The Baby Jackpot

by Jacqueline Diamond

  When Stacy lifted her hands, they were wet with tears. This time, there was no Cole to dry them.

  It might not be too late. But after what he’d said in the interview, she doubted he would show up here again to comfort her.

  She had to let him know that she saw him clearly now. That she wanted him to ask her again to marry him, and that this time, the answer would be yes.

  * * *

  EARLY MONDAY, outside the hospital, Cole found a handful of reporters waiting with the usual array of cameras and microphones. To his satisfaction, the tone of their questions had changed.

  They asked about the impact of infertility on men and how this led to depression and suicide. Although he had no statistics—fortunately, in his opinion, since he didn’t want to emphasize the negative—he was able to expand on his insights into men’s needs and vulnerabilities.

  “Fathers are the men who love and protect children, whether or not they provide the sperm,” he told the cameras. “They’re the ones who are there for you when you fall down or need a helping hand. They’re also the ones who stand by Mom, who listen to her and support her.”

  He didn’t mention that his own biological father had done none of those things. True, Jean-Paul Duval had simply been honoring his agreement with Cole’s mother, but neither of them had consulted their son.

  After Cole excused himself to prepare for surgery, he realized he didn’t have to cite his absentee dad in so many words. His aching childhood loneliness informed every word he spoke.

  Along the route to his office, several staff members stopped to compliment him on the interview. When he checked his email, he found messages from the administrator, Owen, Adrienne, Zack and several other physicians, cheering him on.

  “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re an inspiration,” Zack had written.

  Not exactly an overwhelming compliment, Cole reflected in amusement. Or perhaps it was.

  His upbeat mood didn’t last long. There was, he saw, no message from Stacy, not that he’d been naive enough to expect one.

  Her stopping by on Friday night with the relinquishment papers had brought home her determination to put him and, soon, this pregnancy behind her. Since it would be awkward having her assist him, Cole had emailed the nursing director on Saturday, requesting to switch nurses for his surgeries this week.

  All that remained was for him to sign those papers. Yet every time he looked at the legal words that would cut his bond to his children forever, something held him back.

  She must be irritated at the delay. Well, he’d get it done this week.

  On the surgical board, Cole saw that Anya Meeks had been assigned to him, while Stacy was assisting Zack. Anya didn’t know Cole’s preferences and lacked Stacy’s gift for anticipating which instrument he needed next, but she was learning.

  Then he spotted a dearly familiar lady emerging from the elevator. Silky brown curls, a cute, pointy chin and a figure growing lusher by the day... Would he ever get over the twist in his chest at the sight of Stacy?

  Cole dodged into the operating suite.

  * * *

  DISMAYED, Stacy took in the schedule. She’d checked the board on Friday, so knew it had been altered.

  Her first instinct was to march to Betsy Raditch’s office and demand to know why. But she could guess well enough: Cole must have requested it.

  He didn’t want her in his operating room.

  Stacy struggled to breathe through the pain. She forced herself to suck in air and get a grip. If anyone saw her acting unsteady, Betsy might assign her to routine office or desk duty for the rest of the pregnancy.

  Stacy loved surgical work. And if she behaved like a professional, Cole might take her back...into his O.R.

  What about into his life?

  She intended to work on that.

  * * *

  Fathers are the men who love and protect children. His words from the interview had a disturbing habit of lingering in Cole’s thoughts during the morning’s surgeries, like a melody that refused to quit.

  He kept visualizing those precious little shapes on the ultrasound screen. And recalling how Owen’s twins had become distinct individuals even at the toddler stage.

  Here he stood, reversing a vasectomy so his patient would have a chance to become a biological father. How could Cole give up his own babies?

  He craved nuzzling their little necks, and watching them grow up with the same yearning he’d felt to be accepted by his own father. That desperate longing had powered his young self through French lessons and enabled him to pass up buying electronic gadgets to save for a plane ticket.

  True, his father had disappointed him. But Cole had survived, strengthened by the awareness that at least he’d tried.

  During his last operation before lunch, it occurred to him that Stacy was pushing to choose an adoptive couple much too early. Maybe that meant she was trying to lay her own doubts to rest. Otherwise, why the rush to commit?

  His pulse speeding, he decided to talk to her. No matter how much it irked her, he couldn’t sign those papers without one final effort.

  * * *

  IN THE LUNCHROOM, Stacy sat with Ned and Harper, well aware that they’d be enjoying a freer and livelier conversation without her there. From a nearby table, she kept hearing snatches of dialogue—“I love how he told them off!” and “He didn’t exactly call the press morons, but he might as well have”—that indicated hospital staffers on their lunch break were discussing Cole’s interview.

  Finally, after a halfhearted discussion of changes to the nurses’ locker room trailed into silence, Ned said, “Well, let’s stop avoiding the subject. What did you think of Cole’s interview?”

  “He was brilliant.” Stacy stared at her half-eaten sandwich. Even her appetite was failing her today. “Did you notice he got the schedule changed?”

  “I noticed.” Although Ned worked in Dr. Tartikoff’s office, he cruised by the surgical floor frequently to chat with nurses there. And he had an inquisitive nature.

