The Surgeon's Surprise Twins

by Jacqueline Diamond

  That night, when he arrived home late and found her possessions gone, the house shivered with her absence. Owen nearly changed his mind. If he called enough people, surely he could find her.

  But his brain told him that was the wrong step to take.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU HAVE any more children? Or is that too personal a question?” Bailey curled up on Renée Green’s dainty couch, trying not to disturb the hand-crocheted doily on the arm.

  The room belonged in a fairy-tale cottage. One wall was lined with china cabinets displaying shepherdesses, biblical figurines and small animals, while plates depicting Alpine villages and pastoral scenes filled another. Stenciled curlicues embellished the top of each doorway, and vases and bowls decorated with flower designs topped the end tables. Even her petite footstool bore a colorful painted bouquet.

  “I don’t mind you asking.” The older woman leaned back in her armchair. “But it’s hard to know where to begin.”

  While Bailey waited for Renée to organize her thoughts, she gave silent thanks for her new friend. After this morning’s scene with Owen, she’d recognized an urgent need to find new quarters. She had lots of reasons, from the danger of being ambushed by the press to the fact that she no longer wanted to be dependent on Phyllis in any way. More than anything, she couldn’t bear to keep waking up with only a thin wall separating her from the man she’d so unwisely fallen in love with.

  At work, as she considered where to turn for a roommate, Bailey had found herself constrained in an unfamiliar way. In the past, moving in with friends had been a simple matter of finding out who had an extra bedroom. Now she had to consider what might happen five months from now when she gave birth. And she might be putting a friend in an awkward position.

  Take Ned. He was Owen’s nurse. How unfair to ask him such a favor when the result might be tension at work. She couldn’t query a casual acquaintance like Erica, whose first loyalty was to Owen, while many other friends like Patty and Nora were now married or engaged.

  At lunch, Bailey had checked bulletin boards in the nurses’ lounges, only to catch a couple of women regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and something that made her squirm. It was the fascinated horror with which people stared at celebrities who got into trouble.

  She’d fled into the corridor, where she ran into Renée, who was pushing an empty wheelchair toward a patient’s room. When the older woman stopped to talk, Bailey blurted her dilemma about finding a place to stay. Renée immediately volunteered her spare bedroom.

  “I can’t promise anything permanent,” the older woman had said. “I’m a bit set in my ways and, as you’ll see, my house is stuffed with my own possessions. But there’s room in the garage to store your things and I’d love to have you there for however long it takes you to find the right place.”

  “That could be a few months,” Bailey had warned.

  “No problem.” Renée beamed at her. “It’ll be fun to share such an exciting time with you. And I do get lonely. Having a guest for a few weeks or months ought to be a nice change.”

  In response to the word guest, Bailey had insisted on paying rent. Reluctantly, Renée had named a modest amount that wouldn’t do much more than repay her for extra utilities and other costs. Bailey had agreed with gratitude.

  Ned and some of the other male nurses had helped move her stuff into Renée’s garage. She’d thanked everyone by buying take-out, after which she and Renée had discovered they shared an affection for old TV sitcoms.

  But Bailey never forgot that Renée had once faced a dilemma somewhat like hers. Pregnant and on her own, she’d given up a baby. That didn’t explain why she’d never had other children.

  “Didn’t your husband want children?” Bailey prompted. Her hostess seemed lost in memories.

  “He had no strong feelings either way, peculiar as that might sound.” Renée’s gaze remained dreamy. “He was older than me and had never married before. In fact, he’d lived with his mother until she died. I don’t think he felt comfortable around kids.”

  Bailey recalled that the man had died two years ago. Judging by how thoroughly Renée had settled into this house, they’d probably lived here together. “He didn’t mind all the figurines and stuff?”

  Her friend chuckled. “You’re going to think me strange, but this house belonged to his mother and so did a lot of the knickknacks. I already had a small collection of my own and they blended right in. Please don’t read anything psychological into it. I was not a substitute for Hubert’s mother, believe me.”

