His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical)

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  “I’m tickled pink.” Vanessa chuckled. “What an old-fashioned term. It was one of my mom’s favorites.”

  “Must be lucky, then.”

  After they signed off, Peter sat reveling in this wonderful news. And yearning to share the joy with Harper.

  * * *

  “I’LL SEE YOU AT THE party,” Zack Sargent told Harper when they passed each other in the corridor at lunchtime on Friday. The doctor who’d performed both the egg extraction and the transfer didn’t try to hide his satisfaction.

  Harper merely nodded. Although she was happy for Peter, pleased for the program and overjoyed for the little boys in her dreams, she’d rather pick up Mia from day care and head home. And avoid the likelihood of running into the man she’d been ducking all week.

  When Vanessa had said he’d try to attend, the surrogate had sounded doubtful. Harper, however, had read between the lines. He meant to be there, for certain; he just didn’t want to scare her off.

  Well, too bad. Her emotions had been on a roller-coaster ride since Sunday. Much as she’d like to celebrate with Una, Stacy, Vanessa and two other new moms-to-be, she’d rather not subject herself to seeing him.

  And longing for him. And hurting all over again.

  “See you at the party,” Keely Randolph told her a few hours later. The older nurse was leaving in midafternoon, Paige having gone home earlier as scheduled.

  “You’re coming back for it?” Harper asked in surprise.

  “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  Giving her a vague smile, Harper went to prep the next patient.

  At four-thirty, she noted that Nora was running ahead of schedule, due to a couple of cancellations. Too bad, since having to stay at the office would have given Harper the perfect excuse not to go.

  Her phone vibrated. The hallway was quiet and, seeing Stacy’s name, Harper answered.

  “Big news!” announced her friend, who’d returned two days ago from her honeymoon in Las Vegas. Cole, she’d reported, had acted like a kid in a candy shop. They’d taken in a show every night, and eaten each meal at a different hotel. He’d been so fascinated by the Venetian and the gondola ride in the canals that he was discussing taking a trip to Italy as soon as the triplets were old enough.

  “Bigger news than Vanessa’s and mine?” teased Harper.

  “Of course not,” her friend responded on cue. “But guess what! We found out the sex of the triplets.”

  That was important. “Well?” Harper prompted.

  “Two boys and a girl!” Stacy reported. “If Vanessa is carrying two boys like you dreamed, we’ll each have three kids of the same genders. Oh. Except you won’t be raising them...that was tactless, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s fine,” Harper said. “Have you guys chosen names?”

  “I’m working on it,” Stacy said. “I will consider all reasonable suggestions.”

  “Doesn’t Cole get a say?”

  Her friend snorted. “A while ago, I suggested that he name any boys and I’d name any girls. You know what he came up with?”

  Concerned about ignoring her duties, Harper peeked into the waiting room. Empty. Nora was in with a patient and didn’t need her, either. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Groucho, Chico and Harpo,” Stacy said. “Or maybe it was Curly, Moe and Larry.”

  “Larry’s a good name.” She didn’t protest that Cole must have been joking when he suggested the names of the Marx Brothers, or the Three Stooges, either. With him, it was hard to tell.

  Nora appeared in the hall. Harper had to see that the patient received all necessary instructions and prescriptions. “Duty calls.”

  “Wait! I have to a favor to ask.” Stacy hurried on. “I brought my camera to get pictures of Cole and me and everybody because it’s such a special day. The last time I asked somebody to do the honors, they cut off the tops of our heads. Nobody composes a shot like you do. Please, please, please will you take our pictures?”

  Harper had no excuse for refusing and, besides, she hated to disappoint her friend. “Sure.”

  “Great! See you in a few minutes. Bye.”

  “Bye.” There went Harper’s chance of ducking out.

  A short while later, she sent that patient and one more, the last of the day, home with their paperwork. Through the open door of Nora’s office, she saw the doctor set down her cell phone. “How’s Neo?” Harper asked. The toddler had been fussy this morning, and the doctor had been checking in with the hospital’s day care center all day, in case a fever developed.

  “He cut a tooth,” she responded with obvious relief. “Are we finished?”

  “We are,” Harper confirmed. “I just have a few more details to take care of.”

  The obstetrician arose gracefully. “I’ll see you at the party, then.”

  So much for fighting the inevitable. “See you at the party,” Harper said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vanessa greeted Peter warmly. “I never expected this big a celebration!” The surrogate gestured toward a buffet table featuring trays of vegetables and cheeses, as well as small cakes. Pink and blue streamers draped the boxy room, which was filling up with people.

  After a hard day at school, Peter was starving, but he ignored the food. He’d just spotted Harper training a camera on a group.

  Out of courtesy, he checked his eagerness to rush over there. “How’re you feeling?” he asked Vanessa.

  “Healthy and heavy,” she responded.

  “Heavy, already?”

