone, she didn’t like the idea of Wags being unsupervised inside the house. Not when he chewed everything in sight and still wasn’t housebroken.

  She could, of course, leave the dogs outside, but there was a biting chill in the air, and dark clouds had gathered on the horizon. Because of the threatening weather, they couldn’t stay in the yard tonight. But if Wags stayed with Millie, Woofer could be left in the house alone.

  “Look who’s here,” Millie said to Popeye Baxter, who wore a yellow bandanna around his neck and sat next to the register. “Your little friend is back.”

  Simone watched as Popeye perked up in response to the news, and a smile crept across her face. Woofer was still getting used to having Wags around, so it was nice to think that Popeye found him entertaining.

  “I sure appreciate you taking Wags for me,” Simone said. “And hopefully, I won’t need to impose on you too many more times. Mike is hoping to find a place, and his real estate agent called about a house that sounds promising. She’s going to show it to him on his next day off.”

  “Fred and I don’t mind watching Wags.” Millie took the dog carrier from Simone and set it on the counter. Then she unhooked the latch, swung open the little door and reached inside. “Are the dogs getting along any better yet?”

  “With each other? Yes. But when I got in last night, there was a note left on my door by the woman who lives next door. Apparently, they were barking and making an awful racket while I was gone.”

  “That’s too bad,” Millie said. “You don’t want to upset your neighbors.”

  Simone didn’t like to be kept awake by someone else’s noise, either. She also tried to be considerate of the people who lived near her.

  “Life is so much nicer when everyone in the neighborhood is on friendly terms,” Millie added, giving Wags a cuddle before setting him down on the floor so he could play.

  It’s not that Simone really cared about maintaining any kind of relationship with those who lived near her. She waved to a couple of people when she saw them in their yards or on the street, but for the most part, she kept to herself.

  When at home, she preferred her privacy and wasn’t interested in community gossip. Neither did she want just anyone to pop in unexpectedly for a leisurely cup of coffee and a chat.

  Fortunately, her neighbors seemed to have read into her let’s-not-get-too-chummy expressions and gave her plenty of space.

  She couldn’t say the same for Mike, though. He hadn’t seemed to read anything into her words or her demeanor. She supposed it was flattering that he’d stuck it out so far, but he had more faith in her than she had in herself.

  If she were to let his charm go to her head and allow something to develop between them, she would be crushed when it ended, just as she had been when Tom Nichols said he couldn’t deal with a cold and unfeeling lover.

  And if Mike made the same claim, it would be devastating since she cared more for Mike than she had for Tom.

  A lot more.

  Mike was a better man all the way around. And he was proving to be a good friend, too.

  So why exchange their friendship for a temporary affair? It didn’t make sense, especially when she had very few friends in her life.

  “I’m really going to miss Wags when you quit bringing him by,” Millie said. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

  “He has his naughty moments, too. You ought to see the shoe he destroyed, the puddles he made on the hardwood floor and the fringe on the throw rug he chewed.”

  “Aw, you can’t get mad at Wags for that,” Millie said. “He’s still a baby.”

  “I know. I try to keep that in mind.” Simone tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “By the way, speaking of babies, how’s the adoption search coming along? Are you having any luck?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Millie scanned the store, as though searching for someone who might be eavesdropping.

  Fred maybe?

  Another customer?

  “We were turned down again. And a couple of weeks ago, after another…” She blew out a sigh. “Well, let’s call it another monthly disappointment. Anyway, Fred, bless his heart, took me for a long drive. We ended up at Crescent Lake, where we found a nice little spot and had a picnic—just the two of us. Then we prayed together, telling God how badly we wanted a child, but agreeing to abide by his will. If he wants us to have a baby, he’ll provide one for us. And if not?” Millie smiled warmly. “Fred and I have complete peace about whatever happens.”

  Que sera, sera, Simone thought. What will be, will be.

  “It won’t be the end of the world if we don’t have children,” Millie said. “After all, there aren’t too many couples who have what Fred and I’ve been blessed with. We have a loving, marital bond. We’re business partners, too, and the very best of friends. A child would merely be frosting on a cake that is moist and rich in and of itself.”

  Simone wasn’t a religious person. After all, she’d prayed countless times that her mother would love her when she’d been a little girl. And it just hadn’t happened.

