by Lisa Dyson
“You probably never even thought about it when you were with Kyle,” Rosy guessed. “Because it was Kyle.”
Ashleigh dipped her head, more than slightly embarrassed. At least being honest with Rosy eased the weight on her shoulders.
“Why don’t you talk to him?” Rosy suggested. “Ask him if he’s heard of anything new.”
“I can’t. I’m not ready to go through that again, Rosy. At least not until I know if I’m pregnant.” A crushing weight on her chest made it difficult to breathe. The surgeries, the tests, medications. She couldn’t do it again, knowing it would all be for nothing.
“I understand,” Rosy said. “You already know that having both the incompetent cervix along with endometriosis makes it difficult to fix two things at once. The amazing thing has been that you’ve been able to get pregnant so easily. Statistics say forty percent of women with endometriosis can’t even conceive.”
“And what’s the statistic for those who do conceive to actually carry to term?” Ashleigh asked.
“No one’s sure because many women miscarry before they realize they’re pregnant. They assume their periods are late.” The odds had been against Ashleigh from the beginning. Rosy added, “And you’ve also been through an unsuccessful cervical stitch because your cervix is extremely thin.”
That had been during her last failed pregnancy. The one she’d hoped to carry to term.
Ashleigh cleared her throat. “So the straight answer to my question would be that there’s no better chance of me carrying this pregnancy to term than there was before.”
“Unfortunately, I think that’s correct.” Rosy spoke softly, her eyes glassy with emotion. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”
Ashleigh raised her gaze to stare at a point on the wall above Rosy’s head.
“What are you going to do?” Rosy asked.
Ashleigh narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? Are you asking if I want to end the pregnancy because there’s a huge chance I’ll miscarry anyway?”
“I wasn’t asking that,” Rosy said calmly. “If you are pregnant, will you stay here? Or do you want me to find a specialist for you somewhere else?”
“Oh, sorry.” Ashleigh blew out a breath. “I guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” She swallowed her embarrassment. That had been the actual advice from a former friend after hearing about her miscarriages.
“No need to apologize, Ashleigh,” Rosy told her. “Being told you’ll never carry a baby to term must scare the hell out of you now that you might be pregnant.”
“Thanks for understanding, Rosy. But back to your question, I think I’ll go back to Richmond after Paula delivers and once my pediatric replacement arrives.”
“Well, a new environment might be less stressful.”
This was why she was such a fan of Dr. Rosy Bausch. She got where Ashleigh was coming from.
They talked a few more minutes until Rosy said, “I should get home to my kids.”
“Let me lock up and I’ll walk you out.” The single thing Ashleigh had accomplished by talking to Rosy was having someone to share her secret with. Her burden lightened ever so slightly.
They were coming out the front door when Kyle suddenly appeared. Ashleigh froze. Her heart started pounding so loudly that she was sure Kyle and Rosy must hear it, too.
“I wanted to stop by before my meeting with Tom,” he told Ashleigh. “Hey, Rosy, what brings you here?”
“Just visiting with an old friend,” Rosy said smoothly.
“We were, um, catching up.” Ashleigh hoped she didn’t sound as loud and fake as she thought. She breathed deeply, trying to slow her racing pulse.
Kyle’s brow furrowed. “Okay. Well, I wanted to make sure you’d make it home to have dinner with the boys. I’ll postpone my meeting with Tom if you need me to.”
“No, no.” Ashleigh’s words spilled out louder than she anticipated. She hastily moderated her tone. “I’m on my way there now.” She turned to Rosy. “Thanks for stopping by.” She looked at Kyle but avoided his eyes. “Thanks for checking in.”
He grinned and gave her a wink.
Her breath caught when she glimpsed the ever cheerful man she’d fallen in love with years ago. She hated to admit it, but she’d missed his positive attitude and sense of humor.
“Is everything okay, Ash?” Kyle asked.
She swallowed. “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”
Kyle appeared unconvinced, but he said, “Okay, see you later then.”
Ashleigh watched Rosy and Kyle walk to their respective cars before turning to lock the front door. Her rubbery legs barely carried her to her own car.
Keeping the truth from Kyle—if she was pregnant—would be more difficult than she’d imagined. She’d never carried so much guilt in her life, while at the same time she was even more determined not to upset the thriving life he’d forged for himself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KYLE STARTED THE ENGINE of his truck and hesitated before putting it into Drive. Had he imagined Ashleigh’s anxiety? He didn’t think so. Something was definitely off about her. More than usual.
But what?
He shifted into Drive and pulled into light traffic on Market Street, which was considered the main drag in Grand Oaks from before the town was founded in 1720. Historians claimed everything imaginable had been bought and sold on this stretch of road, from food to animals to humans.
Kyle’s tenth-grade history teacher spent a lot of time on Grand Oaks’s history. He wanted his students to be clear about where they lived and how things had changed in this part of southern Virginia.
Kyle hadn’t understood at the time, but he came to learn that it’s important to understand why things evolve the way they do. Mostly, it’s vital to not repeat mistakes.
