Her Motherhood Wish (The Parent Portal Book 3)

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And then he started talking about names. Not really asking her if she’d decided on any, just throwing them out there. Partnering them with her last name. He didn’t ask for any responses, but engaged with any comments she made. Mostly, she could just sit and breathe, finding her calm spot, and focus on his voice, if not his words.

  The procedure itself wasn’t as much of a big deal as she’d expected—maybe because her expectations had had such critical results attached to them. The test could show something horrible, so the procedure had taken on that menace in her mind. It wasn’t completely pain-free, but the discomfort was minimal and things went quickly, perfectly; soon, she was back out with Wood, postprocedure information in mind, ready to go.

  “You want to get something to eat?” Wood’s unexpected invitation tempted her.

  Now that the test was done, she was feeling kind of hungry. And kept replaying the expressions on the doctor’s face, too, as the procedure was performed, as though the obstetrician could somehow read test results when Cassie knew darn well that the fluid had to be allowed to grow things in a lab before anyone would know anything. Being alone, lying on the beach, or on the couch, sounded about as appealing as standing in a blizzard in shorts.

  “Don’t you have to get to work?”

  “I told them not to expect me until after lunch.”

  She didn’t feel much like eating anymore. Or driving, either. What if she cramped? Or started to bleed? But there was someplace she really wanted to go. With her natural inclination pushing her to politely decline—accepting help on a personal level didn’t come easily—she hesitated. He was there. He knew her current hell. He was the only one in her world who understood.

  And it wasn’t right to take advantage of his kindness. Or make it more than it was. Neither did she want him hanging out at her house, watching her. He’d said he was off until lunch.

  “I’m not hungry, but would you mind if we made one stop on the way home?”

  “I don’t mind. Where do you want to go?”

  “The cemetery.”

  The shocked look he immediately gave her almost made her smile.

  “No, I’m not preparing for the worst,” she told him laconically. “I just... Whenever I have a big decision to make or need to remind myself that everything will work itself out one way or another, I visit my father’s grave...”

  There was only one cemetery in Marie Cove, and Wood headed the truck in that direction. He asked her about the test, if it had hurt, if she’d liked the technician. He didn’t ask if she’d gotten a sense that the technician had noticed anything.

  “They said it’ll be three days, at a minimum, before we know anything. Could be as much as a week.”

  He glanced her way. Nodded and signaled a turn. “Then that’s all we need to deal with at the moment. Those days.”

  He was right, of course. And she was thankful he was there.

  Once they reached the cemetery, she directed him to the gravel drive that led to her father’s tombstone, and then, slowly on foot, took him to the half-rotted bench that sat directly opposite it. It tilted to the side as she gingerly lowered herself, but then steadied.

  “I have no idea who put this here, or for what purpose,” she said as she held the splintery bench with both hands beside her thighs. “But I’ve always thought of it as a throne with mystical powers. It’s peaceful here. And if I close my eyes, I can hear my father’s voice.”

  She closed her eyes as she said the words, but, as aware of Wood as she was, didn’t completely leave the world behind as she usually did. Still, the peace was there. For a long moment she soaked it all in. The silence. The peace. Wood’s presence.

  It seemed right somehow, that she be there at that time, after a procedure that would tell her the fate of her baby, in presence of both her father—and the father of her child. Seeking sustenance from both.

  As parents. Nothing less. Nothing more.

  She didn’t hear him move but wasn’t surprised, when she opened her eyes, to find him standing right beside her, looking toward her father’s grave.

  “My dad had a way of getting to the meat of the matter,” she said softly.

  “What would he be saying to you right now?”

  “To let go of them things I can’t make no difference to,” she said, quoting the man she still adored. “And to remember that I’ve got what it takes to handle whatever comes.”

  The last wasn’t quite a quote. But close enough.

  “I know these things,” she told Wood, looking up at him. The sun was behind her, warming her neck, illuminating his face. “But sometimes I can only feel them when I come here.”

  “It’s just you and him here,” he told her. “Like it used to be when he was alive—just you and him at home, during the times you were with him.”

  “And now you,” she said aloud. His face changed as their eyes met, and she couldn’t look away. It wasn’t right, this intense emotional connection she seemed to be developing with a man who was only there because her baby might be sick, but the words were there, between them, bonding them, and she couldn’t take them back.

  * * *

  Wood spent most of his free time over the next three days out in his workshop, with Retro lying on her bed in the corner by the open door.

  He’d made a grilled chicken salad for dinner Friday night and, keeping the last of Cassie’s homemade cookies for himself at home, had run a good-size portion of the salad up to Elaina, who was working a double shift at the hospital. She’d thanked him profusely.

  And he’d avoided the patient floors, not wanting to think about illness. About things that went inexplicably wrong with the human body.

  He hadn’t talked about that tiny little human being growing inside a woman he barely knew—not with Elaina, not with anyone—but he was thinking about it constantly. Needing to know that the baby was okay.

