by Lyz Kelley
During their time together they had talked for hours about their dreams, their childhoods, anything that came to mind. Now only silence existed. An ache hollowed her chest. She missed hearing his baritone laugh, seeing the corners of his eyes creased with pleasure, humor, or joy, feeling a warm fingertip draw circles in her palm.
She missed him.
Earlier in the week, she’d called Beth to discuss finding a replacement rocker. Beth challenged her about Garrett and Ellie, but she reassured Beth that her over-committed schedule had nothing to do with the doctor or the little girl who’d found a home. Someone else’s home. But it did. Every volunteer shift, she wanted to hear Ellie’s laugh and for Garrett to walk through the nursery room door. Ellie was gone, and he never bothered.
She met Weston’s questioning gaze. “Garrett’s a busy guy.”
“I thought you two hit it off until Liam said you scheduled an appointment to see that in vitro doctor again.”
“Liam has a big mouth.” Her hand fisted around her pen. “You were on my side about the IVF treatments. What changed?”
Weston reached for her hand, but she crossed her arms and leaned back. Anger bubbled up from her toes.
Her brother waited to speak. He wielded silence like a sword slicing the air. Finally, he rocked back in the leather conference room chair. “Don’t blame Liam. I forced it out of him. I was concerned. Besides, there are no ‘sides’ here. All of us, even Liam, will support whatever decision you make. I understand your need to create a baby.”
“You do? Since when?”
“Since you were six and carried that red-haired doll around with you everywhere you went.”
Lucy. The doll’s name was Lucy. Odd that he remembered. He was right. She had carried her everywhere, even to school.
“Whether you like it or not, I love you and want only the best for you, but please look at all aspects of IVF.” Weston searched her eyes. “Why not give Branston a shot? I like the guy. His profile is clear. Except for an incident when he was younger.” He pulled a file from the stack of folders in front of him and pushed it toward her. “He had a hot temper when growing up, but he cleaned up nicely.”
“Cleaned up? You make it sound like he sprayed himself with disinfectant. When will you stop investigating every guy I talk to?”
“When I’m six feet under the ground.”
She fought the sting in her eyes. Jeez, she was a sap tree, steadily dripping these days. “Do you run background checks on Liam’s girlfriends?”
“He changes girlfriends faster than I can order takeout.” He reached for her hand. “Mickey, I will always try to protect you. That’s my most important job.”
Mickey, short for Mickey Mouse, because she’d taken an instant dislike to Minnie. Calling her Mickey was her brother’s way to torment, or in later years to say “I care” without actually saying the L-word, a feeling most of the Carvers could show, but never say.
He hadn’t used her nickname since she began working in the family business. Maybe he realized her pushing back from the firm was inevitable.
Tears would make Weston uncomfortable, so she fought hard to keep them dammed. She would do about anything to repay him for finding her, never giving up, saving her from the stalker.
“I know,” she choked out. “I appreciate you watching out for me. I do.” She kept her eyes on the blank days in her calendar. Days now filled with inconsequential things. “Wes, I want the best for you, too. You’re married now. You should worry about Courtney, not me.”
“Both of you are family. Period. My marriage to Courtney doesn’t change that, but the term family has a different meaning to you. You’ve always wanted kids. I remember when you were a little girl, you would round up all the neighbor kids like they were your children and read stories, or act out plays, or put on mini concerts. Don’t close yourself off to possibilities.”
“That’s fine for you to say. Your baby bullets are fresh, with no use-by date. My expiration date is fast approaching. And…do not roll your eyes at me.”
“Baby bullets…nice one.” He laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“I know. That’s the problem. Maybe you should stop reading those anorexia-promoting, man-berating women’s magazines. They’re full of doom and gloom.”
“Why do I talk to you?”
“Because I’m the sane, practical one—the voice of reason. Liam’s too soft. You do love me, you know.”
“I do love you, but that doesn’t mean you’re perfect. You need to stop working all the time. Get a real life.”
“Hey! She works just as much, or more, than I do.” He winked. “Think about what I said.” His tone, although less demanding than Father’s, required a commitment to listen and heed the advice. As the eldest child, he acted the role of successor rather brilliantly these days.
“I have a doctor’s appointment to discuss my options. That’s all.”
“All I ask is that you give it time.”
She released a frustrated breath. “I’ve given it time. More time than I should.”
“I want you to be sure.”
“Why is it that my family can’t support my decision to become a single mother?” Garrett had understood, but he no longer counted.
Weston reached forward and took her hand. “If you tell me you’re happy, and then I’ll be happy for you.”
“Okay, I’m happy.” She willed her lips to curve.
Her brother’s penetrating gaze made her look away. Someday soon she’d stop telling the men in her life lies.
He glanced at his ringing phone and rejected the call. “I have another project I’d like you to consider. Before you say no, you should first know you’re perfect for the job.”
“If it’s something big, you can forget it.”
“It is rather large.” He pointed to the wall over her shoulder. “I’d like you to paint my portrait. Dad’s been pressuring me to get one for the conference room.”
