“Fine, Bob, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please put it on the coffee table and you both help yourselves,” she said and smiled.
But Bob brought a glass and a napkin to her before sitting down on the sofa with his own glass and napkin. He had selected a few cookies as well.
“I expect you young men would like to see the apartment. But let me tell you about my home. My husband and I bought this house about thirty years ago and opened it as a bed and breakfast. As you can well imagine, Cambridge is a college town and we have had many guests, parents bringing their children to college, and then returning for their graduation. Each room has its own bathroom, and breakfast is always served ‘do it yourself’ style from six a.m. to nine-thirty a.m. You know, plenty of hot coffee, cereal, doughnuts, muffins, toast, fresh fruit in season, that sort of fare. But on Sundays I serve a brunch-style breakfast from nine to eleven for people who signed up on Saturday evening.”
“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said, “especially the brunch.”
“But I expect, from what you said on the phone, you want to see the apartment.”
They nodded and she continued.
“I’ve set up the third floor, a large attic, as a two bedroom and bath apartment with a small kitchen. Also, there is a back flight of stairs with a key-entry steel door. It faces an alley, and that’s why we installed the protective door. Of course you may use the front entrance if you wish. I will give you keys for that door.”
She went to a desk in the corner of the living room and returned with a manila folder. “I’ll give each of you a copy of this set of rules when you sign your lease. I do have a few: no smoking, no drinking, no parties or overnight guests…of either sex. And there will be a lease signed by each of you with the rent being $1,300 each, with $500 security deposit from each of you. The rent is payable on the first of each month.”
“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said.
“Would you like to see it?” she asked.
“Yes, we would.” Bob gathered the empty glasses and placed them on the tray.
“Shall I take these to the kitchen?”
“Oh, no, son. Leave the tray. I’ll get it later. Want you to see where you’ll be living while you wrestle with those big old law books.”
* * *
“You know, Curtis, I’m glad that we have this apartment, because I need to have a stable place to live because I do have regular appointments I have to keep, and I need a place where I can relax and chill out.”
“What do you mean, ‘regular appointments’? Are you sick? Need treatments?”
Bob shook his head. “No, nothing like that, thank God, but—” He got up, put both of their empty plates into the kitchen sink, returned to his seat.
Curtis noticed the sober look on Bob’s usually smiling, cheerful face. He thought, This must be something serious.
“Remember when we were talking about earning money?”
“Yeah, I remember. So?”
“Well, most of the money I earned while was a student at Tufts was as a donor…”
“You mean a blood donor?”
Bob did not answer right away, as if to steel himself for Curtis’s reaction. “No, not blood, but I help women have babies…”
“God, man! What are you talkin’ ’bout? Help women? Are you shittin’ me?”
“I donate sperm to sperm banks.”
“I’ll be damned! And you get paid for…for doin’ that?”
“I’m very well paid for a few minutes of my time. You know, Curtis, there are a lot of women who want to have children but for some reason or another have not been able to find a male partner. So along with many other men, twice a week for six months I provide semen. I’m paid anywhere from $1,000 to $1,500 a week.”
“Man! How did you ever get into this?”
“One of my classmates…”
“Man, oh, man, that’s something else!”
“Of course I have to pay taxes. And Curtis, my friend, when I get my law degree, my earnings will be much higher.”
“And women are willing to pay…”
“You’d be surprised. The American Fertility Association says that more and more women are using this service. The numbers say it is a growing field, overall.”
“So how long have you been—donating?”
“Past two years.”
CHAPTER 24
Obstetrician Joe Collins met them in the admissions area of the hospital and rushed Alisha up to the maternity floor while Don completed the admissions procedure.
By the time Don reached the labor unit, Alisha was in bed being examined by her doctor. He went to the bedside and kissed her damp forehead.
“How are you doing, hon?”
“I’m scared, I’m scared,” she wailed.
Dr. Collins finished his examination and, stripping off the glove, he pulled the sheet down over her knees.
Tossing the glove into a waste basket, he said, “Good news! Your wife is a wonder woman—almost seven centimeters dilated!”
He looked up at the large clock on the wall. “I’d say if she keeps progressing, we’ll have your son here in a few hours.”
Don turned to Alisha, exclaiming, “Hear that, hon! Won’t be long now.”
He, too, looked up at the clock on the wall. It was almost three. Alisha had started her labor at one. With luck, he though, the child would be born by dawn. The dawn of a new day, a new life.
A half hour later the doctor returned to check his patient’s progress, with Don watching him closely, grinning as he saw the doctor’s satisfied nod.
A nurse came to Don.
“Should get you ready for the delivery. I’ll take you to the scrub room so you can suit up.”
“I understand,” he said, turning to his wife. “Alisha, I’m going to get into scrubs, but I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he teased. She responded with a muffled moan.
By the time Don was in the operating room garb, Alisha had been moved to the delivery room and was receiving a spinal anesthesia.
When that was done, Don was told by a nurse to sit on a stool near Alisha’s head. She asked, “Do you need anything?”
“No, thanks, not at the moment.”
