by Fiona Lowe
His Adam’s apple moved convulsively in his throat as he turned the screen to face her. ‘Here.’ His shaking finger pointed to the fuzzy image. ‘You’re pregnant with twins.’
‘I’m pregnant?’ Disbelief rocked her and she stared so long at the screen that her eyes burned, but her brain had seized and wouldn’t compute the image. Pregnant? That wasn’t possible—she had the bloodwork and the letter from a Melbourne specialist to prove it to be impossible. She blinked three times but still the image stayed the same. Two tiny embryonic sacs could be clearly seen on the screen.
‘I’m pregnant!’ Sheer joy exploded inside her, making the New Year’s Eve’s fireworks display look like a dim light show. She sat up quickly, ignoring the jab of uterine ligament pain in her side, and threw her arms around Nick. ‘I’m pregnant.’ She heard herself babbling as euphoria bubbled inside her. ‘I can’t believe it…I never thought it could happen to me, it’s a miracle…’ She pulled back slightly, cupping his cheeks in her hands, gazing into his eyes as wonder and elation filled her to overflowing. ‘We’re pregnant! I love you and we’re pregnant.’
‘Against all odds, so it would appear.’ Impassive emerald eyes stared down at her and his voice sounded hoarse as he removed her hands from his face and sat her back on the couch.
She grabbed his hands. ‘Oh, Nick, I never thought I could be this happy.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘It’s hard to take in because, technically, we’re both infertile.’
She nodded, her mind whirling. ‘I know, and that just makes it even more of a miracle. For some reason I’ve ovulated and with twins perhaps both of my ovaries fired off at once.’ Words poured out of her as her brain skipped from thought to thought as she tried to make sense of the most wonderful situation. ‘And your sperm count, which should be zero, has obviously changed, and your body has somehow been able to produce at least two healthy swimmers.’
She laughed and kissed his hands. ‘No one should ever underestimate the power of the human body to heal and reproduce. It must have been all that healthy organic food you’ve been feeding us.’
‘Right.’ A faint wry smile hovered for a moment on his lips as he tugged his hands from hers and crossed the room to switch on the light. ‘We need to plan what we’re doing.’
‘Yes, there’s so much to plan.’ She couldn’t stop grinning as an image of her future rolled out in her mind. Two bassinets in the front room at Riversleigh, a double all-terrain pram that could bump along the track down to the creek, with Turbo running close beside it, a baby snuggled against her chest in a sling, and Nick with his broad hand gently pressed against a baby’s back, holding him nestled against his shoulder, fast asleep.
‘Who’s the obstetrician in Barago?’ Nick started flipping through a health department folder, his fingers working so fast that the pages scrunched as they turned. A moment later he unexpectedly tossed it back onto the desk, the spine of the folder splitting as it landed with a loud crack.
A tiny stab of unease pierced her euphoria.
‘Forget it.’ Nick pulled his mobile out of pocket. ‘I’ll ring Jasper at the Melbourne City and pull in a favour so you can have chorionic villi sampling tomorrow.’
A sensation of cold jetted up inside her, quickly spreading into every cell and chilling her to the bone. ‘I don’t need to have chorionic villi sampling.’
His gaze, always wide and full of fun, now hooked hers, shuttered and resolute. ‘Yes, you do.’
She didn’t recognise him. Nothing about his stance, expression or tone of voice was familiar. Sliding off the couch, she crossed the room, driven by the need to touch him and reconnect with the man she loved. The father of her babies.
Her hand rested on his forearm. ‘Nick, I’m almost twenty-eight, not thirty-five. The risk of the procedure causing a spontaneous abortion is higher than the risk of a problem with the twins.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ His hands rested on her shoulders, his cheekbones stark and stern. ‘Kirby, I had heavy-duty chemotherapy and my ability to make sperm ended with that.’