  “Don’t forget, in pregnancy the body forms an entirely new organ, the placenta,” she said. “Or maybe two or three of them.”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that. A multiple pregnancy, while treasured, might pose problems for her health. Her husband, Tommy, saved Peter from answering by shaking his hand. A bank manager, the man wore a tailored suit that made Peter feel underdressed in slacks and a polo shirt. Still, he looked a lot better than an hour ago, before he’d showered and changed out of his exercise clothes.

  “Congratulations, Dad,” Tommy said with a grin.

  Dad. What a fantastic nickname. “Thanks, for everything,” Peter responded.

  A dark-haired woman approached and introduced herself as Jennifer Martin. “Aren’t you the public relations director?” Vanessa asked. “We have you to thank for the food and all.”

  “My pleasure.” Shaking hands, the newcomer introduced them to the hospital administrator, Dr. Mark Rayburn, a powerfully built man who added his good wishes. For Peter, however, this was far from a first meeting. Dr. Rayburn, who still practiced medicine in addition to his business duties, had been Angela’s ob-gyn.

  “I’m glad to see you here under such happy circumstances,” he told Peter.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” He tried to erase the image of this kindly fellow, eyes filled with sorrow as he revealed the results of Angela’s tests. The diagnosis had doomed her to an agonizing spiral of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, all of which had failed to save her.

  Harper, Peter noticed, remained on the far side of the room, taking more photographs. Whether by accident or design, she failed to glance in his direction.

  Finally, his small group drifted off to greet others. When Peter spotted Harper again, she was navigating toward an exit.

  He circled a trio of nurses, hoping to cut her off, even if it meant a spot of awkwardness. Although he had no brilliant game plan, perhaps, in person, she’d find it hard to refuse his request that they talk.

  In his peripheral vision, a shimmer of pink appeared and then, for an instant, Angela’s sweet face, drawn with suffering. Peter broke stride.

  The woman strolling past bore only a passing resemblance to his late wife. But the mistaken identity had delayed him long enough for Harper to vanish.


  Not again. Since the first day of sports camp, when he encountered Harper in the gym, he’d been imagining he glimpsed Angela at every turn. What was going on?

  Adrienne halted alongside. “You look confused.”

  “Frustrated,” he corrected. “It’s the damnedest thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I keep thinking I see my wife.” He hoped he didn’t sound delusional.

  “The one who died?”

  “She’s the only one I’ve got.”

  The doctor folded her arms and studied him. “Any particular timing to these visions?”

  “Timing?” he inquired.

  “Emotional occasions like this one,” Adrienne said. “Your surrogate is pregnant, and Harper...” She glanced around. “Well, she was here.”

  “I was trying to catch up with her,” Peter admitted.

  “Any other connections to this hospital?”

  There were, of course. “Her cancer was diagnosed here.” He indicated Dr. Rayburn. “By him.”

  Adrienne gave one of those understanding nods that doctors must learn in medical school. “Have you talked to a counselor about survivor’s guilt?”

  Peter swallowed. “Like soldiers feel when their comrades are killed and they’re still alive?”

  “Precisely.”

  About to shrug off the idea, he paused. “I’ve never felt the need for counseling. Grief is natural.”

  “So is pain,” she said. “We still take medicine for it.”

  Peter reflected for a moment. “I don’t see why it would wait until two years after her death to hit me.”

  “Perhaps because you’re starting to care about someone else?” Adrienne speculated.

  He dredged up a recent observation. “I have felt like I’m cheating on her.”

  “When you deal with your guilt, you’ll stop having visions,” she said. “Now, my apologies, but I have to get back to Labor and Delivery. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Peter stuck around a while longer, to be civil and because he couldn’t resist the food. Then he went home to think about Adrienne’s words.

  * * *

  HARPER TRIED TO PAY close attention to her driving and to Mia’s chatter about the day’s events. No use. She could feel a flush of embarrassment stealing up her cheeks all the way home.

  She’d fled the party to avoid Peter. She didn’t want her friends, or him, to see how hurt she was.

  This should have been their celebration together. Sure, there were issues to be resolved, and not easy ones, either. But they’d made love and she’d given him her heart. Although she’d been aware of his plans to leave, next summer had seemed far away, with the lingering possibility that he might change his mind. Then, just as they reached a new level of closeness, he’d admitted he was moving much sooner.

  Being a decent guy, he’d tried to reach her this week. But she wasn’t ready to act gracious. Okay, she’d donated her eggs and promised not to try to claim the baby, and she’d stand by that. But her self-control extended only so far.

  If she burst into tears in front of everyone...well, she refused to do that. Harper had her pride. And her goals. To live independently, to enjoy seeing the world through her own eyes and her camera lens instead of molding her interests to a man’s.

  She’d lost sight of that, perhaps because she and Peter shared an enthusiasm for creating the picture book. Thanks to him, she was on track to receive professional photo credits and earn money for her photography, something she’d barely dared to dream of.

  Had there been a chance for them? She could never be his ideal woman. Never turn into Angela, sweet and subtle. Harper was outspoken, direct and impulsive.

