The Would-Be Daddy

by Jacqueline Diamond

“The best kind of circle, indeed,” Marshall said when the kiss ended. “As long as we don’t topple over.”

  Franca smiled. “It feels heavenly, no matter how awkward we look.”

  “No one’s watching,” he assured her. “Except for that security camera over there.”

  “What!” She stared upward. “I don’t see it.”

  “Oh. Guess I forgot to have it installed.”

  Torn between laughing and poking him in the ribs, Franca lost her balance and would have collapsed except for his support. It seemed a symbolic start to their future together.

  “We can shop for rings tomorrow,” he said. “Whatever style you choose.”

  “I’ll enjoy that.” They moved to sit side by side on the couch. She stroked his cheek, and he drew her against his shoulder.

  As she relaxed, Franca recalled their earlier topic. “You didn’t finish telling me about your mom. Did she explain why she cut you off when you found out you were adopted?”

  “In a way.” Marshall’s deep voice vibrated through her. “She’s convinced my father considered her a failure because she couldn’t have kids. And she assumed that once I learned she wasn’t my birth mother, I’d cast her off.”

  “A preemptive strike, like Jazz?” Franca murmured.

  He rested his cheek on her head. “That’s right.”

  What a dark place Mildred Davis must inhabit, where her self-worth depended on two men whose love she didn’t trust. “I hate to think how sad her own childhood must have been that she had such a low opinion of herself even into adulthood.”

  “I’m not sure how to break through that,” Marshall said. “But I want her to enjoy being a grandmother. She’s earned that chance.”

  “You didn’t tell her I’m pregnant?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”

  “Speaking of children,” Franca said, “shall we see if Jazz is still awake? Regardless of what she said to you, I’m sure she’s worried.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The moment they entered the playroom, the girl sat bolt upright, dark hair wild around her face. “Oh, it’s you!” She held out her arms. “I was afraid it was that bad man.”

  Franca should have anticipated that the trauma would linger in Jazz’s mind. She hurried over. “We’re here because something great has happened.”

  Marshall pulled up a chair, since the bed was too small for them both to sit on the edge. “Franca and I are getting married. You’ll be our daughter and we’ll live here forever.”

  “With the baby, too?”

  “You bet,” he said.

  “Yay!” After hugging them both, Jazz asked, “Can I sleep with you guys tonight?”

  Franca wasn’t sure how to answer. Like her, Marshall must have been looking forward to making love again.

  “Will that help you feel safe?” he asked.

  Jazz nodded vigorously.

  “Just for tonight,” Marshall warned. “So you won’t be scared.” He glanced at Franca and mouthed, “Okay?”

  “There’s nothing more important than our little girl,” she confirmed. “But it’s only for tonight.”

  “Okay, Mommy and Daddy.” Jazz scrambled out of bed.

  They walked down the hall hand in hand.

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY, the three of them went to Nick and Zady’s house to bring them and Caleb up to date. Later, while Marshall and Jazz played a game with their hosts, Franca slipped out to the patio and placed the first of several important calls.

  Her mom responded with excitement when Franca gave her the news about the baby. Then she asked, “Have you mentioned this to Gail yet?”

  “No. I’m nervous about that,” Franca admitted, stretching her legs.

  “She’ll be delighted for you,” her mother insisted. “Don’t put it off.”

  “I won’t.” As soon as they finished, she inhaled the fresh air, perfumed with jasmine from bushes surrounding the small yard. Then she pressed her sister’s name in the phone.

  After exchanging greetings, Gail said, “Have you talked to Mom?”

  “I just did,” Franca answered, puzzled.

  “So she broke the news.”

  “Uh...what news?”

  “She didn’t share that I’m four months pregnant?” Usually, their mother would have spread the word near and far.

  Four months meant her sister was well into the second trimester. “That’s terrific! I guess she figured you’d rather break it to me yourself.” Might as well go for it. “Marshall and I are engaged.”

  “Congratulations!”