  Bailey hadn’t been thinking that. “The house is not exactly a kid-friendly place. You’d have had to pack away this breakable stuff.”

  “True.” Renée straightened the lace doily on her chair’s arm. “We quit using birth control for a while, but nothing happened. We had to decide whether to consult a doctor, adopt or accept whatever nature did or didn’t send us. We went with option three, and that was that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said.

  “Hubert and I had a happy marriage for nearly thirty years. If I had children, that would be wonderful for me now, but I’m not so sure it would have been good for the two of us.”

  Thirty years together. She couldn’t imagine being so lucky. “I wonder if I’ll ever meet a man like Hubert.”

  Renée hesitated for a moment before asking, “You aren’t involved with Dr. Tartikoff? Or is that too personal a question?”

  Bailey didn’t blame her for wondering. “According to him, we aren’t involved, so there you have it.”

  “His loss.”

  Bailey stretched. “Is there anything in that cute pig-shaped cookie jar in the kitchen or is that just for decoration?”

  Renée laughed. “I love baking cookies. I keep them around for my neighbors’ children and, yes, I’d be happy to share.”

  “You’re the perfect roommate,” Bailey told her as they got up.

  “I’ve missed having someone to mother,” was the cheerful response.

  Later, drifting off in the canopied guest bed, Bailey thought about the decision she had to face. What a wonderful fantasy, to keep her two little angels and watch them grow into healthy toddlers, but how unrealistic. She’d lucked out today thanks to Renée’s generosity, but when it came to finding a new home big enough for the three of them, there was no fallback position.

  Phyllis and Boone had left her with no savings. Worse, the one relative she’d always figured she could count on in a crisis—her sister—had turned against her. Yes, some single moms succeeded in raising kids on their own. If there were only one baby…if she had more money…if Owen loved her…

  Her chest squeezed. But he didn’t. More and more, the choice seemed inevitable. She had to find the babies a stable home where they could grow up with loving, committed parents.

  No sooner would she say hello than she’d have to say goodbye.

  Her hand pressing her abdomen, Bailey whispered, “Forgive me.” And felt the pillow grow damp with the tears she’d been holding back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  During the next month, Owen developed a strong empathy for tightrope walkers, especially those who balanced poles, juggled plates and performed other amazing feats in midair. The hospital went ahead full speed with plans to unveil the fertility program to the public, which meant that in addition to maintaining his schedule of performing surgery, seeing patients and hiring key employees, he had to be available for numerous special events. By the time he got home to bed, he often could scarcely remember what day it was.

  Also, he couldn’t ignore the unfolding criminal case against his brother. More evidence came to light of Boone’s international wheelings and dealings, and by now it was well established, at least in the public’s mind, that there’d never been any intent to invest the money. It was all one big scam.

  As for Phyllis, he gathered from TV that his sister-in-law was cooperating fully with the authorities. To the media, she positioned herself as the abandoned, overly trusting
spouse, and while Owen didn’t believe that absolved her of all blame, he had to admit she’d been played for a fool like everyone else. Thanks to the information she’d provided, about a quarter of the stolen money had been recovered, but prosecutors warned that the rest might be gone forever, stashed in secret bank accounts or safe deposit boxes that Boone hoped someday to retrieve.

  Bailey’s initiative in moving out of the house had helped defuse reporters’ interest in Owen. While unpleasant insinuations and inappropriate questions occasionally popped up during the grand opening, they became less frequent. Owen’s ready availability helped defuse matters, since he was obviously not trying to hide anything.

  Ironically, in focusing international attention on Safe Harbor, the stir about Boone benefited the program’s debut. The outstanding facilities, the excellent staff—except for a head of the men’s fertility program, a position he still hadn’t filled—and advance word of an innovative surgical technique that Owen was set to describe next month at a major conference got far more air time than anyone had anticipated.

