“A six-year-old can scramble eggs, Johnny.”
She’d called him Johnny again, and he’d consider it progress. “I happen to be a good cook, and I want to make sure you get a balanced diet.”
“Look, I may have gotten knocked up with little effort but I am not an idiot. I know how to eat healthily.”
“There was a lot of effort involved in you getting pregnant, as I recall, and for the record you didn’t get ‘knocked up’, as you so poetically put it, on your own.”
Silence stretched on for a few seconds while he regrouped. How long would he have to keep pointing out to her that she didn’t have to be in this alone? If he didn’t handle things right this time, he could blow it all for good.
“I was on birth-control pills,” she said. “I swear I was, but I’d taken antibiotics a few weeks back for a sinus infection.”
“I see.” He understood perfectly what she was getting at, she didn’t want him to think she’d set him up. Antibiotics could interfere with birth control pills’ potency and effect for a couple of weeks after use, enough to make a woman potentially vulnerable to pregnancy. Under the circumstances, and without added protection, which they’d completely blown off that night, pregnancy wasn’t out of the question. Polly and her baby onboard were living proof.
John ate the remainder of his breakfast vigorously. The real question was, though, why hadn’t she thought about that when they’d made love? Ah, hell, why hadn’t he thought about anything but how much he’d wanted her that night? There was no point in making this a blame game. What was done was done. They’d had sex, hot sex, and made a baby.
Though there was no way on earth he could invest emotionally in the pregnancy, or be a proper father, he could at least be an ally for Polly during a time when she would definitely need a friend. As for after the pregnancy? He downed the last of his orange juice. Well, he was content to take it one step at a time for now, and she’d just have to understand.
“So I’ll wait for you at the hospital parking lot on Thursday when you get off work, and take you to your appointment.”
“Okay.” She sounded like a teenager who’d given up on getting out of a major book report. “But can you take me home now? I’d really like to shower.”
“Of course.”
On Thursday, Polly ran a little late after change-of-shift report and had to run-walk to meet John at the car. He’d had the car brought up to the entrance and leaned against his silver sedan, checking his watch as she jogged his way.
“Sorry! We had some late admits and I couldn’t just dump and run.”
“I’ve already called the doctor’s office and let them know we may be a little late. I’ll drop you off in front then park.”
“Great. Thanks.” She fixed the flying strands of hair around her face, knowing her skin was probably shiny from working hard all day and that her colored lip gloss had long ago been chewed off. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The least he could do, was that how he looked at it? Was he only trying to get away with doing the bare minimum so as not to come off as a deadbeat? Boy, had she been there and done that with her aunts and uncles after her mother had died. Every part of that equation made her skin crawl, yet here she was, riding in John Griffin’s fancy car on her way to the doctor’s appointment he’d arranged. She was sick of people going through the motions on her behalf, but that seemed to be the repetitious hand life had dealt her. Resigned, she’d just have to make the best of it this time, not for her but for her baby’s sake.
Dr. Bernstein’s nurse was ready for her the minute she walked in and whisked her into one of the examination rooms in the glamorous medical suite. She had no intention of letting John in on the actual examination.
The doctor looked to be around John’s age and had gentle hands and an affable personality. He looked intently into her eyes as she explained her side of the pregnancy, and she believed him when he promised to keep her and the baby healthy and happy for the next eight and a half months.
“You can get dressed then meet me in my office,” he said on his way out the door after the thorough examination.
Polly suffered a surprise when she entered Dr. Bernstein’s office only to find John already sitting there, chatting amicably with “Geoff”, as he called him. The moment Polly stepped inside the conversation stopped and John shot up. He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit. She’d give him points for always being a gentleman.
“Polly,” Dr. “Geoff” started right in, “you are a healthy young woman, and at this early stage in the process I’d say you’re going to do well. Your uterus and cervix look good, the pregnancy is implanted securely in your uterus lining, and your pelvic cradle should handle the body changes just fine. I want to get some baseline lab work done for you and start you on prenatal vitamins. In a couple of weeks we’ll do an ultrasound.” He scribbled on a prescription pad, ripped it off and handed it to her, then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you have any questions?”
“My due date?”
“Right. My calculations show March twenty-eighth, give or take a day or two.”
