by Linda Warren
He’d kept his word about leaving Anya alone. When they saw each other in the O.R., she acted politely distant, and so did he.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep that up, though. He’d noticed she’d gone pale several times during surgery. She’d always rallied and performed her duties flawlessly, but it worried him. When he’d asked her about it between surgeries, she’d said she’d stayed up late yakking with her new housemates.
They must be having a great time, Jack thought with a touch of bitterness. Certainly he didn’t wish for her to be unhappy. Well, maybe a little unhappy. He wanted her to miss him and be keenly aware that he was honoring their agreement to remain at arm’s length.
He was frustrated and more than a little disappointed that she didn’t seem to feel either of those things.
Rod poked his head in the staff entrance to the suite. “Ready?”
“More than.” Jack gave a farewell nod to the nurse.
Ned Norwalk, RN, a blond fellow noted for his surfing prowess, glanced up anxiously from the phone. “Dr. Ryder? I’m glad you haven’t left. Your patient was waiting in the wrong office. She’s on her way up from the second floor now.”
Rod rolled his eyes.
“How did that happen?” Jack asked.
The nurse set down the receiver. “Apparently she got confused between you and Zack Sargent. Then she forgot to check in, so they didn’t realize they had our patient in their waiting room.”
“Yes, Ryder and Sargent sound exactly alike, don’t they?” Jack grumbled.
“It’s more the Zack and Jack part,” said his uncle. “Rhymes with Frick and Frack. Did you know they were a team of comic Swiss ice skaters?”
Jack ignored his uncle’s riff. “You’ll wait for me, right?”
Rod waggled his eyebrows. “Sure. I have some great new apps on my cell.”
“Now you’re playing games?” His uncle used to scorn that sort of activity.
“Just the ones for preteens.” Rod hadn’t given up hope of renewing contact with his daughters, although they’d heard nothing from Tiffany in the week since her surprise visit.
When Rod had called Helen, she’d declined to nag or pry information out of her granddaughter. “Give Tiffany a little credit. She and Amber will figure something out.”
After having his hopes raised, Rod wasn’t about to back off completely. Instead, he was apparently channeling his energies into getting up to speed on the world of preteens.
“Have fun,” Jack told him.
“I’ll be in the waiting room.” He sauntered off.
The patient arrived. While Ned prepped her, Jack performed breathing exercises to calm his annoyance at her delayed arrival. Every patient deserved his best.
He studied her medical records. In her early sixties, the woman had been in excellent condition during her recent annual checkup, aside from normal symptoms of menopause. She’d declined to take hormones because of concerns about cancer risks.
In the examining room, he found a trim, alert woman, her champagne-blond hair carefully styled. “It’s my hot flashes,” she told him. “They’ve started keeping me awake at night, and I practically have to carry a fan around with me. Isn’t there anything you can recommend other than hormones?”
“Let’s talk about dietary changes.” Jack mentioned avoiding caffeine, spicy foods and alcohol, as well as stress, hot showers and hot tubs, and intense exercise. As they talked, he noted that she showed no confusion, so perhaps the office mix-up had been a simple mistake rather than a sign of the brain fog sometimes referred to as mentalpause.
“You might try soy products,” he added. “Some women find them helpful.”
“One of my friends recommended an herb.” She consulted her notebook. “Black cohosh?”
“It has been associated with cases of liver damage, so I don’t recommend it.” To present more options, Jack added, “There are no studies that prove acupuncture helps, but some women like it. And on the plus side, it probably can’t do any harm.”
She jotted down his recommendations. “Okay. I think I’ll start by cutting out the spicy Indian and Chinese food.”
“You eat those a lot?”
“Three or four times a week.”
Hoping that would help, Jack said goodbye to the woman and returned to the waiting room, empty save for his uncle. “Now you understand why I chose anesthesiology,” Rod said, sticking his phone in his pocket. “Regular hours and limited patient contact.”