Tension coiled off his body, threatening to knock her over, and as he blew out a long slow breath, the temperature of it almost scorched her cheek. She smiled up at him like she would smile at a child who didn’t understand something pretty simple. ‘But that doesn’t matter because obviously your body recovered.’
He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘The chance that the sperm was damaged is very high.’
She felt the muscles of her face move, felt her brows pull down, and heard her quick intake of breath as his words penetrated her brain. She spoke as if in a fog. ‘So you’re saying the twins might have something wrong with them?’
His hands gripped her shoulders. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’ His tone softened slightly as his hands relaxed. ‘Have the test, Kirby, and then we’ll know. Our lives are going to be turned upside down by twins—we don’t need them to be disabled as well.’
Her insides turned to ice as the room seemed to tilt. ‘We don’t need…’ She heard the rising inflection of her voice, heard herself stop speaking, not prepared to voice what he inferred.
He pulled her close. ‘Kirby, you have to listen to me. I’ve lived through this with Sarah and I watched my parents struggle for seventeen years with a grief that never healed. Hell, my mother still does grieve. Neither of us deserves that.’
His arms crushed her against him and she struggled to move air in and out of her lungs. For the first time ever she wanted to be—needed to be—out and away from his touch. She pushed against him and stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself to stop from shaking. ‘Nick, these babies are a gift and I won’t do anything that could put their lives in jeopardy.’
He threw his hand up in the air. ‘Technically, with all the odds stacked against them, these embryos shouldn’t even exist.’
Every part of her shivered. ‘But they do.’
‘Yes, they do.’ He touched her arm, his fingers gently pressing into her skin. ‘The least you can do is make sure they have a chance at a good life. Kirby, take the test.’
His words pummelled her hard and sharp like hail, unrelenting and shockingly painful. If he loved her how could he be asking her to do this? Asking her to risk her one and only chance at being a mother?
I don’t want to be a father and I don’t for one minute regret the choice I made.
All the air swooped out of her lungs as bile soared up, burning her throat, but she welcomed the physical pain because it hurt a hell of a lot less than the truth.
He didn’t love her.
She’d been nothing more than a summer diversion now gone belly up.
He didn’t want her or their children in his life, which was why he was asking her to risk everything and have this test. If the test showed there was a problem with the babies, he would ask her to do something that she couldn’t do.
Her castles in the air shattered like crystal, falling down into a black abyss. There was no future as a loving couple and a family. But the children bound her and Nick together inextricably and his sense of duty would keep him in their lives, making him resentful and bitter.
She and the twins deserved more than reluctant duty. Tears pricked her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Taking in a steadying breath, she stood tall and made the hardest decision of her life. ‘I release you.’
‘What?’ Nick ran both his hands through his hair, his fingers digging into his skull against the pounding in his head. How had summer fun turned into this nightmare? Kirby wasn’t supposed to love him. She shouldn’t be pregnant—how the hell had that happened?
Wild sex with abandon. Pretending you were sixteen.
He wanted to roar and silence the voice in his head. Every logical part of him railed at the unfairness of the situation. Damn it, he hadn’t taken a risk with pregnancy when there had been no risk to take. He raised his head to look at Kirby, trying to centre his thoughts. ‘What are you talking about?’
Her jaw tilted up, the action full of purpose. ‘I’m really sorry that my pregnancy has ruined your plans never to be a father so I release you from all paternal responsibilities.’
The pity and hurt in her eyes ripped into him and anger surged at her wilful misinterpretation of his request. He knew his obligations and he wouldn’t walk away from them. ‘That is not what I’m asking.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Her brows rose into a perfect arch. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed about—I mean, you’ve been more than upfront and honest about it. You never wanted children and you’ve never deviated from that line. This thing between us was supposed to be a summer fling, carefree and fun.’ Her voice wavered for the briefest of moments. ‘It was me who broke the rules by falling in love with you.’
He hated it that she was hurting. ‘Kirby, you know that I resp—’
She shook her head and held up her hand to silence him. ‘It’s me who’s always wanted children although I never expected them, so now we’re at this impasse and there’s no compromise. You don’t want kids. I do. End of story.’
