by Linda Warren
Jack nodded. “Helps prevent DNA damage, cancer and heart disease.”
“All that?” Zora responded. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll put doctors out of business?”
“Not quite yet,” he said.
Anya drifted to peer over his shoulder. The smell of disinfectant that clung to scrub nurses faded beneath her appealing blend of femininity and flowers. “Enough talk about diseases. It bothers my stomach.”
“Me, too.” Zora headed for the pantry. “A few raisins won’t spoil our dinner, right?”
“Brace for impact,” Jack murmured to Anya.
“What?” When she turned toward him, their faces were so close that he brushed a kiss over her lips. She blinked in surprise.
“Sorry.” But he wasn’t.
Zora’s squawk must have echoed through the entire house. “You rat! How dare you hide in here and spy on us.”
“Hey! Cool it.” Lucky dodged out. Seizing a broom from inside the pantry, Zora swept at his heels as if shooing vermin.
“What were you doing in the pantry?” Anya demanded.
“Eavesdropping,” Zora declared as she stuck the broom back in the closet.
“Organizing the supplies for Jack.” Lucky folded his arms, a position that made his muscles bulge.
“Is that right, Jack?” Anya asked.
He chopped the last of the dried apricots into a bowl. “Leave me out of it.”
Facing Lucky, the women planted hands on hips, mirroring each other’s body language. “No one’s buying it,” Zora said. “You’re a snoop.”
“Believe whatever you want. I have better things to do.” The male nurse fled with what dignity he could muster.
Jack tried not to be self-conscious about performing for an audience as he continued cooking. He liked having Anya there but wasn’t so keen about Zora’s presence until she said, “I sure admire what you’re doing.”
“Don’t encourage him.” Anya softened her words with a smile. “But this is a treat.”
“For me, too.” Jack handed her the salad bowl and gave Zora a serving plate piled with pita. “Mind putting these on the table?”
“Sure.”
Zora left, but Anya hung back. “Why would this be a treat for you? Or were you just being polite?”
Stirring the nuts and apricots into the lentil dish, Jack gave her a serious answer. “I grew up without a family. This is fun.”
“And I grew up with too much family.” She sighed. “Too bad we couldn’t have averaged it out.”
“I hope your experience hasn’t poisoned you forever.” Jack didn’t mean to lecture her. Still, this seemed like a chance to reach out. “Just because your sister tries to push you around...”
The doorbell rang. “Wonder who that is,” Anya said, scooting out.
Avoidance. Well, what had he expected?
* * *
AWARE THAT ZORA was wrestling with the issue of how, when and what to tell others—including her ex-husband—about her pregnancy, Anya empathized with her friend. And understood Zora’s envy of Jack’s support.
So far he’d done well, choosing a menu that even Lucky approved of. And as Jack worked smoothly in the kitchen, his blue-checked apron emphasized his strong build and easy comfort with his own body.
Definitely comfortable in his body. Ambling into the living room to find out who’d rung the bell, Anya still felt a thrill of electricity, remembering the tenderness of Jack’s stolen kiss. But despite her hunger for more, the intimate contact didn’t augur well for his promise to leave her out of the child-rearing process.
Or for her ability to stand her ground.
Karen reached the door first, admitting Rod. He’d trimmed his graying hair and foregone the usual hat. “Thanks for inviting me,” he told his hostess and gave Anya a friendly nod.
Anya wasn’t sure where she stood at the moment with Rod’s mercurial personality. Because he was a guest in the house and presumably on his best behavior around Karen, Anya supposed they’d get along well enough.
Jack peered out of the dining room, a bottle of salad dressing in one hand and a container of hummus in the other. “You invited him? No wonder you suggested I triple the recipe.”
“It didn’t seem fair to leave your uncle home alone,” Karen replied cheerfully.
“Yes, I might get into all sorts of trouble.” Rod gave her shoulders a squeeze that almost amounted to a hug.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Like an overgrown kid.”
