Lone Star Twins

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  As she let herself in, she could hear the sounds of furniture being moved around, and deep male voices wafting down the stairs. “That sounds great,” Will said amiably. “In the meantime, I had the sense the last time I saw you, that you were restless.”

  Was he?

  Guilt tightened around Poppy’s heart. The last thing she had ever wanted to be was a ball and chain...

  “It’s true, I’ve never liked taking extensive leave,” she heard Trace admit.

  Poppy battled her disappointment, not really surprised.

  Since Trace was military through and through.

  “—wondering if you might fill in for us and take a few more flights on an as-needed basis. Seems the stomach flu that was going around, has a wicked boomerang effect that goes with it. Just when you think you’re over it,” Will observed lightly, as their steps grew closer overhead, “you’re not.”

  No kidding, Poppy thought, thinking about all the acid indigestion she had been having since she’d been hit with her brief foray of stomach virus.

  “Yeah.” Trace said as he appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying several parts of one crib. His back to her, he continued. “Poppy had that same experience last week.”

  “Anyway, thus far we’ve been able to handle being short-staffed. But I was hoping that if we do need you, that— Poppy! Hey. I didn’t know you were here.” Will gave her an easy grin. Both men came down the stairs, carrying dissembled sections of the cribs.

  That’s because I was busy eavesdropping. Again, Poppy thought guiltily. What was wrong with her? She usually didn’t have to resort to listening in on other people’s conversations. She just asked people what she wanted to know outright. So why was she suddenly so insecure?

  Aware both men were looking at her, Poppy forced herself to smile as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “I just walked in.” Well, almost.

  Will turned to Trace, still waiting for an answer.

  As usual, her husband was a good guy. “If you need me before the twins are born, of course I’ll be happy to help out.” Trace stacked the crib parts neatly in a corner of the living room. “But after that, I can’t do it. I’ll be needed here until I have to head back to base.”

  A father himself, Will understood. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” He shook hands with Trace. “Poppy.” Her cousin gave her a familial hug then headed out.

  Silence fell between Poppy and Trace.

  Suddenly she wondered what else had been said between the two men. Had they been talking about Trace’s recent request to be reassigned Stateside? An ex-navy pilot, Will knew how difficult it was to leave the service. But he had done so to be closer to family. Had he been counseling Trace to do the same? Or was that even more wishful thinking on her part?

  Poppy wondered, aware all over again how much of a concession Trace had already made. When she’d made...exactly none.

  So what did that say about her?

  Trace moved closer. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

  She felt odd all of a sudden. Kind of woozy and nauseous. And just plain weary to the bone. Nerves again? Or the wicked boomerang from the stomach flu?

  Feeling as though she had appeared weak in front of her new husband all too often the past few weeks, Poppy squared her shoulders and picked up the bag. She reminded herself she was a strong, independent woman. Always had been, always would be. She did not need Trace to take care of her. “I’m fine.” She headed quickly up the stairs.

  Once in the nursery, seeing there was still a second crib to be dissembled, she set down the bag from the paint store. Determined to do her fair share, and not put this all on Trace, she grabbed a screwdriver.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said from behind her.

  Unable to locate the screws along the bottom rail, Poppy hunkered down so her head was almost even with her knees, and attempted to look upward. Finding what she wanted, she reached beneath the crib and, still squatting, pushed the end of the Phillips screwdriver into the head of the screw. “I really want to get the swatches up while we still have some daylight left.” She grimaced, as the tightened screw refused to budge. She shifted positions awkwardly, tried again, failed.

  “Here.” Trace took her by the shoulders and, when she still didn’t obey, guided her masterfully upright. A little too quickly, given the way her head abruptly began to spin.

  “Poppy?” he said sharply.

  Oh, Lord, she was going to faint.

  Or puke.

  Or something.

  “Here. Sit down.” He shoved the ottoman aside and pushed her into the glider rocker. “Put your head between your knees.”

  Poppy moaned as the seat of the chair moved like the deck of a pitching ship.

  “Stay that way.”

  She did.

  Trace hunkered down in front of her, his handsome face taut with concern. “Better now?” he asked.

  Marginally. “Yes.”

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, ran a gentle hand over the nape of her neck. “You still look awful.”

  “Thanks. So much.” And she still felt as though she was going to either faint or puke, she wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.

  Another moment passed.

  To her mortification, nothing got any better.

  Grimacing, Trace stood. Hand beneath her elbow, he steered her to her feet. “We’re going to the emergency room.”

  As if she wasn’t humiliated enough. “No. We’re not,” Poppy declared even as her knees wobbled treacherously.

  Noticing, Trace wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her close to his side. “Listen to me, Poppy. You can’t afford to be sick—with anything—with those twins on the way.” His manner every bit as firm and authoritative as his voice, he slipped his arm beneath her knees and shifted her into his arms. Resolutely, he headed for the stairs. “So we’re taking you to the hospital and having you seen by a doctor. And that’s that.”

