“Too-tight shorts! Oh, come on, you can’t be serious,” Lauren interrupted.
“I know it sounds farfetched, but there are new findings that prove that tight-fitting underwear or slacks can increase the body temperature in that area and the excess heat then kills many of the sperm, sometimes making the man temporarily sterile.”
“That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I thought so too, until several of the men I counseled tried wearing looser clothing. Their wives got pregnant only a few months later. Anything that lowers the sperm count can affect conception. Naturally, if there are only a few thousand sperm when there should be several million, the odds of the woman getting pregnant are drastically reduced. Since there is no way known to medical science to actually increase the number, my goal was to find something to make those few sperm so strong and persistent that they could do the job in spite of the odds against them. I’ve come up with a chemical formula that, when mixed with the sperm, seems to increase their activity and endurance.
“I’ve also been experimenting with a procedure that separates sperm from the seminal fluid. The sperm are then washed with a nutrient solution to get rid of any substances that the uterus is likely to reject, but that is a whole different problem from low sperm count. Each infertility case must be taken on an individual basis. And I believe it’s the challenge of finding a solution to at least some of these problems that I enjoy the most. All of my experiments with rabbits and rats have produced very encouraging results and absolutely no side effects and I hope, someday soon, to have some concrete evidence—make that flesh and blood evidence—that childless couples do not have to give up hope.”
“So why did you have your own … in storage?” she asked when he hesitated.
“I was an only child,” he said, lowering his voice even more. “Even though my parents never stopped trying, apparently there was a problem. But since they had had one child, they couldn’t understand how it could be because of infertility, so they both had some tests run. It turns out that my father has an incredibly low sperm count and it was a miracle that I was conceived. When I found this out, I was still in the middle of an experiment about the effect of heredity on fertility, so I tested myself and found that I, too, had a sperm count so far below normal that it would be extremely unlikely that I would ever father a child.
“Several years later when my research progressed to the point where I needed to try it on a sample of human sperm, I decided to use my own. Since this experiment was still inconclusive and I didn’t have any sort of approval from the Food and Drug Administration, I was hesitant to use a donor’s sperm. Anyway, I mixed my sample with the formula, and was planning on storing it for six months, testing it at the end of that time to see how it was affected. It had only been in storage for two months when the ‘accident’ happened and …”
“Either your experiment is a complete success or has been ruined and you’ll have to begin again,” Lauren finished for him.
“I prefer to think that the experiment is a success,” he admitted candidly. “My earlier tests on the lab animals’ specimens had shown a marked increase in activity, but of course, I won’t know for certain about human sperm until your baby is born.”
“But that would mean that you would also have a better chance of fathering more children in the future, wouldn’t it?”
“Possibly, unless this was just a coincidence, one of those twists of fate that can never be repeated. You might be carrying the only child in the world that will have my blood flowing through its veins and share my family’s name. Did I tell you that I’m the last male Daniels and if I don’t have a son, the name will die out with me?”
“That’s not playing fair and you know it,” she retorted. “You’re trying to make me feel guilty for a situation that I had no control over. If you would try to see this from my point of view, you’d understand why I’m not more sympathetic. You see, this baby will be the fulfillment of a dream that Johnny and I shared. He, too, had some sort of sterility problem and when we couldn’t get pregnant on our own and we couldn’t afford either the expense or the time it takes for adoption, we planned to have a baby by artificial insemination. After Johnny’s death, I decided to go ahead and have
our
baby alone. I even specified that the donor be approximately Johnny’s height and have blond hair and blue eyes, just as Johnny did.
“Everything was going fine, but then all of a sudden you appear out of nowhere, saying that you’re the father and want to claim your rights with this child. You would effectively change all my plans. My baby would never have any connection with Johnny. And because your coloring is so different from Johnny’s, this baby probably won’t even look like him. I know you didn’t plan on having this happen, but here I am. My bags are packed to go to the hospital and you want to jump in and change everything. Don’t you see how upsetting this is to me? I’m not trying to take away your child. I’m trying to keep my memories.”
“Maybe it’s time to let them go,” he suggested softly. He had noticed the tears that were pooling in her wide blue eyes and he wished he could convince her that he wasn’t doing this to hurt her. That was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do. In fact, the better he got to know her, the more protective he felt toward her. Part of this, he knew, was due to her pregnancy, but he was also drawn to a gentleness of spirit and a vulnerability that she seemed determined to hide behind a fierce show of independence. Jordan didn’t doubt for a second that she and the baby could make it alone, but he no longer believed he could. He needed this baby, and he was beginning to get attached to the mother, too. But before he would have a chance of winning her affections, he would have to drag her out of the past and into the present.
“Lauren, I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but Johnny’s gone and you’re still here. I never met the man, but I’d be willing to bet he wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life mourning him.”
“I’m not still mourning,” she protested. “It’s just that I haven’t met any man who could begin to take his place.”
“Maybe you haven’t given anyone else a chance.”
“It’s too soon. I’m not ready for another relationship yet.” Lauren looked down at her hands that were resting palm down on the pale-blue tablecloth. The flickering candlelight reflected in the facets of the small solitaire diamond in her wedding set. How well she remembered when she and Johnny had picked their rings out. Even this little diamond had set back his budget so much that they hadn’t been able to afford any special dates for a year. These rings rarely left her fingers, serving as a constant reminder of her lost love. She added softly, “Johnny and I had a very happy marriage. He’d be a hard act to follow.”
