Jon clapped his hands. “That’s the spirit.” He hopped behind his desk and punched in a phone number. “Let’s see how soon I can arrange the ultrasound.” For the walking time bomb.
He got put on hold, used his index finger to play with the silly little patch of hair under his lower lip. The patch his girls had insisted he grow. They said it would make him look sexy. He almost laughed out loud. Did a man want to look sexy at forty-two? A really odd thought occurred to him. If René had handpicked him to be her donor, was there anything about him she found sexy besides his DNA?
He squashed the thought immediately. The last thing he wanted was to foul up his plans for freedom with any kind of commitment.
As he waited on hold, and the Grossos spoke in excitable Italian, hands and gestures flying, his mind drifted to the vision of René at his door that morning. She wore a little white sweater over her earth-tone patterned sheath dress. The half-sleeved sweater with a shiny bead-and-stud design up the front had been the perfect accessory. He’d noticed that about her. She was good with details.
And he liked that. Liked that he knew she’d always do a job thoroughly, down to the miniscule touches. He thought about the dinner she’d made the night she’d asked him to be her sperm donor—she cooked that way, too. Whenever they had potlucks at work from now on, he’d twist her arm to cook. There was something in the way she combined herbs and spices that made her dishes exceptional. If she weren’t such a fantastic doctor, he might suggest she’d missed her calling, but if she’d become a chef, he’d never have met her.
An uncomfortable feeling spun in his stomach. These were useless thoughts, fanciful thoughts, that a man with plans for a sabbatical shouldn’t bother to have. As he continued to wait to speak to a hospital operator, he thumbed through his journal, past the part detailing life’s recent surprising turn, and back to his list of cities in China that he planned to visit after he attended the world cardiac conference in Beijing—2011; the year of the rabbit.
In light of the new circumstances, for some dumb reason, the year of the rabbit struck him funny.
The following Saturday morning, René rode her bicycle on a different route, along the Cabrillo Boulevard bike path. The early morning air was crisp and the sun bright. She squinted, despite wearing sunglasses. Up ahead on the palm-tree-lined path, a tall, fit figure ran at a near sprinter’s pace. From the crowd of joggers, she’d recognize him anywhere.
She’d never seen Jon jogging, and definitely had never seen him shirtless before. It shook her a little. His musculature surprised her, too. Intrigued her. Long waisted, like a swimmer, his shoulders were broad and his upper arms were surprisingly buff. Jon? His stomach was flat and obviously no stranger to crunches. Another surprise. Long solid legs finished off his six-foot frame, and carried him at a rapid clip along the shore.
He concentrated on his run, and didn’t see or recognize her when she pedaled toward him. Maybe it was the bike helmet? Vanity prompted her to take it off and fluff out her hair before she called his name.
“Jon!” She waved.
His pace stuttered, he turned and followed the sound.
“Jon! Hi!”
He waved and ran off the path, circling back toward her. “What’s up?”
“Just enjoying the sunny morning.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful today, isn’t it.”
As they chitchatted, she worked hard at concentrating on his face so he wouldn’t think she was checking him out. His gaze passed over her shorts-clad legs once or twice. What was that about?
A large group of cyclists advanced, so she cut things short.
“I just wanted to thank you again for…you know.”
“Ah,” he said, suddenly finding his running shoes fascinating. “That.”
They exchanged a secret-handshake kind of look, something that was quickly becoming routine.
“Yeah. That. You know how grateful I am.”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you Monday,” she said.
He nodded and waved. She noticed the well-formed muscle ripple up his arm and shoulder, and couldn’t stop herself from waiting until he’d run off before putting her cycle helmet back on. Once she’d set off, she couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder for the back view. She swerved and had to put her foot down to keep from falling. But it was worth it! A straight spine with triangular muscles fanning across his back, flexed with the natural swing of his arms. His torso angled down to trim hips and a backside barely covered by his shorts. Never in a million years would she have imagined him to look this hot. She’d come to a dead stop and soon realized several more cyclists were headed her way, so she pushed off and continued in the opposite direction.
She’d been up all night thinking about Jon. Not in a sexual way. No. But in a new and different light—a beam of potential. Seeing him like this mixed her up, especially now, when things were moving ahead as planned.
She had nothing but respect for Jon Becker. They’d been through a lot together launching the medical practice. She remembered how flattered she’d been when Jason and Jon had approached her about joining them on the venture. She’d only been board certified in OB/Gyn for a year and yet they’d invited her to take a chance on a new direction for her career, one where she had more say and control. She remembered blinking two or three times and saying yes! And she hadn’t looked back or regretted it since.
She’d almost broached the subject foremost on her mind with Jon last Friday afternoon, just to tell him thanks for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few weeks, but he’d been waylaid by his girls. She’d caught them in a cuddle with the oldest, Amanda, sporting a sleek dark-brown bob, kissing his cheek, and the honey-haired Lacy, with wild shoulder-length curls, snuggling his chest. He never looked happier than when he was with them. A prerequisite for what they’d planned was that it couldn’t affect his relationship with his girls in any way. They’d never know, and she’d do anything to keep it that way.