Confusion made her pause. “These portraits have always been painted by an award-winning student at the New York Art Institute.”
“Yes. I know. But I saw that picture you painted for the auction. No student will do a better job than you.”
Her heart leaped and jumped and skipped in her chest. A painting. He wanted her to paint. “You’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you?”
“Your work is amazing. I would ask another favor.” He slid two pictures across the table. “I’ve tried to find a picture of Kirsten and me together. There isn’t one that suits us both. Do you think you could paint one with us together?”
The escalating excitement took a left turn toward melancholy and memories of her older sister. “You haven’t spoken of your twin in a long time.”
“There’s no need. She’s part of me. She’s always with me. Even after she died, I felt her presence. You two are very much the same. Determined. Caring. Creative. You’ve done amazing work here, but I’ve never seen you happier than when the auction bids for your painting soared.”
“It brought a lot of money in for the charity.”
The muscles in Weston’s jaw clenched. “It’s more than that. Someone wanted your art and was willing to pay a lot for it. Admit it.”
“Okay. I’ll admit it was pretty darn fantastic.” Joy spread through her like paint on canvas, simply and with ease. “I’d love to paint the portraits. We should get together and discuss what you have in mind. Also, why not have it as a surprise for Mom and Dad?”
“How about dinner next Saturday?”
“How about lunch…say, 1:30 next Wednesday. You can pick me up. Want to try that new Italian restaurant on 59th? I heard it’s good. We can invite Liam to join us. Like old times.”
Weston’s brows raised, narrowing the gap between brows and hairline. “You’re trying to get me away from this place, aren’t you? Always the little manipulator.”
“It’s for your health.” She placed her organizer into her bag, her hand brushing against her medi
cal folder, before glancing at her brother. “I want you to know I listened to what you said, and I will think about my choices.”
“That’s all I ask.”
When his cell phone rang a second time, she knew their conversation had ended. She stood and blew a kiss while he answered the call and walked toward his office.
She circled the room to study each picture, award, and piece of furniture. The room represented the essence of Carver International—the company her great-grandfather had built from an eight thousand-dollar loan, and the family continued to build.
The family who demanded the best of each other, and relied on each other.
The family who had saved her life.
The people who’d made her strong enough to live, love, and hopefully strong enough to move on.
Her thoughts drifted back to Garrett.
She missed him.
Chapter 22
McKenzie retied the strings of the cotton gown the nurse had given her and rubbed her bare feet together before letting them dangle from the medical examination table. Having read the breast exam pamphlet at the last office visit, she’d swiped last month’s Food & Health magazine from the waiting room to pass the time.
She’d been learning to cook. Garrett would have enjoyed her last attempt to make spinach pasta that went horribly wrong. She studied the chocolate molten lava image with the fresh mint-leaf garnish and the list of ingredients, wondering if the dessert was too complicated to try at this point. While she was debating, the door opened.
“McKenzie, nice to see you,” Dr. McCafferty said before sitting and glancing at her medical chart. “We got your test results back. How are you feeling?”
The way the doctor asked the question made her pause and consider. “I’ve been eating better, maybe a little tired, but otherwise I’m good.”
The doctor flipped the pages of her chart and set the file on the counter. “Any stomach upset or bleeding?”
“Just some nausea. I ran out of those vitamins you prescribed and purchased an over-the-counter brand. The generic ones made me sick to my stomach. I was hoping you could write a prescription for those vitamins with that special coating.”
“Lie back for me.”
She stretched herself out on the table, careful to not slide off the end.
“I can write a new prescription, but I don’t think that will help with your nausea. You’ll need to drink more fluids. If the nausea gets too bad, I’ll prescribe something different.” He pressed the cold head of the stethoscope into her abdomen, listening.
She rolled her head to the side. “I was wondering if we could start the IVF cycle?” She watched the doctor concentrate, prayed he heard nothing that would prevent her from moving toward motherhood.
The doctor met her gaze. “I don’t think that will be necessary since you’re already pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” She grabbed the edges of the table to keep from bolting upright and cracking heads with the doctor.
“Without additional tests, I can’t tell how far along, but you’re definitely pregnant.”
“How did that happen?” almost tumbled out of her gaping mouth, but she already knew the answer.
Garrett.
The first night.
“I thought you said my plumbing was broken.” She cringed at the accusatorial tone.
“No. I said you might have a difficult time getting pregnant, that we needed to run more tests. Your age and other factors were why I prescribed supplements with additional folic acid and a natural estrogen booster.”
“So basically, I became a baby-making machine.”
The doctor’s lips curved into a you-got-it smile. “Essentially.”
She’d taken her supplements for weeks, but wow. Now she could relate to teenagers getting pregnant their first time. As an adult, she was more than ready for the consequences, unlike the young girls who weren’t even out of high school. She’d prepared for this moment. Prayed for this moment.
What she wasn’t ready for was having intimate knowledge of the father. How would she tell him? He didn’t want kids of his own. He’d made his position clear. How would he react?
