Tanya Cypress was their attorney for matters both personal and business. Amelia had only been in the air a couple of hours when Christine Elliott, managing director of the clinic, had called her. While she’d been unreachable, Amelia had her calls forwarded to Angeline. Angeline had called Christine, and then left a voicemail for Amelia. If Angeline had bothered to listen to her own message, she’d have known it was garbled. She hadn’t. She’d already beaten herself up over that one, apologizing several times, and Amelia hated that her sister was still so insecure where she was concerned.
Hated herself for it. Growing up with a stepfather who was mean when he drank, and a mother who placated him because she loved him and couldn’t bring herself to leave him, a mother who’d believed his promises that he’d stop drinking, had taken a toll on both girls. It had made them closer than many siblings, to be sure. More dependent on each other.
Which was why when, for a short time, Amelia had fallen under the control of a man she’d loved and ditched her sister at his behest, Angeline had suffered so deeply.
Her sister loved her. But Angie no longer completely trusted Amelia to have her back. Not completely.
And so she was always trying to prove to Amelia that she was good enough to deserve her loyalty. When it clearly should have been the other way around. Angie didn’t need to try harder. To go above and beyond.
Amelia did.
“You have to call him, Mel.”
She nodded, a surge of panic striking again as the moment bore down on her.
The father of your child.
“It’s just odd that he introduced himself as ‘father’ rather than ‘sperm donor.’”
“Just remember, he has no rights to that child. None. It’s up to you to stay strong and establish that,” Angie said, glancing toward Amelia’s belly.
Stay strong, rather than giving in to the male influence.
She nodded again. And pulled her phone out of her pocket.
Chapter Two
Craig was riding his bike along a cliff face just outside of town that afternoon when his smart watch vibrated a call at his wrist. One glance showed him who was calling. Feet on the ground instantly, he balanced the bike between his legs and grabbed his phone out of the zipped pocket of his shorts.
He’d seen his last patient at three. Had changed clothes, mounted the bike he’d ridden to work that morning, and an hour later, he still hadn’t made it home.
“Craig Harmon,” he answered, exactly as he had the first time.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
No introduction. As though she assumed he’d recognize her number. Or was just rude and didn’t care.
The woman wasn’t impressing him as a person he could feel comfortable with raising his child.
More his problem than hers.
Still an issue, though.
“A general practitioner,” he said, knowing full well that she had the upper hand.
And that he had a need that couldn’t be ignored.
“Where?”
“Oceanfront Clinic.” Named after the town hospital with which they were associated. If she planned to have her baby in a hospital, and in Marie Cove, it would be at Oceanfront.
But they could get to that later.
“What do you want?”
Blunt. Proving his “rude” theory correct? She sure wasn’t doing anything to help him like her.
Not that she needed him to.
He was the one who needed that. To like her.
A car sped past. Moving farther off to the side, but still a safe enough distance from the cliff edge, he glanced out at the ocean that had been at his back since the day he was born. Thirty-four years of a mostly successful partnership.
What did he want?
“I’d like to meet with you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’d like to discuss that in person, if you’re willing to do so.”
“You have no rights to this child.”
“I’m not asking for any.” He frowned. In all the ways he’d played this conversation over the past few days, it hadn’t gone this way. Him not being in control. Not sure of how to get to his end goals. “Per my agreement with the clinic I have the right to know who used my sperm if I ask, and I asked.”
“Why are you asking?”
“A conversation,” he said now. “I... For personal reasons I just need to make certain, to see for myself, that the child you’re carrying is going to be well cared for. Well loved.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please. That’s all I’m looking for. Reassurance. And then I’m out of your life for good.” Assuming he got the reassurance he was looking for.
And if he didn’t? It wasn’t like he had any rights to do anything about it.
So why not just let it go? Let her go?
“You signed the papers, giving me the right to contact the recipient of my biological donation, either to impart newly determined information regarding anything that could affect the fetus, or to request information.” He suddenly saw the way ahead, right or wrong, for the sake of his unborn child. She clearly was resistant to his presence in her life. “I also have the right to request contact with the child.”
“I have the right to refuse.”
“What I’m telling you is that if you’ll agree to meet with me, answer some basic questions, just talk, really, then I won’t ever ask for any kind of contact with the child. I’ll be gone. Unless, at any time, for any reason, you or the baby would contact me.” Because he’d agreed to that, too.
And because he now knew that if his offspring ever needed him, for anything, he would be there.
“You’ll agree to disappear after I meet with you.”
“Yes.” Assuming he could live with what he saw. And if not...he’d have to check with his attorney. Maybe all he could do was express his concerns to child services. To have them watch out for the baby. Maybe he couldn’t even do that. He was getting way ahead of himself.