“That’s right,” said his uncle. “I’m here at my most infantile to test your parenting skills.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Jack answered. “You’ll have to grow up fast once—if—junior comes to live with us.”
“Junior?” Anya asked.
“Junior-ette.” In the dining room, Jack waited until the others were settled before taking the empty chair across from Anya.
“No footsy under the table,” Rod warned.
“You’re in a good mood,” Jack said to his uncle as he passed the butter to Karen.
“I just found out the girls are coming back next week for spring vacation.” Rod explained that he’d received an email from Tiffany. “Apparently they’ve been so cooperative since visiting their grandmother that their parents agreed to let them do it again.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Karen said.
“Okay if I bring them to dinner next weekend?” Rod asked. “Especially since Jack’s cooking.”
“And paying for it,” Lucky put in.
Heads bobbed agreement. “We can add a card table for extra places,” Karen said.
“Invite their grandmother, too. I’m prepared to be flexible,” Jack said.
I’m not agreeing to anything, no matter how flexible you are. But as the words echoed in Anya’s mind, she was glad she hadn’t spoken them aloud because she’d have blushed. Jack was flexible in all sorts of ways that didn’t bear dwelling on.
“You don’t think this is a little too easy?” asked Melissa, who’d been quiet until now. “I mean, allowing the girls to return so soon when their parents have been completely rigid until now?”
Rod’s smile faded. “You may be right.”
“I hope their folks aren’t suspicious.” Karen plucked half a pita from the napkin-wrapped stack.
“They could create a lot of trouble if they are,” Rod said ruefully.
Speculation flowed as to what Portia and Vince might be planning. “We’ll have to be careful,” Jack said. “If they learn that Helen’s in league with you, that’ll be the end of it.”
“And Vince won’t be satisfied with a discreet win,” Rod said. “He’s a heavy-handed bully.”
Anya imagined jack-booted security troops raiding the house and yanking the girls from the dinner table. She’d been watching too many of Lucky’s macho TV programs.
“We might need a backup plan for the girls’ activities,” Karen said.
“If Vince realizes I’m involved, I doubt we’d be able to fool him.” Rod passed the salad to Melissa. “Although I appreciate the input, this discussion is making me grouchy. Let’s change the subject.”
The table fell quiet. Melissa clicked her tongue, which drew everyone’s attention. “If you guys don’t mind, I could use an objective opinion about something. Especially with Jack here.”
“What’s Jack got to do with it?” Anya asked.
“It’s his profession.” Melissa traced a slim finger over her misty water glass. “I’m facing a major decision. I have to give my answer soon and if I make the wrong choice, it will affect the rest of my life.”
That aroused Anya’s curiosity. Maybe Jack’s presence was a good thing for her housemates, beyond his cooking talents.
“I’ll help if I can,” he said.
Melissa’s hands fluttered gracefully. “I’ve been considering having a baby on my own because...well, never mind the background. But to deliberately bring a child into the world without a father, that troubles me. Now an opportunity ha
s come up at work.”
“Not mentioning any identities,” Karen reminded her.
“Of course not.” Like doctors and nurses, they respected patient confidentiality.
“Go on,” Jack urged.
A woman in the fertility program had delivered healthy triplets after undergoing in vitro fertilization, Melissa explained. The patient and her husband had frozen three more embryos but decided they couldn’t handle more children. Also, after a difficult pregnancy, the mother’s health might be compromised if she tried again.
“They’re wonderful people, and their babies are darling,” she said. “I’d mentioned that I was considering artificial insemination. The mom asked... Well, she offered to let me have their embryos—on the condition that I use all of them. She’s eager to have this resolved. If I don’t implant them soon, she might choose someone else.”
“Three embryos?” Zora crossed her arms as if shielding her abdomen. “Seriously?”
“You should discuss this with your doctor,” Jack told Melissa.
“I have. Dr. Sargent says if I choose to go ahead, he’s fine with it.” Melissa pulled back her long, honey-blond hair and re-clipped it with her barrette. “I wish this weren’t so sudden, but I have to give them an answer. Also, I’ll need to start taking medications right away to go through the procedure this cycle.”