  It was a good thing he had a lot of balls to juggle, because he found it uncomfortable to linger at home. The place felt wrong without Bailey. He would open the refrigerator expecting to swipe one of her yogurts before he remembered she didn’t live here anymore. Or hurry into the bathroom only to see the counter nearly empty and realize no one was going to push his stuff aside and drive him crazy. No one set up a keyboard on the dining table, or played havoc with his laundry, or poked him in the ego when he needed it.

  His repeated calls to her cell phone went straight to voice mail. He kept the messages succinct. “Do you need anything? Please let me know.” And “I have to make sure you and the twins are okay. Call me.” She didn’t. He stooped to querying Ned, who explained that she was staying with an older friend and that everything appeared to be fine. Owen didn’t probe further. He had no right to put his nurse in the middle.

  He did hear that she’d begun receiving prenatal care from Dr. Sargent, but since both his and Nora’s offices were a floor below Owen’s, he had little chance of running into Bailey in the hall. A vague hope of encountering her in the elevator failed to materialize, and when he did catch sight of her across the lobby, she always hurried off. He could hardly chase her down in full public view and demand that she talk to him.

  Well, they had time. The twins weren’t due until January, and while they might arrive a month early, that was still in the future. As for this ache inside, this void where Bailey ought to be, Owen knew he’d better come up with a plan, but so far he hadn’t had a spare moment to think of one.

  By the end of September, with the grand opening over, the open houses and celebrity visits and other events finally wound down. Late one Monday afternoon, Ned went around the office glumly tossing out wilting bouquets and fading decorations. “What a letdown,” he grumbled.

  Owen, who’d been catching up on paperwork after seeing his last patient of the day, regarded the usually cheerful young man in surprise. “I can order more flowers if that’ll float your boat,” he said.

  “No, thanks.” The nurse leaned against a counter. “It isn’t just me. Everybody feels it. I mean, the opening’s been this great success but now it’s back to work as usual.”

  While Owen didn’t share the sense of anticlimax, since he was preparing for next month’s conference in L.A., he had to admit he’d noticed a lack of zip in other staff members these past few days. Not much he could do about that, but he could cheer up his hardworking assistant. “You’ve been with me how long now, six weeks?”

  Ned gave a nod, his expression cautious. He’d lost some of his tan, which probably meant the guy hadn’t been spending as much time as usual at the beach. No wonder. He’d worked hard at reorganizing the office.

  “Well, there’s no reason to wait out the full three-month trial period,” Owen went on. “Your position here is permanent, if you want it to be.” The spontaneous decision felt right.

  Those blue eyes lit up. “That’s great! I…thanks, Dr. T.” That was the nickname most of the staff used these days.

  “You earned it.”

  They were shaking hands when Caroline poked her head out of the reception area. “There’s someone here to see you, Dr. T.”

  “There’s no one on the schedule,” Ned responded protectively.

  “She’s not here for a checkup. She says she’s a former patient.”

  Owen saw no reason to stand on ceremony. Heading for the waiting room, he asked, “What’s her name?”

  “Trish Royce.”

  That rang a bell. A prominent banking executive in Boston, Mrs. Royce had waited until she was nearly forty to start a family, then failed to conceive after more than a year. While other doctors had suggested halfway measures, Owen had looked at her test results and told her frankly that her eggs weren’t viable.

  “If you want to bear a child, you’ll need donor eggs.” He’d seen the pain in her face, but delaying would only make matters worse. “We can use your husband’s sperm, and your chances of carrying a child look good at this point. I’d advise moving forward quickly. Time is not your friend.”

  “You’re awfully blunt.” A tall woman in a designer suit, she’d wrapped her arms around herself. Her husband had asked a couple of questions, and Owen had explained his reasoning in detail. By the end of that first visit, the Royces had agreed to go with a donor.