  * * *

  AS MUCH AS Poppy wanted to argue, she knew Trace was right. If she were harboring any germs she needed to get rid of them, lest she unwittingly infect the newborn babies soon to be in their care.

  That didn’t mean she didn’t still feel a little foolish when she was taken to a patient exam room and asked to put on a gown. “The crazy thing is, I feel completely fine now,’ she told the nurse taking her medical history.

  So fine, she hoped that her parents—who were likely busy with scheduled patients of their own—didn’t get wind of the fact she was here and decide to come down to see her.

  “Well, it could be that stomach bug,” the nurse said. “People are having a lot of trouble shaking it entirely. But we’ll have the doctor come in to examine you.”

  She took Poppy’s vitals. “In the meantime, we’ll run a blood test to see what that turns up.”

  A quick minute later she exited, vial in hand. Leaving Trace and Poppy alone.

  He stood next to the gurney she’d laid on, his big hand clasping hers. Poppy tried not to think what it would be like if he were around all the time, taking care of her, and vice versa. Aware she really could start relying on him, in a way that wasn’t healthy given his chosen profession, she joked ruefully, “We have to quit meeting like this. With me ill and you the big, strong, military man rushing in to save the day.”

  He chuckled, looking as relieved as she felt to see her wooziness had passed. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “Is that how you see me?” he asked her tenderly, his gaze roving her face. “A military man?”

  And a husband and a lover and a friend, and now the father of the children they were about to adopt, too. “Isn’t it how you see yourself?” she asked curiously.

  The door opened before he could answer.

  A young female resident doctor Poppy had nev
er met before entered. The tall, thin blonde introduced herself as Dr. Keller. She looked through the notes on the computerized medical records on her iPad. “First of all, do you want your husband to be in here for the exam? Because if you would be more comfortable, he doesn’t have to have access to either the exam or the results.”

  Poppy was familiar with health privacy laws.

  They were how she had kept her previous miscarriage and emergency surgery from her family. Although she was beginning to think it was time she rectified that, too. Just in case another health crisis came up and Trace wasn’t here.

  “He can be with me. And you have permission to share any medical information with my husband.”

  How weird it felt to say that.

  Dr. Keller handed Poppy a paper to sign, stating just that. When she had done so, the physician went back to the information gathered by the nurse. “I see you had an ovary and a fallopian tube removed years ago as a result of an ectopic pregnancy. There were complications and the tube burst...”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  Dr. Keller asked a few more questions about Poppy’s efforts to get pregnant since. That, Poppy admitted, had been without any artificial fertility treatments, and unfruitful. She also asked about her periods—which had always been unpredictable and irregular. Extremely heavy one time, barely there the next.

  “When was your last cycle?”

  “Somewhere between Halloween and Thanksgiving.”

  “Any cramping or unusual spotting since?”

  Poppy shook her head.

  Dr. Keller asked Poppy to slide down to the end of the table and put her feet in the stirrups.

  “What did the blood results show?” Poppy asked.

  “We’re still waiting on them.” While Trace stood at the head of the table, holding her hand, the doctor examined Poppy’s pelvic area. “Let me know if anything hurts,” she said.

  Nothing did.

  “Well...hmm.” Dr. Keller frowned. “Let’s do an ultrasound to see if that tells us anything.”

  Poppy flushed.

  “It’s nothing to be nervous about,” the doctor told her soothingly.

  “I know. I’ve had one before.” She was just beginning to feel like a hypochondriac, with her dizziness and the nausea gone and nothing at all apparently turning up in the physical exam. What if this was all some sort of psychosomatic episode, she thought miserably as the nurse came in to assist with the next test.

  Sensing how nervous she was, Trace continued to hold her hand as the sheet covering her lower half was pushed to just above her pubic bone, her hospital gown lifted to just beneath her breasts. Cool gel was spread across her abdomen in advance of the wand.

  Abruptly, on the viewing screen, they could see the fluid wavy image of the ultrasound.

  Dr. Keller began to smile as she moved the wand with precision over Poppy’s abdomen. “Aha! See this...” She pointed.

  Poppy blinked. And blinked again.

  Her throat went dry. “Is that—?”

  “A baby.” Dr. Keller laughed out loud. “It sure is! Looks to be about three and a half...almost four months along.”

  That meant when she and Trace were together in September...

  “And look here,” Dr. Keller announced with even more enthusiasm. “Right beside her is another little girl!”

  Another? Poppy could barely wrap her mind around the first bit of news.

  Trace looked equally gob-smacked.

  “I’m pregnant?” she breathed.

  Beside her, Trace began to grin from ear to ear.

  “With twin girls.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW minutes were filled with joy. Shock. Disbelief. More joy. And every other emotion under the sun. Trace and Poppy hugged each other and cried and hugged each other again.

