by Linda Warren
Anya shuddered at the thought of her family. Returning to Colorado this past Christmas to visit her parents and six siblings had reawakened painful old feelings and reminded her forcefully of why she’d moved to California. “Forget that.”
The obstetrician didn’t argue. “All right. You can choose a private adoption—either open, with continuing contact, or closed. Or perhaps you have a family member who might take the child.”
“No family.” Nor did Anya care to deal with a social worker. This was her decision, and she wouldn’t be lectured or questioned about her motives. “Can you recommend a lawyer?”
“The hospital’s staff attorney could give you a list of family attorneys in the community.” The obstetrician cleared her throat. “I’m adopting a child myself, a relative. We’re using a lawyer named Geoff Humphreys.”
That name rang a bell. “His associate is handling Zora’s divorce.” She’d have to tell her roommate anyway, so that seemed convenient. “Thanks for mentioning him.”
“There’s something else.” The doctor laced her fingers. “As I’m sure the attorney will inform you, the father has to sign a waiver of parental rights before the child can be released for adoption.”
“He what?” Anya would pull all her hair out by the roots before she’d involve that—what was the legal term she’d read?—casual inseminator.
Okay, that wasn’t fair to Jack, although other nurses had described him as a playboy. In her observation, his dramatically good looks simply attracted a lot of women. In her case, despite their joking around in the O.R., he’d always kept a respectful distance. Until New Year’s Eve.
That night, while they were dancing at the party, she’d imagined she saw a spark of tenderness in his gorgeous, sparkling green eyes. That, combined with a couple of unaccustomed drinks, had worked magic on her nervous system. Plus, she’d been feeling lonely and estranged from her family after that unhappy Christmas visit.
Jack had been wonderful in bed, fierce and gentle and very skilled. Too skilled, maybe. Anya hadn’t had much time for men in her younger years, and her college boyfriend had been sweet but fumbling. Now, her vulnerability scared her. Losing control of her emotions reminded her of how little power she’d had over her life until she left Colorado two years ago.
So over the past few weeks, she’d kept things cool with him, strictly business. He’d gone along at first, as embarrassed as she was, she supposed. Then he’d started flirting again. But she doubted he meant anything by it. He was notorious for avoiding relationships.
And now she needed his permission to choose adoption for her—their—baby? “It’s outrageous,” she added for good measure.
“It may seem unfair, but that’s the law,” Adrienne said. “Discuss this with your lawyer. I’m sure he can handle the paperwork.”
“So Doctor...Mister Dad gets the news via the U.S. mail?” That was likely to provoke unpleasant repercussions. “I’ll deal with him some other way.”
Judging by the obstetrician’s expression, she hadn’t missed the reference to a doctor. She let it go, returning to the pregnancy.
“Based on the dates you gave me, you’re about six weeks along, which means you’re due in mid to late September,” she said. “In case you’re interested, the baby’s eyes and limb buds are starting to appear at this stage.”
Too much information. Anya performed the mental equivalent of closing her ears and skipped to a more bearable topic. “Six weeks? It’s only been five weeks since we...since conception.”
“We measure pregnancies from the date of the last menstrual period,” the doctor reminded her.
“Oh. Right.” All this theoretical knowledge seemed quite different when you were the patient, Anya reflected glumly. “I haven’t had any morning sickness. Well, maybe a tiny bit. I thought it was some chorizo I ate.”
“Let’s talk about a healthy diet during pregnancy,” the doctor said, seizing on the topic. “Or are you already familiar with all this?”
Being a scrub nurse, Anya didn’t deal with maternity on a regular basis. Also, in her state of shock, she could scarcely recall her own phone number, let alone the rules for moms-to-be. “Refresh my memory. Do I have to eat anything weird?”
“Depends on what you consider weird.”
“Seaweed?”
Adrienne smiled. “That won’t be necessary, although seaweed is quite nutritious. It’s a rich source of antioxidants and vitamins.”
