“I wouldn’t mind answering their questions,” Cole told her as
she led him off the stage. “I’m in no hurry.”
“We have security personnel whose shifts are ending,” she
explained. “And I promised Ian I’d relieve him of babysitting duties so he can
conduct an interview.”
Cole recalled that her husband, a journalist and author, hosted
an online news focus show.
“I see,” Cole said. “Thanks for your help.”
“I didn’t expect this big a turnout,” she admitted. “You
handled the press well.”
“They tend to ask silly questions.” He had received his share
of accolades and awards over the years, but he’d never before had an experience
like this with the media.
“They aren’t all so superficial,” Jennifer said as they skirted
the remnants of the crowd. “Ian explores serious issues on his show. Still, he
couldn’t earn a living doing that. Serious journalism rarely goes viral.”
Cole held a side door for her. “I don’t understand why anyone
would want to be famous,” he said, right before he stepped out into the glare of
camera flashes.
Chapter Seven
With microphones in his face and questions flying, Cole
did his best to answer the barrage of increasingly ridiculous questions. Should
schools teach teenage boys to preserve the health of their sperm? Should the
federal government create an office to combat the decline in male fertility?
Should there be a law against tight-fitting men’s underpants, since these could
raise the temperature enough to damage sperm?
His struggles to keep a straight face soon gave way to
frustration. A handful of men were waiting to one side, clearly eager to ask
about their personal situations, while the reporters ignored Jennifer’s attempts
to wrap up the impromptu press conference. A security guard hovered, held in
check by the PR director’s warning frown. You didn’t manhandle the press.
All the same, Cole feared that if this went on much longer, he
might lose his temper and become sarcastic. His tongue had sliced and diced more
than a few bullies in his early years, but those individuals hadn’t had the
power to edit his comments and make him look like a bad-tempered idiot on the
air.
“As a fertility doctor, aren’t you adding to the crisis of
unwanted babies?” demanded a man whose T-shirt bore the call letters of a Los
Angeles radio station.
Cole hardly knew where to start. “Men who undergo treatment
aren’t likely to abandon their children. And if there’s a crisis of unwanted
babies, why are so many couples adopting overseas?”
“Isn’t the whole infertility field just a racket to make
doctors rich?” the reporter persisted.
Cole found himself at a rare loss for words. Mercifully, a
series of loud claps cut off the other reporters’ attempts to leap into the
breach.
From among the men waiting at the side, a blond fellow built
like a wrestler stalked in front of the reporters. “You folks have had your
turn,” he boomed. “Now mind your manners and give the rest of us a chance.”
“Who are you?” someone demanded.
“I’m a high school biology teacher used to setting boundaries
for adolescents.” The statement drew muffled laughter.
“The public has a right to know,” a female journalist
snapped.
“Yeah, you’re not in charge here,” a radio reporter
interjected.
“Ever heard of showing respect for others?” the teacher
responded. “If you were my students, I’d send you all to the principal’s
office.”
Seizing his chance, the security guard moved in. “Folks, fire
regulations require me to clear the corridor. If you’ll just head toward the
exits...”
“Thank you for coming,” Jennifer called, and grabbed Cole’s
elbow. “Quick! Hide!”
Most of the waiting men scattered, along with the press.
Spurred by a sense of fair play, Cole waved to the teacher to come with
them.
They ducked into the fertility program suite. It being a
Saturday, there was no one else around.
“Thanks, Jennifer,” Cole told the PR director as he unlocked
his private office. “You’ve been great.”
“You sure you’re all right?” She seemed uncertain about their
guest.
“Go home to your family.” Speaking those words gave Cole a
twinge. Until recently, families had belonged to other people, not to him. Now
his thoughts flew to Stacy and the baby she carried.
She’d told him to mind his own business. Yet wasn’t it his
business, too?
To the teacher, Jennifer said, “I’m Jennifer Martin, by the
way, and you did a great job of running interference.”
“Peter Gladstone. My motives were purely self-serving.” They
shook hands. After she departed, he accepted a seat. “I appreciate your sparing
me a few minutes, Dr. Rattigan.”
Behind his desk, Cole shifted into doctor mode. “What can I do
for you?”
“I’m trying to find out if there’s any point in my even making
an appointment. My case might be hopeless.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Normally, Cole would have
insisted they continue this discussion during an office visit, since he couldn’t
assess the situation without a medical history or an examination. However, in
view of Peter’s help earlier, he felt the guy deserved more than a quick
dismissal.
