The Baby Jackpot

Chapter Eighteen



No matter how many times Stacy saw Cole on-screen, the sight of him always filled her with pride. He held himself with assurance, yet with none of Andrew’s arrogant pride. Cole drew confidence from knowledge and purpose, not egotism.

Stacy relaxed as she watched his image on her laptop, which she’d set up on her bedroom desk. He sat behind a table next to Jennifer Martin’s husband, Ian. Cole’s stockier build and frank brown eyes gave him a solid air that, in her opinion, overshadowed the blond reporter.

“There is no Daddy Crisis,” Cole was saying. “Yes, according to some reports, sperm counts are dropping overall, and we need to figure out why. However, people are reproducing just fine, and I expect they’ll continue to do so in the future.”

“Doesn’t the availability of high-tech assistance ensure that more and more children will inherit lower fertility?” Ian asked.

“In highly developed countries, there may be some slight impact,” Cole agreed. “But it isn’t anywhere near a crisis.”

His next few remarks, recapping familiar material, faded against the noise that crept back into Stacy’s head from her mother’s disclosures. Secrets...deception...betrayal. Ellen was still protecting her husband by hiding his misbehavior from their older daughter and by asking Stacy not to confront him about it. That might seem like loyalty, but shielding him from the consequences of his actions only served to enable him.

On the monitor, Cole leaned forward. “We’ve been discussing facts, but I’m also troubled by the sneering tone of many news reports.”

“You’ve been subjected to a lot of jokes,” Ian acknowledged.

“I’m not speaking for myself.” Cole’s intensity made Stacy quiver. “Patients may be harmed by these slurs on their masculinity. Men with infertility already suffer from anxiety and depression. That can lead to divorce, job loss, sometimes suicide.”

The reporter frowned. “I never considered that.”

“Men love children just like women do,” Cole stated. “For many of us, fatherhood and family become an essential part of our identity.”

“Are you referring to yourself now?” Ian zeroed in on his subject. “There’s been a lot of publicity about your private life, Dr. Cole.”

When Ian’s gaze flicked to something off camera, Stacy guessed his wife was signaling him to stop. But the video kept rolling.

“I had three reasons for granting this interview,” Cole replied. “First, to clear up this Daddy Crisis nonsense. Second, to advocate for my patients.”

“And third?” Ian prompted.

Stacy’s hands formed fists. Was he going to mention her? And what would he say if he did?

“It’s one thing for the press to poke fun at me professionally,” Cole said. “But there’s a woman involved here who faces a complicated, potentially dangerous pregnancy. She’s turned down my marriage proposal, and since she’s much wiser about such things than I am, I presume she’s made the right choice.”

“I’m not wiser!” Stacy cried, although of course he couldn’t hear her.

“She’s decided to locate a good—no, great—home for the triplets.” Despite a catch in his voice, he hurried on. “The public should respect her choice. I certainly do.”

“You’re out of the picture?” Ian queried.

“I plan to rededicate myself to helping other couples have their children,” Cole said. “The medical aspects of the situation drew me to my specialty, but becoming a father, even if I never get to hold my children, has sensitized me at a deeper level. While I hope my future will include marrying and having children, for now, I’ll concentrate on treating patients.”

“Any final words?” Ian asked.

“I hope the press will quit sensationalizing. They can better serve the public by informing them of scientific facts.” Cole’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Stacy expected him to add some further rebuke, but he held back.

“Thank you.” The reporter faced the camera. “We’ve been talking with Dr. Cole Rattigan, head of the men’s fertility program at Safe Harbor Medical Center. This is Ian Martin for On The Prowl in Orange County. Thanks for watching.”

The on-screen window went black. Stacy closed the website and discovered she was trembling.

Despite her reservations, she’d hoped—without acknowledging it—that Cole would make a passionate public statement about how much he loved her. Instead, he sounded as if he’d closed off a Chapter in his life and opened a new one. A Chapter that didn’t include her.

He’d attempted to protect her from the press. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

Stacy went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of herbal tea to settle her stomach. Although she’d eaten a late breakfast, pregnancy-inspired hunger pangs sent her foraging through the fridge.

Aside from bread, eggs and a little lettuce, it was nearly bare. However, in the freezer, she found tubs of ice cream.

Not very healthy, but there was less than a quarter of a tub left of rocky road. That meant, according to the unwritten laws of ice cream etiquette, that Stacy could eat it directly out of the carton, which made it irresistible.

Sitting at the table, she savored the mixture of chocolate, mini marshmallows and chopped walnuts. Cole didn’t have to leave these. He’d taken other food items. Yet despite being kicked out, he’d left this for her to enjoy.

