A Mother's Secrets

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  The man stopped, pulled Jamie off the path and leaned back against a guardrail along the back side of it. “Are you serious?”

  Grinning, Jamie nodded. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I know that this is the right thing for me to do.”

  Tom wasn’t smiling. In fact, his frown was one Jamie had seen the older man use in court a time or two. “I disagree.” Tom shook his head. “Strongly.”

  “But...”

  “Have you told your mother about this?”

  He was thirty-three years old and a successful, respected educator; Jamie most certainly didn’t need his mother’s permission for anything. “No. I’m not planning to tell anyone until the fertilization procedure is successful. Except you. I wanted you to know. I thought you had a right to know.”

  He’d hoped to bring some joy to Tom’s life. Had hoped for his support. He was giving Tom the only chance he’d ever have at grandchildren...

  “You’re a young man, Jamie. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Find a woman. Fall in love. Marry her. And then have a family that belongs to both of you.”

  “But...”

  Shaking his head, Tom interrupted. “I’m telling you, this is a bad idea.”

  So maybe his reservations of moments ago had been warranted. He’d actually expected Tom to be pleased. Once he got over the possible shock of it.

  He’d conceded that Tom might think he wasn’t thinking clearly. That he was acting out of grief. Had been prepared to assure him that wasn’t the case.

  So... Strike two on the “talking with others” part of his plan.

  First Christine and now Tom. But he couldn’t do it without them. Not in the way he envisioned, at any rate.

  “My son or daughter, he or she is going to need their grandpa.” He could be as strong as Tom when warranted.

  “Let her go, Jamie.”

  This was going to be maybe one of the toughest things he’d ever done. He looked Emily’s dad straight in the eye and said, “I have let her go, Tom. This isn’t about hanging on to the past, or seeking comfort due to loss. This is about getting on with the rest of my life. Those embryos are there. And yes, it’s a bit unconventional for me to continue with the plans Emily and I made without her, but it’s the life I want. I had my soul mate. I’m thankful for the years we shared. All twenty-five of them. And while I expect I’ll eventually start dating again, I’m not looking for another life partner. If Emily had been able to get pregnant when we’d first started trying, we’d already have a four-year-old child. And I’d be raising that child on my own.”

  Tom was still frowning. Shaking his head. But he no longer looked fierce. At least not to Jamie. “But, son...”

  “No, Tom,” Jamie said. “My mind is made up about this. I’d hoped you’d be excited. But at the very least, you had a right to know.”

  “I know how hard it is, Jamie. I’ve been there. Remember?” Tom’s green eyes grew moist, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more pronounced. “When I first lost Daisy...”

  Emily’s mother had died from hepatitis when he and Emily were in college.

  “I know.” Jamie gave the man a minute, remembering how awful that year had been, for all of them, but mostly for Emily and her father. For a while there Jamie had wondered if either of them would ever be truly happy again. Daisy had been the hub on their wheel. And then he said, “It’s been almost fifteen years and I don’t see you dating again.”

  Sure, Tom looked at women. He even went out to dinner on occasion. But never once had he introduced another woman to Jamie or Emily.

  Lips pursed, Tom nodded. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you have any idea of the time frame?”

  “Not yet.”

  Tom started back toward the bar, which was still clearly in view, his bottle almost empty. Jamie dropped his half-full one in the trash as they got close. He had a feeling Tom would be drinking one too many and would need a ride home.

  Him. He would be his father-in-law’s designated driver.

  Funny how life had a way of turning on a dime.

  Funny how, even before his child was conceived, he was assuming the role of a father.

  * * *

  Christine lived alone, but she had a busy life. So much so that she didn’t even think it fair of her to have a pet. She wasn’t home enough. She spent too much time working at the clinic and women’s shelter, plus looking after two elderly couples in the area, having her book club, sitting on a committee that was in charge of overseeing community events and maintaining a slew of friends. Marie Cove, her people, were her family, and she was determined to tend to them as she had her grandparents all those years. Just as they’d all been there for her. That’s what family did.

  And there was racquetball. Because a woman had to tend to herself, too, if she was going to be any good to others.

  One lunchtime the following week, after stopping by the Madisons’—neighbors she was checking in on while their daughter was away on a cruise with her husband—she drove by the high school. Parking across the street, she ate the chicken ranch wrap she’d packed that morning and watched as the high school tennis coach oversaw the summer camp that involved those who would try out for the team in the fall.

  She’d signed up her freshman year, but hadn’t gone. There’d been so much to do at home, and she’d never have been able to make it to team practices and be gone for all the matches, even if she’d made the team...

  Maybe if the coach back then had been as good-looking as Dr. Jamie Howe...

  As a coach, Jamie was demonstrating a serve, and those legs... They looked like pure muscle. Lean and strong as iron.

  And were absolutely none of her business.