Probably for nothing. Just because he’d seen one child hurt didn’t mean that he would see another.
And rudeness didn’t automatically proclaim bad parenting.
“How many times?” she asked.
And he grinned. She was on her toes now—and so was he.
“Once,” he said. “Preferably in your home so we can have a private conversation. I’d also like to see where the child will be raised, but if that’s too weird for you, I’d settle for anyplace you choose, and pictures of the living space or anything else you’ll agree to share.”
“You’re too weird for me.”
He didn’t doubt that. And didn’t explain, either. Not until she’d given him what he needed.
“I need to speak with you.”
“Is there a medical problem? The clinic would have said so. Unless you withheld that information from them.”
“There’s no medical problem. It’s personal. I just need to know that my offspring is going to be well cared for.”
“Why’d you agree to give up your sperm if this was going to be a problem?”
She didn’t specify what she meant by “this,” but he figured he knew what she meant. The her-having-his-child part.
“It’s a long story. And one I’ll share during our one and only meeting,” he said to reassure her. He went on to give her references, even knowing that Christine had already vetted and vouched for him.
“One meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have my address?”
“Of course not.” He didn’t know if she lived in Marie Cove, or had just traveled there for insemination. The Parent Portal’s reputation, and uniqueness in the weight it gave to the human elements involved in sharing biological material, brought in prospective parents from all over the state and beyond.
He was willing to travel. However far it took.
“Give me some time and I’ll get back to you.”
She didn’t say how much time. He didn’t ask.
A guy with no power had to take what he could get.
* * *
Amelia got through a couple of pressing things at her desk. She had to follow up on her meetings with a particular lace designer in the south of France, and there were emails that needed her personal response. She went home and showered. And carried the voice of the doctor she hadn’t met, carried his words, every step of the way. Who donated sperm and then got worried about the welfare of the child?
How bad could he be, caring about the welfare of his child?
How could she resent a man for that?
The idea that he could have any ownership of her baby petrified her. Even the thought of any intrusion into her life scared her.
And yet...there was something sweet and comforting about her baby’s biological component caring about its welfare.
When all of her chores were done, she fell into bed. And slept until the following morning.
The following day, Friday, she had a full schedule and was focused and on target. In control. She thought about Craig Harmon on and off throughout the day, but couldn’t seem to do so without feeling threatened, somehow. She didn’t fear for her safety. Or her baby’s, either. She just didn’t want the man in their world and wasn’t sure how much he had a right to know. How “in” he had a right to be. On her lunch break she called the Parent Portal and was put right through to Christine Elliott.
By all accounts, Craig Harmon was still a great guy. She already knew his basic family medical history. Knew that he’d graduated at the top of his undergraduate class. Knew that he was six foot one and had weighed 175 pounds at the time of his donation. She’d pored over the very thorough donor specifics provided by the Parent Portal for more than a week before she’d made her choice for her baby’s biological component. That day, she learned that he’d also graduated medical school at the top of his class. And that though he’d only lived in Marie Cove for eight years, he’d been one of the Parent Portal’s very first donors, introduced to Christine by the son of a local obstetrician who now worked for the Parent Portal full-time. Dr. Cheryl Miller. And she learned that Cheryl’s son was a pediatrician partner in the Oceanfront Clinic—in partnership with Craig Harmon.
Clearly not a wacko out to hurt her or steal her baby.
But not anyone she wanted to meet, either. She kept reminding herself that he’d said he wanted no part in the baby’s life. That he knew he had no right to that. He just wanted to reassure himself regarding the child’s welfare.
Marie Cove was a small town. And she’d known that there was a possibility that her baby’s biological father lived there. But there was just as good a chance that he did not. Christine attracted donors from afar, just as she did prospective parents.
She’d kind of liked the idea that the donor could be close by. In case of medical emergency or any other need she might have. She’d just never considered that the guy would look her up.
Who did that? Gave away sperm and then followed up on the recipient. Why was he doing this? Impinging on what was turning out to be the most incredible thing she’d ever done. Butting into something intimate and special. How dare he?
It seemed creepy to her. And she told Christine so.
Christine’s only response had been to suggest that she speak further with Craig Harmon, just long enough to hear him out.
Clearly there were things the director couldn’t tell her.
But the man would.
Things that could ultimately have an effect on her child?
For that reason alone, she picked up her phone as she waited in a designated parking spot for her grocery order to be delivered to her car.
Shopping for food that only she’d eat was kind of a lonely thing. At least now she didn’t have to walk the aisles alone noticing not the tons of other single women like her who were there, but rather, the couples or mothers with kids that seemed to take up all the aisle real estate anytime she turned a corner with her cart.
