West Wing to Maternity Wing!

by Scarlet Wilson

  Lincoln tried to stop his mouth from falling open. Pretty as a picture. The words danced around his mind. The dress fitted perfectly, with the cardigan over her shoulders to stop her fair skin from burning and her curly red hair framing her face. His eyes fell automatically to her legs. There was only the slightest amount of oedema around her ankles. A non-medic wouldn’t even notice and that was a good sign. He tossed her the sunhat. ‘Here you go, don’t want you getting scorched out there in the sun.’

  She laughed and stuck the hat on her head. ‘Have you got any food?’

  ‘Have I got any food?’ Linc let out a hearty laugh, ‘Amy, when have you ever known me to go anywhere without food?’ He pointed to the door, where a small picnic basket sat on the floor, with a picnic blanket tucked under the handle.

  ‘Where on earth did you get that from?’

  ‘The kitchen staff. They love me. No, no, you don’t.’ He whipped the basket back up as she attempted to open the cover and peer inside. ‘You don’t get to look until we are sitting comfortably on the beach. Then you get to look.’

  ‘If you’re going to make me wait it had better be good, mister.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘How far away is the beach anyway?’

  Lincoln picked up another bag he’d left at the doorway. ‘Apparently about two minutes down a path at the side of the hospital. Or we can take the path at the other side and head down to the harbour. Neither is too far and you should be fine, so take your pick.’

  ‘The beach. Definitely the beach. I can’t remember the last time I smelled the ocean.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t think I could take the smell from the fishing boats today.’

  Linc gave her a smile and extended his arm towards her. ‘Then let’s go.’

  * * *

  Nope. She wasn’t imagining it. There were definitely tingles shooting up and down her arm. Her hand was tightly enclosed in his as he led her down the stone path towards the beach. It wasn’t particularly steep, or treacherous, but there was something nice about holding hands. Something familiar and yet intimate at the same time.

  The beach already had a number of families set up for the day, with chairs and blankets spread out across the sand, and numerous little kids running around covered in white sunscreen, carting buckets filled with sea water across the sand. Linc pulled the blanket from the under the handle of the hamper and spread it on the sand. ‘Is here okay with you?’ he asked.

  Amy nodded and settled down on the blanket. She slipped off her sandals and buried her toes in the sand. Bliss.

  She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun, already beating down on her pale legs. Thank God she’d thought to pack some factor fifty. It was a gorgeous day, but she didn’t want to end up frying in the sun. Her fingers caught the fine cotton material of her dress—the First Lady’s dress—and a little smile appeared on her face. The pale green material, dotted with tiny pink, blue and cream flowers, was gorgeous, the style perfect for her extended abdomen. She couldn’t have picked a more perfect dress if she’d tried.

  With the hat firmly on her head and the cardigan protecting her shoulders, she leaned back on her hands and looked out over the ocean waves. Pelican Cove was apparently renowned for its surfing and today was no exception. There were numerous surfers out on the waves, their brightly coloured boards and shorts making them easy to pick out against the deep blue ocean.

  Surfing. Another thing on the list of things she’d never tried. Maybe, once her baby was here, she would give it a go.

  Lincoln pulled food from the basket and began setting it out on the blanket—chunky brown bread sandwiches, a pile of fruit and some sodas. He glanced around about them, acknowledging a few smiles and waves from people he recognised. People from the hospital at the beach with their families.

  He’d only been here a few days and already people were recognising him. Was Pelican Cove really that small? Or was it just that friendly?

  He watched as one of the nurses walked past, hand in hand with a chubby toddler. She gave him a small smile and joined her husband on a nearby blanket. Was that what they looked like? His head flicked from side to side. Did the other people on the beach assume that they were a family? He, Amy and the bump. Lincoln swallowed the lump currently fixed in his throat. That’s what they must look like—walking down the coastal path hand in hand, like a husband and wife with a baby on the way. Lincoln felt uncomfortable.

  What did he want people to think? Amy had already told people that she was his wife. No one had questioned her different surname. Did they know she’d been lying? Or were they just being polite, and not asking any questions? Even Val and Ruth, the two NICU nurses he’d brought with him from San Francisco’s Children’s Hospital—two nurses who had known him for the last five years—hadn’t asked him about his wife. They knew he wasn’t married. So why hadn’t they asked any questions?

  His eyes were drawn back to Amy. There was a smile on her face as she stared towards the ocean. Jennifer Taylor had been right about them being the same size. The outfit fitted perfectly, complementing her skin tone, even down to the wide-brimmed floppy hat.

  The same question kept turning over and over in his mind. Why was Amy here? Was this just about her baby? Or had something else motivated her to come? Sure, he might be a good neonatologist, he might even be a great neonatologist, but there must have been someone else she worked with that she could have trusted—trusted with the life of her baby. Was it really just him? And was it really just his skills and expertise? Or was it something else, something deeper that had brought her here? And why, right now, was his stomach clenched in the hope that it was?

  He blinked. Amy hadn’t moved, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. ‘What are you looking at?’

  She smiled and turned towards him, leaning back on one of her elbows. ‘The surfers. Something on my list.’