She pictured him in the parking garage, asking her to marry him while he rescued her lipstick from behind a tire. All she’d thought about was how unromantic he was, and she’d assumed that he was proposing out of duty. Now, to her shame, she recalled comparing him mentally to Andrew. Andrew, who covered his selfish nature with elaborate gifts and fancy words.

Dear, sweet Cole had brought her an African violet and a sack of tiramisu, like a child eager to please. He’d fetched take-out food when she was hungry. Rescued her from a mountain of hard-boiled eggs and a pair of unfinished Boston cream pies. Tempted her out of a bad mood with a movie and popcorn. Offered to pay half the rent when she initially refused to let him move in, and later, left quietly despite already having paid. And he’d risked public humiliation by refusing to hide his involvement with her pregnancy.

A song lyric popped into Stacy’s mind. She recognized the line from the musical Fiddler on the Roof. “If that’s not love, what is?”

She buried her face in her hands. How had she missed this? She’d pushed Cole away time and again. But she hadn’t really wanted him to go, had she?

Underneath, she’d believed that a man who loved her enough would see past her defenses into her heart. That he’d find the feelings she hid even from herself, and refuse to let her go.

But he had. He’d just stated publicly that he was moving forward, without her. Not a word of criticism, either.

She supposed she could blame her confusion on her parents’ screwed-up values. But Cole had been right in front of her, offering everything. And she’d seen only his flaws.

When Stacy lifted her hands, they were wet with tears. This time, there was no Cole to dry them.

It might not be too late. But after what he’d said in the interview, she doubted he would show up here again to comfort her.

She had to let him know that she saw him clearly now. That she wanted him to ask her again to marry him, and that this time, the answer would be yes.

* * *

EARLY MONDAY, outside the hospital, Cole found a handful of reporters waiting with the usual array of cameras and microphones. To his satisfaction, the tone of their questions had changed.

They asked about the impact of infertility on men and how this led to depression and suicide. Although he had no statistics—fortunately, in his opinion, since he didn’t want to emphasize the negative—he was able to expand on his insights into men’s needs and vulnerabilities.

“Fathers are the men who love and protect children, whether or not they provide the sperm,” he told the cameras. “They’re the ones who are there for you when you fall down or need a helping hand. They’re also the ones who stand by Mom, who listen to her and support her.”

He didn’t mention that his own biological father had done none of those things. True, Jean-Paul Duval had simply been honoring his agreement with Cole’s mother, but neither of them had consulted their son.

After Cole excused himself to prepare for surgery, he realized he didn’t have to cite his absentee dad in so many words. His aching childhood loneliness informed every word he spoke.

Along the route to his office, several staff members stopped to compliment him on the interview. When he checked his email, he found messages from the administrator, Owen, Adrienne, Zack and several other physicians, cheering him on.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re an inspiration,” Zack had written.

Not exactly an overwhelming compliment, Cole reflected in amusement. Or perhaps it was.

His upbeat mood didn’t last long. There was, he saw, no message from Stacy, not that he’d been naive enough to expect one.

Her stopping by on Friday night with the relinquishment papers had brought home her determination to put him and, soon, this pregnancy behind her. Since it would be awkward having her assist him, Cole had emailed the nursing director on Saturday, requesting to switch nurses for his surgeries this week.

All that remained was for him to sign those papers. Yet every time he looked at the legal words that would cut his bond to his children forever, something held him back.

She must be irritated at the delay. Well, he’d get it done this week.

On the surgical board, Cole saw that Anya Meeks had been assigned to him, while Stacy was assisting Zack. Anya didn’t know Cole’s preferences and lacked Stacy’s gift for anticipating which instrument he needed next, but she was learning.

Then he spotted a dearly familiar lady emerging from the elevator. Silky brown curls, a cute, pointy chin and a figure growing lusher by the day... Would he ever get over the twist in his chest at the sight of Stacy?

Cole dodged into the operating suite.

* * *

DISMAYED, Stacy took in the schedule. She’d checked the board on Friday, so knew it had been altered.

Her first instinct was to march to Betsy Raditch’s office and demand to know why. But she could guess well enough: Cole must have requested it.

He didn’t want her in his operating room.

Stacy struggled to breathe through the pain. She forced herself to suck in air and get a grip. If anyone saw her acting unsteady, Betsy might assign her to routine office or desk duty for the rest of the pregnancy.

Stacy loved surgical work. And if she behaved like a professional, Cole might take her back...into his O.R.

What about into his life?