  A little over a year later, she’d given birth to fraternal twin sons. She’d sent Owen a photo and a thank-you note afterward, and that was the last he’d heard from her.

  In the front room, he had to admit he wouldn’t have recognized the woman sitting on the floor racing toy cars with two boys. Instead of a suit, she wore pants and a flowing woven top, and she was making vroom-vroom noises as if she, too, were a kid.

  “Oh! I didn’t expect you to come out so quickly.” Jumping to her feet, she gave Owen a grin. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

  “Sure I do.” Intrigued, Owen shook hands and then examined the two lively faces much like their mother’s. No one would imagine that they weren’t genetically related. “What terrific young men. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  “My husband and I are living out here now. I keep seeing you on the news and I couldn’t resist dropping by.” Trish gave a happy shrug. “I guess moms bring their kids to visit all the time.”

  “Infants, occasionally, but not at this age. They’re how old—five?”

  “And three months.”

  Owen noted an open bag on one of the couches, with picture books spilling out. “I can see you keep them busy.”

  “Billy’s starting to read already, and he’s teaching his brother,” Trish said.

  “Teaching his brother?” That was unusual.

  “Jim’s more into visuals. He likes to sketch. Billy’s a word person. He’s been encouraging his brother to draw pictures to go with the sounds of letters. Can you believe that? Their kindergarten teacher said she’s never seen anything like it.” Trish had gained a few pounds along with some wrinkles around the eyes, but to Owen she seemed radiant. “If you hadn’t given me that push, I doubt I’d have them. And they’re such a miracle.”

  “They certainly are.” Had it really been five years since their birth? If Owen had given the matter any thought, he’d have visualized them as toddlers. “They grow up fast.”

  “You’re the one who emphasized how quickly things change,” Trish reminded him. “I had this image of myself as a young woman, and it wasn’t pleasant at first, realizing that to you I was nearly over the hill.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but we have to be realistic.” Owen didn’t waste time on complimenting his patients; they came to him for help, not flattery. “Although women are having babies later these days, there are a lot of questions about the health implications.” He’d heard of a Spanish woman who gave birth, amid plenty of controversy, at the age of sixty-seven. Tragically, she’d died t
wo years later.

  “I appreciated your honesty,” Trish continued. “So, speaking of time passing, do you have kids of your own by now?”

  She had no way of knowing what a loaded question that was. “Not yet,” Owen said.

  “I guess it’s different for men, but don’t wait too long, Doc,” Trish advised with a wink.

  “Good advice.” Owen spent a few more minutes catching up on her activities and the twins’ development. The happy mother gave him a hug and he couldn’t resist squatting to give the boys one as well. After only a moment’s hesitation, Billy flung his arms around Owen, totally fearless. When it was Jim’s turn, the little boy stood back, thrust out a hand and shook solemnly. “They really are different,” Owen observed, straightening.

  “Utterly,” Trish said. “Once you have kids, you’ll understand.”

  His chest tightened. Somehow, Owen managed to say goodbye in a pleasant manner, but his brain was working feverishly.

  No one knew that Bailey’s twins were his. Nor, as a donor, did he have any legal rights. Why had he assumed she would simply carry on until they were born without making plans? She could hand them over to Phyllis, or do something really crazy like marry a guy she didn’t love for security.

  What about this friend she was staying with? Male or female?

  Agitated, he went in search of Ned. But it was after five o’clock, and he discovered the nurse had left, no doubt to celebrate his good news. Caroline was gone also, not that he’d have trusted her enough to ask such a leading question. To his knowledge she hadn’t done any more gossiping, but Owen preferred to play it safe.

  He locked the office and took the elevator down. It stopped at the second floor.

  When the doors opened, Bailey’s moss-green eyes widened in something close to alarm. He felt a rush of joy at the sight of that familiar face, but for a moment, he feared she might refuse to get in.

  “Oh, come on. Live dangerously,” Owen said. Give me a chance to tease you out of this mood.