  ‘Your list? What’s that?’

  She gave a little sigh. ‘When I was sick I made myself a list of things I’d like to try once I was well again. It kind of helped me get through the bad days—the days when the chemo made me sick to my stomach and I thought I’d never get out of bed again.’

  Lincoln felt a chill running down his spine. The thought she’d been that sick, that unwell really unnerved him. Why hadn’t someone been there for her? Why hadn’t he been there for her?

  He forced a smile onto his face. ‘So, surfing’s on the list?’ She nodded. ‘What else?’

  Amy leaned over and picked up one of the sandwiches he’d unpacked. She nibbled at a corner of it. ‘There are lots of things. Lots of places I want to visit. Lots of things I want to experience that I haven’t tried before.’ Her hands ran over her stomach and her eyes met his. ‘But there’s one thing on the list that I’ve already got.’

  He nodded. It was obvious that would be on the list. She’d had to undergo a cycle of fertility drugs to stimulate her ovaries before undergoing chemo so it kind of went without saying that having kids would be on the ‘want to’ list.

  ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

  She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘You want to help with what’s on the list?’ She looked a little unsure.

  Lincoln nodded. ‘Why not?’ Was it guilt that was making him say that? Guilt, because he hadn’t been there for her when she’d been sick—even though she hadn’t asked?

  Amy shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve never actually shown anyone my list,’ she murmured.

  Lincoln sat backwards. ‘You actually have it—a list—written down?’

  She nodded slowly, looking slightly amused. ‘That’s what a list is, Linc.’

  This time as she watched him his smile reached his eyes, right up to the corners. Not like a few minutes ago. His eyes were twinkling. ‘I thought we were talking hypothetical, I didn’t realise you’d actually written it down
.’

  Amy bent forward and rummaged around her bag, unzipping a pocket inside and pulling out a piece of red paper, which she carefully unfolded and placed in the middle of the blanket. Lincoln leaned forward, intrigued. ‘Silver pen?’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Red and silver…’ he nodded towards her feet ‘…just like your toes.’

  Amy looked surprised and wriggled her toes in the sand. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that, and I was planning on changing my toes.’ She wiggled them again. ‘I like the stars but thought maybe midnight blue with gold stars this time.’ She gave a little smile. ‘More dramatic.’ She waved her hand at the list. ‘That’s why I picked the red paper and silver pen, I wanted it to look bold, strong and powerful. Make me feel confident that I would be here to complete it.’ Her voice had faded away and she was staring out at the ocean again.

  Almost on instinct Lincoln reached out his hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. It was comfort, that was all. He was comforting a friend, showing support. So why did he feel the need to tell himself that inside his head?

  He looked down at the paper again and gave her fingers a squeeze. ‘I think I would have to be a billionaire to help you with some of the things on this list.’

  Amy looked embarrassed, pink tingeing her cheeks. ‘Not all of them.’ She leaned her head over next to his. ‘Some of these were just wishful thinking.’

  He quirked one eyebrow. ‘That would be the two-carat diamond ring and the trip to Monte Carlo?’

  She nodded. ‘Exactly.’ And took another bite of her sandwich. ‘The others are much more reasonable.’

  He looked at the neat, deliberate writing in front of him. Small script, carefully written.

  1. Do whatever it takes to have a family.

  2. Buy a gorgeous two-carat diamond ring.

  3. Go on a trip to Monte Carlo and take a photograph outside the Hotel de Paris.

  4. Learn to surf.

  5. Learn to salsa.

  6. Go to a Star Trek convention.

  7. Travel on the cable cars in San Francisco.

  8. Go back on the Amazon Aid Boat.

  9. Join one of the social networking sites and find old friends.

  10. Learn how to crochet and crochet a baby blanket.

  A higgledy-piggledy, jumbled-up list. No priorities, just everything down there on paper.

  The list looked a little well worn—rough around the edges—as if she’d pulled it from her bag on many occasions to read it. The red paper was still bright and the silver ink still glistened in the sun. It should be a happy, sunny list.

  But it terrified him. Because for him it was evidence that at some point Amy had actually thought she was going to die. She’d actually put pen to paper and written a list of things she still wanted to do. She may have said the list was to make her feel better, but Linc was no fool. People didn’t just write these lists to plan ahead—they wrote these lists as things to do before they died. And the thought made him feel physically sick. The sun was shining in the sky above him but the hairs on his arms were standing on end—as if he’d just walked through a chilly morgue.

  He tried to push his thoughts away. He couldn’t think about this. It was making him question everything about himself and his relationship with Amy. They’d been skirting around things. Playing at being friends—when they both knew there was a huge potential for more.

  Did he want to have a relationship with Amy? Was it sensible? What if this pregnancy made her cancer come back? How would he feel then? And what about Amy’s baby? Sure, he’d considered all the clinical aspects of a premature baby, but he hadn’t considered the emotional aspects. The emotional aspects of having a relationship with a woman who had another man’s baby. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that the sperm donor would never appear. But that was little consolation if something happened to Amy. Would he be prepared to take on another man’s child? Could he even consider bringing a baby up himself—one he had no genetic relationship with—if something happened to Amy?