The man folded his muscular arms. “I have a low sperm count. My
previous doctor ruled out a number of factors, but he couldn’t find a
cause.”
Mentally, Cole struck off the man’s age—early thirties—and
apparently good health as possible causes. “He didn’t give you a referral?”
“He never got the chance. My wife...” The teacher’s voice
broke.
Cole refrained from offering sympathy. In his experience, guys
who got emotional preferred to pretend you hadn’t noticed.
Peter swallowed and went on. “During the fertility workup, we
discovered my wife had ovarian cancer. She died a year and a half ago.”
“I’m sorry.” He was confused. “Why are you concerned about your
sperm count now?”
“Having children has always been my dream,” the teacher said.
“I can’t believe I’ll ever find anyone I could love as much as Angela, but even
if I do, how could I ask her to marry me if I can’t father children?”
He could find someone who loved him enough to adopt or to use
artificial insemination, but this wasn’t a counseling session, and Peter was
smart enough to have considered those ideas on his own. Obviously, he wanted his
own flesh-and-blood children. “Do you remember what tests have been run?”
Peter’s expression cleared at the straightforward question.
“Yes, I do.” He read off a list of tests and results from his cell phone. The
previous physician, a local urologist, had done a thorough job.
Although they’d exhausted the obvious possibilities, that
wasn’t the end of the story. “I’d like to review your case in more depth,” Cole
told Peter. “If you have any trouble getting an appointment, ask for my nurse,
Luke Mendez.” Cole typed on the computer as he spoke. “I’m sending him an email
right now. We’ll schedule you in.”
Gratitude suffused the man’s face. “I can’t tell you how much
this means to me.”
“I’m glad to help.”
After his visitor left, Cole made a few notes while the
discussion was fresh in his mind. Peter’s determination to have children
underscored the irony of Cole’s own impending fatherhood.
What was he going to do about it? The prospect of standing
aside, preserving his anonymity and watching Stacy take the heat as she grew
ever larger struck him as unacceptable. And what about their baby?
Working in a hospital, he saw babies all the time. Their
presence barely registered, though. Taking a closer look might help guide his
reaction.
After locking his office, Cole climbed to the third floor.
While most of the hospital lay quiet on a Saturday afternoon, there was plenty
of activity around Labor and Delivery. During his internship, that hadn’t been
one of his favorite rotations. Too much noise, too many hard-to-control factors
and too many relatives swamping the waiting rooms and demanding updates.
Also, Cole had been so absorbed in the medical details of
delivering babies and attending to the mothers that he’d paid little attention
to the infants. Yes, there’d been a rush of appreciation every time he held a
newborn, but he’d also been sharply aware of their fragility, and was happy to
transfer them into someone else’s capable hands. Once they were safely
delivered, they belonged to the nurses, pediatricians and, of course, the
parents.
He followed the signs to the viewing window at the nursery.
Prepared for a vista of tiny people, Cole stared in dismay at the mostly empty
bassinets. Only a few little ones lay sleeping beneath the attentive eye of a
nurse, and they weren’t close enough to the window for him to see well.
A passing doctor, dark-haired with a short mustache, paused to
ask, “What brings you here, Cole?” His name tag read Jared Sellers, M.D.,
Neonatologist.
Cole had no intention of explaining his reasons, especially to
someone he only vaguely recognized. Still, he appreciated the other doctor’s
courtesy. “Are all the babies in the patients’ rooms?”
Jared nodded. “You’ll see more of them in intermediate care,
just around the corner.”
“Thanks.”
“Not too many urologists drop by to visit the babies.”
Was the staff always this curious? “Maybe they should.”
Impulsively, Cole added, “Do you have kids?”
Out came the cell phone, and an image of a baby appeared, a
pink bow decorating her reddish-brown curls. “That’s my daughter, Bonnie. She’s
two months old,” the neonatologist said. “My wife, Lori, is on leave from her
job as Dr. Rayburn’s nurse. I’m not sure if she can bear to go back to work in
another month and put our little girl in day care.”
This was more information than Cole wanted. “She’s adorable.”
That seemed like the right thing to say.
“And supersmart,” Jared enthused. “She’s curious about
everything. For her age, she has great head and neck control.”
Cole had never considered babies interesting until they
achieved such milestones as sitting up, standing or talking. Obviously, parents
noted small markers that he’d never considered.