“But you miss the highs,” Jack pointed out. Performing surgery and delivering babies provided a thrill that never faded. He’d also learned that simple discussions, such as the one he’d just had with his patient, could result in major quality-of-life improvements.
Hot curries and Chinese food three to four times a week? He suspected that might give him hot flashes.
“Highs tend to be followed by lows,” his uncle advised.
“It’s worth it.”
“Not to me.”
The outer door opened. No other doctors were on duty at this hour, so somebody must be lost, Jack thought, an impression reinforced when a man in a tailored suit entered. In his early thirties, he might be a pharmaceutical rep, promoting his company’s products. “Can I help you?”
“Is one of you Dr. Jack Ryder?” The fellow pushed up his glasses.
“Are you a process server?” Rod demanded. He’d been hit with a ridiculous number of summonses during his legal battles with Portia.
The man blinked. “Not exactly.”
That wasn’t promising. Might as well get it over with. “I’m Jack Ryder.”
The man extended his hand. “Edmond Everhart, family attorney.”
Reluctantly, Jack shook it. “What’s this about?”
The man glanced at Rod. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
Rod tipped back his fedora. “I’m his uncle and I’m staying.”
Jack appreciated the support. “What’s this about?” he repeated.
A thin line forming on his forehead, Everhart plucked a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “My client asked me to give this to you to sign.”
That sounded ominous. “Someone’s suing me?”
“No.” The man’s frown deepened. “She didn’t discuss this with you?”
“Who?” Jack asked impatiently. “Discuss what?”
“Miss Meeks,” the fellow clarified, casting a glance toward the unoccupied reception desk. “Do you have a private office? This is a very personal matter.”
Rod, who had little tolerance for dithering, snatched the paper from Edmond’s hand and read the heading aloud. “Waiver of parental rights.” He studied Jack askance. “Do you know anything about this?”
Unbelievable. “She’s pregnant? And she breaks the news with a waiver?” Taking the document, Jack confirmed that it was, indeed, a form to sign away his parental rights. “Is this how the matter is customarily handled?”
The lawyer shook his head. “No. I had the impression you were already informed.”
“Obviously not.” Jack stood there stiffly, fitting the pieces together. Anya’s upset stomach last Sunday and her pallor during surgery—now he understood the cause. But if she was carrying his baby, why push him away? And why send a stranger with this odd request? “I don’t understand why she wants me to sign this.”
“Miss Meeks has requested I arrange an adoption for her child-to-be.” Edmond spoke with a touch of embarrassment, and no wonder. Anya had put him in an awkward position. “When she requested I deliver this form, I assumed you’d agreed to sign it.”
It wasn’t like Anya to lie. However, her tendency to speak tersely meant that her words might easily be taken the wrong way, especially if she wanted them to be.
While Jack was considering that, Rod filled the silence. “I’m surprised a lawyer would bring this in person. Isn’t that what process servers are for?”
Edmond chose his words carefully. “Some of my clients seem vulnerable.
I like to be sure matters are handled with tact.”
Vulnerable—yes, that fit Anya. It was hardly an excuse, though. “She’s been pretty damn tactless, if you ask me,” he muttered.
“No kidding,” Rod seconded. “It’s harsh, sending a lawyer to inform my nephew that he’s going to be a father. Then there’s my own trauma in learning, without preamble, that I’m about to be a great-uncle. Don’t I have any rights?”
“I’m afraid not.” Edmond didn’t crack a smile at the absurd question. To Jack, he said, “Miss Meeks strikes me as a reticent person. Perhaps she finds you intimidating.”
“I don’t see why. But she has been avoiding me.” For the sake of accuracy, Jack amended that to, “Outside work. She’s a scrub nurse—a surgical nurse.”
A smile touched the attorney’s face. “I know what a scrub nurse is. My ex-wife works in the medical field.” He cleared his throat. “I recommend that you and Miss Meeks review this matter face-to-face. I can mediate if you like.”