The image of Sarah’s tiny contracted body, held upright by the head brace on her wheelchair, thundered through him. ‘No, it isn’t the end of the story, hell, Kirby, it’s just the start.’
She tucked her hair behind her ears, the action decisive. ‘I’m pregnant. Given my history, this might never happen again so no way am I risking the lives of these babies by having an unnecessary test. Come what may, I’m in it for the long haul.’
Memories of a parade of allied health professionals who’d visited his childhood home and yet hadn’t been able to change a thing, assailed him. ‘You have no idea what you’re in for.’
She folded her arms. ‘Yes, I do. I’m in for sleepless nights, heartache and worry, but I’m also in for joy, laughter and a journey into the unknown.’ She raised her vivid blue eyes to his. ‘It’s called parenthood, Nick, and it’s what I want. If it was a perfect world then you’d want it too.’
‘Then have the test so we can have a chance as a family.’ He heard the begging tone in his voice.
He saw the shudder race across her face, down her neck and shoulder, vibrating all the way down to her feet.
Her head came up, her jaw tight. ‘We have a chance but you don’t want to take it. Love doesn’t come with conditions, Nick. If the world was perfect you’d love me and be prepared to take this journey with all its inherent risks.’ Her eyes flashed with betrayal. ‘And you would never have asked me to take the test.’
Her look seared him. He needed her to understand, needed her to realise what she might end up dealing with. ‘My parents took that journey.’
‘And I don’t see any regret on their faces. They’re incredible people, so full of life.’ Her hands extended toward him, palms upward, full of entreaty.
‘You don’t know anything about it, how it changed them. Their life, my childhood, it was no walk in the park.’
‘But it wasn’t all bad, was it Nick?’
Her quiet words drilled into him, winding back the years, taking him down into the black hole of grief and despair that he never wanted to visit again. ‘Yes, yes, it was and I can’t risk doing it again.’
She stared at him, a long look that started at his hair and finished at his feet, as if she was memorising every detail about him. Then she silently picked her clothes and bag off the chair, and hugging them close, walked to the door. ‘In that case, we don’t have anything left to discuss. Goodbye, Nick.’
The door closed with a loud but controlled and final click.
The roar of pain, frustration and anger he’d held in for half an hour exploded out of him as he thumped the wall with his fist, welcoming the bruising pain that radiated from his knuckles to his shoulder. How could she have just walked out on him? How could she say she loved him and then just leave?
A trail of guilt tried to carve a path through him but he refused to let it make a mark. They’d had an agreement and love hadn’t featured in it. He pulled open the treatment-room fridge door and wrapped an ice pack around his fist.
Kirby had absolutely no idea what she was saying or doing, not a clue in the world. But he knew. He was the one with the first-hand experience and she should be the one listening to him. Damn it to hell, he should be the one making the decisions.
Running footsteps sounded in the corridor and the door swung open. ‘Is everything alright, Nick?’ Concern was on Meryl’s face as she took in the ice pack around his hand.
‘Everything’s fine.’ He picked up his keys with his other hand and stormed past her toward the clinic where at least his patients would listen to him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SWEAT poured from Nick’s forehead as he brought the axe down hard against the red gum, watching the splinters of wood fly high before spiralling down to the ground. The wood pile had grown over the afternoon and the kindling pile even more so as he’d taken refuge in hard physical work. Chopping wood was a lot easier than thinking.
When he chopped, his concentration centred entirely on the act of raising the axe and slicing it cleanly through the air, driving it down hard into the waiting wood. Creating kindling demanded precision cutting and was even better at keeping every single errant thought at bay. Keeping thoughts of Kirby at bay.
He hadn’t seen her since she’d walked out on him yesterday morning. On autopilot, he’d gone on to work a full day in the clinic, but today Meryl had said she’d be back at work this afternoon so he’d only worked his usual morning, leaving before Kirby arrived. An hour ago a box containing some of his clothes, his tool belt and the shelf he’d planned to erect in her laundry had been delivered by courier to Riversleigh.