Will I be like that?
What was he thinking? He wasn’t going to be around. No photos
in his cell phone. No idea how his son or daughter was developing.
He’d better get moving before the other doctor repeated the
question about what he was doing there. “I’d better be off,” he said.
“Congratulations on your daughter.”
“Thanks.” Jared was too busy reviewing images—quite a few,
apparently—to glance up from his phone.
Cole debated stopping by the intermediate care facility, but
his initial impulse to view babies now seemed ill-considered. Instead, he went
outside to his bike. He’d resumed cycling to work once his knee recovered, and
he was glad now for the exercise. It helped settle his thoughts.
As he pumped along Hospital Way, one theme emerged. He had to
talk to Stacy about how they were going to manage this pregnancy. That was his
baby in there, and while he respected her right to give it up for adoption, he
intended to be involved until it was delivered.
* * *
S
TACY
STAYED
IN
BED
most of Saturday
morning, sipping orange-flavored herbal tea. Her troublesome stomach had gone
into overdrive, leaving her perpetually queasy and sleepy.
If only her mother were here to fix toast and fuss over her.
Several times, Stacy reached for the phone to call her, but she didn’t feel up
to explaining everything. Besides, Ellen Layne led a busy life, running a shop,
making stuffed animals and helping her namesake, Stacy’s older sister Ellie,
care for her four children.
Then there was Dad’s reaction to consider. Alastair Layne had
always been meticulous both in his work as a pharmacist and in raising his
daughters. Other girls were allowed to wear skimpy clothing and have multiple
piercings, but not Stacy or Ellie. After learning about Andrew’s infidelity,
he’d backed Stacy in the divorce, but had remained noncommittal on the subject
of egg donation, apparently unsure where that fit into his moral continuum.
Out-of-marriage pregnancy was unquestionably on the low end.
He’d be terribly disappointed in her. Stacy had no idea how he’d feel about her
giving up the baby for adoption versus keeping it, and she wasn’t eager to find
out.
Maybe she could avoid telling them altogether. That would
require avoiding them for the next eight months and lying about it, though. She
decided against dealing with the issue while she felt lousy.
After a light lunch, she dragged herself to the supermarket,
then came home and put the food away. A note from Harper indicated she’d taken
Mia to a birthday party for her friend Fiona, the daughter of the hospital’s
embryologist.
After surfing the internet for a bit, Stacy lay down on the
couch. She hoped her roommate would come back soon so they could talk. This
pregnancy was going to affect Harper, so she had a right to hear about it from
Stacy before word got out, or Harper picked up early signs of pregnancy on her
own.
Stacy must have drifted off, because a ringing sound dragged
her from the depths. Disoriented, she groped for her phone. How long had she
slept?
Two hours, according to her watch. It was nearly 5:00 p.m.
Harper must have stayed at the party, which, Stacy recalled from the invitation
posted on the refrigerator, ran from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.
“Stacy?” It was Cole.
“Is something wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“Wrong?”
“Am I late for surgery?” No, wait, it was Saturday. Besides, if
she were late for work, a supervisor would be calling, not the doctor. “What’s
up?”
“I thought I’d bring dinner.” Determination underscored his
words. “I’m partial to pesto ravioli from Papa Giovanni’s but, if you’re craving
something else, just say so.”
She should refuse, but her stomach was crying out for food, and
she missed Cole. That melting expression, that special smile... Harper wouldn’t
be back for another hour and a half, so they could enjoy some privacy. “I’d love
that.” She gave him her address.
“Great!” he exclaimed, as if she’d done him a huge favor. “See
you in a few minutes.”
Stacy noted the toys and papers scattered around the room. What
a contrast to Cole’s scrupulously neat place. As if to compensate for the day’s
languor, a surge of energy sent her flying around the apartment to put away the
mess.
Then she caught a frightening glimpse of herself in a mirror,
hair bristling like a porcupine’s, eyebrows askew, lips pale. She charged into
the bedroom to fix her hair and makeup.
She was almost ready when she heard the scrape of a key in the
front door. Her roommate was back early. How was Stacy going to explain Cole’s
visit?
With the truth, she supposed.
Willing herself to be calm, she strolled into the front room.
Harper had dumped a sheaf of papers on top of the coffee table, which Stacy had
cleared only minutes earlier. The dark-haired nurse regarded her with excitement
and a touch of apprehension.