Craig picked up immediately when she called. If he hadn’t known her number before—and she figured that was a far-off if—then he surely did now. Having graduated top of his class, and all.
“I’m not saying yes or no to an in-person meet at this time,” she started. “What I have decided is that I need to do this on the phone first.”
“Okay.”
If he was disappointed, he hid the response well. But then, he had to be the guy who walked into a room with diagnoses that were sometimes difficult to hear. He’d have expert control of his responses.
“We can talk now, or later. Your call.”
“I’ve got one more patient to see and then have to pick up Talley. Can you call me back tonight?”
“Talley?” Did he have a child, then? One of which he already had custody?
“My dog. She’s been at the hospital overnight for fluids after a severe bout of pancreatitis. I need to get her before the vet closes for the day.”
His dog. She wanted to know what kind. Big? A hunter he kept for her usefulness? Or a pet? Was he an animal lover? Did it run in the family?
Nice that he was willing to pay for what had to be expensive care. Duane had once insisted that the dog Angie and Amelia had had since they were toddlers should be put to sleep, rather than receive expensive medical treatment. It turned out what they’d thought was cancer was actually a clogged tear duct, and there’d been no choice to make. But Amelia remembered the night she’d spent crying, with the dog in her arms, while she’d waited to hear.
Her groceries would be arriving any second and he had a patient to see. But Craig was still apparently waiting and hadn’t said anything more.
“You’ve obviously got my number there, on your caller ID. Why don’t you give me a call tonight when you get home and settled?”
And if he had a date...wait...no one had said...
“Are you married?” she blurted as new horrors presented themselves to her. Was he unable to have children with his wife infertile? Was that what this was about? They wanted her to...
Christine would have told her something like that.
Man...she was out of line emotionally where this baby was concerned. And hormonal, she admitted silently to herself.
“No. And thank you. I’ll call you tonight.”
Before she could respond he was gone. Leaving her to fret about the fact that he wasn’t out of her life yet.
Chapter Three
He’d driven his SUV to work that morning, in deference to needing to pick up Talley, and skipped his usual bike ride when he got home that evening. His girl, a twelve-year-old collie, was better, but still not herself and he wasn’t eager to leave her. She was older, but hadn’t quite reached the life expectancy for her breed. Still, he knew that within the next couple of years her time with him would come to a close.
Just as Tricia’s life had done. Come to a close. Talley had been her dog...
His phone rang just as he was getting Talley settled on a fleece blanket on the couch. Still in the brown pants and beige shirt and tie he’d worn to work, he flopped down next to her, settling into the corner, wishing he’d grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator first.
He’d read a recent study that said two beers a night was a good heart-health regimen. Any more than that and the results went backward.
“Thank you for calling,” he said as soon as he pushed to accept the call. Ready to get his answers and move on. The woman could be married. Or engaged. Or with a significant other.
She was the last of the three recipients of his specimen—which had been destroyed at his request after he’d seen firsthand what people could do to their kids. This one remaining detail was all he had to handle.
“What do you want to know?”
That his child would be raised in a loving, happy, secure home.
And how did he quantify that?
He had to know that his child would never hurt or want for anything.
No one could guarantee a pain-free existence. There probably wasn’t such a thing. Life wasn’t meant to be without challenges. He just wished to God he’d been more aware of the possibilities before he’d donated to science as a favor to a friend.
“The truth is, I’m not sure. I was hoping that a conversation with you, meeting you, would show me what I needed to see, and that would be it.”
Talley lifted her head. Laid it on his thigh and closed her eyes. He petted her head. Slowly. Lingering with his palm on her neck, and then back again. Just a light touch, enough for her to know he was there, and for him to reassure himself that she was.
“I really need to know what’s going on here or I’m going to have to ask you to not contact me again,” she said.
“I need to know that the children that I helped create are in happy, healthy environments.”
“Children? You’re calling other women, as well?”
“There were three. You’re the last.”
“You’ve contacted the other two? Met with them?”
“One was an unsuccessful attempt. A pregnancy did not result.”
“And the other?”
“Resulted in a ten-year-old girl who is a delight.”
“You’ve met her?”
“No.” And he didn’t need to do so. “Her parents couldn’t conceive. Their genetics weren’t compatible. But her father...there’s not a man who dotes more on his little girl.”
“You met the parents, then? Just not the child?”
“Just him. The father.” Kent Sanders.
“Are they here in Marie Cove?”
“Nope. They’re in Oregon. He’s a contractor. I saw a photo of her on his lap riding around on his backhoe and laughing up at him.”
A Baby Affair (The Parent Portal Book 2) Page 2