Anya wrinkled her nose.
“You can skip it, though,” the doctor said. “Be sure to include plenty of fruits and vegetables in your diet. No alcohol or tobacco, no raw fish such as sushi, and avoid soft cheeses. They can carry bacteria.”
“I can’t eat Brie?” That sounded cruel to Anya. Another mark against Jack. Someone ought to deprive him of Brie for the next eight months.
Oh, don’t be childish.
“If the milk’s pasteurized, it should be safe,” the doctor said. “Cut out caffeine, or at least cut back. No undercooked meat or paté, and limit your fish consumption to twelve ounces a week in case of mercury contamination.”
This discussion set Anya’s stomach churning. “Can you give me a list?”
“I’d be happy to.” From a drawer, the obstetrician fetched several pamphlets and a prescription pad. “Also, we advise that you avoid changing kitty litter because of toxoplasmosis, a disease that sometimes infects cats and can harm the baby. Do you have a pet?”
“Just an African violet.” Which Jack had given her. “I hate him,” Anya burst out.
The doctor paused, brochures in midair. “The father? Understandable.”
“It isn’t his fault,” Anya conceded. “But that only makes me even madder. I want revenge on somebody, and he’s nominated.”
“You might write down your revenge fantasies,” Dr. Cavill-Hunter responded. “You can always shred them later.”
“Can I post them on the internet?” Anya didn’t seriously expect an answer. She was simply venting. “Is this what people mean by pregnancy hormones making you cranky?”
“I’d say it’s a legitimate emotional response to a difficult situation.”
Did the doctor have to be this rational? Right now, Anya would prefer a friend to share her righteous wrath.
The rest of the office visit passed in a fog. The doctor answered routine questions. Eva produced a packet of sample vitamins and pregnancy-related goodies and set up the next appointment. Tactfully, she refrained from commenting.
All the while, Anya’s emotions seethed. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. Only how did you do that? Especially because she was the one who’d messed up her contraception.
Worse, she had to get the father’s stupid John Hancock on the adoption paperwork. Her anger shifted toward the idiots in the state legislature, who she presumed had mandated this. Busybodies. Nanny government.
Don’t think about nannies.
In the lobby, her mood didn’t improve on finding that the pharmacy had closed minutes earlier. Not that she needed to fill the vitamin prescription in a hurry, but it left yet another pain-in-the-neck detail to take care of.
As she turned away, a twinge of nausea ran through her. Suddenly morning sickness was striking in the evening.
As Anya pressed her hands over her stomach, reality hit like a blast of icy wind. She was pregnant. Carrying a child. About to become a mother. Frequently, she assisted at surgeries for women desperate to conceive and willing to undergo complex, expensive treatments. How unfair this situation was to them—and her.
Anya wished she could bless one of them with this miracle because it had happened to the wrong person. She was utterly unready to take on the tremendous job of raising a helpless little person. She was sure to screw up.
Now she also had to deal with the practical side of pregnancy. She faced nearly eight more months of fluctuating hormones and a variety of body aches and pains. How long could she keep working as a surgical nurse? What would her parents say?
; Nothing. Because she didn’t intend to tell them. To them, it would be yet another sign of her immaturity, of her not being able to do anything right.
Grumpily, she shouldered open the glass exterior door and stopped at a real blast of cold air. February. Ugh. Accustomed to mild Southern California midday temperatures, she’d worn only a light jacket.
Behind her, the elevator doors slid apart and heavy male footsteps smacked across the lobby. “Hold up!” A pushy man—was there any other kind? her hormones demanded—reached above her head to hold the door.
It was Jack. Of course. Could this day get any worse?
As always, he smelled like soap and masculinity with a splash of lime. His dark blue coat fit his broad shoulders and strong body as if designed for him. Oddly, she realized, his scent had a soothing effect on her stomach, making her crave more of his nearness. All the more reason to hate him. She trudged on.
He halted on the front walkway. “Anya!”