  “And I get to adopt Jazz after all. We saw the lawyer yesterday.”

  “Fantastic!”

  “And I’m nine weeks pregnant.”

  There was a stunned silence. Then: “Our kids will be almost the same age. And Glenn’s, too.”

  “That is a bonus.” Although the three cousins would live in different states, they’d spend many holidays together as a family.

  “What aren’t you saying?” Gail pressed.

  No use avoiding the subject. “I’m worried about the pregnancy. Not that there’s anything wrong, according to my doctor.”

  “Because of our family medical history, which I was so rude about when you brought it up?” Gail said. “I’ve never reached the fourth month before. My doctor says the miscarriages might have been a fluke, or a problem that self-corrected.”

  “I feel as if a curse has been lifted,” Franca ventured.

  “Me, too. We can both hope for the best.”

  A few minutes later, she completed the family notifications. Her brother congratulated her and added that his wife’s pregnancy was progressing well, also. He, too, was thrilled that the three cousins would be close in age.

  After she clicked off, Franca wished she could stop there. However, she had to place one more call. Just get it over with.

  Belle answered on the second ring. “Franca! I was about to call you. I have fantastic news.”

  Franca broke into laughter. “You can’t be!”

  “I can’t be what?”

  But she’d known the instant she heard the joy in Belle’s voice. “You’re pregnant.”

  “How did you guess?” Without waiting, her friend said, “I’m two months along. I’d have called you sooner but you were so sad about losing Jazz.”

  “I haven’t lost her,” Franca said. “Her birth mother changed her mind.”

  “That’s great!”

  “And I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Belle seemed to be searching for polite phrasing. “Is there a father? I mean, in the picture?”

  “Yes, and we’re getting married.” Now for the hard part. “It’s Marshall.”

  A pause. Then a disbelieving, “Marshall Davis?”

  “We ran into each other at the hospital where we’re both on staff,” Franca explained. “He’s changed over the years.” She had no idea what to add, except, “I hope this isn’t uncomfortable for you. I want us to stay friends.” While she didn’t believe Belle would hold a grudge, she might not be able to help feeling betrayed.

  “Good,” Belle said. “It’s way overdue.”

  “What?”

  Her friend must have shifted the phone, because there was a moment’s static before she continued, “I sensed he was drawn to you, only I was too selfish to call him on it because I was afraid I’d lose him. Well, I lost him anyway. Seeing you alone year after year, I kept wondering about what might have been.”

  “If Marshall and I had had a relationship in college, we’d have ended up hating each other,” Franca told her.

  “Really?”

  “We had a lot to work out even now,” she assured her friend. “You’re truly okay with this?”

  “It stings,” Belle admitted. “For me, Marshall was a romantic dream. But the truth is, I have the best possible husband. When he looks at me, there’s no other woman lurking behind his eyes.”

  “You deserve that, and more.” It
was brave of Belle to be honest, and generous of her to understand.

  “You do, too.”

  Now they could move on. “I just talked to my brother and sister. They’re both expecting babies within a few months of mine, and yours.”

  “This will be quite a Christmas!”

  “It sure will.”

  At last the calls were over, the old hurts healed. Yet there remained one family member to bring into the happy circle.

  When they got home, Marshall tried calling his mother, but reached only her voice mail. He composed an email apologizing for running off abruptly at Nick’s house, and then explained about the confrontation at the lawyer’s office. He informed her of the engagement, the pregnancy and Jazz’s forthcoming adoption. Seeking neutral ground, he invited her to join them for the opening ceremony of the new medical building, and to go out to dinner with them afterward.

  After proofreading the email for him, Franca hoped the prospect of becoming a grandmother would overcome Mildred’s reticence. Also, Marshall had emphasized in the email that he considered himself just as much a father to his adoptive daughter as to the baby Franca was carrying. He hoped his mother would grasp the message that it didn’t matter how a child came into the family.

  Her response arrived later that evening. He forwarded the email to Franca.