  Not for him, but just because.

  Each night he’d texted Cassie. Innocuous stuff. Sports one night. She liked basketball because it was fast-paced. Baseball bored her because it wasn’t. He liked them both, and told her so. Football, she could take or leave—but she knew all the teams and many of the best-known players from ten years before, because her dad had watched every game and so she’d shared that experience with him.

  He found out she’d played tennis in high school and college. He hadn’t told her he’d quarterbacked his high school football team. Or that he’d been scouted, after his junior year, by a decent California university. That door had closed when he’d quit school, but it wasn’t like he’d been guaranteed a spot anywhere. Only that his stats had attracted some attention. His and a lot of other guys’. He’d given up a lot, but didn’t regret the choices he’d made. Maybe he’d questioned fate a time or two, but no response had been forthcoming and he’d let it go.

  On Friday he was waiting until later to text, figuring, with Saturday being the third day, she’d be more on edge. Late at night was usually the hardest time when dealing with life’s challenges. He didn’t have to be up Saturday and had a topic of discussion already picked out: old television commercials, which ones she remembered. For some reason they stuck with him, but he’d done some research, too. Had a list ready on his laptop. Planned to give her a word or two and see if she could guess the product. Or remember the jingle.

  Like the Clara and Wendy’s “Where’s the beef?” ads from the year he was born. The original ad hadn’t run for that long, but the fame of it lived on. He sanded, preparing for a second coat of a protective mostly colorless varnish on his latest project, thinking about his plans. Feeling good about them.

  And heard his phone signal a text.

  Message from doctor. Scheduled appointment tomorrow at ten to discuss results.

  Sander in hand, he stood there, suspended. Read the text a second time. Put the sander down.

  Any
indications of what they are? His big thumbs didn’t type fast enough for him.

  Just a message from a call service, haven’t talked to anyone yet. I chose to make the appointment and hear in person. Because I’ll have questions and it’s best to have those answers immediately available...

  She’s scared, he translated mentally. Putting off the news for one more night. Putting herself in hell, was more like it. But he understood, too. If the news was bad, living with it all night without finding out how bad, knowing percentages and next steps, would be excruciating.

  But if it was good...

  I’d like to take you to the appointment.

  Let her argue with him, or worry about how she couldn’t let herself rely on him, to take her mind off matters of so much greater importance. She was less than ten minutes away if she was at home. He wanted to go to her. Just to sit there, if nothing else. He didn’t kid himself that he had some magic, proven cure for real or potential tragedy. But he understood the benefit of having another presence nearby so that the world didn’t completely close in on you.

  Thank you.

  So...that was a yes? Just like that?

  What time? he typed.

  9:30.

  For a ten o’clock appointment, just a few minutes away.

  I’ll be there.

  He set the phone down. Picked up the sander while he awaited her response. Wanted to get the last coat of varnish on so that it would have time to dry before morning. Wanted to focus on what he could affect. To control the emotions that would overtake him if he gave them the slightest chance. He needed to maintain control so that he could help her.

  At nine he finished sanding. And had heard nothing more from Cassie.

  By ten, he’d finished the last coat of varnish and was headed back to the house, Retro by his side and phone in hand. He started the conversation about commercials with an easy quote: “Plop, plop, fizz, fizz...”

  She responded immediately, finishing the line.

  By 2:00 a.m., he was out of commercials. And moved on to old sitcoms.

  He should be tired. Saying good-night. Getting a few hours’ sleep. But he didn’t.

  Cassie was still awake. And so he’d type all night, if that’s what it took.

  In a matter of days, the woman had become a part of his life.

  Chapter Eight

  In a black-and-white flowered T-shirt dress that clearly showed her little baby bump, Cassie smiled at Wood as he held his truck door for her Saturday morning. Right on time.

  She’d worn three pairs of flip-flop-shaped earrings in each ear, one silver with black flowers, one white with silver flowers and one black with white trim. She was ready to collect important information, and that was all. Dealing with whatever she heard would come later. Just get the information and go. Then deal with it.

  She had her plan. You couldn’t deal until you knew. So she couldn’t have a plan for dealing until she knew what she had to deal with. Collect the information. Go. Deal.

  Deal. Deal. Deal.

  She could and she would.

  Wood had climbed in beside her. Was starting the truck. Feeling closer to him, she chatted about the beautiful blue sky, the balmy warmth and a possible walk on the beach that afternoon as he pulled from her driveway.

  And then she drew a blank. All of the things she’d been telling herself all morning, the easy conversational tidbits she had to offer, just flew out of her mind. By the time she saw her house again, or had a chance to walk on the beach, she’d know if her baby had a chance at a life. Or not much of one.

  Collect. She just had to collect for now.

  The wealth of love she felt for the little one she hadn’t even yet felt move was unfathomable. It was seemingly impossible, except that she was feeling it—the love, and the fear attached to that. She’d never known such a debilitating, freeze-your-brain panic.

