“No kidding!”
He set the next plate by the sink and folded the towel. “Have
you picked a roommate?”
“Not yet.” She nearly added that she had several strong
candidates, but why bother? If she’d found someone ideal, she’d have chosen
already, and he knew it.
“I’m not a big believer in fate,” Cole commented as he
continued to unpack her dishes. “But when circumstances nudge you in a logical
direction, why ignore it? While you’re carrying our child, Stacy, you deserve to
have someone here who’ll take care of you. There’s an empty bedroom and I need
to rent a new place.”
“People will find out.” Although it wasn’t the main issue, it
was the first objection that sprang to mind.
“Who cares?” He folded another towel.
“You should.”
“But I don’t. Besides, most of the staff know already.”
She felt herself weakening. Cole
had
been supportive and kind. If only she didn’t run the risk—in her
hormone-fueled state—of falling in love with him. And then there was the
question of the baby’s future.
“You aren’t changing my mind,” she said.
Hurt shadowed his face. “Why not try it for a few months? See
how it goes.”
He’d misunderstood. “I meant the baby. Giving it up. There’s a
couple meant to have this child, and it will be a privilege to fulfill their
dreams.”
Face averted, he retrieved a cup and saucer. “Okay.” The
sadness in his voice knifed through her.
Stacy wished he’d argue with her, because that would make it
easier to resist. Determinedly, she rallied her defenses. “And even though we
had sex, you aren’t my boyfriend.” The word sounded childish, applied to this
distinguished man, so she amended, “Or whatever.”
“You already declined to marry me,” Cole reminded her. Onto the
counter went a salad plate. “I get the message.”
She’d never met anyone so opaque. Usually, she picked up
people’s emotional states easily.
But then, Cole’s reticent personality
was
the problem. He cared, but not madly and deeply. Still, his good
qualities—his honesty and dependability—suited her needs during the difficult
months ahead.
“Ground rules,” Stacy ventured.
Cole studied her, revealing nothing of his emotions. “Yes?”
“We’d be friends, nothing more,” she said. “Like Harper and
me.”
“Check.”
Although she’d have appreciated more discussion, he
had
conceded the point. “This doesn’t change our
relationship at work.”
“Agreed.”
“No trying to influence my choices.” She was gaining
momentum.
“Got that.”
“We lead separate lives,” Stacy went on. “If I choose to go out
with people, or...” She had no interest in dating while she was pregnant. “...or
whatever, that’s my business.”
Cole nodded. Watching her. Waiting for more terms?
Tell me you can’t live that close to me
and not treasure and love and hold me....
“And after the baby’s born, once I’m on my feet again, you’ll
find another place.”
“Or we renegotiate,” he said. “If the arrangement suits us
both, why rock the boat?”
The arrangement.
Sometimes Stacy
thought he chose his words specifically to frustrate her. Speaking of rocking
boats, she had an impulse to tip this one and dump Cole into cold water.
If only he’d get angry. Not that she really wanted that, but
she longed for an emotional reaction. For him to have fallen in love with her.
But that wasn’t Cole.
“We’ll see,” she conceded.
“I’ll move in tomorrow,” he said.
Wait. She hadn’t exactly decided to give him permission. Yet
he’d agreed to all her terms, which made it too late to back out.
Thank goodness,
Stacy thought, and
refused to examine her sudden rush of happiness.
Chapter Twelve
Cole didn’t believe he had any expectations—hopes,
perhaps, but not expectations—about what might happen between him and Stacy
after they became roommates. So why, he wondered on Monday a little over a week
later, did he feel so let down?
The physical process of moving in had gone smoothly. He’d hired
a cleaning service, which Stacy had appreciated, as well as a moving company to
bring his few possessions and her furniture from storage. Since he had only his
electronics and one lamp, there’d been no problem fitting everything into their
common space. For his room, Cole had ordered a bed and bureau, which arrived in
timely fashion.
This past weekend, he’d purchased bedding and paid the
apartment manager a small extra sum for a key to the complex’s utility room,
which had space for his bike. Overall, Cole should have felt completely
satisfied.
And yet...
He barely saw Stacy in the mornings. She refused to let him
bring her tea and toast in bed, preferring to keep crackers in her room to stave
off morning sickness. Then, while she claimed she didn’t mind his habit of
watching cartoons during breakfast, she downed her cereal quickly and
disappeared into her bathroom.
They drove to and from work separately. Her schedule ended
earlier than his, and she either ate dinner at the hospital cafeteria or
consumed a salad at home, finishing up by the time he arrived. In the evenings,
she avoided him, or so it seemed to Cole. After he finished working on his
laptop and emerged into the living room, she vanished into her bedroom, claiming
she wanted to read and go to sleep early.
Under other circumstances, he’d have considered her an ideal
roommate. Instead, he missed her. They were leading disconnected lives, and even
though he’d agreed to her terms, surely there had to be a middle ground.
Now he restlessly finished entering notes into his office
computer about the evening’s next-to-last patient. The publicity surrounding him
might have faded, but the residual effect was an increase in physicians’
referrals and direct patient requests to see him. Trying to accommodate as many
people as possible meant staying later and seeing even less of Stacy.