She intended to work on that.

* * *

Fathers are the men who love and protect children. His words from the interview had a disturbing habit of lingering in Cole’s thoughts during the morning’s surgeries, like a melody that refused to quit.

He kept visualizing those precious little shapes on the ultrasound screen. And recalling how Owen’s twins had become distinct individuals even at the toddler stage.

Here he stood, reversing a vasectomy so his patient would have a chance to become a biological father. How could Cole give up his own babies?

He craved nuzzling their little necks, and watching them grow up with the same yearning he’d felt to be accepted by his own father. That desperate longing had powered his young self through French lessons and enabled him to pass up buying electronic gadgets to save for a plane ticket.

True, his father had disappointed him. But Cole had survived, strengthened by the awareness that at least he’d tried.

During his last operation before lunch, it occurred to him that Stacy was pushing to choose an adoptive couple much too early. Maybe that meant she was trying to lay her own doubts to rest. Otherwise, why the rush to commit?

His pulse speeding, he decided to talk to her. No matter how much it irked her, he couldn’t sign those papers without one final effort.

* * *

IN THE LUNCHROOM, Stacy sat with Ned and Harper, well aware that they’d be enjoying a freer and livelier conversation without her there. From a nearby table, she kept hearing snatches of dialogue—“I love how he told them off!” and “He didn’t exactly call the press morons, but he might as well have”—that indicated hospital staffers on their lunch break were discussing Cole’s interview.

Finally, after a halfhearted discussion of changes to the nurses’ locker room trailed into silence, Ned said, “Well, let’s stop avoiding the subject. What did you think of Cole’s interview?”

“He was brilliant.” Stacy stared at her half-eaten sandwich. Even her appetite was failing her today. “Did you notice he got the schedule changed?”

“I noticed.” Although Ned worked in Dr. Tartikoff’s office, he cruised by the surgical floor frequently to chat with nurses there. And he had an inquisitive nature.

“Are you sure that was Cole’s doing?” Harper asked gently.

Ned rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

“He’s given up on me,” Stacy said.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Ned prodded. “He said in the interview you turned him down.”

“I did, but...” Stacy cut to the chase. “I’ve been an idiot. The truth is, I don’t deserve him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harper said.

Ned regarded her pensively. “You know, Stacy, you don’t have to be perfect to deserve love. Sometimes people just want to give it to you.”

She blinked back tears. “That’s lucky, because I’m not anywhere near perfect.” She’d tried with all her might to do everything right, for her parents, for Andrew, for Una. Still she somehow always came up short.

Maybe that didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry I made you cry.” Ned placed a hand on her arm.

Stacy threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me that it’s okay to act stupid.”

Ned returned the hug. “Hey, if you liked that—uh, Stacy, you’re completely hideous. What do I get now?”

“A punch in the jaw.”

“Try the left side,” he said. “I cut the right side shaving.”

Stacy broke out laughing. Then she glanced across the room and saw Cole staring at the two of them. Mouth tightening, he gripped his tray and headed in the opposite direction.

Oh, great. She’d messed up again.

* * *

SITTING ON THE PATIO, chewing and swallowing food that formed lumps in his stomach, Cole wondered why he’d imagined he could walk up to Stacy in the cafeteria and magically vanquish her objections.

He knew she wasn’t in love with Ned, but she acted different with him and her other friends than she did with Cole. He’d never been good with people. “Emotionally tone deaf” was how a former coworker had described him. “Somewhere to the right of the autism spectrum” had been Felicia’s biased conclusion.

Yet since his involvement with Stacy, he’d gotten to know Zack and Owen on a personal level. He’d fixed food for a housewarming party, and helped Adrienne plant her garden. He’d babysat Mia, all by himself.

Because of Stacy, Cole had formed connections. He would forever be grateful for the vistas she’d opened up, he reflected, staring into a container of chocolate milk.

Too bad she’d broken his heart in the process.

* * *

COLE HAD RETREATED onto the patio, Stacy noted as she set her tray on the conveyer belt. Although tempted to scoot out after him, she was keenly aware of the interested gazes of practically everyone in the cafeteria.

Besides, what could she say, other than that she’d been an idiot? A simple “I love you” might do the trick. But it didn’t feel like enough.

Despite all she’d learned in the past few days, Stacy still believed that people in love ought to be swept away. That the decision to launch a life together should start with a brass band, speeches and a bottle of champagne smashing across the hull of a ship. Or a reasonable equivalent.

Besides, she had another surgery to prepare for. Aching for the solitary man sitting outside alone, Stacy forced herself to walk away.