That was why he’d left Ashleigh so abruptly last night. He didn’t want to repeat their mistakes of the past. If she was going to take off at the first opportunity—and he was sure that she would—then he needed to guard himself. He couldn’t allow her to crush him like she had two years ago, even if it would require forgoing a physical relationship with her.
Was that why she’d been uncomfortable when he showed up unexpectedly at her office? He hadn’t meant to make things awkward between them. Maybe he should have explained why he left last night.
Then again, how did you phrase something like that? I need to keep my distance from you so you don’t crush me like a bug again probably wouldn’t go over well.
As these thoughts went through his head, Kyle continued on his way to meet with Tom, who had recently opened a private law office located two blocks off Market Street. Kyle found a parking spot nearby. He jogged up the half dozen steps to the door of the town house and went right in. The former three-story row home had been converted into offices, with Tom’s located on the second floor. Through the open doorway, Tom was visible behind his desk. His gaze traveled from what he was reading to Kyle, a welcoming smile lighting up the man’s face.
“Hey, Kyle, come on in.” Tom rose, waved him in and pointed to a burgundy leather chair in front of his mahogany desk. Kyle shut the office door and they shook hands before taking seats across from each other.
Tom pulled out a folder from his file cabinet and opened it. “The reason I wanted to meet again so soon was that I’ve talked to the plaintiff’s lawyer and they’d like to settle.”
Kyle raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why settle? “Talk to me.” He tried to keep an open mind.
“We’ve discussed the two-million-dollar limit the state of Virginia puts on medical malpractice compensation. Even though they were asking for five mil, they were expecting to get two if they won. And that would include any punitive damages.” Tom took a sip from the soda can next to him. “Want one?” He gestured to his drink.
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“I’m good,” Kyle said. “Give me the bottom line.”
“They’re willing to settle for a million.”
Kyle must have heard wrong. “Are you freaking kidding me?” He shot out of his chair and paced back and forth in Tom’s small office. He stopped and pounded a fist on a filing cabinet, making the planter teeter. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Tom. In fact, I saved the guy’s life. I’m sorry he started abusing prescription drugs again, but that’s not my fault.”
“I know, I know,” Tom said. “Sit down and relax. All you need to do is say you don’t want to settle and we continue on to court.”
“But what if the judge doesn’t rule in my favor?” Kyle asked. “He could award this jerk the two million dollars and my insurance company would likely drop me.”
“Take it easy, Kyle,” Tom said. “If I thought that was going to happen, then I’d advise you to settle. But I’m confident we can find someone to say this guy made it a habit to take off his medical-alert bracelet when he didn’t want people to know he was a former addict.”
“Really?” Kyle tried not to be too hopeful.
“Yes,” Tom said. “I have a P.I. I’ve worked with before and she’s hunting down people who know him. She even talked to the guy’s sister, who didn’t sound convincing when she said she was positive he never took the bracelet off.” He leaned forward. “She’s had some addiction problems, too.”
Kyle still had his doubts about the outcome of his case, but he trusted Tom completely.
Kyle returned to his seat and they went over a few other details.
“Thanks, Tom,” Kyle said. “I’m actually feeling a little better than when I walked in here.”
Tom shifted nervously in his seat. “Now that we’ve settled on where to proceed, would you mind if I asked you about Theresa?”
Kyle had warned Theresa he wouldn’t lie to his best friend when she came up with this crazy plan. She could have chosen any number of other guys to play the part of her boyfriend to make Tom jealous.
“Sure, what’s up?” Kyle asked.
“I’ve been hearing things about you and her,” Tom said.
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“I’ve heard the two of you are dating—”
“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Kyle corrected.
“No?” Tom said. “Then what is it?” His voice got louder. “Are you sleeping with her?”
“No, no!” Kyle could barely keep a laugh from bursting forth. “Jeez, Tom. I’m not involved with Theresa. She’s been working on the nonprofit with me and someone started the rumor that we were seeing each other. She only asked me to go along with it so you’d be jealous.”
Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “She did?” The muscles in his face relaxed and he grinned. “She’s trying to make me jealous?”
Kyle laughed. “Yeah, so what are you going to do about it?”
Tom sat back down and opened his laptop. He clicked a few keys and turned the screen in Kyle’s direction. “This is what I’m doing about it.” He pointed to a real estate listing. “I’m going to contact the listing agent to see this house. It’s in the same neighborhood as the house that Theresa wanted to buy last fall.”
* * *
“I KNOW, MOM.” Paula dialed back the whine in her voice while talking on the phone with her mother. “I really don’t want to worry Scott.”
“But, Paula, he’s your husband. The baby’s father.” Her mother repeated what everyone else had already said. “He has a right to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Paula’s patience was dwindling. “I’ll think about it.”
That answer placated her mother, but then she hit another sensitive subject. “How’s it going with you and your sister?”