“Yes?” She wondered what the correct etiquette was for this situation. You couldn’t just blurt, “I’m pregnant, so sign the parental waiver,” could you?
That would be efficient but not very diplomatic. Out loud, she said, “We should talk.” There, that was better.
Before she could say anything else, though, he asked, “Can you give me a ride?”
They lived in the same complex, so why not? Plus, they’d have a chance to talk away from prying ears. “Okay. What happened to your car?”
“I loaned it to my uncle.” He walked alongside her toward the parking garage.
“Where’s his car?”
“In the shop, as usual.” Jack’s body partially blocked the wind, cocooning Anya. “He was supposed to pick me up after my office hours, but we had a family emergency.”
Anya had never heard about any other members of Jack’s family, aside from Dr. Vintner. “I hope it’s nothing serious.” Much as she’d like for him to suffer, she only wanted him to do so on her terms and without involving innocent third parties.
“Long story.”
“Yeah, don’t bother to tell me,” she grumbled. “Never mind that I’m doing you a favor.”
Anya couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. She never snapped at doctors. She hardly ever crabbed at anybody, in fact, except Zora, who could take it.
When they reached the car, Jack put his hand on her arm. The warmth lit a tiny flame inside Anya, a reminder of how comforting it would be to nestle against that strong chest. Sigh.
“You’re right. I’m being rude.” He withdrew his hand as she clicked open the car. “I’ll give you the details on the way.”
She’d meant to use the ride to talk to him. Maybe instead she’d drop her bomb as they parted company at the apartments. Good idea. Not exactly primo revenge, but a satisfying poke all the same.
“I can’t wait,” she said.
* * *
“HAVE YOU HEARD the story about Rod’s kids?” That seemed a good place to start, Jack decided as he adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs.
Backing out of her parking space, Anya frowned. “I didn’t know he had any.”
Better cut this story short. They only lived a five-minute drive away. “Two daughters. Or so he thought.”
“What do you mean?” The pucker between her eyebrows was adorable.
Jack took a moment to organize his thoughts. As they left the garage, he noted only a few cars in the circular drive. Traffic dropped off rapidly in the evening because there was no emergency care aside from labor and delivery at Safe Harbor. Five years ago, the former community hospital had been remodeled to specialize in fertility and maternity treatments, along with a range of gynecological and child services. Most recently it had expanded into treating male infertility, too.
On the opposite side of the compound stood a now-empty dental office building. Someday, with luck, the hospital would acquire it for additional office space. Then Jack could treat patients at more convenient hours.
He resumed his tale. “When my aunt Portia demanded a divorce and my uncle sought joint custody, she revealed that she’d cheated on him.” Jack would never forget the heartbreak on Rod’s face as he’d shared that discovery. “Neither of the girls was genetically his.”
“How awful.” She turned the car onto Hospital Way.
“It was a mess.” Jack had been living in Nashville, Tennessee, at the time, completing medical school at Vanderbilt University. However, he’d spent most of his holidays with his aunt and uncle.
Technically Tiffany and Amber were his cousins, but he’d always thought of them as nieces. He’d loved playing with them and watching them grow into toddlers and preschoolers. Then they’d been yanked out of his life, leaving a painful void for him, too.
“Your aunt married the girls’ father?” Anya tapped the brake at a red light on Safe Harbor Boulevard. The broad avenue bisected the town from the freeway to the harbor that gave the community its name.
“He was long gone, but she found someone else, a rich guy unable to have kids of his own who wanted to adopt hers. They pulled one legal maneuver after another to keep the kids from Rod.” Jack still burned at the memory. “Rod was supporting the girls financially, and he went into debt fighting for them in court. If he’d been their genetic father, he’d have stood a chance, but as it was, he lost all rights.” And was living in a small apartment and driving an unreliable car as a result.
“What an ordeal.” When the light changed, Anya transitioned onto the boulevard, passing a darkened veterinary clinic and a flower shop that supplied the hospital gift boutique.