That was soon. “It isn’t right for them to pressure you,” Anya said.
“But it’s a miraculous offer. Still, having triplets could be overwhelming in a lot of ways.” Melissa regarded Jack as if he possessed magical insight. “How likely is it that they’d all take?”
“Frozen embryo transfers at Safe Harbor have about a fifty percent success rate,” he said. “I’m sure Zack Sargent went over that with you.”
“Yes, but he tends to be gung ho about the egg donor program,” she replied frankly. “I want an objective opinion.”
All eyes fixed on Jack.
Anya wondered if he could be truly objective, considering his desire to raise junior-ette.
“It’s unlikely that all three embryos will implant,” he said thoughtfully. “However, since you can’t discount the possibility, you’d better be prepared. You should consider your physical condition, your motivation and your support system, and whether they’re able to handle three children at once.”
“Support system is fine,” Karen announced.
“I’m grateful for my friends, and I’m in good physical shape.” Melissa swallowed. “As for raising three little guys, well, I’d be lucky if that happened.”
“They might be born early,” Jack warned. “What if there are complications?”
“If she obsesses about everything that can go wrong, she’ll never have kids,” Lucky countered.
“That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t consider all the risks,” Zora argued. “I remember when one of the nurses provided eggs for a surrogate. She went through a grueling regimen, with all kinds of hormones. There were some serious dangers, too.”
“A frozen embryo transfer is much less stressful than an egg donation,” Jack responded. “It takes less medication to prepare the uterine lining than to stimulate the ovaries.” He glanced quickly at Anya. “I’m not sure this is the best topic for dinner-table conversation, though.”
“That’s okay. I’m finished eating,” she said.
“There,” Lucky announced triumphantly. “As I said, there’s no reason to obsess about dangers.”
“What about the risk of having triplets?” Zora returned Lucky’s frown and doubled it. “Somebody has to remind her of the down side.”
“And somebody has done that plenty,” he snapped.
Rod waggled his eyebrows. “Shall we have fisticuffs for our postprandial entertainment? I’ll referee.”
Karen chuckled.
“Thanks for your input, Jack,” Melissa said. “And you too, Zora. You’re right. It’s important to consider all sides.”
“Speaking of sides, what’s for dessert?” Rod rounded his eyes at his nephew.
“That was probably the most tortured segue I’ve ever heard,” Jack answered. “In case you guys hadn’t guessed, my uncle will bend a conversation like a pretzel to get to dessert.”
“What is for dessert?” Lucky asked.
“Yes, Jack, what’s for dessert?” Karen teased.
“If you guys can’t read a menu, you don’t deserve any apple pie.” Jack pushed his chair back.
“I’ll clear!” That was Lucky.
“I’ll serve!” Karen added.
“Where’s the pie?” Rod, of course.
Grinning at the surge of responses, Jack said, “In the fridge,” and nearly got trampled by the herd stampeding past him into the kitchen.
Anya followed more slowly with a couple of serving dishes. Jack’s debut as household chef had been a triumph. Too much of a triumph, in her opinion.
She hadn’t considered that this test might bring him closer to her housemates. Already they were looking to him for advice, accepting him as an arbiter of sorts. Although she couldn’t help being proud of him, what would it be like if he was raising their baby?
She’d have a hard enough time staying away from Jack and the child on her own. Now her friends were becoming his friends, too.
She’d left Colorado to preserve her freedom. Come September and the baby’s delivery, would she have to leave Safe Harbor, too?
Chapter Thirteen
Jack’s surgeries ran longer than expected on Friday morning. Because he saw patients in the afternoon, he decided to skip lunch rather than postpone appointments. “Also, that would make me late for fixing dinner,” he remarked as he washed up, speaking as much to himself as to his uncle.
“Unacceptable, since we might have guests,” Rod responded, though his recent upbeat attitude was blunted by uncertainty. The girls were expected to arrive today, but Helen hadn’t been sure when or whether they’d be flying, taking the train or traveling by car.