Her stomach lurched, producing a loud gurgle. Dr. McCafferty stared at her belly and laughed. He helped her sit up.
“I take it you know the father.” He sat on the stool and opened her medical file.
“There’s no question.”
“I’d like to run a few more tests. In the meantime, I need you to drink plenty of fluids, get adequate rest, and I’ll write a prescription for prenatal vitamins. I’ll be back with some samples you can use until you can get to the pharmacy.”
The way the doctor hesitated made her chest tighten. “What is it you’re not saying?”
Dr. McCafferty finished documenting the chart and then rolled his stool closer so he could deliver the verdict. “Based on previous tests, I need you to prepare for the chance this baby may not make full-term. We need to take preventive measures. It’s important for you to get plenty of sleep and take it easy. No heavy lifting and strenuous exercise.”
“I want this baby. Whatever I need to do, I’ll do it.”
After the doctor left, she shrugged out of her thin cotton gown and dropped it on the table, and then reached for her underwear, pausing to place a hand on her belly. With each breath, her hand moved out and back. Underneath the layers of skin and muscle a new life had been created. The joy and awe and fear overwhelmed her senses. She had another chance to be a mom, even if a slim one.
How could she explain this to her family? To Garrett?
His anger the morning after making love came rolling back through her thoughts. He said he didn’t know why he got angry, but his body told a different story. He wouldn’t look at her, his hands clenched at his sides. She retrieved her pants and blouse.
I’m married to the hospital. What if he really didn’t want this child?
“It doesn’t matter,” she said aloud in the empty exam room, working to convince herself she didn’t care. The baby mattered. Nothing else. If she couldn’t have Garrett in her life, at least she’d have his image to hold and love. That counted for something. She would continue to simplify and make changes.
She would implement the rest of her plan, starting today.
No more stressful work assignments. No more charity event planning. No more waiting.
For two days, she agonized over telling Garrett about his possible pending fatherhood, playing each scenario in her mind, trying to predict the outcome. She considered calling or dropping by his apartment on the off-chance he might be there. But if he didn’t want to see her, or worse, had another woman there, the devastation would crush her. She thought about asking Abby’s advice, but the woman most likely would tell her to seduce Garrett and then tell him. Given the circumstances, that option seemed inappropriate.
After pushing through the hospital doors, she rubbed her sweaty palms on the legs of her linen slacks. She held onto her purse straps like a lifeline connected to a rescue raft.
Before dawn, she decided to track him down at the hospital, figuring he would try to avoid making a public scene. According to Beth, he’d become more cautious after the investigation.
Call her a coward, but when all the other options were weighed, the hospital seemed the safest solution.
A knot the size of the Empire State Building locked her shoulders. With each step toward the children’s wing, she revised her estimate of his reaction. The odds spanned the spectrum from angry or hurt all the way to the remote chance of happy.
Gathering up a substantial chunk of hope, she entered the elevator and pushed the floor button that would take her to the one person in the world she hoped would be genuinely pleased about her news. When the hospital elevator doors opened, she saw a flurry of activity, people moving in every direction. Spotting Beth, she maneuvered around a few people and approached her friend.
Beth glanced up, distracted, and then their eyes met. “She’s alive. Call off
the rescue squad.”
“I haven’t been away that long.”
“Too long for my liking.” Beth walked around the counter to give her a hug. “I’ve got a break coming up in ten. You want to get some coffee?”
No caffeine for me. “I would love to, but I have a matter I need to discuss with Dr. Branston. Is he around?”
“I see. It’s ‘Doctor’ now.” Beth’s brows lifted in question. “I thought you two were on more friendly terms.”
“We are…I mean…” McKenzie pondered a nurse pushing a cart filled with pre-ordered meals to avoid her friend’s searching gaze. The plastic-wrapped plates made her stomach rebel.
“The doctor’s been buzzing around all day, actually, the past several weeks, like a swarm of bees was chasing him. He’s been working morning, afternoon, and night shifts. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Before she could answer, Garrett rounded the corner, laughing and joking with two nurses. He might fool others, but she saw the weariness in his step, the lack of precise movements in his gestures, the exhaustion imprinted on his face. Concern for him grew. He handed a younger nurse a chart before their eyes connected and his steps faltered.
“Be right back,” she said, taking a tentative step forward.
He slowed his pace to finish his medical discussion before meeting her halfway. The relaxed playfulness he’d shared with the nurses had disappeared. His arctic blast made her shiver.
He placed his pen in his coat pocket. “Mac.”
“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, attempting to lighten the tension between them. “Mighty small town.”
“Seems big enough when you don’t return my calls.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to say, or how to get him past the anger written all over his face. He’d told her there was no room in his life for her, but she hoped he could dig deep and find a little space to love their child.
She took a tentative step forward. “I was hoping we could get a cup of coffee or something.”
“My next day off is in a day or two. Why don’t I call you? Oh, wait. That won’t work. You’re not accepting my calls.”