The Heart Doctor and the Baby

by Lynne Marshall

  “You want to do the honors?” She’d double clamped the umbilical cord and held it with gauze, handing Jason sterile scissors from the suturing pack. For a general practitioner, he looked apprehensive. She gave him an encouraging wink. When he’d finished, she applied the plastic clip on the baby’s end of the cord and smiled at the squirming newborn—healthy and strong, though small and a good three weeks premature by her calculations. Babies were nothing short of a miracle; she’d been convinced of that since her first delivery.

  There went that clutch in her chest again, the one that made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t look at Jon, but felt his gaze on her.

  “Congratulations, man,” Jon said to Jason. Memories of his wife giving birth flashed before his eyes. Nothing had awed him more, or given him greater satisfaction, than seeing his daughters brought into the world.

  He didn’t have to look at René to know what she was going through; she’d thoroughly explained her deep hunger for motherhood to him last night. How must it feel to deliver babies for everyone else, and at the end of the day still be alone?

  Jason grinned so hard his eyes almost disappeared. Claire patted his hand and welcomed the baby to her chest with the other. From the corner of his eye, Jon watched René’s reverent gaze as a pang twisted in his gut. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the feeling or the implication a simple answer of yes would bring, so he bent to gather the soiled towels and stuff them into the exam room hamper.

  The air was too thick with yearning and he’d never been the kind of guy to make dreams come true, just ask his wife. He needed to change the mood. “Do we get paid overtime for this?”

  Not usually one to make light, his joke made everyone blurt a relieved laugh. Combined with Claire and Jason’s euphoria, joy filled the room from every angle, and against his better judgment, the feel-good rush fueled a growing desire to grant his coworker her biggest wish. He couldn’t let it influence him. His decision would be made the same way he made all of his medical determinations, based on logic and common sense. Nothing less.

  René looked at him, the makeshift assistant, while the lovebirds and new baby continued bonding. Her expression had changed, as if she understood how much pressure she’d put on him, and how unfairly the perfect timing of this birth had played in her favor. A warm smile appeared on her face, as if the sun had cracked through thunder-clouds. How could he not smile back?

  “You’re not bad for a novice,” she said.

  So she’d opted to keep it light, too. Relief crawled over him, as if a welcoming blanket. Birth or no birth, he wasn’t ready to make his life-altering decision, though her candidness went far to nudge him along.

  He flashed a capable look, one that conveyed I can handle just about anything. “You’re not the only one who’s full of surprises, René.”

  “You want to hold him?” Claire had already dressed her contented-looking baby in blue by early the next morning.

  René grinned. “I’d love to.” She’d popped in last night and found Claire sleeping, the baby swaddled and content in the bedside bassinet, and Jason lightly snoring in the lounger, so she tiptoed outside and read the pediatrician’s report instead. When the nurses assured her that Claire’s fundus was firming right up and there were no signs of excessive bleeding or fever, she’d gone home rather than wake up the new mother and father.

  This morning, Jason was already down in the business office settling up, and they’d be heading home to introduce the baby to his big sister, Gina, as soon as René performed her discharge examination.

  The six-pound boy squirmed when she took him and tucked him into the hook of her arm. The feel of him sent her reeling. He smelled fresh, like baby lotion and new life, and the clutching in her chest nearly took her breath away. She detected eye movement beneath tightly closed lids with no hint of lashes, and wondered what babies dreamed about. She gently pressed her lips to his head, and inhaled the wonders of his being pure as the first light. The longing in her soul for a baby swelled to near-unbearable proportions. His fine light brown hair resembled a balding man’s with a noticeably high forehead. On him it was adorable. Her eyes crinkled as the smile creased her lips.

  His tiny hands latched on to her fingers, barely covering the tips. The flood of feelings converged—tingling, prickling, burning—until her eyes brimmed.

  Her mouth filled with water, and she swallowed. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, discovering that Claire’s eyes shimmered with tears, too.