The skin on her shoulders and arms prickled. Somehow, this actual date of birth made everything come into focus. It was real. She’d have a baby and be a mom beginning March twenty-eighth. John must have noticed her emotional reaction when he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. She couldn’t help the brimming tears. She was going to be a mother in eight short months from now. Only because the long and stressful day had caught up with her, and she needed it right this moment, she accepted John’s comfort as she buried her weeping eyes on his shoulder.
Back at the car, John grinned at her as he let her in the passenger side. “You agreed to let me fix you dinner twice a week, and I thought tonight would be a good time to get that routine rolling.”
“You don’t even know if I have food allergies or anything.” She’d recovered from the emotional high in the doctor’s office and had pulled up her guard again.
“Chicken tetrazzini with wholegrain noodles and a garden salad.”
Her mouth watered at the description. “I hate onions. Does it have onions?”
“Not now. I hope you like garlic, though.”
She bobbed her head as she slid inside the car. Hating having to hold back all her excitement about being pregnant, she tightened her jaw and ground her teeth for most of the ride back to John’s condo.
Marco the doorman gave her and John a knowing nod when they walked inside, and it made her pause. Had she ever seen him before? The small but tasteful lobby gave her the impression that well-off, long-time New Yorkers lived in the building. What a difference from her turn-of-the-century walk-up.
Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”
“Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.
She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.
He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cook
ing was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes …
“Dinner’s ready!”
Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”
“Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.
The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.
He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals, maybe bargain for a third as time went on. Piecemeal, really, since that was all he was offering in the way of getting involved in the pregnancy. Far be it from her to want to ruin a delicious dinner, but really was that the best the man could offer? She continued to eat with a disappointed outlook.
After a few bites John put his fork down and cast a pressing gaze at her. She wasn’t about to stop eating, but the daunting stare did slow her down a bit.
“I want you to know that I liked you right off. You know, that first week you came to Angel’s. I, or we, did something crazy and out of character, and now we’ve been thrown together in some pretty astounding circumstances.”
She wanted to ask him how long he’d practiced the speech, but decided, as he was finally opening up, not to be a smart-aleck.
He cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m only skirting around the perimeter of our predicament.”
She started to protest his calling her pregnancy a predicament, but when she opened her mouth he raised his voice a pre-emptive notch. “I don’t think any guy would know how to handle it perfectly, but I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just being honest with you, because I think you deserve it.”
He got up, refilled his water glass, took a long draw and sat back down. “There’s something you need to know about me. Maybe it will explain why I’m not all balloons and bubbles over your pregnancy.”
Sensing his earnestness, she put her fork down and gave him her total attention. “Go ahead, John.”
As if the words strangled and fought in his throat, John’s pained expression made Polly brace for what he was about to say.
“I don’t even know if I told you that I used to be married. Happily married for two years. My wife, Lisa, was a financial adviser.” His voice clogged and he stopped every sentence or two to clear it. “Anyway, we were happy because she’d just found out she was pregnant.”
The heavy foreshadowing made the gourmet meal in Polly’s stomach suddenly feel like a large lump of paper maché. John talked to the table rather than engage her eyes.
“We’d stayed up late, planning, all excited about our baby, how our lives would change.” He had to clear that stubborn lump in his throat again. His nose ran and he wiped it with his paper napkin. Instinctively, the hair on Polly’s arms rose and John’s profile grew blurry.
“We were going to tell my parents over dinner that night. I kissed her goodbye that morning and she went to work on the twenty-second floor of the World Trade Center on September eleventh.”
Chills rolled over Polly’s skin. Tears broke free from her eyes and she realized the implication of that fateful day. She’d been a high-school student at the time, eating breakfast and listening to the kitchen radio when she’d heard the news report. She grabbed John’s knotted fist and squeezed tight. Oh, God, he didn’t need to say one more word. She understood. He’d lost everything he loved and held dear on one historic day.
Polly got up from her seat and circled around John, banding her arms around his chest as she cuddled him from behind. He sat stoic, like the rock of Gibraltar he’d tricked himself into becoming—for survival’s sake, she was sure, she understood that now. Bleeding emotionally for his loss, she stayed with him wrapped in her arms for several long moments as she mulled over their circumstances. She was willing to give him a pass for now, for not committing to their child beyond the neat and tidy logistics of appointments, well-prepared dinners, and finances.
