He could swear she’d just shot him full of testosterone.
Sitting there trying to hide the evidence, wishing he hadn’t yet passed over the envelope, wondering what she’d think if he grabbed it back up, Craig tried to find something unattractive about her.
And only got more turned on when he couldn’t find anything.
This meeting wasn’t going at all like it was supposed to. He didn’t even generally go for redheads. Not that her hair was red. More like brown with tinges of sunset in it.
He needed the distractions of a football field, with big guys coming at him. Or at least so he could put that much distance between him and a woman he was having a hard time remembering he’d just met.
A woman who, by her expression, and the lack of ebullience in her voice during their previous conversation, had made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
It was time for him to find his peace of mind and get the hell out of there.
Chapter Six
Wow. Her baby had a great chance of being gorgeous.
It was the first time Amelia had actually thought about how the child she was carrying might look. She’d cared about biology. About genetics and health. About creating an emotional environment that would promote happiness. About love and support.
Maybe she’d kind of assumed he or she would have hazel eyes and auburn or red hair, because she and Angie and Mom all had them. Angie’s hair being a deep red, while hers and their mother’s was more brown with natural reddish highlights.
Craig Harmon had blond hair, a bit long, and she kind of liked it that way, with a little wayward piece behind his ear curling slightly. His eyes, when she finally met his gaze, were as blue as the ocean on a perfect day. No doubt blue. Pure. And they seemed to look right inside her.
She couldn’t have that.
“I just can’t help feeling that you have an ulterior motive here,” she told him, more because she felt the need to push him away than because she was ready to have this conversation. “You say you want no part of my child’s life, and yet, here you are.”
“I am halfway responsible for the life you are creating. That child is my biological responsibility.”
He wasn’t making her feel any better.
“I completely understand...and sympathize with...the tragedy you’ve been through. Losing not only your life partner, but the child you’d raised as a son...and then finding yourself powerless when you knew he was being mistreated... I get it. I really do. I just...it occurs to me that you could be trying to fill some of the holes left in your life. You lost your son because he wasn’t biologically yours, so now you’re trying connect with the child that is a result of your biological component.”
No more than that. A test-tube contribution. Science.
He bent his head, elbows on his spread knees, hands clasped.
His fingers were long, on hands that looked like they could take on the world, or a tiny hand, with equal success.
She wondered what those long legs would look like in jeans? And that torso, without an extra pound anywhere...shirtless.
She shook her head. So it was kind of pleasant to know that her offspring had a handsome father—his state of dress was nothing to her.
Nothing.
His head raised abruptly, before she could pull her gaze away. Those blue eyes caught her staring.
“All I want is freedom,” he told her. “The situation with Gavin...it just hit home...that not all kids are born to good parents. There’s so much out of my control.”
Her baby being one of them, she wanted to say. And didn’t want to say, too. The man was truly struggling. And she wasn’t a heartless bitch, even though she tried to pretend to be sometimes. Being prickly kept people away. The fewer people she let get close, the less chance she had of screwing up again. Of becoming all in and letting her actions be controlled by her feelings for another. Making choices that maybe weren’t the best ones just to keep someone else happy.
She couldn’t make Craig Harmon happy. He wasn’t her responsibility. Her life.
“I just couldn’t stop thinking how irresponsible I was to just give someone, anyone, the ability to have my child. That I could have been party to a child living with needless pain, while I’m out here living the good life. It wasn’t my goal, or intention, at all, when I donated. I just didn’t think... Like I said before, haven’t you ever done anything that you so deeply regret you can’t let it go? I’m just trying to make it right. Again, I’m here for freedom.”
Oh, God. She felt those words clear to her soul. All the way inside, as deep as it got. Hell, yes, she’d done something that she regretted so deeply she couldn’t let it go. She’d let a man she’d thought she’d loved convince her to turn her back on her sister. Her friends. She’d ditched them all because Mike had told her she had to think of him, put him first, because of the “family” they were going to be, to create, for the rest of their lives.
She’d listened so exclusively to him she’d been deaf when Angie had called, devastated and needing her, the day Duane had burst into her room and told her she was a cancer in all their lives. She knew Duane said horrible things when he was drunk. Angie knew it, too. They’d both lived through them more times than she could count.
She hadn’t known that that day was different. That Angie had been home alone with Duane. That even when he’d seen her standing there in pajama bottoms and a bra, in the process of changing, he hadn’t turned his back or left her room. He’d stood there humiliating her with verbal abuse...
Standing, she went to the pretty cherrywood desk across and down from them, grabbed the folder, which was the only nondecorative item on top. No computer screen in the library, though her laptop was on the keyboard shelf just beneath the desktop.
“Here,” she said, handing him the folder she’d only just then decided for sure to give to him. She’d been debating. Had had it ready...