  “I know,” Claire said. “Babies are miracles, aren’t they?”

  Overwhelmed by the moment, wishing for a miracle of her own, her breath got swept away and all René could do was nod.

  Jon wolfed down three bagels loaded with peanut butter and downed a pint of orange juice straight out of the carton when he arrived at work. He hadn’t slept for a second night, and the usual runner’s high had eluded him somewhere around mile eight that morning. He scrubbed his face and strode down the hall.

  René was just about to knock on a patient exam room.

  “Got a minute?” he said.

  She started at his voice and snatched back her hand. “Oh!”

  He headed for her office, stopped at the door, tilted his head and arched his eyes to guide her inside.

  René’s breathing dropped out of sync, coming in gulps. She followed Jon toward her office as tiny invisible wings showered over her head to toe. Oh, God, what would he say?

  She stopped one step short of entering the room, swallowed the sock in her throat and gathered her composure. She pasted a smile on her face in hopes of covering her gnawing apprehension, and proceeded inside, then prayed for courage to accept whatever Jon might tell her.

  Would she have to go back to plan A, and the donor clinic? God, she hoped not.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Jon said, the second she stepped over the threshold. “A lot.” He engaged her eyes and held her motionless.

  “And?” she whispered, closing the door.

  “I’m bowled over by this, René. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that. I don’t understand why you insisted on asking me when Phil is single and available.” He held up a hand to stop her before she could begin with the plethora of reasons all over again. She’d recited A to Z quite thoroughly, twice, the night before last. “But I believe your sincerity in wanting this—” he glanced toward the door as if to make sure no one was within hearing range, and though it was closed, he lowered his voice anyway “—baby. I saw it in your eyes last night. This isn’t some freaked-out biological-clock whim. This is the real deal.”

  She nodded her head vehemently.

  “I trust you’ll stick to your word about my small role in it.”

  “To the T, Jon. I promise.” Oh, heavens, she didn’t want to anticipate too much, but it sounded as if he might take her up on the plan. She could only hope and pray. And hold her breath.

  “It feels really callous on my part knowing how I plan to take a sabbatical and all, and I care about you as a coworker, and, well, I don’t want things to change professionally.” He scrubbed his jaw, and the now-familiar facial hair. “This could really ruin our working together.”

  “I wouldn’t want that, either, Jon.” Oh, hell, in his swinging pendulum of emotions he’d convinced her from one second to the next to give up on him. Did she really want to sacrifice their professional friendship because of her desire for a baby? Could she blame him for wanting nothing to do with her outrageous plan?

  “I’d want to think we could talk things through whenever we needed,” he said. “That though I’d be nothing more than a clinical donor as far as the baby goes, I’d like to be your friend. And as a friend and donor I should be able to share in your happiness, like everyone else here in the clinic.”

  She nodded at his reasonable request, afraid to get too hopeful in case he pulled the rug out from under her dream. “I’d want that, too. I don’t want to lose what we have, Jon. Never.”

  He stepped closer. “W
hat do we have, you and me?”

  He studied her eyes, making her feel under a microscope. Those winged creatures returned, dropping anxious nectar over the surface of her skin. She took a slow, intentional, quivery breath.

  “We have five years of hard work and wonderful achievements to share,” she said. “We’ve laughed, celebrated, mourned and prevailed together over every setback in our clinic.” She took a step closer to reach out for his hand. “No matter what happens, if you say yes, you will always be a special friend, Jon.” His long fingers laced through hers, still feeling foreign, though warm, regardless of how many times she’d clutched his hand lately.

  “No one can know a thing,” he cautioned. “If it comes out, I’ll leave the clinic.”

  The importance of anonymity worried her. As with any risk, there was a cost. Was she willing to accept the guilt of changing Jon’s future if someone found out? Was she willing to let him pay the price? Confidence leaked out of her pores, leaving her insecure and wobbly. Maybe plan A was the only way to go, but Jon gently stroked her thumb with his, and a silent soothing message transmitted between them.