  “Are you sure that was Cole’s doing?” Harper asked gently.

  Ned rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

  “He’s given up on me,” Stacy said.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Ned prodded. “He said in the interview you turned him down.”

  “I did, but...” Stacy cut to the chase. “I’ve been an idiot. The truth is, I don’t deserve him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harper said.

  Ned regarded her pensively. “You know, Stacy, you don’t have to be perfect to deserve love. Sometimes people just want to give it to you.”

  She blinked back tears. “That’s lucky, because I’m not anywhere near perfect.” She’d tried with all her might to do everything right, for her parents, for Andrew, for Una. Still she somehow always came up short.

  Maybe that didn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry I made you cry.” Ned placed a hand on her arm.

  Stacy threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling me that it’s okay to act stupid.”

  Ned returned the hug. “Hey, if you liked that—uh, Stacy, you’re completely hideous. What do I get now?”

  “A punch in the jaw.”

  “Try the left side,” he said. “I cut the right side shaving.”

  Stacy broke out laughing. Then she glanced across the room and saw Cole staring at the two of them. Mouth tightening, he gripped his tray and headed in the opposite direction.

  Oh, great. She’d messed up again.

  * * *

  SITTING ON THE PATIO, chewing and swallowing food that formed lumps in his stomach, Cole wondered why he’d imagined he could walk up to Stacy in the cafeteria and magically vanquish her objections.

  He knew she wasn’t in love with Ned, but she acted different with him and her other friends than she did with Cole. He’d never been good with people. “Emotionally tone deaf” was how a former coworker
had described him. “Somewhere to the right of the autism spectrum” had been Felicia’s biased conclusion.

  Yet since his involvement with Stacy, he’d gotten to know Zack and Owen on a personal level. He’d fixed food for a housewarming party, and helped Adrienne plant her garden. He’d babysat Mia, all by himself.

  Because of Stacy, Cole had formed connections. He would forever be grateful for the vistas she’d opened up, he reflected, staring into a container of chocolate milk.

  Too bad she’d broken his heart in the process.

  * * *

  COLE HAD RETREATED onto the patio, Stacy noted as she set her tray on the conveyer belt. Although tempted to scoot out after him, she was keenly aware of the interested gazes of practically everyone in the cafeteria.

  Besides, what could she say, other than that she’d been an idiot? A simple “I love you” might do the trick. But it didn’t feel like enough.

  Despite all she’d learned in the past few days, Stacy still believed that people in love ought to be swept away. That the decision to launch a life together should start with a brass band, speeches and a bottle of champagne smashing across the hull of a ship. Or a reasonable equivalent.

  Besides, she had another surgery to prepare for. Aching for the solitary man sitting outside alone, Stacy forced herself to walk away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Since he relied on a digital calendar, by late June Cole had long ago thrown out the free paper calendars that came in the mail or were dropped on his desk by pharmaceutical reps. Even online, he couldn’t find one with photos of gardens—or better yet, babies—and settled for a site that allowed him to print out pages for each month through the beginning of next year. They might not look like much, but they added a touch of personality to his tiny suite.

  Most likely Stacy would deliver early, given the potential complications of bearing triplets. Still, Cole circled her due date in February.

  During the evenings that week, he filled in details of how her pregnancy was likely to progress. Presently, at week nine—calculated from the first day of her last period—a typical baby was about an inch long, able to bring its tiny hands together over its heart.

  The tenth week would mark the end of the embryonic phase and the start of the fetal period. Rapid growth would double the baby’s length by week eleven, with fingernails developing. At week twelve, most likely Stacy’s morning sickness would begin to ease. Of course, with triplets, things might be different.

  All the while, Cole recognized that this was an exercise in futility. Each day since Monday, he’d meant to sign the relinquishment form and put Stacy’s mind to rest. He hadn’t forgotten his intention of talking to her first, but once he did, he’d have no excuse to delay further. And he wasn’t ready to abandon all hope.

  At the hospital, she kept her distance, except for glancing at him nervously once in a while. Her attitude seemed to be catching. On Friday, although Stacy wasn’t present in the O.R., Cole noticed sideways glances between the nurses, the anesthesiologist and the urologist, one of the hospital’s new fellows, who was assisting him. But when he looked at them directly, each pair of eyes was quickly averted.

  Did this mean the press was again pushing some scandal? After a flurry of reports about male suicides, reporters had stopped mentioning Cole. Could his colleagues have heard something he’d missed?

  He’d be just as happy to go on missing it. For now, he ignored their irritating behavior.

  Later, while cleaning up, he saw that Rod was wearing a red T-shirt under his surgical scrubs. No big deal, except that, seen from the rear, the assisting urologist wore what appeared to be an identical one.

  Cole performed a quick mental check. Late June didn’t contain any red-themed holidays as far as he knew. No Valentine’s Day, no red, white and blue Fourth of July, no Christmas.

  “What did you guys do, call each other this morning and coordinate your wardrobes?” he asked.

  Rod peered over his shoulder, without turning. “Cracking jokes now, Doc?”

  “Forget it.” What did he care if the guys dressed alike?

