The Baby Jackpot

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “Does he ever run out of energy?” Cole asked.

  A grin creased Adrienne’s dirt-smeared face. “He operates at full speed until he collapses.” She resumed spreading compost. “He and Mia worked hard yesterday.”

  “The kids enjoy gardening?” Cole stretched his back.

  Adrienne pointed to another area. “We planted seeds over there. Of course, I spent almost as much time cleaning them up afterward.”

  “You hosed them down?” That must have been a cute scene.

  “I rinsed off the worst of it,” she said. “Then we went inside. You wouldn’t believe the dirt rings I scrubbed out of the tub.”

  “I like dirt.” Cole studied the rich loam. He was enjoying this more than he’d expected. “So this section is for tomatoes?” A half-dozen nursery plants on the patio table awaited planting.

  “My favorite varieties. Mostly heirlooms.” Adrienne swiped at her cheek with a sleeve, banishing a gnat and leaving a dark streak. “When I was growing up, we used to make spaghetti sauce from scratch. I don’t have time anymore, so I’ve collected plenty of quickie pasta recipes. Just chop the tomatoes and stick them in the microwave.”

  “I’d like a garden someday.” Cole had never imagined such a thing until recently. “Along with a couple of kids to hose off. How about you?”

  “Reggie’s it for me,” Adrienne said. “Medical reasons.” Without elaborating, she went to fetch more compost.

  On the walkway, the little boy whizzed by. “I’m flying!” He held up his hands for an instant before grabbing the handlebars, narrowly averting a spill.

  Yearning squeezed Cole so hard he could barely hang on to the shovel. Yearning for a garden like this. For children. Above all, for the right woman to share them with.

  He believed he’d found her, but Stacy had sent him away. Still, his need for a home and family kept growing stronger.

  Cole didn’t see how he could move on when he loved her so much. But maybe he had to.

  * * *

  ANDREW WAS A CHEATER and a liar. He hadn’t simply been overcome by love for another woman. Instead, he’d cheated on Zora, too.

  Sitting on the carpet in her living room, Stacy spent Sunday afternoon doing something utterly childish. She’d brought some of her favorite toys out from her storage unit, planning to give them to Una. Now she set up a marble run, a series of curved plastic pieces with towers and spirals. Then she released her beloved old glass marbles one by one at the top, watching in weird fascination as they swooped around and over and down, landing with a clink in a receptacle.

  A plastic piece shifted slightly and one of the marbles got stuck. Chunk! A second marble ran into the blockage. Chunk! Soon there were half a dozen marbles lodged in a row, waiting for Stacy to free them.

  The blockage resembled her life these past few years. She’d been stuck behind the roadblock of her marriage, unable to move past the question of how such a deep and abiding love could vanish. Was it her schedule combined with Andrew’s travel? Was there some flaw in her?

  All the while, Stacy could see, she’d been jiggling the wrong part of the marble run. The problem hadn’t been her, or their schedules. It had been Andrew. Beautiful, self-assured, narcissistic Andrew.

  How could she have been so blind? The fact that he’d fooled Zora as well did nothing to assuage the embarrassment at her own gullibility.

  Reaching down, Stacy straightened the piece, and the marbles resumed their roller-coaster journey through the plastic channels. But she wasn’t fixed. Not yet.

  Leaning against the foot of the couch, Stacy mentally retraced her actions and reactions nearly three years ago, when Andrew had dumped her.

  Naturally, she’d turned to her friends. Harper, having just lost her husband, had sympathized, but couldn’t provide much insight. Vicki, who periodically went off her medications, had been careening through the hyperactive phase of her bipolar disorder and was in no condition to advise anyone. Although Adrienne had moved in with her sister to help out, Stacy hadn’t known her very well. Besides, Adrienne had never been married.

  So she’d called her mother. Ellen had come through with loving support, and so had Dad, in his low-key way. Devastated and clinging to their love, Stacy had never asked the questions that troubled her now.