“Are you sure that you are the father?” Rod asked Jack. To Edmond, he said, “I had a situation where I supported my children for years before discovering I wasn’t their genetic father. And then—well, no sense getting into that mess.”
Anya had claimed to be on the Pill, Jack recalled. Not that it was infallible and not that he would blame her for a pregnancy that resulted from their mutual involvement, regardless of what contraception she did or didn’t use.
But if he signed that document without a DNA test and some other fellow was the real father, it would be a mess. Although Jack doubted there was another man, Anya had been evasive lately. “Let’s conduct a DNA test before we proceed, just to confirm.”
The attorney took this in coolly. “I’m not the doctor here, but since the baby hasn’t been born yet, doesn’t that require an invasive procedure?”
“Not anymore,” Rod said. “Just snip, snip, snip.”
“Excuse me?”
With a quelling glare at his uncle, Jack explained, “He means it’s no longer necessary to perform an amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling on a pregnant woman.” Both procedures required inserting a needle into the mother and carried a small risk of miscarriage, infection or amniotic fluid leakage. “An SNP microarray procedure can be done with a simple blood test on the mother as early as the ninth week. Hence, the term snipping.”
“What’s SNP stand for, exactly?” Edmond asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Rod said.
“Humor me.”
“Single nucleotide polymorphism,” Jack answered.
“I see.” Refocusing, the attorney went on, “I suppose a DNA test isn’t too much to ask, then.”
Anya might not agree, Jack supposed. Well, she’d decided to give up their baby without informing him, and he had a stake in this, too. Okay, she had informed him via Edmond, but he suspected that was only due to a legal requirement. And if there was even the smallest chance this might not be his baby, he couldn’t in good conscience sign those papers.
“Can we hire you to serve her with a demand for a DNA test?” Rod asked.
“You’ll have to find another attorney.” Edmond spread his hands apologetically. “I can’t represent you both.”
“But you can mediate for us both?” Jack challenged.
“I would recommend you bring your own attorney to any negotiations. Or a quiet conversation might be appropriate, depending on your relationship with Miss Meeks.” The lawyer tilted his head sympathetically. “I’ll admit, if I were you, I’d be mad about the way this information was presented, too.”
Information? That was a rather impersonal way to refer to the stunning news that Jack was going to be a father. But that was probably typical lawyer-speak.
“Try royally ticked off,” Rod responded. “I’d like to tell Miss Meeks precisely what I think of her so-called reticence.”
“Excuse me.” From his full height, Jack peered down a few inches at his uncle. “Whose baby is this?”
“Family’s family.” Rod stood his ground.
“Leave Anya alone. Got it?” Jack might be furious with her, but he’d tolerate no interference. To the attorney, he said, “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Sorry the news came as a surprise.” As they shook hands, Edmond studied him with concern. “May I make a personal observation?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“People don’t always act rationally when it comes to having children,” Edmond said. “I recommend communicating, listening and weighing all aspects before choosing a course of action.”
“Duly noted,” Jack said.
“Have a good evening.” With a nod to his uncle, who didn’t bother to extend a hand, Edmond exited.
Belatedly, it occurred to Jack that Ned might have overheard the discussion. However, a check of the suite showed that the nurse had departed. Also, health care workers were accustomed to keeping anything they learned at the office strictly confidential. He hoped that applied to private conversations of physicians as well as patients.
As Jack turned off the lights and locked up, his brain raced. Anya was pregnant. She was carrying a child, their child. Didn’t she understand how much this mattered to him?
It would be unfair to equate her conduct with his former aunt’s duplicity. But he also had the dubious example set by his mother, who viewed the world strictly in terms of herself and her selfish wishes, despite her devotion to charity work.
Case in point, when Jack had asked her to find a project where they could spend a summer together providing medical care to impoverished women and children, she’d sent him a list of websites. Then off she’d gone on her latest cause, raising funds to buy whistles so women in Haiti could summon help when attacked.