  When Cole stepped out of the room, he narrowly avoided a collision with the circulating nurse, who also wore a red T-shirt. At an angle, he saw bold white lettering on the front. Before he could read the words, she folded her arms across her chest.

  “I wasn’t staring at...” He didn’t care to finish that sentence.

  “Sure you weren’t.” She grinned, apparently unoffended.

  Down the hall came Zack Sargent, presumably done with his surgery. He’d buttoned his white coat, but there was a patch of red at the throat.

  “I must have missed the memo,” Cole told him.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “It seems to be red T-shirt day.”

  “Oh, that memo.” He paused but didn’t explain. “So, how’s it going?”

  “How’s what going?” Cole asked.

  Down the hall, the elevator doors opened and Owen emerged. He was wearing something red under his coat, too.

  Cole could have kicked himself for failing to sift through his email before heading into surgery. He’d lingered too long over breakfast, jumping up to make notes on the calendar pages for July and August.

  Wait a minute. Harper was coming from the stairs, with red under her blue-flowered uniform. What was she doing here? She worked in the medical office building.

  Everyone was gathering in the hall, as if waiting for something. Cole decided to wait, too.

  The elevator opened again, releasing Ned and Lucky. Both had red T-shirts peeking from beneath their navy uniforms. “Et tu, Brute?” Cole asked, dismayed that his nurse hadn’t let him in on the secret.

  “Where’s Stacy?” Lucky responded. “Oh, good, here she comes.”

  Around the corner, her sweet face flushed, came Stacy. She wore something white, not red, under the V-neck of her light blue scrubs. Maybe she hadn’t read the memo, either.

  “Gang’s all here,” Ned called.

  “Okay,” Cole said, “what’s the joke?”

  As if at a signal—if there was one, he missed it—the people around him pulled back their jackets to reveal white lettering on red fabric. The T-shirts all said the same thing: Will You Marry Me?

  “Is this some weird California ritual?” Cole asked.

  Then he realized Stacy was pulling off her light blue top to reveal her white T-shirt. In red letters it asked Will You Marry Me?

  “What’s going on?” Cole inquired.

  “I’m proposing,” she said.

  No one moved. From down the hall, he heard the wheels of a gurney rolling along. Other than that, silence reigned.

  “To me?” he asked.

  Rod rolled his eyes. “You better say yes before somebody else takes her up on it.”

  Cole swallowed, desperately hoping this was real. He felt as if he should do something grand in return, like go down on one knee and produce a ring, except he hadn’t bought one.

  “You don’t have to say yes,” Stacy murmured.

  That was it, the word he sought. “Yes!” he shouted, so loudly the circulating nurse gave a startled jump, and Lucky blinked in surprise.

  “Did anyone not hear that?” Owen queried ironically.

  “Yes!” Cole repeated. “I love you!”

  “I love you, too,” Stacy choked out.

  To hell with what people thought. Cole lunged over, scooped her into his arms and kissed her. She melted against him, kissing him back. It felt wonderful.

  From behind, he heard people clapping. “Why don’t you guys go eat lunch?” he called, casting a meaningful glare in their direction.

  “You can keep the T-shirts,” Stacy added.

  “I’m saving mine for April Fool’s Day,” Ned joked.

  “I’m saving mine for Halloween.” Rod waggled his eyebrows.

  They scuttled off, by stairs and by elevator, and for all Cole cared, by emergency exit and rope-and-ladder.

  “Oh, sweethea
rt.” He refused to let go, afraid that if he did, Stacy might disappear and he’d wake up. He’d had a very vivid dream about her once before, and the result had been triplets. He doubted he’d get that lucky again.

  She nestled against him. “Please forgive me for turning you down in the first place. You’re a magnificent man and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Does this mean I can move back in?” Cole chuckled at his own question. “I guess that’s kind of a given, huh?”

  Arms looped around his shoulders, Stacy tapped her forehead against his. “Take as much time as you need to let this sink in.”

  She understood him, Cole thought in wonder. She accepted that he needed a few minutes to digest the breathtaking fact that they were engaged. “We are keeping the babies, right?” Another foolish question, but she’d been so determined to relinquish them.

  Stacy smiled. “I told you once that there was a couple who were meant to have these children. I finally figured out who it is.”

  “Us?” he asked hopefully.

  “You got it.”

  “We can buy a house where they’ll have room to play,” Cole ventured. “Or would you rather we spent the money on a big wedding?”

  “Small wedding, big house,” Stacy affirmed.

  “I’m glad.” He’d look for one with space for a garden as well as a play area.

  They were drawing curious glances from passing staff members and a patient on a gurney, en route to surgery.

  With a sigh, Stacy released him. “You can move your furniture in this weekend. And you’re staying over with me tonight, okay?”

  “You bet.” An idea occurred to him. “Is it all right if I put something up on your wall? I started a countdown calendar for the triplets.”

  “What a great idea.” She laced her fingers through his. “You’re amazing.”

  “I hope you mean that in a good way.” He’d been called amazing before in a variety of contexts, not all flattering.

  “Absolutely,” Stacy said. “Let’s have lunch. Our kids are starving and so am I.”