  She’d reread his file, in preparation for helping him find a surrogate that would be a good match after she told him no. She was just waiting for him to call and ask her what she’d decided.

  She couldn’t hear what he was saying out on the court, but the way the kids gathered around him, watched him as he spoke, kept close, approached him, performed for him, she couldn’t help thinking he’d make one heck of a good dad.

  If he was as patient at home as he appeared to be on the court. And as well-liked...

  A person who looked like she might be one of the players’ moms approached the court, and Jamie went to speak to her. Her wrap finished, Christine put her car in gear and drove straight back to her office, wiping any thoughts of those male legs out of her psyche.

  By the second week since Jamison Howe’s visit, she wasn’t thinking about the man’s legs at all. It had been ten days without a word from him. Seven grueling games of one-person racquetball.

  She hadn’t figured him for someone who would not call. Had been on edge that whole first week after he’d been to see her, thinking he’d be contacting her at any moment. Waiting for the call. The email. The text. Not because she couldn’t get the man out of her system, but because his request continued to linger there. She knew she was going to tell him no, and had to fight with herself, trying not to picture what it would be like if she said yes.

  She’d pictured it anyway. The hardships involved with being pregnant. The joy she’d be bringing him. The honor he’d given her—the honor Emily had given her. The money that would help her get the house she’d inherited back in pristine condition.

  And give added security to the clinic as well.

  The hardships would be only temporary.

  She thought about them, though, as she cruised to Catalina Island and back with her friends, not that she told either them about the client she’d had or his unusual request. None of them talked about work at all. They spent the two days having fruity drinks by the pool, playing trivia games against other ship passengers, eating decadently and shopping. The other two laughed over stupid things they’
d done in college, mostly having to do with guys, and told Christine she’d been the smart one all along to avoid all that heartache.

  By the time she returned on Sunday, two days short of two weeks since Jamie had been to her office, she’d quit waiting for the phone to ring. Or for the athletic math professor to show up at her office door. And while she had to admit to being a bit let down—at least to herself—she also knew that if his interest had been that short-lived, she’d been saved making a huge mistake in even considering having a child for him. Or finding another woman to do so.

  A baby was a lifetime commitment.

  He must have had a change of heart. Maybe he’d realized that it would better to move on and wait to have a family in a traditional way, with a woman who’d be there to help him raise any children they had.

  Still, it would have been nice if he’d at least called to let her know. For all he knew, she could have been making calls, finding contacts, maybe even finding surrogates for him to interview. She’d said she’d proctor for him and he hadn’t called to tell her not to do so.

  That’s when it began to niggle at her that something could have happened to him. In the week since she’d spent a lunch hour playing voyeur outside the high school. And peevishness started to stab at her a bit, too.

  So thinking, that last Friday in May, seventeen days after they’d met, she called him, intending to inquire as to any further services he might need from The Parent Portal so that, finding none, she could get his file off her desk.

  It was time to declutter.

  “Christine.” He picked up before the first ring had finished. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call.”

  What? They hadn’t left it that she’d call him.

  They’d just...left it.

  With her saying she’d agree to his request to think about his original request. Sort of. And with her possibly checking on some things for him pursuant to surrogacy, yes, but...

  Wouldn’t you then expect he’d check back in, to see...?

  “I was waiting for you to call,” she told him. “After we both had time to think. I did speak with my attorney regarding The Parent Portal assisting you with your surrogate search, and made some calls, but when I didn’t hear from you again...”

  Patients made appointments with medical facilities. That’s how it worked. She had a personal service to offer. He had to avail himself of it. And had the right to change his mind and not do so. It wasn’t up to her to hound him about it.

  Had it been a matter of life and death, then certainly, a clinic or doctor might call a patient as a gentle, or not so gentle, reminder, but in her business...

  Infertility was a tough thing. It wasn’t her place to push. Clinics had clients who came to them, who seemed to want their services, and then they never heard from them again. It was in the nature of their business.

  “I was actually just doing a follow-up, assuming, since I hadn’t heard from you that I could close your file...” The emotion storming through her didn’t quite give truth to those words.

  “No! Please. Nothing has changed, not as far as I’m concerned. Should I make another appointment for us to speak?”

  No! Her thoughts echoed his word. “Yes, that would be best,” she told him. “I can put you through to reception. Hold on...”

  Without giving him a chance to say anything further, she clicked a button on the phone, and another, turned the call over and hung up.

  Trying not to notice how much her hand was shaking.

  Or to admit that her life was about to take a detour she hadn’t expected.

  Chapter Six

  The first appointment he could get was Tuesday at one—a full three weeks since the last time he’d been to Christine Elliott’s office. He’d have liked to have changed from the clothes he’d worn to tennis camp that morning, as planned, but had been waylaid by a student who’d wanted to speak with him. Axel Barrymore, a fatherless kid, was getting pressure from his mother to concentrate on basketball because of scholarship opportunities. This discussion was not something from which Jamie could walk away. He’d ended up speaking with both Axel and his mother, told them that Axel was better at tennis than he’d ever been, a natural, but that the boy needed to choose the sport he loved the most. He’d offered to make himself available in the future, anytime either of them needed anything. And hoped he’d helped.

