The Baby Jackpot

Chapter Seven



With microphones in his face and questions flying, Cole did his best to answer the barrage of increasingly ridiculous questions. Should schools teach teenage boys to preserve the health of their sperm? Should the federal government create an office to combat the decline in male fertility? Should there be a law against tight-fitting men’s underpants, since these could raise the temperature enough to damage sperm?

His struggles to keep a straight face soon gave way to frustration. A handful of men were waiting to one side, clearly eager to ask about their personal situations, while the reporters ignored Jennifer’s attempts to wrap up the impromptu press conference. A security guard hovered, held in check by the PR director’s warning frown. You didn’t manhandle the press.

All the same, Cole feared that if this went on much longer, he might lose his temper and become sarcastic. His tongue had sliced and diced more than a few bullies in his early years, but those individuals hadn’t had the power to edit his comments and make him look like a bad-tempered idiot on the air.

“As a fertility doctor, aren’t you adding to the crisis of unwanted babies?” demanded a man whose T-shirt bore the call letters of a Los Angeles radio station.

Cole hardly knew where to start. “Men who undergo treatment aren’t likely to abandon their children. And if there’s a crisis of unwanted babies, why are so many couples adopting overseas?”

“Isn’t the whole infertility field just a racket to make doctors rich?” the reporter persisted.

Cole found himself at a rare loss for words. Mercifully, a series of loud claps cut off the other reporters’ attempts to leap into the breach.

From among the men waiting at the side, a blond fellow built like a wrestler stalked in front of the reporters. “You folks have had your turn,” he boomed. “Now mind your manners and give the rest of us a chance.”

“Who are you?” someone demanded.

“I’m a high school biology teacher used to setting boundaries for adolescents.” The statement drew muffled laughter.

“The public has a right to know,” a female journalist snapped.

“Yeah, you’re not in charge here,” a radio reporter interjected.

“Ever heard of showing respect for others?” the teacher responded. “If you were my students, I’d send you all to the principal’s office.”

Seizing his chance, the security guard moved in. “Folks, fire regulations require me to clear the corridor. If you’ll just head toward the exits...”

“Thank you for coming,” Jennifer called, and grabbed Cole’s elbow. “Quick! Hide!”

Most of the waiting men scattered, along with the press. Spurred by a sense of fair play, Cole waved to the teacher to come with them.

They ducked into the fertility program suite. It being a Saturday, there was no one else around.

“Thanks, Jennifer,” Cole told the PR director as he unlocked his private office. “You’ve been great.”

“You sure you’re all right?” She seemed uncertain about their guest.

“Go home to your family.” Speaking those words gave Cole a twinge. Until recently, families had belonged to other people, not to him. Now his thoughts flew to Stacy and the baby she carried.

She’d told him to mind his own business. Yet wasn’t it his business, too?

To the teacher, Jennifer said, “I’m Jennifer Martin, by the way, and you did a great job of running interference.”

“Peter Gladstone. My motives were purely self-serving.” They shook hands. After she departed, he accepted a seat. “I appreciate your sparing me a few minutes, Dr. Rattigan.”

Behind his desk, Cole shifted into doctor mode. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to find out if there’s any point in my even making an appointment. My case might be hopeless.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Normally, Cole would have insisted they continue this discussion during an office visit, since he couldn’t assess the situation without a medical history or an examination. However, in view of Peter’s help earlier, he felt the guy deserved more than a quick dismissal.

The man folded his muscular arms. “I have a low sperm count. My previous doctor ruled out a number of factors, but he couldn’t find a cause.”

Mentally, Cole struck off the man’s age—early thirties—and apparently good health as possible causes. “He didn’t give you a referral?”

“He never got the chance. My wife...” The teacher’s voice broke.

Cole refrained from offering sympathy. In his experience, guys who got emotional preferred to pretend you hadn’t noticed.

Peter swallowed and went on. “During the fertility workup, we discovered my wife had ovarian cancer. She died a year and a half ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He was confused. “Why are you concerned about your sperm count now?”

“Having children has always been my dream,” the teacher said. “I can’t believe I’ll ever find anyone I could love as much as Angela, but even if I do, how could I ask her to marry me if I can’t father children?”