The sharp crack of splitting wood rent the air. Sending back the shelf was just crazy. She needed that shelf to store her iron and laundry liquids. She worked too hard to be wasting time hunting through cupboards looking for things, she needed to be able to easily reach up and grab.
She’ll be washing baby clothes.
Thwack! The axe landed hard in the chopping block.
Fatherhood had never enticed him but for the last thirty hours he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. His dreams had been filled with chasing kids along the beach, teaching them to surf, and he could almost feel the touch of his hand over theirs, holding the string of a kite.
Two children permanently incapacitated like Sarah. A dull ache throbbed near his liver.
She had to see things his way. He’d give Kirby a few days and then he’d go and install the shelf and try to talk to her again. Make her see reason.
Goodbye, Nick.
The finality of her tone hammered nails into his heart. He brought the axe down harder than ever.
‘Planning for a long, cold winter, are you?’
He turned at his father’s voice, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt. ‘Technically it’s autumn in a couple of weeks and the evenings can be chilly.’
Michael’s brows rose questioningly. ‘True, but I thought you were planning on being back in Melbourne then.’
He ignored his father’s logic and kept chopping.
Michael’s hand came down onto the axe handle. ‘How about you give it a break, son, and come up to the house? It’s far too hot to be out here and, besides, your mother’s serving scones topped with her just-made raspberry jam.’
No, I don’t want to. The petulant version of his childhood self stamped his foot in his head, but the unusual paternal expression in his father’s eye, one he hadn’t seen since he’d been eighteen, brooked no argument. ‘Good idea, Dad. Come on, Turbo,’ he called to the dog, and strode back to the house.
His mother had everything set out under the shade of the veranda, which caught the faint wisps of any passing breeze.
They sat down, drank tea, discussed the lightness of the scones—soda water apparently being the key—and the flavour and texture of the jam, which had set well.
He let the conversation wash over him, letting it drown ou
t the constant argument in his head. He’d had every right to ask Kirby to have the test for genetic abnormalities, given the medical treatment he’d been through. He was the one being sensible. She was sticking her head in the sand and—
‘…today, Nick?’
He heard his mother’s voice. ‘Sorry, Mum, I didn’t hear what you were saying, I was too busy savouring your jam.’
She rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘Of course you were, dear. I was asking if Kirby was feeling better today.’
‘She’s working this afternoon.’ He spoke briskly as he sliced open another scone, not wanting to think about how she really was.
‘Yes, but is she feeling better?’ His mother’s green eyes speared him with their intent.
His eye caught sight of the large transport box at the end of the veranda. ‘She’s well enough to organise a courier.’ The resentful words came out before he thought to stop them.
His father refilled his mug with steaming tea and dropped a slice of lemon into the pale brown liquid. ‘Why would she have sent you a shelf? It’s not your everyday gift but, then, again, Kirby isn’t your everyday woman.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Nick snapped, wanting the conversation to just stop. If there was any sort of justice to the world he should be home alone, dealing with the mess that was his life, without his parents offering commentary.
His father smiled a knowing smile. ‘Nick, for years you’ve dated a parade of women and none of them have come close to Kirby.’
‘How would you know? You only spent one day with her!’
Michael leaned back in his chair, his body slack with relaxation as he sipped his tea. ‘I don’t entirely know, although first impressions are a strong indicator. But I do know you built her a laundry.’
‘So?’ You’re sounding very sixteen.
Shut up.
His father shot him a smile full of superior understanding. ‘So, that tells me that she’s very special to you. I built your mother a kitchen once, remember?’
He did remember. Flashes of a summer long past flickered in his mind—a black-and-white chequered floor, the scent of freshly shaved wood and drying paint, his mother’s arms wrapped tightly around his father’s neck, the immense pride on his father’s face, and Sarah’s wide smile.