His whispered to Alisha, “You are doing very well, my dear.”
“I can’t do this, Don, I can’t,” she moaned.
“Of course you can. Just breathe normally and work with us when we count down. You can do it, I know you can.”
A few minutes later she appeared to be focusing on the task at hand. Her face was quite red, her mouth in a tight grimace, and she began to respond to Don and the nurses’ encouragement. As the count progressed from one to ten, she exerted herself, held her breath and pushed.
From his position at the foot of the delivery table, Dr. Collins coached her. “The head is crowning. After a few more good pushes, your baby will be here. Take a deep breath and give me one good push!”
The head presented, then the shoulders, and seconds later the baby’s body emerged. The baby’s strong cry filled the room as Dr. Collins handed Don a pair of sterile scissors to cut the cord. As his son was being wrapped in a receiving blanket, he leaned over, kissing Alisha.
“He’s beautiful! You did a great job!”
The baby was cleaned, weighed, treated according to standard newborn procedures. He was handed to Don, who took the baby to show him to his mother.
“Here’s John Morton Matthews to say ‘hello’ to Mommy,” he said. She closed her eyes, turning her face away.
Stunned by her reaction, he pressed on.
“This is your baby, Alisha!”
Her head still turned, she mumbled, “Take him away, I don’t want him!”
Don persisted, unable to understand this strange and decidedly unexpected reaction. “Look at your baby!”
Her voice was icy, but quite calm.
“Not my baby. Yours!”
Dr. Collins watched his distressed colleague
return the baby to the nurse, who immediately transferred the infant to the nursery.
He beckoned Don to follow him out of the delivery room.
“I know Alisha’s behavior is very upsetting to you, but for her this seemed to have been a very traumatic experience. Doesn’t happen often, but we do see it occasionally. I’m going to prescribe a sedative for her right away and we’ll see how she does. We’ll keep a close eye on her. It’s not uncommon for new mothers to disassociate from the experience.”
“It’s so important that the mother bonds with her baby right away. It’s vital for each of them.”
“I know that, Don, I know that. Let me go check on Alisha, she’s been transferred to her room. You go see your son in the nursery, then go home. I’ll be in touch in the morning. Keep you posted.”
The men shook hands, then parted, Don to the nursery and Dr. Collins to check on the new mother.
Don stood at the viewing window and watched the nurse walk over to the window with his newborn son in her arms. He was a healthy seven-pound baby with toast brown skin and glossy black hair. The nurse had taken the knit cap off so that Don could see it. His eyes were tightly closed, but Don noticed a decided slant to them, a slightly oriental look.
He gestured to the nurse to show him the baby’s fingers and toes, which were decidedly short and stubby. The Matthews family had always been teased about their long fingers and toes.
Must be from Alisha’s side of the family. As he recalled, Mr. Morton’s hands were good-sized with short, stubby fingers. And he was a steel mill worker. Maybe that accounted for the size. But, no, that wouldn’t make his fingers short. Don then left the hospital and got into his car to drive home. What was wrong with him? Alisha! Her toes and fingers were short and stubby!
What’s the matter with me? Am I trying to deny my own child?
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the sun was rising in the east with glorious red tints in the pearl-gray sky.
As he put his key into the front door lock, he prayed silently. Please, God, let all be well. Please.
CHAPTER 25
Once inside his house, Don went upstairs. He needed a quick shower, then to bed. Before he went into the bathroom, he called the hospital to check on his wife. He had asked for and secured a private nurse to be with Alisha for a day or two. When the nurse, a Mrs. Sparks, answered, she told him, “Mrs. Matthews is doing well, vital signs normal, and she is sleeping right now.” After thanking her for her help, he went right to the shower and then to bed, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
When he awoke, it was noon, and at first he felt somewhat disoriented, but the previous day’s activities flooded into his mind. He reached for the bedside telephone, anxious to find out how Alisha was doing.
“Oh, yes, Dr. Matthews, we’re doing nicely,” Mrs. Sparks said.”Yes,” she said when he asked about the baby, “he’s right here with his mother. She’s breastfeeding him right now.”
“That’s great! Tell Mrs. Matthews I’ll be there within the hour, and ask her if she needs anything.”
“She says ‘no,’ Dr. Matthews. Just bring yourself,” she said and laughed.
Don dressed in gray slacks, a white tee shirt and a navy blazer, drank a glass of milk, ate some crackers and left for the hospital.
He stopped at the florist shop for a bouquet of pink and white roses for his wife. As he drove, feelings of relief swirled all through him knowing that Alisha had finally accepted her child. What would he have done if she had totally rejected the child?
The very thought made him shudder. He decided to ask Mrs. Sparks if she could help out for a few days at their home.
He really had to get back to his practice, which seemed to be on the upturn with new patients.
When he got to Alisha’s room, he was delighted to find her sitting on a rocker with her baby in her arms.
“Shh-h,” she smiled when he came over, kissed her and pecked at the sleeping infant.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered.
“Sure is. Most beautiful one I’ve seen in a long time.” He handed her the flowers. “These are for you.”
