HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER

by Lynne Marshall

  He broke from their kiss and gave a puzzled look. Feeling chagrined, Jaynie bit her kiss-swollen lower lip, knitted her brows, and pleaded for understanding with an earnest stare.

  Lust glowed in his eyes. A slow smile evolved on his face. “Can’t say I’ve ever had this effect on a woman before.”

  *

  Terrance adjusted himself in his jeans while Jaynie escaped to the bathroom to clean up. No question about it. He knew beyond a doubt that he was in lust with her. And she was the mother of his child. What a tidy little turn of events…a ready-made family of three. And what terrible timing.

  Long ago he’d decided never to become a father again, had even signed up for the surgery to make sure he never would. Now, his dream of going to med school was closer than ever. And he might have to leave the state in order to follow through.

  What the hell was he supposed to do?

  He needed more time to think, and his leaving town would give him the perfect reason to do it.

  As soon as Jaynie came back out he’d excuse himself, make plans to leave town and do battle with his conscience some other time.

  *

  The next morning, Dr. Shrinivasan’s early phone call startled Jaynie. She braced herself.

  “We have a good update for you on this delightful day,” he said.

  A quick prayer of thanks crossed her lips before she responded to his greeting. “Yes?”

  “We shall send Tara home on Friday.”

  She couldn’t believe the words. First she felt joy, and then panic set in.

  My God, what do I do now?

  She gave herself a pep talk. I can do this. Hadn’t she been preparing for this moment ever since Tara had been born, one month ago?

  Joy beyond all dreams circulated through her body.

  My baby is coming home!

  He continued. “Tara is maintaining her body temperature while in an open crib, she feeds well by mouth, and there are no recent major medical changes. I recommend that you spend the next day or two giving complete care to your baby. For best success, it is imperative that you know exactly what to expect when she comes to your home.”

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed.

  Armed with the most spectacular news of her life— aside from the day her pregnancy test had come back positive—Jaynie jumped from bed and raced to the shower.

  Her only regret was that Terrance wasn’t there to share it with her.

  *

  Friday came before Jaynie felt completely ready. But would she ever feel totally prepared for being a full-time mom? She’d spent two extensive days with the Newborn Nursery nurses, learning every trick of the trade. She’d worked from morning until night caring for Tara. She fed, diapered, bathed, managed her medication and fiddled with machinery under trained nursing supervision. And had gone home each night exhausted to her bones.

  Every night during the week Jaynie had lain awake worrying, wondering how she’d rate as a true-life mother, yet eager to find out.

  Kim had helped her do one last major house-clean, and given her a surprise gift of a special crib that attached directly alongside her own bed.

  “This will help you sleep better, knowing Tara’s right next to you.” Even Kim had sounded more like an expert than Jaynie felt. “You’ll have your own space, but Tara’ll be within an arm’s reach for nursing or anything else.”

  “Thank you!” Jaynie said. “You are so smart.”

  “Actually, my hunky pharmacist suggested it. His sister just had a baby.”

  *

  Jaynie’s favorite nurse had given her a few last-minute pointers about the importance of using the “sling” to keep Tara comfy and cozy beside her throughout the day.

  And she’d received a crash course on handling the apnea monitor.

  “Tara will have spells,” one of the crusty older nurses had informed her. “The monitor will alert you to As and Bs.”

  “What does that mean?” Jaynie had scratched her head and felt her neck tense.

  “Apnea and bradycardia. It won’t sound unless she forgets to breathe for twenty seconds or if her heart-rate drops below eighty. Don’t panic. Just rub her back or stimulate her to help her remember to breathe.” She had glanced over the top of the gold-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “The irritating sound of the monitor warning may even startle her into breathing. Look—” she’d clicked her tongue “—she has these spells several times a day. Preemies generally do. No biggie. Just keep alert…stay on top of it.”

  Easy for her to say. Her nursing shift ended after eight hours. Jaynie’s heart had galloped, and a wave of concern had circled her head.

  I can do this. I’m a nurse. Heck, I’m a mother!