“That’s everything I could think of to show you that you have no need to worry. You can see by my home that I’m financially secure. Or—” she cocked her head “—I suppose I could be living above my means, in over my head, but you can look us up. My sister and I own Feel Good, a company and brand of apparel and household items for women. We’re privately owned, but we still file profit and loss statements.”
He didn’t open the folder. Seemed more interested in her taking her seat next to him again. The look in his eye—kind...and appreciative?—made her want to smile. She nodded toward the folder instead.
“In there you’ll find how conscientious and aware I am. How willing I am to do everything possible to provide for every chance of well-being for my baby. I’ve opted to have every test I can have at this point—all the screenings and blood work, even those that were optional. I’m sure you’re far more familiar with them than I am, but all of the results are there, along with my medical records, which will show you that I live a healthy lifestyle. You also see the paperwork in there showing that I’ve already arranged to bank the cord blood, which isn’t inexpensive, and I hope that will help assure you that I am educating myself and taking all available options in the event that my baby is faced with medical challenges. I’ve got a man coming two weeks from today to install all of the baby-safe latches on my drawers and cupboards, and a security camera for the nursery that will show on a monitor in my room.”
She planned to have the baby in a portable crib in her room for the first few months, as recommended to her at the new parenting class she’d taken.
“You can take as long as you like to look over everything,” she told him. “I’m going for some juice—would you like anything? Tea? Coffee? I can do a cup at a time.”
“What kind of juice?” He seemed to be absorbed by the folder.
And she kind of felt like she’d pulled her pants down or something. Not totally in a bad way.
“I h
ave several,” she said, not sure she was talking just about juice at that point. She had several thoughts about him. Several desires, too, all of a sudden, which were totally inappropriate and not what she was going to offer him. “Cranberry-orange, pineapple-coconut, strawberry-banana...”
He’d looked up at her, his expression seeming...impressed?
“What?”
“Strawberry-banana is a staple for me,” he said. “I stock up when it’s on sale...”
“Two glasses of strawberry-banana coming up,” she told him, turning quickly and getting her ass out of there.
* * *
Her medical records pulled his head out of his ass and back into what was a critically important moment in his life. He’d been given the chance to see to the well-being of a future child that carried his genes. He let his brain take over completely as he studied test results and several years’ worth of physical exams and statistics, as well.
Her blood pressure tended to run a little lower than average but in a completely healthy way. Her blood work was stellar. Heart rate perfect. Body weight to height above average—also in a good way. She’d only gained two pounds in the fourteen and a half weeks she’d been pregnant. Also within normal range.
The cord blood bank she’d chosen was one with which he was familiar. A patient he’d seen the previous year and then had to refer due to a leukemia diagnosis, a year-old boy, was now testing cancer free, due, in large part, to treatment with his own cord blood, and it had been stored at the same bank. He’d just seen the boy’s father for his annual physical the week before and had seen a video from the father’s phone of a healthy, happy two-year-old riding a motorized train around the kitchen.
Amelia walked in the room just as he was finishing up. Handing her the folder, in exchange for a tall glass of juice, he took a long sip. She dropped the folder back on the desk and he waited for her to join him.
Hoping she didn’t think that they were done.
While everything she’d shown him had eased his mind, considerably, a lot more went into parenting than physical health.
Some of the most critical aspects of a child’s well-being came from environmental and emotional stability.
When she sipped from her glass, but didn’t immediately sit back down, he glanced toward the folder on her desk. “You had the NIPT,” he said, naming a noninvasive blood test she’d opted to do voluntarily just as added precaution. To do all she could do.
“Yes.” Everything had come back normal.
“Did you opt to find out the sex of the child?” There’d been no indication in the paperwork she’d shared.
And he wanted to know. Just so he didn’t wonder.
“No.” She still stood there.
“Is your first ultrasound scheduled?” Sixteen weeks was most common, but some doctors scheduled as early as eight weeks.
She nodded. Sat down, as though understanding now that they weren’t quite finished, so he relaxed a bit.
“It’s on the twenty-ninth,” she added while he sat there, feeling glad that she was willing to give him a bit more of her time.
“You might find out the sex then...” he told her. “But you can tell the technician if you don’t want to know. It’s not like it’s something you’re going to be able to ascertain on your own and the tech can keep the information to herself.”
She nodded.
That was it. Just a nod.
Did his contract with her allow him to ask about the sex of the child? Was it wrong that he suddenly wanted to know? He could always put in a request at some point. But unless she was willing to share on a regular basis, he had to let time pass before he checked again.
“If you find my next question offensive, feel perfectly comfortable telling me to move on.” He waited for her nod before he continued. And noticed that her lips were glossy now, wet from the juice she’d just sipped.
“What led you to the clinic? To this decision?”
At first he thought he’d just earned himself a quick, one-way trip to the door, with the lock turned firmly behind him. Her green-gold eyes seemed to glow for a second there—not in a good way.