“We haven’t seen the girls for six years. Then, this evening, Rod got a call from my older niece, Tiffany. She ran away from her home in San Diego and asked him to pick her up at the Fullerton train station.” That was about a two-hour journey from San Diego.
Anya swung onto a side street. “How old is she?”
“Twelve.” He only had a few photos of Tiff from years ago, a little girl with Orphan Annie red hair and a big smile. “It’s hard to visualize what she must look like now.”
“Twelve is awfully young. Why’d she run away?”
“No idea.” His phone rang. Plucking it from his pocket, Jack saw his uncle’s name on the screen. “Hey.”
“Change of plans. I’m taking Tiffany to her grandmother’s house.” Rod must be speaking into his wireless device because it was illegal in California to hold a cell phone while driving. “Less risk of legal complications that way. Can you meet us there? You remember where Helen lives?”
“Vaguely.” Portia’s mother had joined the family for holiday celebrations and had once hosted a Fourth of July party at her bungalow. Jack recalled Helen as a kind, quiet woman overshadowed by her forceful daughter.
A girl’s voice piped up in the background. “Is that Uncle Jack? Hi, Uncle Jack!”
“Hi, pumpkin.”
“Hi to you too, squash-kins,” his uncle said drily. “I mean, as long as we’re using vegetables as terms of endearment.”
“Very funny. What’s the address?”
Rod provided it. Jack’s phone showed it to be in the northwest corner of Safe Harbor near the freeway. “Anya, I have another favor to ask.”
“Anya’s driving you home?” His uncle sounded peevish.
“Who’s Anya?” Tiffany piped in. “Can I meet her?”
“End of conversation,” Jack said and clicked off. This was far too confusing, and, besides, he needed to focus on winning Anya’s cooperation. “How about lending me your car after I drop you at home?”
“How far away is this?” she asked.
“Just a few miles.” The alternative was to call a cab, which meant waiting heaven knows how long. In Southern California, where private vehicles outnumbered people, taxi drivers concentrated their efforts on servicing airports and hotels.
And he didn’t have the time to waste. No doubt Helen was already dialing her daughter. Portia and her husband, a private equity
investor reported to be worth close to a billion dollars, would take a private plane or helicopter to collect the runaway, which left only a window of an hour or so for Jack to connect with her.
Anya hadn’t spoken again. “I don’t want to lose this chance to see Tiffany.” The ragged emotion in his tone surprised Jack. “It’s important she understands that she’s welcome here and that we love her. I’m afraid that next time, if there’s a next time, she might go off on her own.”
The fate of young runaways in metropolitan areas had been the subject of a recent lecture at the hospital. Staff pediatrician Samantha Forrest had presented a horrifying picture of predators trolling for young girls and boys who’d landed on the streets.
Now that he thought about it, he’d seen Anya at the lecture, too. Surely she understood his concern.
She appeared to be mulling the request as they reached their complex—a half-dozen two-story apartment buildings separated by tree-shaded walkways. In the carport area, Anya halted, her expression shadowed in the thin lighting.
“I’d like to meet her,” she said.
“Not a good idea.” This was private family business.
“She might talk more freely to a woman than to a couple of guys,” Anya said.
“Her grandmother’s there.”
“I wouldn’t discuss anything personal or uncomfortable around my grandmother,” she replied. “Jack, I remember what my sisters were like at that age. You and your uncle are great guys, and I’m sure her grandmother loves this girl like crazy, but it’s important right now that she be able to open up. What can it hurt to have me there?”
Anya did have a point. And he had to admire her willingness to step into such a delicate situation. Jack glanced at her profile: shapely nose, full mouth, firm chin. He needed her help and, besides, he wanted to spend more time with her. Why not seize the opportunity?
“Thanks. I’ll navigate, okay?” he said and relaxed as he saw her nod.
They were on the same page for once. That was a nice change.