  They’d also given her a crash course on infant CPR. Sure, she’d practiced annually at work, on unnaturally pink plastic infant dummies. She’d covered the stiff doll’s nose and mouth with her own to puff air inside, and had used two fingers between the nipples to quickly beat out the required compressions, but that was pretend.

  Before her lay her daughter, the most precious gift she’d ever been given, and Jaynie didn’t want to botch anything up.

  Tara had flourished in the past few weeks to a whopping 1700 grams—just a few ounces short of the four-pound goal. But when Jaynie carried her to the car on the day of discharge, Tara felt as fragile as a tiny antique treasure. Jaynie had held her breath when she’d lifted her from the hospital isolette, and when Tara had squirmed and mewed, she’d looked on with both wonder and love.

  Kim and her boyfriend, Dr. Tommy Tom, had offered to bring Jaynie and Tara home. She had eagerly accepted. Even Por Por Chang had sent over some food guaranteed to increase her milk and give her added energy.

  Though the food looked and smelled weird, it meant the world to Jaynie, since her own mother couldn’t make the trip out west for a few more weeks.

  It took three adult minds and twenty minutes to figure out the placement of the car seat in back of Jaynie’s SUV, but they prevailed. And when they arrived home, other than holding Tara, Jaynie left Kim and Tommy to carry everything else inside.

  “Put that over there,” Kim said when they entered the house. She had gotten very good at bossing Tommy around.

  The tall man sported broad shoulders under a peach-colored J. Crew shirt, and a trendy ultra-short haircut, gelled and spiked to perfection. His tiny dark eyes sparkled when he looked at Kim, and it made Jaynie smile.

  The look of love.

  He unloaded several bundles of items Jaynie and Kim had deemed necessary for Tara: car seat, diaper bag, apnea monitor, pulmonary treatment machine, nursing supplies, another bag of medicine and supplementary formula. He made two trips to the car to bring everything inside.

  Over the next hour, the three of them bustled around, setting everything up according to Jaynie’s need and desire.

  Kim finally whisked her waist-length hair behind her shoulders, placed her hands on her narrow hips and gave the nursery the once-over. “Anything you need?”

  Jaynie scanned the room and shook her head. She’d slipped Tara into a sling and snuggled her close to her breasts. The baby looked peaceful and content, and Jaynie’s confidence grew. “No. I should be fine…really.”

  After wavering for several seconds, Kim hugged Jaynie, took Tommy by the arm and headed for the door. “Don’t hesitate to call for anything, okay?”

  When the door closed, Jaynie was surprised by the strong sense of isolation that settled in around her.

  The house was dead quiet.

  Tara remained asleep, and Jaynie felt exhausted. She decided to take advantage and put her feet up for a few minutes—maybe even take a catnap. She gingerly angled herself onto the couch and rested her head against the cushion. She repositioned Tara in the sling onto her abdomen. Jaynie’s eyes felt heavy and she welcomed the sluggish feeling lulling her toward sleep. Ah…rest.

  A sharp, fussy cry came from the vicinity of her chest. With her brain swimming back from its stu
por, Jaynie’s head shot up. Tara had a healthy pair of lungs on her, and, judging by the foul smell wafting through the air, was in need of a diaper change.

  *

  By Sunday night, Jaynie hadn’t gotten more than one and a half hours’ consecutive sleep at any given time. What was left of her stored energy had evaporated by Saturday morning, and she’d been dragging through the last two days. Deep blue circles under her eyes made her complexion look pasty. Even her normally curly hair looked droopy and dull, and her brown eyes had turned lifeless.

  She’d lied to anyone who’d called to check in and see how she was doing. She’d told every single one of her friends from work, her mother, Kim and even Dr. Shrinivasan, that everything was hunky-dory, she couldn’t be happier, all was well.

  Secretly, she felt irritated that Terrance hadn’t called her once while he’d been gone. But what was the point? So they’d kissed a couple times. He wasn’t part of her life anymore than she or Tara were part of his.

  Exhausted, she wanted to cry. Of course she loved her baby. Jaynie loved every second of caring for Tara’s multiple needs: listening for her to breathe whenever she lay down to rest; nursing every two hours on the dot; bathing her; changing her diapers; giving her breathing treatments. On and on and on.