  Who knew why some kids were conceived in love and others weren’t. Why some were born into loving arms and others into a cold environment.

  Or why some women could accept the love offered them when others were afraid to.

  Either way, a relationship like the one Fred and Millie shared was rare in this day and age. The Baxters were fortunate.

  And if they had
a baby, it would be lucky, too.

  Yet Simone admired their resolve to give up their dream of having a child of their own and to trust that things would work out—one way or another.

  Still, she couldn’t help thinking that her baby might be destined to be the frosting on the Baxter’s cake.

  Late that afternoon, while raindrops danced upon the hospital windows, Simone sat across from Isobel Suarez in the hospital cafeteria, where they’d each set down a tray carrying a cup of soup and a half sandwich.

  Isobel, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, with curly auburn hair and a ready smile, always had a kind word or a bit of wisdom to share. But then again, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Isobel was also the hospital social worker, a job she’d had for the past ten years.

  From the first day they’d met, Simone had found Isobel different from the others and easy to talk to. So gradually, she’d begun to open up to someone for the first time in her life.

  Simone had eventually admitted why she and her mother had never been close, a shameful secret Simone had stumbled upon by accident but had never discussed with anyone else.

  At first, Simone had feared that Isobel might try to psychoanalyze her, but that hadn’t been the case. Isobel knew how to be a true friend without letting her training and her degree get in the way.

  “Can I share something with you?” Simone asked.

  “Sure.”

  “In confidence,” Simone added.

  “Of course.” Isobel laid down her spoon and pushed her cup of soup aside. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is.” For a moment, Simone sat on her secret, clung to it, but she felt safe with Isobel. Still, the words came out softly, tentatively. “I’m…pregnant.”

  Isobel picked up her napkin and blotted her lips. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Flabbergasted. Overwhelmed. Foolish. Afraid. Awestruck.” Simone shrugged. “I think that about covers it.”

  Isobel placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly. “What are you going to do?”

  “Give the baby up for adoption.”

  “And the father will be okay with that?”

  Simone’s thoughts drifted to Mike, to the young paramedic who seemed to think she’d make a good wife and mother. The guy who had a slew of nieces and nephews and would love to have a kid of his own someday.

  “I haven’t told him about it yet,” she admitted, “but when I do, I hope he’ll eventually be able to see the wisdom in my decision.”

  Actually, she was afraid Mike would react positively to the news. And that he’d try to talk her into marrying him and keeping the baby.

  But what would he say when she was forced to level with him about the past, about her shortcomings?

  The emotional scars that she carried would cause him to resent her someday.

  Hadn’t Simone come to resent her mother for the same reason?

  She’d tried to tell Mike that he was barking up the wrong tree when it came to a long-term commitment. But he seemed to think that, with time, everything would work out between them.

  Simone knew better, though. And she suspected that, as a social worker, her friend would agree with her.

  “Is there any chance that you and the father might want to raise this child together?” Isobel asked.

  “No. In spite of an age difference, our family backgrounds are completely opposite. So nothing lasting could ever come of a relationship with him.”

  Besides, Mike wanted so much more than Simone could give him.

  “Sometimes opposites not only attract, but bring out the best in each other,” Isobel said.

  Simone reached across the table and placed her hand over her friend’s. “I’ve told you about some of the pain I went through as a child, but I held back on the worst of it.”

  “You’re a strong, dependable and resilient woman, Simone. It seems to me that you’ve overcome the emotional obstacles you faced.”

  Some of them, she supposed. “But I never learned the emotional skills needed to parent. Not by example, anyway. And for that reason, I’m afraid I’ll fail the baby just as badly as my mother failed me.”

  Isobel’s gaze snagged Simone’s, soothing her in a pool of compassion and understanding.

  Over the years, Simone may have shared certain details about past events with Isobel, but she’d never revealed the depth of her feelings, her fears.

  “Adoption is best for everyone involved.” The words came out sure, steady. Yet for a moment, something waffled inside. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “You’ve got time to let your options simmer for a while,” Isobel said. “And, after you do, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision—whatever that might be.”

  “Thanks.” Simone withdrew her hand and leaned back in her seat.

