After settling the parents in the waiting room, with tea and biscuits and magazines in an attempt to take their minds from what was happening, he accompanied the surgeon to Theatre. He’d do the anaesthesia, and that way see what was going on inside his patient.
‘I can see eight on the X-ray,’ the surgeon said. ‘Do we know how many he swallowed?’
‘The mother didn’t have a clue, but the father thought maybe there could have been ten in the bottle.’
‘What on earth were they used for?’ the assisting nurse asked, and Andy shook his head as he considered how easily such things happened.
‘Apparently, one of the parents’ elderly grandfathers lives with them, and he wears hearing aids, but he’s always taking the batteries out and leaving them all over the place, so they’re gathered up as soon as they’re seen and put into the bottle, to be used when he loses another pair.’
‘Well, I’ve got eight,’ the surgeon said, and peering at the screen Andy could see eight of the tiny batteries now encased in a tiny bag.
‘I’ll bring them out, but some could have gone further into his digestive tract, so the parents should watch for more appearing in his stools.’
He paused before adding, ‘I’d be happier if we’d known the exact number.’
‘None appeared in the digestive tract in the X-ray,’ Andy reminded him, although they both knew with the folds within the small intestine something so small would appear as little more than a tiny blip.
‘We’ll just have to hope for the best,’ he added, wondering if hoping for the best was all you could do with your own children in many situations.
He was beginning to think like Sam, worrying about possible accidents and illnesses to possible children.
Because now there was a child?
The thought excited him to the extent he smiled, although he knew there was still a long way to go before he and Sam could explore their options further as far as the current possibility went.
He and Sam?
Would there ever be an Andy and Sam?
‘All done,’ the surgeon said. ‘You should keep him up in the PICU for twenty-four hours, but I couldn’t see any obvious damage to the lining of his stomach so he should be fine.’
Andy stayed with the boy in Recovery, wanting to assure himself he really was all right. And possibly as an excuse not to go home just yet.
He had to talk to Sam—to talk about things other than CF—but he was fairly sure that, at the moment, it was in the forefront of her mind, and the admissions of love he’d like to make to her would go unheard—or, worse, unheeded.
* * *
Sam was sitting on the couch in his living room with bits of paper strewn around her.
‘I had to get the CF thing straight in my head and you know what? Even if we’re both carriers there’s only a one in four chance of our child having CF. Those are pretty good odds, don’t you think?’
‘Weren’t you the one who was saying we wouldn’t bother with it until we got the test results?’ he teased, although his heart had leapt at Sam’s use of the word ‘our’.
So he moved closer, stepping cautiously through the mess of paper, to take her hands and haul her to her feet, where he wrapped his arms around her and held her until he felt her body relax against his—slumping in tiredness from her emotional research.
‘Come to bed,’ he said, and when she began to object, he kissed the words away.
‘We don’t know anything yet,’ he reminded her as he slid kisses down her neck. ‘So, just for now...’ he added, as his kisses reached the top of her breast, his lips seeking a way in beneath the loose tank top she was wearing.
Now his tongue had reached her nipple, lapped at it, and he felt her quiver, her body pressing closer to his, her lips now against his neck, her fingers tugging at the buttons on his shirt. Now she hauled his head, lips found lips, while their hands took over stripping their clothes off, and as his tongue met hers, felt it slide against his, desire ramped up a notch, and together they fell to the couch, his feet still entangled in his trousers, but nothing mattered but the sensation—the slide of skin on skin, fingers and lips teasing each other, the pressure for release building and building.
His fingers felt her heat and moistness, and her cry of, ‘Please, Andy,’ broke any restraint he’d managed to hold onto and he slid into her, moving with her, holding her arching body close, until with another cry she went limp in his arms and his own release surged through him, a groan of utter abandonment escaping him.
They lay, bodies slick with sweat, held together by the force of the passion they’d shared, neither moving, neither speaking, their breathing somehow synchronised. Until, after what seemed like for ever, Andy slid his body beneath hers, kicking off his trousers in the process, and looked up into her face.
‘Repeat after me: I will forget about everything genetic until I get the test results.’
Sam smiled down at him, hair beautifully tousled around her flushed face, eyes shining with the aftermath of sex.
‘Consider it said,’ she answered huskily. ‘I’m far too pooped to think of anything tonight and should be back to my normal sensible self by morning.’
‘Stay the night with me?’ he asked, not wanting to let her go.
Ever!
But that was a way off yet.
He saw her smile and a sleepy nod, which was more than enough encouragement to slide off the couch and lift her in his arms, carrying her through to the bedroom, where he dropped her on the bed.
* * *
Sam looked up at him. She was so tired—pleasantly tired, ready to sleep tired—and yet she wanted more—something more—and as she turned onto her side, already half-asleep, she was aware of Andy pulling a sheet over her naked body, and knew what she’d wanted from him.