Slowly, as she stood hunched over, holding him, a tiny thought wiggled and snaked its way clear of her emotional landslide on John’s behalf. The thought gained power and implanted itself in the center of her head. That was twelve years ago. Was John determined to keep his life stagnant and take the loss to his grave? More importantly, would Lisa want that for him?
They may have made love under unusual circumstances, but something bigger than both of them had come out of it. They’d made a baby. He could never get his wife or child back, but she and John had made a little life that was growing inside her. A baby with a birth date. March twenty-eighth.
It was Polly’s turn to clear her thickened throat. “John, please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”
He sat staring at his plate rather than acknowledge her, and when she’d given up on him answering she dropped her hands from his shoulder and her stomach and cleared the dishes from the table.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, belatedly.
“No, this is my way of thanking you for a great meal.” As long as he held onto the past, she’d never have a chance to really get to know him.
John removed the remaining dishes and joined her at the sink. Together they worked in silence, cleaning the kitchen.
“Can you take me home now, please?” she asked, once everything was done.
“Sure.”
Noncommittal seemed to be all the man could offer, and his history explained why, but that definitely wasn’t something she’d settle for, and John really did need to let go of the past.
John watched Polly from across the kitchen. Her petite frame looked good in anything she wore, which happened to be hospital scrubs. She was right about so many years having gone by, he knew. He couldn’t argue with the logic of being held captive by a time capsule, but the habit had become so deeply rooted into his being that he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d been one of the first responders at the scene and to this day he had flashbacks of treating the injured and mangled, of staring into the faces of the dead, while desperate to find his wife. He’d taken risks amongst the falling debris and rubble searching for Lisa, but it had all been fruitless. She’d died and taken most of him with her. To this day he questioned why he’d lived and she hadn’t.
When Polly had gathered her things, he got his keys and they headed for the elevator.
An hour later, due to heavy traffic conditions, when John dropped Polly off at her century-old building on the Lower East Side, a crazy idea popped into his head. She was the one accusing him of abandoning his responsibility to the child. She’d probably never agree to it but, what the hell, when the time was right, he’d make his pitch.
He’d double-parked and watched while she climbed the stoop stairs and buzzed herself into the building. The thought of her surviving during the long hot summer while being pregnant and living in the ancient brown-stone walk-up didn’t sit well. He couldn’t offer his heart to a stranger, but he owed her the common decency of making sure she was comfortable and cared for.
Patience, John, give her some time to realize how hard things will get on her own, then you can make her the offer she can’t refuse.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER SEVEN
FRIDAY MORNING POLLY was measuring out liquid antibiotics at the medicine station for the three-year-old toddler in Room Twelve B when John appeared in her peripheral vision.
He pushed a small brown bag her way. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Your lunch,” he said, already walking away.
“I made my own lunch.”
“Save it for tomorrow. You’ll like this better.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I’ve been craving peanut butter and jelly all day. Maybe I’ve been dreaming about my home-made lunch since breakfast.” When had she reverted to being a contrary teenager again? Could it be the hormones?
He stopped, turned and flashed that slanting smile, his dark eyes reminding her of milk-chocolate chips. Beneath his knee-length doctor’s coat he wore a white shirt and blue silk tie, looking dressier than usual. She inhaled, the savory scent coming from the bag already making her mouth water. Something warm and spicy awaited her, thanks to Dr. Griffin, the father of her baby.
He’d gone out of his way to bring this to her so the least she could do was be grateful.
She mouthed, “Thank you”. He dipped his head and walked away. Truth was, she could easily get used to him catering for her, and wondered how abruptly it would end once she had the baby. She glanced around, noticing Brooke and Rafael giving her odd looks. Oh, man, what must they think? The last thing she needed was to get picked up for the gossip grapevine like that poor Dr. Woods and the neurosurgeon, Dr. Rodriguez. Thank goodness Janetta didn’t work the day shift.
After finishing the obviously home-made minestrone soup with spinach and chicken meatballs, Polly found at the bottom of the lunch bag a large peanut-butter cookie with a note hidden behind it.
Meet me for an early dinner at Giovanni’s tonight? See you there at five.
How could he be so confident she’d come running just because he’d told her to? She went back to work determined to blow him off. Let him sit there and wait for her to show up. She may be pregnant, but she was darned sure not to be taken for granted because of it.
NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile Page 10
