His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical)

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  “My daughter’s only six. Seven,” Harper corrected. “We celebrated her birthday last weekend.”

  “How darling!”

  Although tempted to chat further, Harper reined in the impulse. “Let me check on the doctor.”

  In the hall, Keely said Paige was running late. That wasn’t surprising, since the obstetrician never hurried a patient who needed to talk.

  Harper popped in to explain to Vanessa, adding, “Would you like me to bring you a magazine from the waiting room? We usually keep some in here, but I don’t see... Oh, there’s one.” She retrieved a maternity magazine from atop a cabinet.

  Vanessa regarded the heavily pregnant cover model. “That’ll be me in a few months. It was a joy sharing my pregnancy with Cécile—my first mom. She and Maurice flew here for the ultrasound and late in the pregnancy, to feel the baby move. And of course for the delivery. This round, it’s a single dad. I’m curious to see how that will go.”

  Best not to hear any more. “I’m sure it will work out fine.” Harper eased toward the exit.

  “He’s a great guy.” On the examining table, Vanessa wrapped her arms around her upthrust knees. “His wife died and he’s too devoted to her to consider marrying again, but he craves children. He’s a teacher, and after talking to him, I’m sure he’s well prepared for what’s involved.”

  Harper’s chest squeezed. What were the odds of there being two men like that in Safe Harbor? She should have left five minutes ago. Or, better, she should have insisted Keely prep this patient.

  And she should have suspected that Peter couldn’t be as wonderful as he seemed. While pretending to be her friend, he’d been treating her like some object he might purchase. How long had he been considering her as the egg donor? How much of their contact had been a way to assess her suitability? Just thinking about it made Harper furious.

  After a light knock, in walked Dr. Brennan, a six-foot-tall redhead who shot her a startled look. “Nurse?” Her sharp tone made it clear this was an inappropriate situation.

  She knows. How many other people were aware of the connection between Harper and Peter? Paige, Nora, Zack, even Cole? Everyone but me, apparently.

  Flushing, Harper hurried out. At the nurses’ station, she was grateful to find no one else around.

  Thoughts tumbled over one another. What would she say to Peter on Saturday? Would he find out that she’d talked to Vanessa? What should she do?

  While Harper hadn’t known his identity, he’d obviously known hers. Although the egg donor registry didn’t carry full names, clients saw a profile, including a photo. Last Sunday, when Peter heard her discussing her feelings with Cole and Stacy, no wonder he hadn’t commented. He’d understood perfectly well what was going on, and had kept it from her.

  How could he have deceived her like this? What kind of person was he, anyway?

  Fists clenched, she considered marching over to the hospital and telling Melissa she was withdrawing. It would be awkward all the way around, but then, that wasn’t her fault. Now that she’d stumbled on the truth, it would be impossible to go through with this procedure while feigning ignorance.

  A painfully familiar scene unfolded in Harper’s mind. In a green meadow, two little boys were playing...

  If she halted the donation at this stage, she might be excluded from the program permanently. Even if Safe Harbor allowed her to remain, what future recipient would choose an egg donor who’d reneged? And how disappointing for Vanessa. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Mostly, Harper hated to abandon those little boys. Sure, she could rationalize that they were mere fantasies. Never real. Never meant to take tangible form. But in her heart, she saw them growing up, tall and strong.

  How could Peter do this to her?

  Take a deep breath and think it over. She had more sense than to go off half-cocked.

  As for the birth control pills, Harper decided to keep taking them for now. To stop abruptly might cause problems, and if she asked Zack about that, she’d have to explain what she’d discovered.

  Before anything else, she needed to confront Peter. Maybe he’d have the decency to explain to Melissa that he was responsible for putting Harper in this situation. Then she might not be ousted from the program entirely.

  He’d be upset, though. He might claim that keeping her in the dark was a valid choice. If so, they’d argue, and that would be the end of that.

  Her gut twisted. After Saturday, Harper wasn’t likely to see him again outside sports camp, and by next summer he’d be gone. She’d miss him far too much. And so would her daughter.

  I’m an idiot. But how could I have known?

  As for Peter, he’d be free to select another donor. A more suitable one, a woman who hadn’t been foolish enough to start caring about a man who was only using her.

  * * *

  EMERGING FROM THE HOSPITAL garage on Thursday for his appointment with Dr. Rattigan, Peter wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that slammed into him. His throat clamped shut until he could scarcely breathe.

  He and Angela had come here full of hope, seeking fertility treatment. A few weeks later, after a series of tests, she’d received her shocking diagnosis.

  Since her death, Peter had been back several times, experiencing only an undercurrent of sorrowful memories on his way to see Dr. Rattigan. Yesterday, though, had marked the second anniversary of his wife’s death. As he did every month, he’d visited the cemetery to put flowers on her grave.

  He’d shed a few tears, missing her. He’d recalled happy occasions: their wedding, their honeymoon on Catalina Island, their joy the day escrow closed on their house.