Love.
CHAPTER TEN
SAM WOKE TO find Andy gone—sometime in the night, she rather thought, vaguely recalling a phone ringing and Andy’s hushed voice.
She stretched luxuriously in the big bed, aware of the musky smell of sex on her body, and pleasantly surprised to find memories of Andy’s touch still alive on her nerve endings.
But noises outside the bedroom suggested he was back, his voice calling to her, ‘Up, lazybones, breakfast in fifteen minutes!’
She leapt out of bed, heading for the shower, sorry she hadn’t kept some clothes—undies at least—in Andy’s bedroom. But once showered and clean, she pulled on the previous day’s tank top and skirt.
Breakfast was a plate of bacon and eggs with hot rolls and butter, served on the balcony. What could be a better follow-up to a night of passion? The honey pot was on the table, already attracting the interest of flying insects, and a couple of small jars of jam the insects seemed equally interested in.
She sat, at peace with the world for the moment, until the smell of the bacon had her stomach roiling, and she fled to the bathroom.
‘Dry toast?’ Andy suggested sympathetically, as she came out.
She nodded.
‘Well, go back out onto the balcony—I’ve removed the other breakfast but left the honey in case you needed something sweet.’
The brisk breeze from the ocean and, Sam suspected, a little air freshener had removed the smell of bacon and she was able to relax into a chair—but only for as long as it took to remember she had to make an appointment with a doctor to get her CF test results later today.
‘We haven’t talked about what happens if the test is positive,’ Sam said, as the thought of finding out was already churning her delicate stomach.
‘Because there’s no point,’ Andy said firmly. ‘We could talk—discuss—for hours all the what-ifs, but why waste our breath on that? We’ll wait and see then talk about what next, okay, love?’
There was the word again, the word that let hope creep into her heart.
> He came and stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, kneading gently, his fingers straying into her hair, lifting tendrils of it and letting them drop, running strands through his fingers...
He sighed and his fingers tugged gently at her hair so she lifted her face to look at him, look into eyes that didn’t hide the confusion—despair?—he was feeling.
‘I’d already decided—after Annabel—that it was best I didn’t marry, didn’t father children. Now here we are, and everything is different, Sam. And, anyway, I have to get back to work.’
He bent and kissed her on the lips—making her glad she’d put a bit of toothpaste on her finger and given herself a bit of a tooth clean so at least her breath was sweet.
But what use was that?
And why the kiss?
Hadn’t he just told her he didn’t want to marry?
But if he loved her...
There it was again—love.
Her mind was going round in circles, so she cleaned up the few dishes she’d used, stacked them in the dishwasher, and headed downstairs. What she needed was a swim to clear her head, keep busy so she didn’t have to think about Andy, and the decision he’d made well before she’d happened along—his decision not to marry...
* * *
Andy couldn’t remember a day at work when his mind hadn’t been fully focussed on the job. Over the years he’d learned that even a slight distraction might mean he’d miss a minor change in a patient’s status or, worse, forget a test he could have performed to get a better result.
So, to have his mind wandering to Sam, to the feel of her in his arms last night, the sweet musky smell of her, and most frequently of all to the test results she’d get today, was a new distraction.
He’d had enough distractions in the past to know how to retrieve his focus, but keeping it there?
Would she know by now?
His gut twisted at the thought, although he knew the percentages of her not being a carrier were far higher than a positive test.
Work—think about work!
But he’d held her in his arms as they’d slept, learned the way her body fitted best into his, and felt her heartbeat against his chest. And had known he loved her...
* * *
‘Are you sure?’ Sam demanded of the doctor, although such a question would have irritated her no end if she’d been working.
The doctor smiled and passed her the second sheet of paper.
‘See, they’ve even sent us pictures!’
He pointed to two strings of figures printed on the page.
‘This is the little bugger we want to look at.’
It was typed in red so it was totally obvious.
‘See, no mutation in it whatsoever—check for yourself.’
She looked at the two sets of numbers and letters, which were both identical.
Her relief must have shown in her face for the doctor raised an eyebrow.
‘Especially good news?’ he said, and Sam smiled and nodded at him.
‘Very, especially good,’ she said, taking the papers from his hand and collecting her little backpack from the floor beside her chair.
‘I’m glad,’ the doctor told her. ‘All the best to you.’
Sam departed, aware she should have been asking questions about the possibility of being one of the rare genetic carriers who didn’t show up on tests, or discussing possible referrals to an obstetrician for the foetal test, but she’d sort all that out later. Right now she needed to send a text to Andy.
But that thought stopped her dead on the pavement outside the medical centre. She had absolutely no idea how Andy felt about her pregnancy.
She clutched her hand to her belly, protective of the new life there. There was still the foetal testing to be done but she felt reasonably certain that would be okay.
No! This baby was here to stay, with or without Andy.
With or without Andy?