  But over the last seventy-two hours the feather-light bundle constantly attached to her chest while awake, had begun to feel like a brick. Jaynie could hardly hold her own head up, let alone shoulder the full responsibility of caring for Tara.

  She knew she needed to eat, but was too tired to care for herself, too. She’d skipped bathing altogether on Sunday, opting for precious moments of shut-eye whenever Tara napped. Her nerves twinged raw, she felt edgy, lethargic and sad.

  Carefully placing the bedside intercom next to Tara’s crib in the nursery, after lying her on her back, she checked for a third time to make sure the apnea monitor leads were properly attached to her chest. Countless false alarms had fired over the weekend, keeping her on edge and running for the crib due to loose leads. Determined to take a shower during this naptime, she checked them once again.

  Jaynie set up the other walkie-talkie monitor on the bathroom counter and switched it on. A static swishing sound reported the humming of the humidifier and total silence from Tara’s bed.

  Stripping naked, she changed her mind and ran a tub full of hot water for a bath. Jaynie was shocked when she looked at herself in the mirror. She was now gaunt and flagging, and the glow of pregnancy had disappeared, replaced with exhaustion and depression. Not a glamorous combination.

  She dipped her toe into the invitingly warm water in the tub and prepared to slip inside for a few moments of paradise. The loud buzzing of the apnea monitor sounded its alarm. Jaynie reached for her bathrobe and threw it on while rushing to Tara’s side. After tying her sash, she found Tara peacefully sleeping, with one monitor lead dangling from beneath her cotton drawstring gown.

  She carefully reapplied the lead to her tummy, praying she wouldn’t wake or disturb her baby. Checking one last time, to make sure all the leads were in place, and the tiny oxygen cannula was set properly inside each nostril, Jaynie retreated.

  Walking like a zombie, she found herself in the dining room, weak and leaning against the wall for support. Dismay, melancholy, intense fatigue and a total sense of defeat mixed into a dangerous brew of hopelessness.

  Finally coming undone, she felt tears fill her eyes. She slid down the wall to the hardwood floor, where she crumpled into a fetal position and let out a total meltdown wail.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHERE was Tara? Standing in the newborn ward, Terrance fought off a burst of alarm and searched for one of the nurses. He’d returned home late Friday night, and to make up for taking extra days off had worked a double shift on Saturday. Now, Sunday afternoon, he’d finally found time to visit Peanut. But where was she?

  He hurried toward a nurse changing a diaper. A look of recognition crossed her face when she glanced up.

  “Where’s Tara?”

  “Went home Friday morning,” the curt older nurse said over her shoulder.

  A crushing sense of loss hit him in the chest. He’d made up his mind about Jaynie and Tara. He’d searched his soul—even had a long talk with Dave—and was anxious to follow through on his plans. Now was as good a time as any, but he’d have to wait until he got off work.

  *

  Though still daylight, the shadowy late May afternoon made the house look dark from the porch. Terrance tapped on the door, but Jaynie didn’t answer. He cupped his hands to his eyes and peered through the front window.

  “Jaynie?” he called.

  Nothing.

  He caught a glimpse of someone’s feet on the dining room floor. Fear shot through his chest, and he dashed for the door and jangled the handle, surprised to find the latch not securely locked. With a little finessing, he got it open. It squeaked against the silence.

  A cold chill ran the course of his spine.

  Oh, God, what could have happened here?

  Rushing through the door, he flipped on a light switch and found Jaynie on the floor, curled up and whimpering. Where was Tara? He sprinted to the nursery and found her peacefully asleep. Terrance dashed back to Jaynie’s side and dropped to his knees.

  “Jaynie? What’s wrong?”

  She stirred. “Go away.”

  He brushed the hair back from her face. Resembling a wild street urchin, Jaynie blinked and squinted at him.

  “Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine,” she croaked. “Leave me alone.”

  “Like hell you are.” He scooped his hands beneath her, lifted her up and carried her toward the bedroom. “You look like you haven’t slept all week.” He laid her down on the bed and carefully tightened the sash on her robe, then tucked her beneath the covers. “Sleep,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

  Jaynie attempted to sit up and climb out, but he gently pushed her back toward the pillow. “Stay right where you are. I’m not kidding, lady. You need to sleep.”