  “There’s something else you should keep in mind,” Isobel added. “Just because you had a bad role model doesn’t mean you’re going to make the same mistakes. I happen to believe you’d make a wonderful mother someday—to this baby or to another.”

  Unfortunately, Simone didn’t share the same faith or the same vision that Mike and Isobel had.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can’t even begin to think of myself as a mom. Not with the mothering I had.” Simone chuffed. “And even now, our mother/daughter relationship is limited to Christmas cards and an occasional phone call.”

  Isobel didn’t comment. Other than sympathize, what could she say?

  Of course, maybe she was thinking about how close she’d been to her own mother and how tough it had been to lose her. From what Simone had gathered, Isobel had moved in with her dad after her mom passed away. The two were very close.

  Simone could hardly imagine a relationship like that. She reached for the cellophane-wrapped packet of crackers that had come with her soup. “My mom recently found a lump in her breast, and even though I’ve tried to contact her several times and left messages, she won’t return my calls. She’s completely shut me out.”

  “Fear of breast cancer can blindside a woman.” Isobel took a sip of water. “I’m not trying to make excuses for the mistakes your mom made when you were growing up, but she may find it difficult to talk to anyone right now. You might need to be patient with her.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  They returned to their meal, but Simone focused on the saltines she’d unwrapped. Looking right through the little squares as she pondered the only real option she had.

  “How do you feel about open adoptions?” she asked Isobel. “Do they work? Would it be difficult watching a child grow up in someone else’s home if everyone knows each other?”

  “It depends upon the people involved. In my experience, open adoptions work out beautifully if the biological and the adoptive parents are able to put the child’s best interests ahead of their own.”

  “I’ve got a couple in mind,” Simone said. “But you’re right. There’s time for me to think things through. And if I should decide not to give the baby to someone I know, I’d like you to recommend a good agency that will help me find just the right parents.”

  “No problem. Tomorrow, when I have a chance, I’ll give you the names of several organizations I’ve worked with in the past.”

  Simone ought to feel relieved, yet handing over her child to strangers made her uneasy, too.

  But how could she even consider dumping all her personal baggage on a poor defenseless baby?

  Besides, even with the few friendships she had—Isobel and, more recently, Ella—she always held back—just as she feared she would do with a baby.

  On top of that, children needed a primary caregiver, someone they could trust to see to all their needs, physical as well as emotional. They needed someone to kiss their owies and to make them cookies. Someone to tuck them in at night.

  How could Simone give up her job to be a stay-at-home mom?

  She loved everything about being an E.R. nurse—the pressure of being in a
life-or-death situation, the competent and dedicated medical staff with whom she worked, the patients who rushed in with complaints and symptoms that were sometimes hard to diagnose.

  Why, she even loved the hours she kept, never complaining about a night shift or two.

  No, her life wasn’t conducive to motherhood.

  And she was a fool on those rare occasions when she allowed herself to think otherwise.

  Nearly a week later, after Ella Wilder had treated a teenage boy who fell off a skateboard and broke his arm, Simone took the orthopedic surgeon aside. “There’s a cake in the solarium to celebrate Dr. Randall’s being hired as the new chief of staff.”

  Owen Randall was a cardiac surgeon who’d suffered a serious hand injury and could no longer perform the operations for which he was trained. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make a top-notch chief of staff.

  Although he’d been hired from the outside and not from within, those who’d already met the man had talked about being impressed with his professionalism, as well as his people skills.

  “Peter’s very happy to be back in private practice,” Ella said.

  “I’m sure he is.” With a new lady in his life—Bethany Holloway, a hospital board member—and a wedding on the horizon, Peter was undoubtedly glad to pass the baton to someone else and get back to his patients.

  “Dr. Randall is in the solarium, as we speak,” Simone said. “He’s making himself accessible to the entire staff. He’s also serving cake, which is chocolate, by the way.”

  Ella smiled. “My favorite. All right, let’s stop by and congratulate our new boss.”

  The solarium was located on the first floor and looked out onto the hospital gardens, which had just begun to bloom with various displays of red, yellow and pink buds.

  In the center of the room, Owen Randall, a stocky, fifty-something man with thinning silver hair, met Ella and Simone with a smile. He introduced himself, then handed them each a slice of cake. As he did so, the tip of his bright yellow-and-green tie dragged across the white, butter-cream frosting.