  At home, as she fixed dinner, everything reminded her of him: the hummingbirds hovering around the patio feeder, the letter from the agent still sitting on a side table and, most of all, Mia’s wilted air.

  “I miss sports camp,” the little girl said while they ate.

  Although Harper took this as an indirect reference to Peter, she pretended otherwise. “Don’t you like being in Mrs. Humphreys’s class?”

  “Sure I do.” Distracted, the little girl described their latest lesson about California wildlife, from skunks and raccoons to coyotes and mountain lions. “We’re writing stories about them for Back to School Night.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “And she wants me to teach the class how to make books, like Peter showed us.”

  There he was again. How long would it take for Mia’s memories of him to fade?

  As for Harper’s memories, a perverse part of her didn’t want them to fade. She valued the parts of herself he’d awakened, sexually and creatively. And she cherished his touch, his voice, his laughter. If he called again, she decided to hear him out.

  While she was cleaning up, the phone rang. Her spirits lifting, Harper answered without checking the readout. “Hi.”

  “Hey there, Harp.” The gruff male voice—definitely not Peter’s—caught her off guard. When she didn’t reply, he added, “It’s your brother, Jake. Are you mad?”

  “Just surprised.” Carrying the phone into the living room, Harper curled up on the sofa. “Did I guilt you into this?”

  “Scared me, to tell the truth.” Judging by his tone, he was only half kidding.

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I had nightmares about my kid sister flying to New Mexico on her broomstick and casting me into the outer darkness,” her brother joked. “And I’d deserve it.”

  “Yes, you would.” But she’d already scolded him in her email. “How are you?”

  “Better.”

  “Better than what?” She wished this were a video call. For now, she contented herself with a mental image of her brother: six feet tall, honey-brown hair, a few acne scars.

  “Tough question.”

  Harper rephrased it. “How are you better?”

  “I’ve changed a lot this past year, since I joined AA.” He let out a long breath. “I got tired of being angry all the time.”

  “Who were you angry at?”

  “At Dad for shutting me out, at the army because they didn’t put me into combat. I thought that would help vent my feelings—stupid, huh? And, I’m ashamed to say, angry at Mom for dying when she was all I had to hold on to.”

  “Don’t I count?” Harper protested.

  “You’re my little sister,” her brother said. “I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you. And I let you down.”

  “You moron.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad you called me that in your email. I felt like you were right here in the room, reading me the riot act. It reminded me how much I like being around you. And that I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for running away and ignoring your messages.”

  “Apology accepted.” She’d never felt that Jake owed her anything.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Quit arguing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said lightly. “By the way, I accepted your friend request today. Love the pictures of Mia and her kitten. I can’t wait to see them in person.”

  “Really?” He hadn’t visited in the five years since their mother’s death. Mia had been a toddler then. “Can we expect a visit?”

  “For Thanksgiving, if you’ll have me,” Jake said. “I can take a few days off work, and I’ll be on vacation from school.”

  “Of course we’ll have you!” Mentally, Harper was already putting sheets on the spare bed. “And what’s this about school?”

  After years as a computer repairman, he explained, he’d decided to earn a degree in computer science. Juggling a part-time job and classes, he’d completed two years of undergraduate work.

  “That’s great.” She�
�d feared her brother might wander through the years without direction, possibly ending up homeless. “You could have let me know.”

  “Your message was a much-needed kick in the pants,” he said. “I’m afraid I inherited the family tendency to push people away.”

  “What family tendency?”

  “Being afraid to let people see how vulnerable we are,” Jake answered. “I learned that from my sponsor at AA. The more we love someone, the more scared we are of revealing our deepest emotions and being hurt. That’s the way we grew up, or I did, anyway.”

  “Mom never pushed us away,” Harper replied, puzzled.

  “No, but Dad did. I think that’s why he filled every spare minute with activities.” Her brother cleared his throat. “I needed his approval, and instead he rejected me. Or that’s how it seemed. In retrospect, I guess he took my adolescent lashing-out as a rejection of him.”

  “Your relationship was complicated,” Harper agreed. “By the way, your niece just walked into the room.”

  Mia paused, a board game tucked under one arm. “Is that Uncle Jake?”

  “It is,” she confirmed.

  “Put her on!” Jake said eagerly.

  Mia took the phone, and soon was chattering about Po and school. “We brought our favorite stuffed animals the first day and Mrs. Humphreys took our picture,” she told him. “It’s on the class website.”

  Marveling at how readily the girl opened up to her uncle, Harper sat on the arm of a chair, mulling Jake’s comment. She didn’t have a tendency to push people away. If she’d done that to Peter today, she’d had good reason: he’d done it to her, first.

  Hadn’t he?

  She tried to recall what he’d told her while they were lying in bed. To her, it had sounded like a declaration that he planned to leave her behind. But in retrospect, she wasn’t sure he’d said that.

  The pain had cut so deep, she hadn’t probed further. Now, she recalled that he’d only learned the previous day about his parents’ home selling.