René pedaled beyond the beach volleyball courts toward the pond. Her mind wandered back to Jon as the hodgepodge of her thoughts practically made her eyes cross. They’d worked closely together for five years. Not only was he a person she admired and trusted, he was a genius, and ethically minded—a great combination for father material. She had nothing but respect for him and cared about him as a friend. To admit he was a damn fine specimen of a man on top of everything else was far too confusing.
No way would she allow herself to examine that freshly discovered secret. Even though he’d looked fantastic in those jogging shorts, there was no place for emotion in this plan.
She circled the pond and headed toward home. She’d been tracking her menstrual cycle for the past few months, and if all went well, she’d be ovulating next week. Deep in thought, she glanced up and nearly screamed. A four-seat bicycle surrey almost ran her off the road. She veered from the path and onto the grass, and stopped just before rolling over the curb and into the street, heavy with fast-moving traffic. Once she regained her breath she got right back on the bike and pedaled faster.
If she got herself killed, she wouldn’t be able to get inseminated!
The following week, Jon’s morning cardiac clinic had been brutal. One complication after another—a surprise diagnosis or three, word of a cardiac arrest of one of his oldest patients and then he’d had to break the news to Katerina and Antonin Grosso that, after having the echocardiogram, Antonin definitely needed a triple bypass graft, molto presto.
Just before noon, as Jon discussed the pros and cons of blood pressure medicine with his newest cardiac patient, his intercom buzzed.
It was René. “I’ve got the contract. Can you meet me at Stearns Wharf for lunch today?”
“Sure,” he said, pleased about the prospect of seeing her away from work again.
She gave him the time and hung up.
He’d managed to compartmentalize the whole artificial insemination agreement since the day she’d dro
pped the überbaby bomb. But the call shook him out of his complacency, his heart lub-dubbed more per minute than usual and he held the receiver with a suddenly moist palm. There was no way he could convince himself his part in their deal was insignificant when a new life might be created as a result.
He scratched his forehead, and remembered he had a patient sitting across from him. “Yes. Well, let’s discuss beta blockers versus calcium channel blockers.”
The patient’s expression drew a blank. “Sorry,” Jon said, then stated a brand name for each drug classification he’d mentioned and noticed an ember of understanding in his patient’s previous dull gaze. Together, they chose the best medicine suited for his condition and lifestyle, and when at the end of the appointment they shook hands, the patient thanked Jon profusely.
The morning seemed to drag on, while Jon had second, third and even fourth thoughts about actually going through with the contract. He remembered the bright spark of hope in René’s eyes when he’d agreed, and relived the unbridled excitement when she’d hurled herself into his arms, hugged the wind out of him, then kissed his cheek so hard he swore he felt her lips there the rest of the day.
He smiled. He could make René’s dream come true. How often in life did a man get that kind of opportunity with no strings attached? He thought about his daughters and how much he loved them. How parental love surpassed romantic love, at least it had in his marriage. While marital love might weaken and fade away, the love of a child grew stronger every day. The joy those girls had brought to his life went beyond measure, and René deserved her chance to experience the same.
He removed his doctor’s coat, replacing it with a lightweight bomber-style jacket for the crisp February day, and set off on foot to meet René at the wharf after her morning surgi-clinic at the local outpatient center.
As he approached their agreed-upon restaurant, the crunching and creaking of the wooden planks from behind made him turn. He spotted her car. She’d been lucky enough to find a parking place on the often-overcrowded wharf. A nervous zing buzzed through his system, and he quickly ignored it. He was a man of his word—he’d made a promise; he couldn’t back out now. After all, he’d already given the specimen!
The cornflower-blue sky went on forever, an occasional cloud scudding past. The sun glare ricocheted off the ocean, making it hard to see anything beyond her silhouette as she got out of the car. She walked closer, and the beam on her face matched the shimmering waves. The sun kissed her chestnut hair, highlighting a touch of red he hadn’t noticed before. She tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow like an ambassador of goodwill.
“Lunch is on me,” she said, as the wharf’s resident pelican swooped overhead and landed on the nearby railing.
Over a bucket of all-you-can-peel shrimp, she produced a manila envelope and withdrew its contents. “I’ve pored over this document, every single line, and I think you’ll be pleased with what my lawyer drew up.”
He wiped his hands on a napkin and maintained her steady gaze and ceremoniously accepted the contract, then fished his reading glasses out from his shirt pocket.
“Once I’ve got your signature, they’ll release your specimen to me.”
By the time the main course of halibut and mahimahi got served, he’d signed it.
“That’s that, then,” he said, glancing up, noticing the glassy tears threatening to spill over her thick lashes. Oh, no. He could never take it when a woman cried. It always made him feel so helpless and baffled and downright uncomfortable. His girls had mastered the art of tearful manipulation, but René’s tears were genuine. He’d do anything to stop them, but what?
Though he thought better of it, he did what he’d do with Amanda, scooted closer and gave René a hug. She clutched him so hard, he wasn’t sure whether to pry himself free or just enjoy it.
“Thank you,” she repeated over and over.
“I’ve got to admit I’m very curious how this puppy’s gonna turn out.”