  Why did you tell me not to trust my instincts about Andrew’s cheating? Did you truly believe that burying my head in the sand would save my marriage?

  Scooping up the marbles, she dropped them again into the top tray. Unobstructed, they sped downward, scooting along bridges and accelerating as the angle grew steeper. But despite having a clearer view of marriage, Stacy still felt blocked.

  Why couldn’t I see Andrew for who he really was? Was I instinctively playing peacemaker, the way I’d always done with my parents? Was this partly my fault, after all?

  Stacy was suffering, not over Andrew but over her father’s rejection. She’d expected him to take her side in whatever choice she made about the triplets. As someone had said, love shouldn’t be conditional.

  Cole. Cole had said that.

  He’d get a kick out of this marble run, she thought, wishing he was here. But she wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not until she figured out how she’d gotten so mixed up in the first place.

  Sunday afternoon was a good time to solicit her mother’s input. Stacy just hoped her father wouldn’t hit the roof again.

  She called her mom’s cell phone. “It’s me,” she said when Ellen answered.

  “Good timing. Your dad’s out playing golf.”

  Her mother had instantly assumed they should keep the conversation secret from her father. Grateful as Stacy was to have her on her side, the reaction made her uneasy. “I was hoping he’d changed his mind.”

  “Are you all right?” her mom responded. “I’ve been worried.”

  “Andrew’s wife is leaving him,” Stacy burst out with the news. “He cheated on her, too.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Because he did it once?”

  “Because that’s the kind of man he was,” Ellen said simply.

  “Mom, if you knew he was like that, why didn’t you say anything?” Stacy demanded. “When I asked you about the perfume on his clothes, you advised me not to hassle him.”

  “Men are like that.” Ellen sounded resigned. “If you pick a fight, you drive them away.”

  Surely she didn’t mean... “You aren’t talking about Dad!”

  The silence lengthened. Over the phone, Stacy heard a sigh of confirmation.

  Around her, the earth seemed to be shifting and the landscape transforming. Suddenly, everything looked different. “That’s why you used to act moody sometimes?”

  “I’m sorry I made excuses,” her mother answered. “I was trying to protect you. It was easier to take the blame myself.”

  “And let me serve as go-between to patch things up.” No wonder Stacy had become the peacemaker in the family. Without realizing what was wrong, she’d had a child’s sense of being responsible for grownups’ behavior.

  “You fell into that role,” Ellen admitted.

  “And Dad let me fix his mistakes.” Grimly, she amended that. “Not mistakes. He didn’t stumble and fall into bed with other women.”

  “Don’t be crude, Stacy.”

  “You’re criticizing me?”

  “No.” Her mom seemed to struggle for words. “Your dad does love us, you know.”

  “Does he?” It wasn’t only her marriage that Stacy had failed to see clearly. She’d believed she came from an ideal, loving family, while all along they’d been wildly dysfunctional. “What else am I missing? Come on, Mom. There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Four years ago, we told you we were moving to Salt Lake to be near Ellie,” her mother said slowly.

  “But?”

  “That wasn’t the only reason.”

  Stacy stopped pacing and sat on the couch. “Go on.”

  “He’d had a few affairs in the past
, but nothing that threatened our marriage,” her mother said. “Then I discovered he’d been involved for over a year with a fellow pharmacist. He was keeping some of his clothes at her apartment, and she wanted him to leave me.”

  “And he has the nerve to pass judgment on my behavior?” Stacy reined in her outrage, determined to hear the whole miserable story. “How did you find out?”

  “The woman called to tell me about the affair.” From Ellen’s shaky tone, Stacy could picture her mom’s drawn face. “She assumed I’d throw him out. Instead, I gave him an ultimatum.”

  “Move to Utah or you’d leave him,” Stacy guessed.

  Ellen gave a small sniff. “He agreed. He swore he couldn’t live without me, that I was the center of his life.”

  “I must have heard part of that, or maybe you told me about it.” Stacy no longer recalled the details, just her reaction. “I thought it was romantic.”