  “I promise,” she whispered. A sharp pang in her gut, over the thought of ruining whatever relationship they had, forced her to face the gravity of their possible pact. This was it. Right here, right now. Her dream, their deal, was about to become a reality. The air grew cool and seemed to rush over the surface of her skin, setting off goose bumps.

  His molasses-brown gaze swept over her face, as if searching for honesty. Could he look deep enough to see the longings of her heart? She’d meant what she’d said with all of her being.

  “After you’re pregnant, I want superfriend status.” A tiny tug at one corner of his mouth almost turned into a smile.

  “You’ll do it?” She grabbed his other hand and squeezed both, reeling with hope. The surge pushed her up onto her toes, ready to jump up and down, or kiss his cheek, based on his final decision.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  At the beautiful sound of his reply, she did both.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE reward for getting the exquisitely lovely René Munroe to smile was one large dimple and a satisfying hint of an overbite. Jon had once read a study on facial esthetics and found that, in general, men preferred a slight overbite. Come to think of it, seeing her grin like that, he did, too. She’d squealed, jumped up and kissed his cheek when he’d agreed to go through with her plan. She’d kissed him so hard he felt the imprint of her lips half the afternoon. He’d never seen her so animated, and it surprised him, made him wonder how much more there was to know about her.

  Since his divorce, after work, he liked his alone time. Preferred it. He’d already done his run for the day and wasn’t sure how else to work off this new itchy feeling. And oddly enough, the last thing he felt like being right this minute was alone. Sure he had a day filled with patients ahead of him, but what about after that? He wouldn’t get his girls until the weekend.

  “You want to go for a coffee after work?” he blurted. The thought of going home to his “man cave”—as his daughters facetiously referred to it—after such a momentous agreement, had little appeal. “We should probably get to know each other a little more.”

  “That sounds perfect,” she said.

  Perfect. She used the word frequently, and when it came to describing her it suited…well…it suited her perfectly.

  “I’ll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door with a new spring in his jogging shoes.

  At the end of the workday, they locked the clinic and hiked the two blocks over to State Street, and caught the electric trolley heading north to an alfresco coffeehouse. They’d committed to coffee, not dinner. It was a start. Even though it was late January, the temperature was sixty-five degrees, and the outdoor restaurants all had outdoor heating lamps for their patrons’ comfort. If he inhaled deep enough, he could smell the crisp, tangy sea.

  “Do you ever get tired of delivering babies?” he asked, as they rode.

  “No. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

  Jon nodded and thought back to the birth of both of his daughters. Amanda had been born at a midwife center eighteen years back, and Lacy, at home, under water, eighteen months later. His ex-wife had wanted it that way. He’d felt as if he’d run a marathon after each labor and delivery, but had never been more ecstatic in his life. Watching Jason and Claire last night had brought back long-forgotten memories.

  Somehow lecturing patients about their tickers didn’t quite measure up, though of course he understood the importance of the heart sustaining life. It just couldn’t quite compare with the theatrical bang of a delivery.

  “I never thought I’d see Jason happy again,” she said.

  Hmm? Oh, he’d taken a tangential thought trip, and quickly focused back in. “I guess there’s hope for all of us, then,” Jon said, deciding, on a scale of one to ten, he probably sat around six on the happy meter—not ecstatic, not miserable, just making due, especially since his divorce.

  He’d forgotten what this type of elation felt like, being more used to the endorphin variety from his long and hard runner workouts. Emotional highs were…well…unusual these days. Definitely nice, but different.

  He glanced at René smiling with cheeks blushed from her hard work and the brisk evening air. Her amber eyes hinted at green, probably because of the teal-colored sweater she wore. As a pool reflects the sky, light eyes reflect surrounding colors. Where had he recently read that, and why had he lost his train of thought again?