  Today, painful memories swamped him. Angela in the last days, her soft brown hair struggling to grow back from chemotherapy, her hazel eyes dull, her body racked with pain. He’d felt so helpless, longing to substitute his strength for her frailty, to carry her out of the hospital and take her home as if, miraculously, being surrounded by her favorite possessions would restore her to health.

  Although most of her treatment had occurred at a cancer center, she’d learned the terrible truth here at Safe Harbor. The shock of that first, horrifying discovery, the kindness and sorrow on her doctor’s face, the realization that their dreams of parenthood were turning into a nightmare, swept over Peter full force.

  For the year after her death, he’d had irrational reactions, half expecting another bolt from the blue—fearful of bad news at his annual checkup, worried when he couldn’t immediately reach his parents that they’d been in an accident. Recently, though, he’d been so busy planning for the surrogacy that he’d put all that out of his mind.

  He forced himself into motion toward the medical office building. This reaction would pass. And, indeed, the shock began to fade once he reached the lobby. As he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, the lingering sense of dread faded to a ripple of anxiety.

  Dr. Rattigan’s nurse, a fellow named Lucky with a solid physique and military-style short hair, ushered Peter into a room. No exam today, just a chance to raise questions.

  Cole entered moments later, looking far more dignified in his white coat than he had wearing pipe cleaner antennae at Sunday’s party. He regarded Peter with a mild frown. Was he wondering about Peter’s personal involvement with Harper?

  If so, he didn’t mention it. With brisk efficiency, he asked how Peter felt and then reviewed the upcoming medical procedure.

  Where other physicians had failed to find the cause of Peter’s low sperm count, Cole had determined that he suffered from a rare immunological response. Possibly as a result of a sports-related injury to the testicles during adolescence, his body had begun producing antibodies that killed much of his sperm. Enough remained, however, for him to become a father with the aid of modern technology. Since surrogacy with donor eggs required using in vitro f
ertilization, anyway, this didn’t pose a major additional problem.

  “Once the eggs are retrieved from the donor, they’ll be taken to the lab.” Cole’s voice had a smooth tone, as if he’d recited these words many times, which no doubt he had. “The embryologist will inspect them to make sure they appear healthy, and then microsurgically inject the sperm.”

  “Any risk of a mix-up?” Peter, who remained standing, folded his arms. This might be a clinical procedure but it was intensely personal, as well. “I don’t want to find out years later I’m raising some other guy’s kids.”

  “We label eggs and sperm and check their identity at every step,” Cole assured him. “In fact, we confirm the ID several times at each stage.”

  That was reassuring. “Go on.”

  “The following day, the oocytes—the eggs—will be assessed to determine those that contain two pronuclei, which will indicate fertilization,” the urologist continued. “Each pronucleus contains genetic information from one of the parents.”

  “I figured that out,” Peter said dryly.

  “Ah, yes, you teach biology,” Cole murmured. “Still, I don’t want to omit any details.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “We continue to monitor the development of the fertilized oocytes. When they’re three days old, they should contain eight cells. At that point, if everything is developing normally, they’re ready to be transferred into the surrogate.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Peter said.

  Cole blinked. “Do I? Far from it. The transfer takes careful coordination by a team including the embryologist, the physician and an ultrasound technician. It’s done through a catheter while the patient, the surrogate in this case, is awake. She lets the team know if she experiences any cramping.”

  “What if she does?”

  “Mild cramping isn’t necessarily a problem, but the doctor will check to be sure the catheter is in the proper position.”

  “How many embryos would you implant?” Peter asked. “I mean, transfer.” He preferred using the correct terminology.

  “That’s a controversial topic,” the doctor said. “Some countries restrict the number of embryos by law to no more than two.”

  “Why is that any of their business?” Peter flared. “I know multiple pregnancies can be risky. But isn’t that the woman’s decision?”

  “Personally, I suspect some of those countries, which tend to have government-paid medical care, are more concerned about the cost of a high-risk pregnancy,” Cole responded. “However, that may be uncharitable of me.”

  “What about in the U.S.?”

  “Doctors are allowed reasonable discretion, although there are guidelines,” the doctor said. “A lot depends on the circumstances. In this situation, we would transfer no more than three.”

  “But we can save the others?”

  “Yes. If there are extras, they’ll be frozen,” Cole agreed. “You can use them later or donate them to other families.”

  Peter hadn’t considered that possibility. “Then someone else would be raising my children.”

  “This assisted fertility business gets complicated,” Cole observed. “Morally as well as medically.”

  “So it does.”

  “After the transfer, we’ll give you a printed report accounting for every oocyte and embryo,” the doctor informed him. “You’ll have full information.”

  “Nothing slipshod about this operation.” High standards were one of the reasons Peter had chosen the program, along with up-to-the-minute technology and the convenient location.

  “Any more questions?” Cole asked.

  Might as well address the subject they’d been avoiding. “What do you think I should do about Harper?”

  The urologist appeared to take a mental time-out as he stood considering. Most people would instinctively fill the silence with a flow of words. Not Cole.