Jordan leaned back in his chair. Well, that message had been clear enough. She didn’t want a romantic involvement, which was just fine with him because neither did he. All he wanted was to play a part in his child’s life. It would be nice if he and Lauren could become good friends, but he certainly had no intention of trying to step into her deceased husband’s shoes, or his bed either, for that matter. Lauren was an attractive, intelligent woman, but Jordan didn’t like competing with ghosts.
They spent the next half hour talking about their childhoods. Both had grown up in Houston, their homes only miles apart. They had even graduated from the same high school, but he had been five years ahead of her, so they had never had a chance to meet on campus. His family had been wealthy while hers had been barely upper middle class, so they had grown up in different social circles, and yet many of their memories were of the same things that had been seen from slightly different perspectives. The city had changed a lot in the last twenty years and they had a terrific time recalling how it used to be.
Their lively conversation carried over into the car as they were driving back to her house. They were both so accustomed to the view that neither paid any attention to it as they drove past the illuminated bulge of Reliant Stadium. In the distance, Houston’s spectacular downtown skyline stretched brightly into the thick black night, easily visible for miles because of the naturally flat landscape of this part of Texas. Traffic was heavy, as usual. Even though it was almost ten o’clock on a Saturday night, there were almost as many people driving through this part of town as if it were rush hour on a workday.
Jordan parked the car in front of her shop and walked Lauren to her door. She had left the porch light on, but her nervousness had returned and she fumbled with the keys for several seconds before managing to insert the correct one into the lock.
“Jordan, I…uh,” she said hesitantly, not sure what she was supposed to say. It had been so long since she had ended an evening with a date. Should she invite him in for coffee or would he take that as an invitation for further intimacies? But perhaps that was jumping to conclusions. After all, her figure could hardly be described as enticing or her manner encouraging. But after his explanation about the experiment and their talk about their surprisingly similar backgrounds, she felt a strange sort of bond with him. It was almost as if their paths had been destined to cross sooner or later.
She had had a very good time this evening, much better than she had expected. And now that he had been so honest with her, she could understand his attitude better and feel a little more amicable toward him. Inviting him to stay for a drink would be the polite thing to do, especially after he had taken her out for such a nice dinner.
“Why don’t you come in and I’ll fix us a glass of iced tea or some coffee, and not instant either,” she suggested as she opened the door and reached inside to switch on the light.
Jordan flashed her one of his wide, friendly smiles and nodded. “Sure, I guess I could stay for a while. Since it’s Saturday night, I don’t have to be in bed until eleven o’clock … beauty sleep, you know.”
“I hope I can stay awake that long,” Lauren said with a chuckle. “Lately, I can’t seem to get enough sleep. Even after sleeping for eight or nine hours each night, I still feel like I need a nap every afternoon.”
“And you probably do need it. Look at all the extra weight you’re carrying around.”
“Thanks a lot! ” she exclaimed, pretending to be greatly insulted. “I’ve only gained … well, never mind how much I’ve gained, but suffice it to say that it’s way below my thirty-five-pound limit.”
“I didn’t mean it
that
way. Actually, you’re the prettiest pregnant lady I’ve ever seen, and in my business, I’ve seen a lot.”
“You’re just saying that so I won’t dump a glass of ice on your head.” Lauren took an apron off a row of coat hooks by the back door and tied it around her expanded waist. “I’ve never looked worse in my whole life.”
“If that’s true, then I can’t wait to see you after the baby’s born. Then you’ll be the prettiest mother I’ve ever seen.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll make you some chocolate-chip cookies.” Lauren turned to look at him as she asked, “So what will it be? Coffee, tea or a cola?”
“An apron!”
“That wasn’t one of the options,” she said with a laugh.
“No, I meant you’re wearing an apron. Do you always?”
“Only when I’m in the kitchen and don’t want to spill something on my good clothes.” She was beginning to think the glass of wine he had had at dinner had gone to his head.
“It’s just that my grandmother always wears an apron and I think they’re so—this could get me into trouble—but they’re so matronly. No, wait, don’t dump that ice on me. I meant it in the nicest way. It’s sort of silly, but I don’t think I could ever fall in love with a woman who doesn’t wear an apron. It’s a sure sign that she’s a good cook.”
“You’re right. It does sound silly,” she agreed, giving him a strange look. “Of all the qualities a man looks for in a wife, I never knew that that one was on the list. Now to show you that I believe in equality in all things, I’ve got an extra apron for you and you can help me get the drinks.” She took down another apron and Jordan turned around so she could pull it around him and tie it in the back. “It looks better on you than on me.”
“It’s not that much different from wearing a smock in the lab—except for the lace on the pockets. Next time, I want something a little more masculine, maybe in a nice shade of blue,” he teased, holding the corners of the apron up in an exaggerated coquettish pose.
Lauren showed him where everything they needed was located and they worked together to put ice in the glasses and fill them with tea. Finally, when napkins, dessert plates and a tray piled with brownies had been set on the table, Lauren and Jordan sat down and ate as if they hadn’t just finished a full meal at the restaurant.
“These are delicious,” he commented, taking another brownie from the tray.
“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She was a fantastic cook … and she always wore an apron, too.”