  But by the time they got back to her house, still trying to absorb the news, another even more unsettling reality had settled in. Poppy shrugged off her coat.

  “Trace. What are we going to do about Anne Marie’s twins?”

  He tensed; his eyes wary.

  She rushed on, twisting her hands in front of her. “We’re planning to adopt them!”

  Trace nodded, maddeningly poker-faced.

  “But if I’m going to have twins of my own—our own—in another six months...” She shook her head miserably, doing the math. “That would be four newborns in six months...and with you gone...” Her heart lurched, the pain of his leaving like a physical blow. “Is it fair to the first set of twins?”

  Again, he gave her nothing.

  Just stood there, watching, waiting.

  Cautious. Way too cautious.

  Poppy edged closer, searching his eyes for some flicker of emotion, some sign that he was feeling just as overwhelmed as she was.

  She shook her head, tried again. “I remember how chaotic it got when my own twin sisters were born, and I was three. And then when the triplets came along two years after that, it was even more crazy. And I don’t want to be in a situation where I don’t have enough of me to go around.”

  That could well happen, she knew. No matter how well-intentioned she was.

  “Not to mention the commitment we made to Anne Marie. We promised her we would adopt her twins. To back out at the last minute like this...”

  “Seems really dishonorable, too,” Trace guessed where she was going with this.

  Relieved he understood, Poppy nodded. “But on the other hand, we promised Anne Marie we would give her babies a really good life, with tons of love, and how is that going to be possible with four infants, coming almost all at once, and you gone for at least the first six months, if not more...” She paced away, anxiety twisting inside her. In that light, even considering adopting the twins seemed incredibly selfish.

  And then there was her secret fear.

  Poppy pivoted back to Trace. “What if something does go wrong with this pregnancy and I am forced to go on bed rest, and can’t care for them the way a mother should.” Her voice trembled. “Or worse, I lose these babies, too?” At the memory of the child they had lost, her heart broke.

  Tears misted her eyes. “If we do what’s best for the babies and give up Anne Marie’s twins, so they can have all the time and individual attention and love they deserve, and then I— If something happens. We might not get another chance to be parents, at least not for years if we have to go back on the waiting list.” Which would surely be the case!

  He wrapped a reassuring arm around her. Determination lit his eyes. “Whoa now. Dr. Keller said everything looked fine.”

  Yes, she had. But what if she was wrong?

  Poppy folded her arms in front of her. “The doctor didn’t think anything was amiss when I was pregnant the last time, either.”

  He tightened his grip on her protectively, before releasing her. “But they didn’t do an ultrasound when you were first diagnosed, either, did they?”

  “No,” Poppy admitted, emotions getting the better of her once again. “There was no reason to, but...” She dragged in a breath and pulled herself together with effort.

  Panicking would not help either of them.

  Trace looked at her closely “So what do you want to do? Proceed with the adoption? Or reconsider our options?”

  There was no clue in his maddeningly inscrutable expression as to what he wanted.

  Wishing he would tell her what was on his mind and in his heart, Poppy fell silent.

  She had thought—hoped—they were getting closer than ever, now that they were married, preparing to start a family.

  But it had all been an illusion, albeit a heartrending one.

  Trace was as unwilling to show her what was deep in his heart and soul, as he always had been. She swallowed a lump in her throat,
aware this was their chance to really get close to one another. If only he would let his guard down, too. “I want you to tell me what to do,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Poppy.”

  Her body felt locked up tight. “Then I want you to help me make this decision.”

  He grimaced. “I can’t do that, either.”

  “Why not?” Her heart cried. “Don’t you want children?” Where had that come from?

  His body tensed in resignation. “Yes, I want to have children with you, either via adoption or the old-fashioned way, or if you think you can handle it—”

  You. Not we. Not us.

  “—then do both,” he continued with a careful stoicism that seemed to come straight from his soul.

  “Then why can’t you tell me what we should do?”

  There! She’d said it! We!

  He rubbed a hand across the scruff on his jaw. “Because you are the one with the family history of multiples. You’re the one who lived it.” His eyes held hers for a long beat. “I mean, I know how close you and your sisters are now, but to hear you talk about it, there were times when you were growing up when it wasn’t all bliss.”

  Poppy ignored the growing ache in her heart. “That’s true of all families, isn’t it?”

  He scoffed. “You’re asking me about a normal family?” Taking a step back, he scowled. “I really wouldn’t know. Which is why you have to make the decision.”

  “I can’t,” she said brokenly. “Not without you.” This was too big, too important, for only half of a couple to decide.

  His jaw tautened. “I’ll support whatever you decide.”

  He just wouldn’t be there in the trenches with her. And if he couldn’t do that, what else would he be unable and or unwilling to do? “That’s not an answer,” she said, her own anger mounting.

  He shrugged. “It’s the only one I’m prepared to give.”

  She stared at him and knew trying to budge him was like trying to move a brick wall. “You mean that, don’t you?”