Yes, Mamie Ryder did a lot of good. But only in ways that suited her.
Rod was waiting by the side exit. “You and Anya had sex. When and where did that happen?”
Jack switched off the hall light. “Boundaries,” he reminded his uncle.
“Don’t dodge the question.”
“None of your business.” That seemed plain enough.
“Must have been New Year’s Eve.” Rod strolled beside him toward the elevators. “That would put her pregnancy at about seven weeks. Hmm. Looks like I’ll be an uncle by the end of September.”
“Great-uncle,” Jack amended.
“I am, aren’t I?”
“Rod,” he began in a warning tone.
His uncle pressed the down button. “Okay. I’ll shut up.” About two seconds later, he said, “One more thing.”
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“If you don’t sign the paper and she insists on adoption, what then?” Rod asked.
“How do you feel about turning the living room into a nursery?” Jack retorted. When the elevator door opened, he stepped inside, grateful there was another person in the elevator to stifle the conversation.
He appreciated that his uncle, apparently lost in thought, barely spoke the rest of the way home. Jack hadn’t meant to propose they raise the baby themselves; how could they? Yet, how could he give his child away?
Chapter Seven
Feet propped on the worn coffee table in the den, Anya skimmed her email on her phone. Her favorite department store was having a sale—how frustrating since she’d soon be shopping at The Baby Bump instead.
Beside her, Zora swore under her breath at the square she was crocheting, or trying to crochet, from a baby blanket pattern. “I keep messing this up. I wish I could call Betsy. She’s the expert.”
“I don’t need a baby blanket,” Anya reminded her.
“Who said it’s for you?” her friend muttered. “It’s for Harper.” Nurse Harper Gladstone and her husband were expecting twins via a surrogate in June.
Lucky peered at them both from his laptop. Although the table was ostensibly part of the kitchen, it bordered the family room. “Speaking of Betsy, how’re you getting along with your ex-mother-in-law, anyway? Or should
I say, almost ex-mother-in-law?”
Safe Harbor Nursing Supervisor Betsy Raditch was, in Anya’s opinion, much too nice to be the mother of the faithless Andrew. “Why do you care?”
“Zora can answer for herself,” he said.
“Why do you care?” Zora echoed.
Their housemate grinned. “You guys are like a brick wall. I can’t make a dent.”
“That’s the idea.” Anya missed their old living room, where she and Zora had been able to relax without male intrusion. Also, she was too restless tonight to concentrate on her own task, reading a book.
Edmond Everhart had promised to present the waiver to Jack by the end of the week. She hadn’t heard any explosions or seen flames rising from the central part of town, but neither had Edmond called or messaged to say Mission Accomplished.
Had Edmond put it off? He seemed trustworthy, although Melissa refused to discuss her ex-husband in a personal manner, which implied that he’d sinned in some major and irredeemable way. Still, Anya felt a twinge of guilt that she’d let him assume that she’d already informed Jack of the pregnancy. Although she hadn’t lied, she hadn’t corrected his obvious mistaken impression either.
Lucky flexed his shoulders. On his right bicep, exposed by his sleeveless T-shirt, a colorful dragon writhed. “It’s Friday night. Let’s throw a party.”
“At the last minute?” Zora sniffed.
“Lame,” Anya told him.
“We should plan a housewarming, at least,” he returned, unruffled.
“Bring it up on Sunday,” Zora said. All five housemates had agreed to hold weekly meetings to coordinate schedules and nip any problems in the bud.
“Fine. But you guys are way too buttoned-up,” Lucky said. “Live a little.”
“I thought you got enough of that lifestyle with your old roommates.” Anya had heard him complain more than once about his party-hearty pals.
“They were noisy slobs,” he said. “And inconsiderate when I was trying to concentrate on my thesis.” He’d almost completed work on a master’s degree in medical administration.