  Everything might be fine. She was not going to borrow trouble. She was only going to get information that she wanted to have.

  “Do you remember the episode of Friends when Danny DeVito showed up as the stripper at Phoebe’s wedding shower?” She heard Wood speak. Turned and looked at him. Had to concentrate on a replay of his words to know what he was talking about. A television show they’d spoken about.

  For a moment she couldn’t remember who Danny DeVito was. And then had a flash of him on another old sitcom. Something about New York taxicabs. He’d been a mean boss. A really short and somewhat plump little man. And then, “Yeah, I kind of do,” she said.

  “If the character Danny DeVito played had ever asked anyone if he’d make it as a stripper, he’d most likely have been told no,” he said.

  Well, duh... He’d been cast in that role on that show because of the ridiculousness of the fit.

  “But the character got to do it,” Wood continued. “And he was pretty good at the dancing part of it.

  “And what about the fact that Ross’s wife left him? He thought his life was over,” Wood added. “But if she hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have been free to get together with the love of his life. And after ten excruciating years, they finally end up together.”

  Wood had just pulled in to the doctor’s office. And she was still breathing calmly. She glanced at him, a thank-you on the tip of her tongue, and he said, “You never know.”

  “You never know what?”

  “You just never know. Things can look like one thing today, but they could be entirely different down the road.”

  And the waves...they brought in some bad stuff, but they brought good, too.

  “Nothing is an absolute certainty,” Wood said, glancing over at her.

  And she knew what he was telling her. Even if the news was bad, she had to believe that good could come of it. She had to have hope.

  The man was right.

  And good for her.

  Which made it so hard to remember that he was there because he was her sperm donor. Not her partner.

  * * *

  Rather than an examining room, Cassie was shown into a doctor’s office. She’d opted to go with an obstetrician from the Parent Portal, but that morning’s appointment was at the doctor’s private office by the hospital. The same facility where she’d had her amniocentesis. She sat in the chair across from the desk as instructed and watched as Dr. Osborne, whom she’d only actually met twice, closed the door and took her seat behind the desk.

  Keeping her distance. A professional distance. Cassie understood the unspoken need to establish roles. It was a tactic she’d used herself when she’d had unpleasant legal information to deliver to a client.

  Bracing herself as best she could, she thought about waves. A short, plump stripper. And a different man wearing black shorts and a white polo shirt, sitting just feet beyond that door, his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in the air between his knees. She thought of thick, curly blond hair and blue eyes. Those deep cerulean eyes that could also be her baby’s.

  And ten minutes later, as she walked through the door from the hallway to the waiting room, all she saw were those deep blue eyes, their gaze seeking her own, as though he’d know all just from that glance.

  She blinked, her mouth starting to tremble, and he stood, coming toward her.

  Wood was beside her, not touching her, just there, and she nodded, at what she didn’t know, and headed toward the door. There was no paperwork to sign. She already had her next appointment scheduled. It was time to go. So she went.

  He stayed beside her all the way to the truck. Opened her door for her, closed it behind her. Climbed in beside her and sat there holding his keys. He didn’t ask. Just sat there. Watching her.

  And in that moment, Cassie fell a little bit in love—a feeling she knew, under the circumstances, she couldn’t trust.

  * * *

  God knew, he didn’t want to push. The morning, his
association with Cassie, wasn’t about him. But if he had to wait much longer to find out the fate of the baby he’d fathered, he was going to need to pound a hammer against some rock.

  His heart thudded as she looked over at him and he saw the tears in her eyes, and all worry stopped. Just as it had when his mother died. When Peter died. And Elaina almost did. His job was to be there. To take care of those about whom he cared. It was what he was good at.

  But...he didn’t know what to do now.

  “It’s not leukemia.” He barely heard the words before the strongest woman he figured he’d ever met broke down into sobs. Like, literally broke down. Her head fell, her shoulders rolled in and her body jerked with the violence of the emotions racking through her.

  Pushing up the console in between them, he moved over and rubbed her back, handing her a tissue, waiting for the initial emotion to pass before attempting to find out more. And when it did, when she straightened, dark eyeliner in streaks around her eyes and down her cheeks, he gently wiped the darkness away.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Sounding breathless, Cassie glanced at him, eyes red and cheeks blotched. “I don’t know what happened there. I just... I thought I could handle anything, but...holding it all in... I don’t know. Maybe I’ve never cared so much, but...”

  “Cassie.” He’d moved back over to his seat.

  “Yes?”

  “What are we handling?”

  She stared at him. And he heard his words in instant replay. We.

  It wasn’t leukemia. She didn’t need his bone marrow. Technically, he was out.

  And he wanted more. She could choose to give it. Or not.

  “Fetal anemia.”

  With those two words, an answer to a non–sperm donor question, everything changed between them. Her baby might need a blood transfusion, but since they’d found the condition early enough, could treat it, the baby had a normal life expectancy. Cassie no longer needed her sperm donor. But did she want a friend?