The joyous bounce in her step slowed—stopped.
Just because she was desperate for a family it didn’t mean Andy was.
And even if he did want one, did he want one with her?
There’d been no word of love between them—oh, he’d called her ‘love’—but in the same way he might have called her ‘sweetheart’.
But neither had she mentioned how she felt about him.
Too wary of rejection to lay her feelings bare?
Although early on she really hadn’t been sure of love herself, hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just an overwhelming relief to have someone she knew and liked working with her.
Then slowly he’d crept into her thoughts—worse, into her blood, and bones, and sinews—until a casual touch could send her heart racing, a smile make her whole body sing.
Damn it all, life wasn’t meant to be so complicated—she was sure of this. For the past three years she’d lived, if not at first but much more lately, quite happily single, never thinking about a long-term relationship, still living with a doubt that marriage to Nick had been her failure rather than his.
And never thinking about love...
* * *
‘So, when should we get married?’ Andy asked, walking into his flat where she’d been preparing a meal and handing her a large bunch of blue cornflowers. ‘Must have had mainly girls arrive today to have had only blue ones at the hospital florist,’ he added with a smile, then he kissed her cheek, and said, ‘Well?’
Disturbed in ways she couldn’t put in words, Sam thrust the flowers back at him.
‘It’s your flat—you’ll know where you keep vases, if you have such things, and when did marriage come into the equation?’
‘But of course, we’ll get married. I want to be part of this child’s life and isn’t marriage the easiest way to achieve that? This is just the start—we can have a family!’
Sam closed the oven door on the chicken and lentil casserole she was making and turned to face him.
‘There’s more to marriage than having kids,’ she said quietly.
‘Of course, there is,’ Andy said, the bunch of flowers still clutched in his hand. ‘There’s sharing lives, and hopes, and dreams, and ups and downs, I guess, and being there for each other through good times and bad, and just, well, having each other to lean on.’
Sam sighed. Should she prompt him? Tell him how she felt?
But if he didn’t love her back, they’d both be embarrassed...
Embarrassed? She’d be downright devastated!
Damn it all, surely, she was old enough now to talk honestly about emotions and not get herself twisted up in knots like a fifteen-year-old.
Well, here goes nothing!
She took a deep breath, looked directly at him, aware there’d be challenge in her eyes.
‘And love, Andy? Where does love come into it?’
He stared at her for a moment, then crossed the kitchen, rooting around in a cupboard and finally coming up with a large jar that had presumably held preserved fruit at some time.
He rinsed it then filled it with water, plonking the stems of the flowers into it.
Sam curbed the urge to say he should have trimmed the stalks and cut the string around them, she was far too tense.
Hands free now, he came towards her, put his hands on her shoulders and studied her face, his own concerned—a little wary.
‘Sam,’ he eventually said, ‘I have loved you from the moment I first saw you in that bar. You married Nick, and I was happy for you both, but it didn’t stop how I felt, so I kept away. And now you’re here, lovelier than ever, carrying my child, and I’ve still been too...cowardly, I suppose, to tell you how I feel.’
He drew her closer, still speaking.
‘You asked the question, Sam—the love question—the one I haven’t dared ask you in case you weren’t ready to love again, might nev
er want to love again. But my love, if you’ll accept it, is big enough for both of us.’
Now she was held against his chest, his arms tight around her, her face buried in the curve of his neck.
‘You never said,’ she muttered against his shirt.
‘Cowardly, I know, but to have spoken of it, and been rejected, would have been almost more than I could bear.’
She moved so she could hold him, tightened her arms, and still talking into his shirt muttered, ‘Rejected? Never! Of course I love you! How could I not?’
She leaned back so she could see his face, the smile quirking up one side of his lips.
‘You are the kindest, most unselfish man I’ve ever met. You’d do anything you could to help others—everyone can see that from your doctoring. But you’re warm, and protective, and, well, you’re Andy, and I love you with all my heart!’
It was some time later that Sam found the words she needed, to ask one final, vital question.
One that she hardly dared to ask...
‘Would you have walked away from a relationship if I’d been a carrier?’
He looked at her and shook his head.
‘I doubt very much that I could have, Sam, not loving you as much as I do. But we’d have had to have had a serious conversation about children and, knowing you want them so much, that might have made things different.’
There was a pause that made her heart stand still.
‘You might have walked away!’ he added.
She moved back into his arms, holding him tightly.
‘I couldn’t walk away from you, Andy. I love you more than life itself, so you’re stuck with me.’
She eased back so she could lay a palm against his cheek.
‘And given that I could still be one of the five percent who don’t show up as carriers, we’ll have this baby, and any other baby, tested, okay?’
And, again, he drew her close.
‘I like the sound of other babies,’ he murmured, then kissed her on the lips, a kiss that said so much that could never be put into words. A kiss that was a promise and a pledge and a deep declaration of love...love that would last for ever.
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