It was nearly seven o’clock. Although the cafeteria had
delivered sandwiches several hours ago, he was getting hungry again. Still,
scanning his next patient’s report pushed everything else out of Cole’s mind,
and he hurried into the examining room.
Peter Gladstone rose to shake hands. The teacher had come for a
report on his antibody test, and while the results did provide an explanation
for his infertility, they offered no easy solution.
“It’s positive,” Cole told him.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Arms folded, the man leaned
against the wall.
Cole remained standing, too. “As I explained before, men can
develop an allergy to their own sperm. This may interfere with fertility in
several ways.” He went into detail about how sperm, under attack by the immune
system, failed to fulfill their function.
Judging by Peter’s expression, he had no difficulty following
the medical terminology. Once Cole finished, his patient zeroed in on the
central issue. “Can you fix this?”
Here came the bad news. “The treatment is to administer
corticosteroids, which have dangerous, sometimes fatal, side effects,” Cole
said. “Among other things, they may cause a condition called aseptic necrosis,
which can destroy the patient’s hip, requiring replacement. I don’t recommend
this. You’re a healthy young man. It goes against the grain to put you at
serious risk for a condition that poses no threat.”
The teacher sank into a chair with an air of misery. “That’s
it, then? I can’t ever be a dad, biologically?”
“I didn’t say that.” Modern technology provided options. “It is
possible to achieve a pregnancy through in vitro fertilization. If you are
contemplating marriage, perhaps we should include your significant other in this
discussion.”
Peter shook his head. “Frankly, the more I think about it, the
less interested I am in remarrying. Angela was the love of my life. What we
shared I can never hope to find again. To bring another woman into this
situation would be wrong, especially in light of my condition. So I was
wondering about hiring a surrogate.”
“In that case, you’d be using IVF anyway,” Cole pointed out.
“As you might imagine, these are expensive procedures. Safe Harbor has a grant
program called the Building Families Fund, if you’d like to put in an
application. I should warn you that it’s highly competitive.”
Peter waved away the concern. “Angela had life insurance. I
can’t think of a better use for it than to have children. I only wish I were
having them with her.”
Cole gave him a pair of brochures from the hospital’s fertility
program. “These will tell you more about surrogacy and IVF.”
“It isn’t just a medical issue, though, is it?” Peter held on
to the material without glancing at it. “What if the surrogate changes her mind
and wants to keep the baby? I couldn’t bear to go through all this and then lose
my child, or have to share custody with a stranger.”
“Usually, courts uphold surrogacy contracts.” Cole was glad
Tony kept the staff advised about legal ramifications. “To be on the safe side,
however, some parents use eggs donated by a second woman. That way, the
surrogate isn’t carrying her own child, which means she has no legal
rights.”
For the first time since receiving his bad news, Peter smiled.
“How high tech is that? Wow. I like it.”
“The hospital’s financial counselor can help you project
costs.” Cole gave him the woman’s card. “There’s no rush. After consideration,
you may prefer to pursue adopting an older child.”
“I doubt it,” Peter said, but tucked the card into his wallet
anyway. “Thanks for pinpointing my diagnosis. Now I know where I stand.”
They shook hands. Watching the teacher leave, Cole wished he
could do more.
On top of everything else, how devastating for Peter to have
lost the love of his life. Making notes on his computer, Cole wondered if he
dared apply that term to Stacy. He’d never cared about a woman this way before.
But she didn’t return his feelings, and he had to accept that.
Or did he?
Friends and roommates didn’t have to avoid each other. Since
he’d brought his car today so he could buy groceries on the way home, Cole
decided to rent a few DVDs and stock up on microwave popcorn.
Stacy might be able to resist him, but in his opinion, the
smell of popcorn was irresistible.
* * *
“I
NEVER
FIGURED
YOU
for the
manipulative type,” Stacy said. She’d followed her nose into the living room and
found Cole relaxing on her couch with a big bowl of tantalizing popcorn. He’d
also rented two romantic comedies she’d mentioned wanting to see.
“I’m not manipulative,” he responded cheerfully. “Mildly
subversive, perhaps. But friends share things, right?”
“I guess so.” How could this be the same man who, that very
morning, had coolly allowed her to assist him in gowning for surgery? Who’d
maintained a professional distance throughout two operations, and had, so far,
kept their living arrangements private from the increasingly inquisitive
staff?
Now, legs stretched out and feet propped on the coffee table,
he grinned at her audaciously. “You’ll note that I spread a sheet on the couch
so we don’t drop any kernels between the cushions. I also took off my shoes so
they won’t scuff the coffee table.”
She’d be willing to bet he’d put on clean socks, too. Oh, for
heaven’s sake, what was wrong with trying to please her? “Good, thanks. So which
one should we watch first?”
He let her choose.
By ten o’clock, she was too sleepy for a second movie. But with
the popcorn long gone, she wasn’t too sleepy to share some of the ice cream with
which Cole had filled the freezer. Despite his having taken over most of that
compartment, she couldn’t complain about his habits, since he kept his food
neatly packed into his agreed-upon half of the fridge. The cartoons he watched
during breakfast grated on her nerves, but when she bothered to watch, she had
to admit they
were
kind of funny.