  He was thirty seconds from being late to his own appointment.

  “I’m coming straight from tennis camp,” he admitted, as he noticed the way the health administrator was looking at his bare legs.

  “No, you’re fine,” Christine said, arranging various papers in front of her—a few side by side, a few in stacks.

  To do with him? Surrogate possibilities?

  He tried to meet her gaze, to assess her state of mind, but she was too busy to look up. And then her phone rang and she answered it.

  Figuring he knew the drill, he sat in the chair he’d occupied twice in the past. Knowing that whatever happened, he was taking the next step forward to having his family. The rush that swept through him took him a bit by surprise.

  He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. Or inbursts, as the case might be. Even in grief he hadn’t been overwrought. He’d been able to rationalize. To cry alone. And then do what had to be done.

  Still on the phone, Christine’s conversation was mostly one-sided. She had said little except for an occasional “uh-huh,” “yes” and “I’m listening.”

  He noticed his finger tapping on his knee and stilled. Tried not to put too much emphasis on the fact that, depending on what information was hiding in those papers, he could be closer than he’d realized to becoming a father.

  And wouldn’t dwell on the disappointment he’d feel if the surrogate were someone other than Christine. Surely Emily would understand that he’d tried...

  She wouldn’t understand. That wasn’t her way. When Emily knew something, she stuck to her guns. Even if she was wrong. Like the house. It was on the market—finally. And he was due to take at least a ten-thousand-dollar hit because of it.

  He was tapping again. Watching his thumb and finger for a moment, then stilled them again. Picked at a thread on the hem of his shorts.

  He heard the phone drop in the cradle.

  “Sorry about that,” Christine said, her gaze landing on him with the force of a blow. Those big brown eyes, so filled with...something he couldn’t define.

  Which put him on edge.

  More on edge.

  “I was just speaking with my doctor,” she said then, standing and heading to the other side of her office—behind him—where he knew a conversation area with a couch and chairs sat. He heard a refrigerator door open, turned to see a small one set into the cupboards set along the far wall.

  “Would you like some water?” she asked. “Or juice? I have pineapple, peach and cranberry...”

  He preferred orange, hated pineapple, but said, “Peach, please.”

  He didn’t want any juice, really.

  Had she just said she’d been on the phone with her doctor? He knew she had. But...

  “I’ve decided to grant your request to be the surrogate for your embryo,” she said, sounding like a high school principal or something as she walked slowly back toward her desk, stopping to place a cold bottle of capped juice on the corner of the desk closest to him.

  She didn’t hand it to him. Why did he notice? Or care?

  “That is, if you still would like to consider me as a prospect,” she added, watching him as she retook her seat behind the desk. “You’d said that you hadn’t changed your mind when we spoke at the end of last week.”

  “I haven’t!” He sat up. Stood up. Reached for the juice. Sat back down. “Did you just say yes?” he asked inanely. He knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with his hearing.

  It
was the rest of his brain that concerned him. The scattered messages it was sending... Spiked with huge hits of adrenaline...

  “I did.” Christine wasn’t smiling. She didn’t look angry, either. Just professional.

  Right. Which was what he should be doing. Acting like the professional he was.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a sip of juice and holding the bottle on the arm of the chair. “I just...you took me by surprise.” The grin that evolved out of the waywardness of his mouth almost split his lips. “This is great!” he said. Smiling some more. Nodding. And then, “Seriously, I... Wow. Thank you.”

  There, finally, something appropriate to the moment.

  And then, as though that expression of gratitude righted his mind, a mental list appeared in his thought process.

  “So...we’ll need to take care of the legalities...”

  She handed him one of the piles of papers. “My portion is all here for your lawyer to look over,” she said. “I’ve already had my stipulations drawn up. I’m sure you’ll have your own, and when you get back to me, I’ll have a meeting with my attorney and hopefully we’ll end up with a final document with which we can both be satisfied.”

  He didn’t give a damn if she wanted to name the child. He’d be satisfied. Hopefully appearing a whole lot more calm on the outside than he felt on the inside, he reached for the papers.

  Holy hell. He and Emily were going to have their baby! With Christine, just like Emily had envisioned.

  His wife hadn’t been planning to die. Or even been aware that she might. He didn’t think that for a second. But, in her way, when she’d told him that if they had to use a surrogate she thought it should be Christine, she’d still planned their future. Just like that day in the emergency room when she’d called him over and asked him to be her friend. Those words—“see ya” instead of goodbye.

  He wanted to pick Emily up and swing her around and around like he had on the dance floor at their wedding reception. To sweep her right up off her feet. To hug her tight.