  That was fine with Peter. He didn’t want easy answers.

  “Legally and medically, you’re within your rights to keep your role a secret,” Cole said at last. “But sooner or later she’s likely to find out.”

  “You think so?” Although that possibility had occurred to Peter, he hadn’t seen it as inevitable.

  “If you socialize with her, she’s almost certain to learn that you’re having a baby by a surrogate,” Cole said. “From there, it’s a short hop to connecting the dots.”

  At some level, Peter had suspected that, as much as he’d tried to persuade himself otherwise. Yet he didn’t want to cancel the arrangement. “By the time the surrogate gets pregnant, won’t Harper be out of the picture?”

  The doctor’s expression revealed nothing of his opinion. He must be a killer poker player. “Once the eggs are harvested, her role is finished.”

  “So I don’t have to do anything?” Even as he formed the words, Peter knew he was splitting hairs.

  “It depends on whether you care how she feels.”

  To lose Harper’s friendship would be painful; to destroy her respect and trust would be worse. “I do, but these are going to be my kids,” he said. “I’m not willing to share custody.”

  “If she violates her agreement to relinquish the offspring, then she’s the one on shaky ethical and legal ground,” Cole pointed out. “Although I have to admit, that sort of logic doesn’t always carry weight when people’s emotions are aroused.”

  “You think she might sue?”

  “If she does, I believe she’d lose,” the doctor said. “She signed a contract, and California law is well established on the subject.”

  That wasn’t really Peter’s fear, anyway. It had more to do with...well, with what? Seeing the anguish on Harper’s face when she fell in love with his child and then had to give it up?

  If that was so important to him, he shouldn’t have selected her in the first place. But she was the right mother...egg donor. He couldn’t imagine choosing anyone else.

  “You may be overthinking this,” Cole went on. “I’ve heard her say how much she enjoys having time to spend with Mia and pursue her photography. Women are complicated—Stacy’s been giving me an education in that. I guess if you want to find out what they think, the best way is to listen to them.”

  “First I’d have to tell her.”

  “That would be a logical deduction.”

  “And I’m very logical,” Peter muttered, although he could see that he’d been nothing of the sort. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Anytime.” Cole extended his hand, and they shook. “It will be only a few weeks before we move to the next phase of your fatherhood.”

  Unless Harper shuts the whole thing down. A definite risk if he came clean, Peter conceded.

  He’d be seeing her Saturday. By then, he’d make a decision and, one way or the other, prepare to face the consequences.

  Chapter Eight

  A quiet summons from Nora to meet with her and Paige after hours on Friday filled Harper with dread. She had no doubt what this concerned, now that the two partners had had time to discuss her encounter with the surrogate.

  Were they going to fire her? Although both were on staff at the hospital, and therefore under the direction of administrator Dr. Mark Rayburn, they owned their private practice and were her direct employers.

  She’d never dreamed that becoming an egg donor might cost her this job. It wasn’t fair. But then, medical professionals risked their reputations and sometimes their careers with every decision they made.

  That afternoon, Harper arranged with another parent to pick up Mia at sports camp. Not that she minded missing a possible encounter with Peter, whom she’d been avoiding since Wednesday.

  By five-thirty, the last patient had been sent on her way with a printed-out summary of medical instructions, and Keely and the rec
eptionist had departed. Squaring her shoulders, Harper went to learn her fate.

  They met in Dr. Franco’s office. The obstetricians looked nothing alike—blonde, delicate Nora was dwarfed by her flame-haired partner—but both had larger-than-life personalities. Even seated, they overwhelmed the room, with its tidy desk, bookshelves and framed degrees and certificates.

  Harper edged inside, staying close to the door as if ready to flee. Well, she was.

  “I suppose you know what we’re here to discuss,” Nora said.

  Harper nodded. “It was an accident.”

  “Keely explained how you came to be prepping Mrs. Ayres,” Paige said. “You were doing her, and me, a favor.”

  Despite the encouraging words, Harper went on. “I didn’t tell her about my involvement.” She wished her tone didn’t sound so defensive.

  Nora blew out a long breath. “All the same, it’s troubling. We haven’t reported this to anyone else, but we’ll need to.” “Anyone else” presumably included Dr. Owen Tartikoff, head of the fertility program, as well as Dr. Rayburn. Harper tried not to think about how scary she found those guys.

  “And the recipient will have to be notified,” Paige put in.

  “I plan to tell Peter myself,” Harper informed them. “We’re meeting tomorrow to discuss creating a picture book together.”

  “A picture book?” Nora said. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Are you guys dating?” Paige shook her head. “Sorry. None of my business. But I can’t believe he didn’t— I mean, this whole situation...”

  “He should have told you,” finished her partner, who then added quickly, “I mean, I’m not confirming that he’s the father.”

  “It’s obvious,” Harper replied. “And if he’d told me himself, we wouldn’t be in this jam.”

  “But we are,” Paige said. “Patient confidentiality is primary.”

  “Which patient’s?” Harper put in. “Mrs. Ayres’s or Peter’s?”