“I was planning on them joining us tomorrow night,” Jack said.
“Why not both meals?”
That meant making larger dishes, with a possible extra supermarket run. Rod had eaten with the household all week, which had increased Jack’s work, but ultimately he approved. He was glad to see his uncle’s friendship with Karen blossoming. And Jack hadn’t been entirely comfortable with abandoning his uncle at dinnertime for two weeks.
So far, the meals had gone smoothly, aside from Zora’s dismay on Tuesday when he’d fixed asparagus, which she hated. There’d also been a touch of awkwardness last night when he preheated the oven for lasagna and discovered belatedly that it was filled with soiled plates and cups, now burning hot.
Flustered, Zora and Anya had admitted hiding their breakfast dishes in the oven because they’d been running late and hadn’t had time to empty the dishwasher. “It’s a house rule,” Anya had informed him. “We can’t leave stuff on the counter.”
“We didn’t think about you using the oven,” Zora had added.
“You should have looked inside before you turned it on.” Anya had crossed her arms. “Imagine what a toddler might have put in there.”
Jack had agreed and resignedly used pot holders to empty the oven.
But now, as he removed his surgical gloves, he realized that he was far less concerned about kitchen mishaps than about Anya’s stubbornness in holding him at arm’s length. Although his primary goal in serving as cook was to prove his readiness to be a dad, he’d hoped the experience might draw them closer.
He could have sworn she also longed to be closer. Those sideways glances, the teasing tension between them and, more important, the moments when they simply talked. They’d discovered they shared a fondness for nature documentaries on TV, especially those featuring birds, although neither had ever owned a pet bird.
“I’d rather watch them in the wild,” Anya had said. “I think there are birds nesting in Karen’s bushes and maybe out in the estuary.”
He’d l
oaned her his binoculars so she could sit on the patio, put up her feet and bird-watch. After dinner one night, they’d sat outside, taking turns observing the birds and occasionally looking up details on their phones. They’d agreed that a hummingbird might be nesting in one of the honeysuckle bushes, especially because when Jack approached for a closer look, it had dive-bombed him with a sharp noise that warned him to retreat. He did, to Anya’s amusement.
Yet when he’d suggested they bird-watch again last night, she’d declined and made a vague reference to having plans with Zora—pulling back, just when he’d hoped the barriers between them were falling.
Jack brought himself up sharply. Anya was honest about her approach to emotional attachments: when things got tough, cut and run. Much as he longed for her to stay in his life, as a resource for the baby and for other, very personal reasons, he’d better remember that in the end, she’d leave. She might not even give him warning. She still hadn’t informed her sister about skipping their grandmother’s birthday party next month. Unless Ruth had picked up the signs—which surely she ought to—she was in for an unpleasant last-minute shift in arrangements.
So far, Anya was running true to form. Only a fool would assume she’d change.
“Since you’re feeding me dinner, I suppose I could bring lunch to your office this afternoon,” Rod commented as they sauntered out of the operating suite.
“Tuna melt,” Jack said.
“Kind of late for the cafeteria to fix a hot sandwich.”
“Cold tuna on rye will be fine.”
“Done.”
On the main floor, Jack let his uncle precede him out of the elevator but nearly ran into the slightly shorter man when he stopped suddenly. “Hey!”
Rod didn’t answer. He’d gone rigid.
Near the entrance to the fertility support services suite, a cluster of familiar figures caught Jack’s eye. Hospital administrator Mark Rayburn, M.D., distinguished by his thick, black hair and the build of a former high school football player, dominated the group. Karen stood out, too, with her black-and-white coiffure. But it was their companions who’d surely riveted Rod’s attention.
Vince Adams lacked Mark’s height, but he stood out anyway. Maybe it was his aggressive stance—feet planted apart, head up and nostrils slightly flared—or the pin-striped dark suit that looked as if it had cost thousands of dollars.