  I’m pleased that both my nephews have found brides and that you’ll be able to experience fatherhood, Mildred wrote. Since you will have a baby of your own, perhaps raising an adopted child won’t be as difficult as it was for me. That part of my life is behind us. I’m sure you’ll understand why I don’t belong at this ceremony or at your family dinner.

  “She’s sticking to her guns.” The sorrow on Marshall’s face resonated inside Franca. “We’ll invite her to other events, of course, but she seems resolved to regard me as nothing more than a nephew. I’m honestly not sure she ever loved me.”

  Was that true? To Franca, the words “I don’t belong at this ceremony” indicated pain rather than rejection. Still, Marshall might be right.

  Yet the separation troubled her. Later, while checking her own mail, Franca decided that, as the woman’s future daughter-in-law, she ought to write to her and add her insights. As to whether her words would make a difference, Franca figured it was a long shot. After asking Marshall to be sure he didn’t object, she composed a message and hit Send.

  Then she went upstairs with her future husband to put their daughter to bed. And, finally, to make love again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Banners and a band ushered invitees into the elegant lobby of the Portia and Vincent Adams Memorial Medical Building. Its acquisition and renovation had been a long, difficult, even tragic process, involving the bankruptcy of the former dental building’s owners, a competitive sale when it seemed unaffordable and then a financial commitment by the wealthy Adams couple just before their deaths in a car crash.

  Marshall had only joined the staff last fall. Yet stepping inside with Franca and Jazz, he felt his heart expand with warmth and pride. Not only did his professional future lie within these walls, but the crowd filling the folding chairs included warm, familiar faces. Nick, Zady and Caleb had saved seats for them. Jennifer Martin, who as public relations director was helping run the event, left her five-year-old daughter with them—much to Jazz’s joy—while her husband assisted with the sound equipment.

  People stopped by to say hello, people with whom he had formed connections. They included Zady’s twin sister, Zora, and her husband, Lucky, as well as other urologists and nurses.

  Throughout his education and training, Marshall had isolated himself from those around him. Many had considered him cold and snobbish, while the truth was that he’d longed to be a part of their easy camaraderie. How had this happened, that in the span of a few months he’d bridged the gaps of a lifetime?

  When his hand covered Franca’s, she tipped him an understanding smile. On his other side, Jazz was giggling as she chatted with her little friend Rosalie. Then she rested her cheek against Marshall’s arm.

  He belonged here. The awareness lifted his spirits as high as the bright clusters of Mylar balloons.

  Yet a heaviness dragged him down to earth, because a key person was missing. How could a man accept that his own mother didn’t love him? Mildred Davis was his mother—except that, apparently, she no longer wished to be.

  At the front, Owen Tartikoff and Cole Rattigan took places of honor alongside the Adamses’ daughters, both of whom were in their early teens, and their grandmother. After the band finished a rousing number, the hospital administrator rose to speak.

  A powerfully built fellow who inspired confidence, Dr. Mark Rayburn uttered a few words of welcome before unveiling a statue commissioned for the building. The bronze figure of a man in slacks and a sport coat, lovingly holding a baby in the crook of his arm, occupied one end of a park-style bench. The bronze sculpture was so realistic that Marshall imagined visitors sitting next to the man before realizing he wasn’t an actual person.

  Applause surged, and the artist took a bow. Mark proceeded to thank the Adams girls and their grandmother for the bequest from the Vince and Portia Adams estate, stirring an ovation.

  Next up was Owen Tartikoff. The surgeon energized the people in the lobby with his description of the growth of the Safe Harbor fertility program and its cutting-edge successes.

  He introduced Cole Rattigan as head of the men’s program. What a contrast, Marshall thought: where Owen was forceful and commanding, Cole was reticent and self-deprecating.

  “I’m surprised they let me speak in public,” he told the crowd. “The last time I lectured, I mentioned declining sperm levels worldwide and the media claimed I’d predicted the end of life on earth. Reporters were camped out on my doorstep for weeks.”

  Laughter rippled through the room. Marshall recalled reading about that episode a few years ago and pitying the doctor whose remarks had been sensationalized.