He could find someone who loved him enough to adopt or to use artificial insemination, but this wasn’t a counseling session, and Peter was smart enough to have considered those ideas on his own. Obviously, he wanted his own flesh-and-blood children. “Do you remember what tests have been run?”

Peter’s expression cleared at the straightforward question. “Yes, I do.” He read off a list of tests and results from his cell phone. The previous physician, a local urologist, had done a thorough job.

Although they’d exhausted the obvious possibilities, that wasn’t the end of the story. “I’d like to review your case in more depth,” Cole told Peter. “If you have any trouble getting an appointment, ask for my nurse, Luke Mendez.” Cole typed on the computer as he spoke. “I’m sending him an email right now. We’ll schedule you in.”

Gratitude suffused the man’s face. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I’m glad to help.”

After his visitor left, Cole made a few notes while the discussion was fresh in his mind. Peter’s determination to have children underscored the irony of Cole’s own impending fatherhood.

What was he going to do about it? The prospect of standing aside, preserving his anonymity and watching Stacy take the heat as she grew ever larger struck him as unacceptable. And what about their baby?

Working in a hospital, he saw babies all the time. Their presence barely registered, though. Taking a closer look might help guide his reaction.

After locking his office, Cole climbed to the third floor. While most of the hospital lay quiet on a Saturday afternoon, there was plenty of activity around Labor and Delivery. During his internship, that hadn’t been one of his favorite rotations. Too much noise, too many hard-to-control factors and too many relatives swamping the waiting rooms and demanding updates.

Also, Cole had been so absorbed in the medical details of delivering babies and attending to the mothers that he’d paid little attention to the infants. Yes, there’d been a rush of appreciation every time he held a newborn, but he’d also been sharply aware of their fragility, and was happy to transfer them into someone else’s capable hands. Once they were safely delivered, they belonged to the nurses, pediatricians and, of course, the parents.

He followed the signs to the viewing window at the nursery. Prepared for a vista of tiny people, Cole stared in dismay at the mostly empty bassinets. Only a few little ones lay sleeping beneath the attentive eye of a nurse, and they weren’t close enough to the window for him to see well.

A passing doctor, dark-haired with a short mustache, paused to ask, “What brings you here, Cole?” His name tag read Jared Sellers, M.D., Neonatologist.

Cole had no intention of explaining his reasons, especially to someone he only vaguely recognized. Still, he appreciated the other doctor’s courtesy. “Are all the babies in the patients’ rooms?”

Jared nodded. “You’ll see more of them in intermediate care, just around the corner.”

“Thanks.”

“Not too many urologists drop by to visit the babies.”

Was the staff always this curious? “Maybe they should.” Impulsively, Cole added, “Do you have kids?”

Out came the cell phone, and an image of a baby appeared, a pink bow decorating her reddish-brown curls. “That’s my daughter, Bonnie. She’s two months old,” the neonatologist said. “My wife, Lori, is on leave from her job as Dr. Rayburn’s nurse. I’m not sure if she can bear to go back to work in another month and put our little girl in day care.”

This was more information than Cole wanted. “She’s adorable.” That seemed like the right thing to say.

“And supersmart,” Jared enthused. “She’s curious about everything. For her age, she has great head and neck control.”

Cole had never considered babies interesting until they achieved such milestones as sitting up, standing or talking. Obviously, parents noted small markers that he’d never considered.

Will I be like that?

What was he thinking? He wasn’t going to be around. No photos in his cell phone. No idea how his son or daughter was developing.

He’d better get moving before the other doctor repeated the question about what he was doing there. “I’d better be off,” he said. “Congratulations on your daughter.”

“Thanks.” Jared was too busy reviewing images—quite a few, apparently—to glance up from his phone.

Cole debated stopping by the intermediate care facility, but his initial impulse to view babies now seemed ill-considered. Instead, he went outside to his bike. He’d resumed cycling to work once his knee recovered, and he was glad now for the exercise. It helped settle his thoughts.

As he pumped along Hospital Way, one theme emerged. He had to talk to Stacy about how they were going to manage this pregnancy. That was his baby in there, and while he respected her right to give it up for adoption, he intended to be involved until it was delivered.