They ate on the sofa. “My dad used to have a fit if I took food
into the living room,” she said. “He’s way fussier than my mom.”
“What does your father do?” Cole asked.
“He’s a pharmacist.” They’d never discussed
his
father, she realized. “What about yours?”
“He’s an art curator.”
“Present tense?” That surprised her. “He’s still alive?”
“Last I heard.” He wiggled his toes on the coffee table. “In
Paris.”
“You aren’t close?”
Cole released a long breath. “No. That was part of the
deal.”
“You mean like a custody agreement?” Stacy asked.
“Not in the usual sense. He only fathered me because my mother
talked him into it.” He explained that his powerhouse mother had met his dad
through friends. She’d chosen an art curator, on loan to a museum in
Minneapolis, as an ideal father, due to his distinguished intellect and the fact
that he’d soon be leaving the country. With the aid of a few bottles of wine,
she’d persuaded him to sire her child.
Despite Cole’s casual tone, Stacy thought she detected a note
of sadness. As she listened to his account of growing up without a father, and
of his failed attempt to forge a bond with the man, her heart constricted.
She understood why he’d offered to marry her and raise their
child together, even though the pregnancy had been an accident. He didn’t want
to repeat his father’s remiss behavior. Cole might even hope to redeem his
lonely childhood by being a good parent.
It was admirable, though unrealistic. Stacy also recognized how
little experience he had with a loving, stable marriage. Never having seen one
in action, he assumed that goodwill and companionship were enough.
What a polar opposite from the Layne family. Her father
remained a romantic in his sixties, bringing home flowers, buying her mother
jewelry and whisking her away on a surprise Hawaiian vacation not long ago.
Once, when her mom had been inexplicably grumpy, Stacy had heard her father tell
her he couldn’t live without her, that she was the center of his life.
“It must have been tough not having a dad.” After setting her
dish on the coffee table, Stacy rested her head on Cole’s shoulder.
“It was the only kind of upbringing I knew,” he said. “Yours
was more normal, I gather.”
“My family’s really close,” she murmured sleepily. “I thought I
had that kind of marriage, but Andrew fell in love with someone else.”
“Your husband must have been crazy,” Cole said.
She would have hugged him for that, if she’d been sitting at a
different angle. “I thought we were soul mates.” Her voice caught. Wouldn’t the
pain ever go away? “I still don’t understand what he found in Zora that he
didn’t have with me.”
“He should have tried harder to stay in love with you.”
“It doesn’t work that way.” Stacy sighed. “Love is the most
powerful force in the world.”
“And we’re poor, helpless saps?” Cole clicked his tongue. “He
must be a wimp.”
“Andrew? He was a football player!”
“I’m not impressed with his staying power,” Cole said. “By the
way, what do your parents think about you being pregnant?”
The sudden shift in subject caught Stacy off guard. Lifting her
head, which in her sleepy state seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, she admitted,
“I haven’t told them.”
“Why not?”
She sat up wearily. “I’m too embarrassed.”
“I thought you were close.”
Good point.
Now that Cole put it to
her, Stacy saw how foolish she’d been. Her parents loved her. If she had a
daughter who was dealing with a situation like this, she’d want to know.
“I should tell them,” she said. “But not tonight.” Not only was
she worn out, but also, Stacy recalled guiltily, she’d promised to help Adrienne
organize a housewarming party for Harper next Saturday. She still needed to
respond to Adrienne’s last email on the subject. “Thanks for the movie and
popcorn.”
“My pleasure.”
She retreated to her bedroom. After emailing Adrienne about
their plans, she barely mustered the energy to brush her teeth and fall into
bed.
Between combating her queasiness and getting ready for the
party, Stacy didn’t get around to calling her mother until Thursday. Her
ultrasound was scheduled for the next day, and she’d rather get the phone call
over with before she had any more complicated news to report.
It shouldn’t be hard, she reflected as she prepared to call her
mother’s cell. But Stacy had always been the one to whom other family members
turned for support. She hated unloading problems on
them.
Now, she listened to the phone ring. Four-thirty here meant
five-thirty in Utah. Realizing she might be interrupting dinner preparations,
she was about to cancel the call when her mother’s voice said, “Stacy? Hi.”
“Hi, Mom.” In the background, Stacy heard a woman ask about
shipping a purchase. “You’re at the boutique?”
“We’ve been incredibly busy.” Her mother sounded frazzled.
“Lots of tourists this month. How are you?”
“Maybe this isn’t a good time to talk.” She hated to drop
bombshell news on her mom while a customer waited for attention. “You’re
busy.”
“Your sister can handle the counter. Hold on.” Judging by the
sounds, Ellen was moving. Then a door clicked shut, cutting off the hum of
voices.
“Seriously, Mom, we can talk tomorrow. No, Saturday,” Stacy
corrected, remembering the ultrasound.
“This must be important, or you wouldn’t be so nervous,” her
mother said. “Talk to me.”
No getting around it. “Okay,” Stacy said. “I’m pregnant.”