  “I let you down,” Ellen said sadly. “When you married a man a lot like your father, I should have spoken up sooner. I should have protected you, but you were madly in love and I assumed he’d get his act together. First you fell for Andrew, and now you’re pregnant by some jerk—”

  “No, I’m not,” Stacy interrupted. “I mean, he isn’t a jerk.” Beyond that, she had no desire to discuss Cole. He was so honest and kind and straightforward, he didn’t belong in this conversation.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned any of this,” Ellen said abruptly. “I got carried away because I’m worried about you. Talking about these personal things...it’s disloyal to your father.”

  “My father is disloyal to us,” Stacy answered indignantly.

  “I hear his car in the driveway,” her mom said. “Honey, if you need me, I can come and stay with you for a while.”

  A kind offer. But Stacy didn’t want mothering. “No, thanks.”

  “We’ll talk again soon.” Quickly, her mother added, “Don’t mention any of this to your sister, all right?”

  “Not unless she asks. But you should tell her.”

  “She married a different sort of guy,” Ellen answered. “Luckily. But I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “Good.” After a quick farewell, Stacy hung up.

  On the coffee table, the African violet Cole had given her was bursting with tiny blooms against fuzzy, deep green leaves. She’d stuck it there, with the wrong sort of light and without any special food, and yet it was blossoming. She didn’t deserve to have such a thriving plant, Stacy thought.

  She’d dreamed of a love that transcended the ordinary, of storybook romance and passion. Like Andrew had provided—as a cover for his deceptions.

  This had been a weekend for revelations. When the world stopped jolting on its axis, where would it end?

  The phone rang. Harper. “Hi,” Stacy said.

  “I’ve been trying to get through to you for ten minutes,” her friend exclaimed. “You’re missing... Oh, wait. It’s a video. You can start at the beginning. Is your computer on?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, there’s something you’d better see.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  No matter how many times Stacy saw Cole on-screen, the sight of him always filled her with pride. He held himself with assurance, yet with none of Andrew’s arrogant pride. Cole drew confidence from knowledge and purpose, not egotism.

  Stacy relaxed as she watched his image on her laptop, which she’d set up on her bedroom desk. He sat behind a table next to Jennifer Martin’s husband, Ian. Cole’s stockier build and frank brown eyes gave him a solid air that, in her opinion, overshadowed the blond reporter.

  “There is no Daddy Crisis,” Cole was saying. “Yes, according to some reports, sperm counts are dropping overall, and we need to figure out why. However, people are reproducing just fine, and I expect they’ll continue to do so in the future.”

  “Doesn’t the availability of high-tech assistance ensure that more and more children will inherit lower fertility?” Ian asked.

  “In highly developed countries, there may be some slight impact,” Cole agreed. “But it isn’t anywhere near a crisis.”

  His next few remarks, recapping familiar material, faded against the noise that crept back into Stacy’s head from her mother’s disclosures. Secrets...deception...betrayal. Ellen was still protecting her husband by hiding his misbehavior from their older daughter and by asking Stacy not to confront him about it. That might seem like loyalty, but shielding him from the consequences of his actions only served to enable him.

  On the monitor, Cole leaned forward. “We’ve been discussing facts, but I’m also troubled by the sneering tone of many news reports.”

  “You’ve been subjected to a lot of jokes,” Ian acknowledged.

  “I’m not speaking for myself.” Cole’s intensity made Stacy quiver. “Patients may be harmed by these slurs on their masculinity. Men with infertility already suffer from anxiety and depression. That can lead to divorce, job loss, sometimes suicide.”

  The reporter frowned. “I never considered that.”

  “Men love children just like women do,” Cole stated. “For many of us, fatherhood and family become an essential part of our identity.”

  “Are you referring to yourself now?” Ian zeroed in on his subject. “There’s been a lot of publicity about your private life, Dr. Cole.”

  When Ian’s gaze flicked to something off camera, Stacy guessed his wife was signaling him to stop. But the video kept rolling.