  Cole summarized the issues facing infertile men, tossed out a few statistics and concluded, “The key to any program is its personnel. We’re bringing on board distinguished younger surgeons and there’s one in particular I’d like to introduce who’s been intimately involved in the planning of this building. Dr. Marshall Davis, please come up and say a few words.”

  The old fear of making a fool of himself held Marshall motionless. Then Jazz said, “That’s you, Daddy.”

  “It sure is.” Loud clapping, led by Franca, propelled him to the podium. En route, he quickly considered what he might say. He might list the fellowships they’d secured, or review the discussions the staff had had about allocating office space. But why risk boring the audience to death?

  At the microphone, Marshall plunged right in. “I’ve never terrified the public like my distinguished colleague Dr. Rattigan, but the public used to terrify me. I had a fear of public speaking because I feared if I said the wrong thing, the audience would rise up and mock me en masse.”

  Sympathetic murmurs greeted this admission. On his brother’s lips, he read the words, “You’re kidding!” Apparently Nick hadn’t suspected what lay behind his mask.

  “This hospital is about creating families,” Marshall said. “For the community, for our patients and for our staff. To my astonishment, it brought me together with my brother and with an old friend who’s soon to be my wife, Dr. Franca Brightman.”

  More clapping followed, with a notable clatter from his office’s nurses. Ines poked two fingers in her mouth as if to produce a wolf whistle, until Jeanine knocked her hand away.

  “As many of you know, my fiancée and I are setting an example of how to form a family, both by having a baby and by adopting our adorable foster daughter, Jazz.” He grinned down at Franca, who resembled a fertility goddess in her forest-green maternity dress. Jazz wiggled happily in her chair.

  He was about to wrap up his remarks when a movement near the entrance caught his attention. The rail-thin figure of Mildred Davis,
clad in a gray suit that matched her upswept hair, edged inside.

  Should he acknowledge her? At his brother’s wedding, she hadn’t hesitated to stalk from the banquet hall in front of everyone. A rebuff here would be embarrassing and hurtful. But she’d come, hadn’t she?

  Trust your instincts.

  “Very importantly, let me thank the woman who raised me to be a man of accomplishment, whose rock-solid adherence to her principles taught me to stand by what I believe in and fight for it.” Marshall regarded her directly. “My mother, Mildred Davis.”

  In her stunned expression, he read the same fear that he used to experience, of being ridiculed. Then Franca and Nick rose to their feet, turned toward her and cheered. The rest of the audience joined in enthusiastically.

  Tears ran down his mother’s cheeks. He didn’t recall ever seeing her cry before.

  To hell with decorous behavior. Down the aisle Marshall went, greeting his mother with a hug. Barely reaching his chest, she responded with a powerful grip of her own.

  “Well, I can’t top that,” Mark Rayburn said from the stage. “I now declare the Portia and Vincent Adams Memorial Medical Building open!”

  The band broke into “Happy Days Are Here Again.” Around the room, chairs scraped and clothing rustled as people prepared to leave.

  “I’m proud of you,” his mother said. “By the way, you’re marrying the right woman.”

  “I know, Mom.” Marshall released her. “What changed your mind about today?”

  Mildred glanced past him, as if to be sure they weren’t overheard. “Franca emailed to say how much you love me, that every memory you have of growing up involves Upton and me as your parents.”

  “She wrote all that?” He’d assumed Franca was sending a simple courtesy note.

  “She explained how hard it was for you to accept her foster child, but that you’d eventually forged a bond as strong as any parent’s. And she urged me to be a part of your family, in any role I choose.”

  “That sounds like quite an email.”

  “It inspired me to take out our old scrapbooks, the ones we made after vacations and holidays.” His mother had spent many hours assembling beautiful, quilted volumes of photos and memorabilia. “I’d forgotten how happy we were. I realized that I’d become locked into my anger, even when it was counterproductive. I’m afraid I’m not a very flexible person.”