“Thanks, Don, they’re lovely.”
“I’ll see to these,” Mrs. Sparks said. “See if I can find a vase.”
“How are you feeling, Alisha?”
“Fine. A little tired, but I don’t remember giving birth or anything!”
Don was completely surprised at what she’d said, remembering her strange behavior the night before.
“Don’t you remember anything?”
“Only the ride to the hospital and Dr. Collins pushing me in the wheelchair to the maternity unit. All the rest is a blur.”
“Well,” he hastened to reassure her, “you did fine! Great! Honey, you hit it right out of the ballpark. A home run all the way!”
“I did? You’re just saying that!”
“No, no, you were outstanding. You went from seven centimeters dilation to full dilation in an hour, and then no freight train could have stopped you! You were awesome!”
Mrs. Sparks tapped on the door, came in with the roses in a crystal vase, and in her other arm a beautiful arrangement of fall flowers.
“These are from your staff, Dr. Matthews.”
“They are very nice.” He thought that very likely Becky had initiated the gesture.
Mrs. Sparks took the baby from Alisha and returned him to his bassinet, which had been brought to Alisha’s room. The infant would be returned to the nursery after the evening feeding so that his mother could get a good night’s sleep.
When he returned home, Don put in a call to Joe Collins.
“Joe? Don here. Man, you’re some kind of a miracle worker! I’ve just left Alisha and she’s doing fine. What a turnaround! She’s breastfeeding. What miracle drug did you order?”
“As I told you, Don, the condition your wife was in…somehow the labor and delivery…having a baby, expelling seven pounds of a human being from her body, was an extremely traumatic experience for her. And I knew that if we could get her over that hurdle, past that…”
“So, you sedated her?”
“Yes, indeed. Years ago we would use an opiate, along with another drug that would temporarily block out any memory of the painful experience.”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember in med school, during my OB-GYN rotation, hearing something like that. Not used much anymore. We have more sophisticated drugs these days.”
“Right, but there are times when an older generation of drugs may fit the need perfectly.”
“Don’t know how to thank you, Joe.”
“Just be happy, Don, that’s all. Be happy.”
“Thanks, Joe, for everything.”
“No problem,” Joe said as he hung up.
* * *
Alisha’s plans were to take Baby Jay, as they called him, “J” for John, her father’s name, to visit her parents in Pittsburgh. Don could not go because he was trying to catch up on missed patients’ appointments.
The baby had a very happy, placid disposition and was beginning to recognize and respond to his parents with smiles and bubbly sounds.
Alisha, too, had noted the peculiar slant of her son’s eyes, as well as the dark wisps of black, straight hair that added to his faintly Asian appearance. Silently she worried, Had the sperm bank made the wrong selection? How much would Jay’s appearance change as he grew older? Would Don notice?
So far Don had been pleased with the baby’s growth and development. He seemed to be reliving the joys and happy moments he’d had with his two other children. She knew that her husband had felt deep disappointment at their response when he informed Curtis and Jane of the birth of their half brother. He’d sent out announcements to friends and co-workers. His children’s reply was a curt “congratulations.” He was upset, but could understand their feelings.
And then there were times when little Jay would seem to be looking at Don with questions in his dark brown, almost
black, slightly slanted eyes. His hair seemed untamable, standing up in coarse, wiry spikes despite his mother’s attempts to control it with baby oil.
“His hair is much like yours, Alisha,” he told her. “Sometimes he almost looks oriental, with that hair and eyes.”
“I never told you, I guess,” Alisha lied, “there is oriental blood in my family.”
“I didn’t know that!”
She looked at her husband to access his reaction to this unexpected news.
He seemed thoughtful, then responded, “That could account for the slight Asian look that Jay has. But I’ve never, in my practice, figured that a genetic predisposition would be so evident…”
“You see, Don, my mother’s father, my grandfather, was from Jamaica. And as I understand it, there were many Japanese and Chinese immigrants who intermarried with the native women, and I think my grandfather’s name was Tom Shikako when he brought the family to Alabama, where Momma was born.”
“Who knows,” Don conceded, “there might be Asians in my family.”
“You never know, I guess. Do you have a family tree?”
“I only knew my grandparents on my father’s side of the family. I always said I was going to do some DNA research to see what I could find out. Today many are using DNA to find out where they really come from.”
Alisha shivered as if a creepy chill had crept over her body. She had had to think quickly to come up with a name for a mythical Japanese ancestor.
CHAPTER 26
John Morton was delighted with his new grandson and especially pleased with the way his wife reacted to the child. Seemingly, she couldn’t get enough of him. Eager to hold him, feed him, change him. It was as if a fairy wand had touched her and returned her to her old self.
Alisha told her father, “It is as if she is back to when I was a baby…”
“I know, and I’m worried about how she will behave when you leave and take him away.”
“I’m afraid she’ll think I’m stealing her baby,” Alisha said. “We may have to sneak him out. But then, Dad, how will you handle Mom? She’s sure to be upset and act out. If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have come home with him.”
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