  “I had three reasons for granting this interview,” Cole replied. “First, to clear up this Daddy Crisis nonsense. Second, to advocate for my patients.”

  “And third?” Ian prompted.

  Stacy’s hands formed fists. Was he going to mention her? And what would he say if he did?

  “It’s one thing for the press to poke fun at me professionally,” Cole said. “But there’s a woman involved here who faces a complicated, potentially dangerous pregnancy. She’s turned down my marriage proposal, and since she’s much wiser about such things than I am, I presume she’s made the right choice.”

  “I’m not wiser!” Stacy cried, although of course he couldn’t hear her.

  “She’s decided to locate a good—no, great—home for the triplets.” Despite a catch in his voice, he hurried on. “The public should respect her choice. I certainly do.”

  “You’re out of the picture?” Ian queried.

  “I plan to rededicate myself to helping other couples have their children,” Cole said. “The medical aspects of the situation drew me to my specialty, but becoming a father, even if I never get to hold my children, has sensitized me at a deeper level. While I hope my future will include marrying and having children, for now, I’ll concentrate on treating patients.”

  “Any final words?” Ian asked.

  “I hope the press will quit sensationalizing. They can better serve the public by informing them of scientific facts.” Cole’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Stacy expected him to add some further rebuke, but he held back.

  “Thank you.” The reporter faced the camera. “We’ve been talking with Dr. Cole Rattigan, head of the men’s fertility program at Safe Harbor Medical Center. This is Ian Martin for On The Prowl in Orange County. Thanks for watching.”

  The on-screen window went black. Stacy closed the website and discovered she was trembling.

  Despite her reservations, she’d hoped—without acknowledging it—that Cole would make a passionate public statement about how much he loved her. Instead, he sounded as if he’d closed off a chapter in his life and opened a new one. A chapter that didn’t include her.

  He’d attempted to protect her from the press. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Stacy went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of herbal tea to settle her stomach. Although she’d eaten a late breakfast, pregnancy-inspired hunger pangs sent her foraging through the fridge.

  Aside from bread, eggs and a little lettuce, it was nearly bare. However, in the freezer, she found
tubs of ice cream.

  Not very healthy, but there was less than a quarter of a tub left of rocky road. That meant, according to the unwritten laws of ice cream etiquette, that Stacy could eat it directly out of the carton, which made it irresistible.

  Sitting at the table, she savored the mixture of chocolate, mini marshmallows and chopped walnuts. Cole didn’t have to leave these. He’d taken other food items. Yet despite being kicked out, he’d left this for her to enjoy.

  She pictured him in the parking garage, asking her to marry him while he rescued her lipstick from behind a tire. All she’d thought about was how unromantic he was, and she’d assumed that he was proposing out of duty. Now, to her shame, she recalled comparing him mentally to Andrew. Andrew, who covered his selfish nature with elaborate gifts and fancy words.

  Dear, sweet Cole had brought her an African violet and a sack of tiramisu, like a child eager to please. He’d fetched take-out food when she was hungry. Rescued her from a mountain of hard-boiled eggs and a pair of unfinished Boston cream pies. Tempted her out of a bad mood with a movie and popcorn. Offered to pay half the rent when she initially refused to let him move in, and later, left quietly despite already having paid. And he’d risked public humiliation by refusing to hide his involvement with her pregnancy.

  A song lyric popped into Stacy’s mind. She recognized the line from the musical Fiddler on the Roof. “If that’s not love, what is?”

  She buried her face in her hands. How had she missed this? She’d pushed Cole away time and again. But she hadn’t really wanted him to go, had she?

  Underneath, she’d believed that a man who loved her enough would see past her defenses into her heart. That he’d find the feelings she hid even from herself, and refuse to let her go.

  But he had. He’d just stated publicly that he was moving forward, without her. Not a word of criticism, either.

  She supposed she could blame her confusion on her parents’ screwed-up values. But Cole had been right in front of her, offering everything. And she’d seen only his flaws.