  Lincoln gave himself a shake. The sun was getting to him. He tried to focus on the list again and found his heart beating furiously in his chest. He looked at the items again. It couldn’t be a coincidence—the boat and finding old friends. She’d produced a list when she’d been at her lowest ebb and two of the references on it could be about him.

  Okay, so the list didn’t say ‘Find Lincoln Adams’. But why would she want to go back to the Amazon aid boat? And why would she decide to look up old friends? Was it really all just some strange coincidence, or was he making a mountain out of a molehill?

  He cleared his throat, readying himself to ask the obvious question. ‘So how many of these have you actually done?’

  Amy gave up on the sandwich and picked one of peaches he’d unpacked from the picnic basket, taking a big bite and letting the juice trickle down her chin. ‘From the list?’ He nodded. She was licking the juice from her fingers now. ‘Just two.’ Her voice sounded bright and breezy, as if she were discussing the latest episode of her favourite TV drama, instead of the ‘try before you die’ list.

  He gave a little laugh. ‘You’re joking, right? Two? In five years?’

  A wicked smile stole across her face. ‘Let’s just say I had a bit of a slow start,’ she teased. Her hands rubbed her bump. ‘And, anyway, this is a pretty big one. It’s taken up a lot of my time.’

  Lincoln leaned backwards. ‘Okay, I’ll give you that.’ He watched as she discarded the half-eaten peach, wrapping it in a napkin and pulling out a lemon cupcake. ‘Do you finish anything you eat these days?’

  Amy peeled the case from the cupcake, tapping her stomach again. ‘Not much room in here these days. I tend to eat little and often at the moment. I only really finish anything if it’s the middle of the night—for some reason I’m always starving then.’

  ‘So what was number two?’

  ‘What?’ Amy was lost in the land of lemon cupcake.

  ‘You said you’d done two things on your list. Number one is obvious so what’s number two?’

  Amy waved her hand. ‘Oh, that was easy. I made myself a page on one of those social networking sites so I could track down some old friends.’

  And with that wave of her hand Lincoln felt his insides plummet. She’d done the social networking, she’d tracked down ‘old friends’ and he obviously wasn’t among them.

  He shifted uncomfortably on the sand. ‘Which one did you use?’

  She named the most popular one around, one where he had a page posted.

  He bit his bottom lip. ‘So did you track down your old friends?’

  Amy picked up a can of soda. ‘Yeah, loads of them. All my old classmates from high school, old nursing friends from college, and people from some of the towns we stayed in as a kid—we moved about a lot.’

  Lincoln asked the next question with a sinking feeling. ‘So how many friends have you got, then?’

  ‘Eight hundred and forty-two.’ Eight hundred and forty-two. As if it were the easiest thing in the world. Pushing his paltry twenty-six ‘friends’ into oblivion. Amy changed position on the blanket. Moving up on to her knees and digging deep in the basket, she lifted her eyes, giving him an innocent smile. ‘You know I reconnected with loads of people from the Amazon aid boat—Lily Carter, John Rhodes, Frank Kelly, Gene Hunt, Milly Johnson…’ She finally found what she was looking for, a bunch of green grapes, and pulled them out from the basket. ‘You know—you should join.’

  For the first time in years Lincoln could feel the flush of colour in his cheeks. ‘I’ve got a page,’ he murmured.

  ‘You have?’ Her eyes were that bright, sparkly way again. ‘You should send me a friend request, then—I’ll accept.’ A definite twinkle had appeared in her eye. She was teasing him again.

  He roll
ed over on the blanket, groaning and putting his head in his hands. ‘Okay, spill. How come you never sent me a friend request? You seem to have sent…’ he waved his arms in front of him, out toward the ocean ‘…everyone else in the world one but me.’

  Amy lay down next to him, resting her head in her hands, her hat flopping over her eyes. She was so close the length of her body was touching his, her bare legs next to his, the brim of her hat almost touching his head. She looked out toward the ocean, back at the surfers, and gave a little sigh.

  ‘It just didn’t feel right.’

  His face was shadowed under her hat, his blue eyes even darker than normal. ‘What do you mean, it didn’t feel right?’

  She looked downwards, towards the sand that was now trickling through her fingers. ‘Some people knew that I’d been sick. They might have asked me how I was doing. I didn’t want you to read it online.’

  Lincoln opened his mouth and then stopped. It was time to use his head, not blurt out the first thing that came to mind. He pushed the thoughts of why she hadn’t sent a private message to one side—along with the quip about whether it was more appropriate for her to turn up unannounced as his pregnant wife.

  ‘I tried to find you, you know.’ His fingers delved in the sand next to hers, pulling tiny pieces of a million years ago and rubbing them between his finger and thumb.

  Her hand had stopped in mid-air. Her face turned to his. ‘You did?’ She looked shocked—surprised—as if it was the last thing she’d expected. Her green eyes were fixed on his, as if she was holding her breath, waiting for his response.

  He moved his fingers from the sand and brushed them off, putting his hand over hers. ‘Of course I did.’ He was looking directly at her. Something he hadn’t done much in the last few days. Last time he’d looked at her like this had been when they’d kissed.