  “But…the baby…”

  “But nothing. I’ll take care of the baby. Go to sleep. That’s an order.” He clicked off the lamp and tiptoed out, shutting the door behind him.

  *

  Jaynie woke up in a pitch-black room. She glanced at the red digital numbers on her clock: 7:00. Nighttime? She shot upright, realizing her nursing schedule was way off. Her breasts felt heavy and tight.

  “Oh, my God. Tara.”

  She lunged for the door and flung it open, certain her baby had died from neglect. The rest of the house was lit up. She raced to the nursery and found it empty. Fear shocked her like a thrown bucket of cold water. She sped to the dining room and whirled toward the living room.

  Terrance sat reading the newspaper while Tara dozed contentedly nearby, in the hanging bassinette. He looked up and furrowed his brow. “Go back to bed.”

  A warm, calming wave overlapped her terror. She shook her head and fought to take back control.

  “I need to feed her.”

  He made a big to-do about folding up the paper and putting it down. With hands on his knees, he said, “Go back to bed.” He glanced at Tara and back. “As soon as she wakes up, I’ll bring her to you.” Pointing to the door, he reiterated, “Go.”

  Over two hours had passed since she’d slipped into oblivion. Wasn’t Tara starving? Jaynie had to admit her baby looked quite comfy in the unique hammock-style bed. But knowing well Tara’s routine, Jaynie was assured that she would scream her lungs out when she was hungry—just like she’d done all weekend.

  Nodding her head, deciding she could wait a little longer before feeding time, Jaynie somberly returned to her room. She slumped down onto her bed and nestled back for more rest. She knew she needed it. Any “new parent” reference book in her library would tell her to get plenty of sleep. A yawn escaped her lips. Following the lure of her pillow, she quickly dozed off.

  A gentle tugging on her shoulder
drew her back to the world of the living. Terrance towered above her, tall and handsome in the dim light. He extended Tara, all bundled up and fussing, towards her.

  The clock read 8:00.

  “She’s hungry,” he whispered, in a ragged yet gentle voice.

  Jaynie sat up, reached for her baby, and positioned her in the crook of her arm. She glanced toward Terrance; ever the gentleman he’d turned his back. She offered Tara her breast and contented suckling noises soon filled the otherwise quiet room.

  He walked to the window and gazed outside, but he didn’t break the silence. He peered through the blinds, cleared his throat, shifted back and forth on his heels and the balls of his feet, even fiddled with the change in his pockets. But he never said a word. After a while, he sat on the lone chair in the room, closed his eyes and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. She smiled at his composure.

  When she’d finished nursing Tara, Jaynie cleared her throat, alerting him, and he dutifully retrieved her.

  “I’ll take over from here,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  Woozy from the pleasure of nursing, and craving more rest, Jaynie couldn’t bring herself to protest. She rolled onto her side and nestled into her pillow. Eyes heavy with slumber, a contented smile on her face, she forced herself to speak. “Don’t forget to burp Tara and change her dia…”

  The door closed.

  *

  Every two to three hours throughout the night Terrance brought Tara to Jaynie. Repeating the routine, she nursed the baby and handed her back, falling immediately to sleep. And finally, by morning light, she woke up feeling human again. She stretched, lazily yawned, and climbed out of bed, heading for the shower.

  First she wandered down the hall, peeked around the corner into the living room, and found Terrance sprawled on the couch, slack-jawed and out to the world. She smiled at the sight. Tara was nearby in her portable bed. Both were breathing, and she didn’t smell any evidence of dirty diapers, so Jaynie went contentedly off to bathe.

  *

  Terrance walked into the kitchen, scratching his stomach and yawning. A promise of fresh-brewed coffee beckoned. Jaynie stood at the counter in loose fitting sports pants and a snug white polo shirt, looking slimmer than he’d remembered before his trip. Her hair, fresh from the shower, hung in damp ringlets to her shoulders. Even without a stitch of make-up on, she held his immediate and undivided attention.