“Me, too!” More tears appeared—tasteful tears, not the blubbering kind, just gracious, womanly drops down her cheeks. On her, it was beautiful and he had the urge to kiss each one away, but that would be him in a movie, not the real guy sitting here next to her, the guy who worked with her every day, so he stopped the urge immediately. Still wanting nothing more than to stop her crying, he took the joker route.
He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, and mumbled an aside. “Okay, I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”
She sputtered a laugh and tossed him a thankful look, one that seemed to wrap him up and warm him all over again. The gaze let him know he was the most special person in her life at the moment. He liked how it felt, wondered if she sensed the ever-deepening place she’d found in his life, too. It confused the hell out of him. The moment couldn’t go on forever, and they did have a delicious-smelling lunch before them, and, well, he scooted his chair back as the special feeling settled quietly in his chest.
A week later, after the most recent blood test showed a surge in René’s luteinizing hormone, indicative of ovulation, she canceled her morning appointments and rushed to her OB doctor’s office. She lay on a cold examination table with her feet in stirrups.
She glanced at the ceiling with a new perspective on the patient’s side of the experience. The room was cold and the thin sheet offered little comfort on top of the oversize patient gown. Her personal gynecologist smiled at her from between René’s legs.
“Ready?” she said.
René nodded, her throat growing tight with anticipation.
She and Jon had agreed not to discuss the mechanics of their situation. He’d done his part when the time suited him, and now she’d do hers. She still laughed to herself about how he’d made his deposit on Valentine’s Day. Could she consider it romantic?
“Here it is,” her doctor said, raising a thin catheter connected to a syringe with the sperm inside. “Future baby, right here, if we’re lucky.”
The doctor chattered as René felt cold hands and necessary invasive instruments get placed, and finally the deposited sperm around her cervix.
“I’m going to put a sponge cap over your cervix. Leave it in place for eight hours.” Her doctor friend patted her hip. “Good luck. Now lay here for thirty minutes. My nurse will let you know when you can get up.”
If there was a chant to will one sperm and her egg to meet, she’d chant it. Failure was not an option. She pulled her feet out of the stirrups, moved farther up the exam table and relaxed.
Maybe daydreaming about a perfect ending would enhance the process. In her case the perfect ending was a pregnancy.
She let her mind wander and, instead of a chubby baby face appearing, a different scene played out before her, shocking her slightly. She’d told Jon that Mr. Right wasn’t going to walk through her door anytime soon, yet the vision of him standing on her porch the night she’d hit him up with her artificial insemination plans gave her pause. In a once removed and cockeyed sort of way, he was Mr. Right.
She couldn’t help but wonder if in another situation, if she wasn’t pushing so hard for a baby right now and if he wasn’t counting down the days to his freedom, that maybe things could have been different between them. In all their years of working together, they’d never once looked at each other in an interested way. And it was useless to speculate about things that would never be. She didn’t have the luxury of time anyway, and this day was what it was—a day to hold her breath, keep a positive attitude and hope for the best.
And if optimism could affect her state of mind and the cells in her body and, most importantly, her uterus, she figured she had the best chance ever to get pregnant.
CHAPTER FIVE
JON hadn’t been intentionally avoiding René for the past month, but he’d figured he’d done his part in their deal, and there was no point in making her uncomfortable just because he was curious. Beyond curious. Besides, he didn’t want to get involved.
Since he’d donated an
d signed her contract, he’d stayed out of her way and figured things would play themselves out however they were meant to be. It surprised him to acknowledge—as a scientist first and foremost—he could be so fatalistic. Since agreeing to take part in René’s plan, he’d started realizing all kinds of new things about himself. Such as, he really, really hoped this pregnancy would take.
What was up with that?
Jon welcomed his next patient into the exam room as if a special guest. “Mr. Grosso, how are you doing?”
“Not so great.” The man gingerly rubbed his chest.
Mrs. Grosso beetled her brows. “He still tender.”
“Yeah, tender.” He massaged circles around his sternum.
“That was a big operation, and right about now your skin nerve endings are coming back to life in the area where they opened your chest.”
“It feels strange. I can’t explain.”
“But you’re not having chest pain, right?”
“No. No chest pain. Just sore now.”
“That’s progress. Take off your shirt and let’s have a look.”
After performing a thorough examination, Jon invited Antonin to get dressed and meet him in his office. He exited the room and strode toward his door. On the way, he noticed René with a bright smile, standing at the mouth of the hall. He slowed his step. She gave him a subtle thumbs-up.
What? He did a double take to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. He tilted his head as if for reassurance that she had indeed given the high sign. She nodded rapidly, continuing to smile so wide she could star in a commercial for toothpaste.
He went to his office and picked up the phone, punching in her com line number. After the second ring she picked up.
“Are you saying you’re pregnant?” It took on the first try?
“Yes!” Her excitement burst through the receiver.
A moment lapsed, as a swell of something bathed him. Joy? Pride? Nah, that would be absurd, but, hey, it took on the first try! “I think this calls for celebration,” he said.
The Heart Doctor and the Baby Page 5