  “You’ve sure made me a happy camper,” she said, with a perky glance out the window, which made her earrings sway.

  Never having been in the business of granting wishes before, he enjoyed the swell of pride and rode along with it.

  He noticed René always wore extralong earrings, and right now the colorful beads and loops almost reached her shoulders, and for some odd reason it fascinated him the way they swayed with the movement of her head. Mesmerizing. But that was neither here nor there; he was on a mission to get to know René better, not notice her earrings or how they swayed with her long, thick hair. There had to be some relevant question he could think of to ask.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why a woman such as René wasn’t happily married. She should be having a baby with her doting husband instead of soliciting his services.

  His services? The thought tickled the corner of his mouth into a near smile and he looked straight ahead so she wouldn’t notice. He’d really agreed to do this crazy thing. For René. Two years ago, when Cherie had kicked him to the curve without so much as a hint of being discontent, who would have ever thought about agreeing to such a ridiculous idea? That smile kept edging up his face, and he kept staring out the front window to hide it.

  When they reached their stop, they hopped off the trolley, walked half a block and ordered their brews at the shop, then sat outside to enjoy the clear evening sky. In the distance, he could see the lights flicker on Stearns Wharf and wished he could hear the waves crashing against the pilings.

  Beneath her shrouded gaze, René sat quietly, as if waiting for him to break the ice, to bring up the next step in their plan—admittedly, the trickiest, as far as he was concerned.

  Not ready to go there yet, Jon took a drink of espresso and winced at the bitterness. “Since we don’t know much about each other, I’ll start. My girls are both in high school. Amanda’s going to graduate this June, and Lacy next year. Amanda has applied to every Ivy League school she could think of since she’s got it in her head that, if she wants to go to Harvard Law, she’s got to do her undergraduate studies at an equally prestigious school.”

  Everyone in the medical clinic was well aware of his divorce two years earlier, how hard it had hit. But no one could possibly know, since he’d worked extrahard at hiding it, how devastated he’d been. How he never saw himself ever loving again, beyond his daughters. They’d seen the happy family guy turn i
nto his current recluse status, and he’d complained bitterly to anyone who would listen about how Cherie had practically cleaned him out financially. But he’d always stopped short of the point of how he didn’t think he could go on, and how he never ever wanted to commit to another relationship because of it.

  On a more practical note, he didn’t need to bore René with the difficulty of supporting his family at the level to which they’d become accustomed, while living on his own and saving for both daughters’ college funds.

  Still, having taken the business risk with his colleagues and opened the clinic, he’d refused to bail for a higher-paying job when Cherie demanded the outrageous monthly alimony. The clinic was all about autonomy, which mattered a lot to him. It was all he had left. That same autonomy was what fueled his sabbatical dreams.

  René sipped her tea concoction as coils of steam circled her face. He could smell the peppermint all the way across the table. She lifted intriguingly shaped brows, brows he’d never really noticed before now.

  “And Lacy?” she asked. “What are her plans?”

  Jon barked a laugh. “She’s thinking more in line with Oahu U.” He made the “hang loose” hand gesture associated with the laidback Hawaiian Islands. “My girls couldn’t be more different if they tried.” He shook his head, knowing both daughters had genius IQs. Sometimes he wondered if his genes were a blessing or a curse.

  “As long as they’re happy, right?” she said.

  He nodded wholeheartedly. Ah, to be young and free to start over again, but happiness was such a subjective state of being. At forty-two he was the picture of health, which should make him happy, yet sometimes he felt unnecessarily weighted down by responsibility. At times like that, his sabbatical plans helped keep him going.

  Since divorcing and moving out, he’d occupied eight hundred square feet of high-tech loft where he practiced urban minimalism. His daughters were the ones to name it the “man cave.” As long as he had his books and stereo equipment, and visitation rights with his girls, he’d make do—even if he couldn’t satisfactorily explain the temporary feel of his current living situation.