“Ashleigh and I are doing fine.” Paula decided that wasn’t even a lie. They tolerated each other and avoided any conflict so that they didn’t get into a heated argument.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Mom said. “Now you can ask her to be your birth coach. I’m sure she’ll agree.”
“Mom!” Paula’s head was about to explode. Birth coach? Where did that come from? “I can’t ask Ashleigh. I thought you were going to do it.” Her mother was an R.N., the logical choice to fill in for Scott if he couldn’t make it in time.
“I can’t leave your grandmother yet, dear,” Mom said. “I need to see what the doctors decide to do about her leaking heart valve. If they do surgery, then I’ll stay. I need to be sure she’s going to be okay.”
Paula’s mother had done extensive research to discover Copper Ridge, an outstanding Alzheimer’s care facility affiliated with John Hopkins in rural Maryland, only to find out Grandma had heart problems.
“I still have a few weeks until this baby is due,” Paula reminded her mother. “You’ll be back by then.”
“But what if I’m not?” her mother asked. “You’ve already gone into labor once. Next time they might not be able to stop it and you’ll be on your own.”
“I’ve done this before,” Paula said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“But what if decisions need to be made? Like a Cesarean?” her mother said. “You’ll have no one to talk those things over with.”
“I’m a big girl, Mom.”
“And big girls know when to ask for help.”
She hated when her mother was right. Even having someone available to get her ice chips or a wet washcloth would make labor much more tolerable.
“I’ll figure out someone to be with me during labor, okay?” Hopefully that would pacify her mother. How could Paula ask Ashleigh to do it when this floor had so many awful memories for her sister?
“Ask Ashleigh,” her mother repeated insistently. “It’s about time the two of you made up and put this feud behind you.”
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, after spending a busy morning in his hospital office, Tom hung up the phone. He leaned back in his desk chair and folded his hands behind his head. He’d spoken with a loan officer from his financial institution. Preapproved for a mortgage sounded like a step in the right direction.
Tom immediately dialed the listing Realtor for the house he’d seen online. “Two o’clock would be perfect,” he told the woman when she suggested the time to see the house.
The day dragged until he was able leave for the appointment. He had work to complete, but his head wasn’t into it. All he could think about was whether the house would look as good as on the Realtor’s website.
And whether Theresa would love it as much as the one she’d wanted last fall.
When he could stand it no longer he left the hospital, well aware he would be early for the appointment.
He got to the neighborhood and passed the house Theresa had loved, two blocks from the one he was seeing today. He drove around the area, viewing it from a different perspective than he’d ever looked at other properties.
The elementary school was within walking distance. There was also a fairly new tot lot and some tennis courts in the vicinity. There were two nearby swimming pools and the new branch of the library was less than a mile away. Several grocery stores and pharmacies were in either direction.
Tom headed to the house he was about to tour, located at the end of a cul-de-sac. He parked on the street rather than the cement parking area on the right front side of the house.
From his rearview mirror, he saw the Realtor pull up behind him.
“Great house, isn’t it?” The real estate agent reached out a hand to shake his. “I’m Shirley Johnson.” She was probably mid-forties with coal-black hair pinned up in a sloppy knot. Her hairdo contradicted her stylish black skirt and matching fitted jacket worn over a tailored red blouse. Shiny black patent leather heels brought her nearly eye to eye with him.
“Tom Patterson,” he said. “How long has the property been on the market?” He knew the answer from the website, but wondered if it had been on the market previously and taken off to lower the price.
“This house was actually sold six months ago in a short sale and the new owners gutted the inside to flip it.”
Tom hoped the workmanship was good. Several lawsuits were pending where flipped houses hadn’t been done to code. Insurance companies were going after the flippers to pay for water and electrical damages.
“Shall we go inside?” Shirley held the key to the lockbox in her hand. “Are you searching for a home for yourself, Tom, or do you have a family?”
“A fiancée.” His shocking reply was automatic.
“Wonderful!” she gushed. “When are you getting married?”
“We haven’t picked a date yet.” That was definitely true.
Tom followed her to the front door. The home was a white Cape Cod with a dark green door and matching shutters. There were flowers, pansies maybe, in the window boxes on the first level. The brass doorknob and house numbers were shiny and inviting.
They stepped inside the front door onto a slate area that transitioned into gleaming wood floors. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. The living room was spacious, set up with what was probably rented furniture staged to make the house easier to imagine as your own.
Not that he owned much furniture. He had a one-bedroom apartment and his major purchases had been a bed, a leather recliner and a flat-screen TV.
“This is a wonderful space,” the real estate agent said. “Do you think your fiancée will like it?”
“I hope so.” He eyed the room. “I’m wondering if she’ll let me keep my furniture or if she’ll want to start fresh.”
The Realtor smiled. “Ah, a typical disagreement among newly married couples.”
He was jumping too far into the future but couldn’t help himself.
“As you can see,” the Realtor said, “the kitchen has been completely redone with black lacquer cabinets, stainless steel appliances and beautiful granite countertops.”