“I’m not cut out for having a life partner,” she told him. “I struggle just working with my sister in business. In my home...” she said. And then, meeting his gaze, shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m really close to my family. And I have a deep well of love to give. It’s just the partner thing...”
“You like to have things your own way. To be the boss in your environment,” he guessed, making certain there was understanding, not judgment, in his tone.
“On the contrary,” she said, surprising him with a self-deprecating grin. “I feel total responsibility for another person’s happiness.” She glanced at the flowers again. “I give up myself.” And then, looking back at him, added, “Which makes me good parenting material. My child can count on coming first.”
“If you’ve got the right partner, he or she wouldn’t let you give up yourself. They’d be watching out for your happiness at the same time.” Not that it was any of his business.
“He,” she blurted. And then frowned. “I’m attracted to men,” she said then.
And he reiterated, though he didn’t know why he was pushing it. “Your abhorrence for a partner might change if you meet the right guy.”
She shook her head. “I won’t lead you to believe that, even if it makes you feel better. I know myself and I’ve made my decision. I’ve been there. I’m not good at it. My mother’s the same way and, believe me, my sister and I suffered for it.”
Alarm bells went off in his brain. “Suffered how?”
“My stepfather was a drunk. He was actually a pretty cool dad when he wasn’t drinking, but when he was...” She shook her head. He wanted to look away. To walk away. He couldn’t move.
And not just for his child’s sake, though that was part of it.
“Was? Your mother divorced him, then?”
“No. That’s the point. Duane always comes first. Over herself and everyone else. She just has this incessant need to please him. And he lets her. He’s not narcissistic, really, but he likes her attention.”
“Do you still see them?” His gaze was direct.
“Oh, I see where you’re going with this,” she said, setting her glass on a coaster on the table between them. “And you have no need to worry. In the first place, Duane’s been sober for years—of his own accord. And he’s been nothing but supportive. He’s excited to be a grandfather. He’s not an alcoholic and he didn’t drink all the time. His work never suffered. He never drank and drove. He drank at home, and was a mean drunk until he lost it on my little sister one Sunday afternoon. He cleared all alcohol out of the house that night and hasn’t taken a drink since. Not even a toast of champagne at his niece’s wedding. You have no cause to worry here. While he’s pragmatic and was strict with us, he was only mean when he was drinking. I don’t see him all that much, even though he hasn’t said anything out of line in years. And if I ever heard him mouthing off to my child, it would be the last time he saw me or my family.”
“So that Sunday, that was the first time he ever got ugly with either of you?”
She wasn’t sure what the question had to do with the future well-being of her child. But she didn’t mind answering, so said, “Physically, yes. He was never physically abusive, but he’d get really verbally abusive when he was drinking. Mom would just tell us girls to go to our rooms. Or we’d just go there on our own if he ever drank when she wasn’t home. That day, though, he’d burst into my sister’s room. He’d never done that before. The closed door usually stopped him. For some reason that day it pissed him off.”
She couldn’t tell by his expression what kind of conclusions he was drawing. And kept telling herself it didn’t matter. The minute she said they were done, they were done. Period. She’d kept up her side
of the agreement.
But if she wanted him to stay away, to give him the peace of mind to not have to check up on them every few years, she needed to reassure him.
She kind of wanted to reassure him now, anyway. He was a decent guy and she was, overall, a kind woman.
“Angie and I both have scars from growing up with Duane’s drunkenness,” she said, thinking she could help him understand that her baby was going to be fine with her as a single parent. “Angie more than me, because I never had to face him alone. It was after I left for college that he went off on her. And she hasn’t had counseling,” she added. Then she got to the point, saying, “My mother loved Duane and gave up herself to him to the point that she couldn’t leave him, or make him leave, even when he was being detrimental to our well-being. Now that’s not to say that she didn’t stick up for us. She did. To a point. She’d take the brunt of his anger. And she’d always insist that he apologize to us afterward, which he always did. He’d say he didn’t mean the vile things he’d said. He’s spent the past several years proving how sorry he is for the man he’d been when he was drinking. He’s sincere. And with all the years of sobriety deserves a second chance. But those words he used to say... don’t go away.”
You’re just like your mother...you don’t know when to say no...
She was getting offtrack. The doctor, with his looks of compassion, was easy to talk to. Too easy.
“Anyway, Mom’s life wasn’t happy. She lived in constant fear of him being invited out with his buddies, or some client. New Year’s Eve and Super Bowl Sundays were not good times in our home. All because she couldn’t say no. And what I’ve learned about myself is that I can be similar to her.” Just as Duane had always told her.
“How do you know if you don’t give yourself a chance to find out?”
More of that blue-eyed dose of caring. The guy was like a feel-good pill.
Like the laces she’d sewn to her plain purse and generic jeans to make herself feel good enough for high school.
A Baby Affair Page 5