* * *

STACY STAYED IN BED most of Saturday morning, sipping orange-flavored herbal tea. Her troublesome stomach had gone into overdrive, leaving her perpetually queasy and sleepy.

If only her mother were here to fix toast and fuss over her. Several times, Stacy reached for the phone to call her, but she didn’t feel up to explaining everything. Besides, Ellen Layne led a busy life, running a shop, making stuffed animals and helping her namesake, Stacy’s older sister Ellie, care for her four children.

Then there was Dad’s reaction to consider. Alastair Layne had always been meticulous both in his work as a pharmacist and in raising his daughters. Other girls were allowed to wear skimpy clothing and have multiple piercings, but not Stacy or Ellie. After learning about Andrew’s infidelity, he’d backed Stacy in the divorce, but had remained noncommittal on the subject of egg donation, apparently unsure where that fit into his moral continuum.

Out-of-marriage pregnancy was unquestionably on the low end. He’d be terribly disappointed in her. Stacy had no idea how he’d feel about her giving up the baby for adoption versus keeping it, and she wasn’t eager to find out.

Maybe she could avoid telling them altogether. That would require avoiding them for the next eight months and lying about it, though. She decided against dealing with the issue while she felt lousy.

After a light lunch, she dragged herself to the supermarket, then came home and put the food away. A note from Harper indicated she’d taken Mia to a birthday party for her friend Fiona, the daughter of the hospital’s embryologist.

After surfing the internet for a bit, Stacy lay down on the couch. She hoped her roommate would come back soon so they could talk. This pregnancy was going to affect Harper, so she had a right to hear about it from Stacy before word got out, or Harper picked up early signs of pregnancy on her own.

Stacy must have drifted off, because a ringing sound dragged her from the depths. Disoriented, she groped for her phone. How long had she slept?

Two hours, according to her watch. It was nearly 5:00 p.m. Harper must have stayed at the party, which, Stacy recalled from the invitation posted on the refrigerator, ran from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.

“Stacy?” It was Cole.

“Is something wrong?” she asked sleepily.

“Wrong?”

“Am I late for surgery?” No, wait, it was Saturday. Besides, if she were late for work, a supervisor would be calling, not the doctor. “What’s up?”

“I thought I’d bring dinner.” Determination underscored his words. “I’m partial to pesto ravioli from Papa Giovanni’s but, if you’re craving something else, just say so.”

She should refuse, but her stomach was crying out for food, and she missed Cole. That melting expression, that special smile... Harper wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half, so they could enjoy some privacy. “I’d love that.” She gave him her address.

“Great!” he exclaimed, as if she’d done him a huge favor. “See you in a few minutes.”

Stacy noted the toys and papers scattered around the room. What a contrast to Cole’s scrupulously neat place. As if to compensate for the day’s languor, a surge of energy sent her flying around the apartment to put away the mess.

Then she caught a frightening glimpse of herself in a mirror, hair bristling like a porcupine’s, eyebrows askew, lips pale. She charged into the bedroom to fix her hair and makeup.

She was almost ready when she heard the scrape of a key in the front door. Her roommate was back early. How was Stacy going to explain Cole’s visit?

With the truth, she supposed.

Willing herself to be calm, she strolled into the front room. Harper had dumped a sheaf of papers on top of the coffee table, which Stacy had cleared only minutes earlier. The dark-haired nurse regarded her with excitement and a touch of apprehension.

There was no sign of Mia, who must still be at the party. “What’s all this?” Stacy asked.

“You’re going to kill me.” Her friend clasped her hands together. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Well, you know how Mia’s been longing for a kitten,” Harper began.

“You got a kitten?” Stacy glanced around. No furry little animal. No bags of cat food or kitty litter, either.

“That would violate our lease.”

“Yes. So?” She didn’t understand why her normally forthright roommate was beating around the bush.

“Last night at the reception for Una—where did you go, anyway?”

“Never mind.” Stacy refused to be distracted. “Talk.”

Harper waved her hands. “I told you I’m planning to donate eggs, right?”

“You said you were considering it.”

“It didn’t seem fair to Mia to get involved in something so complicated and stressful,” Harper went on. “Especially when I won’t even let her have a pet.”

Stacy sat on the couch. “I don’t see how the two things are related.”

“Give me a minute to connect the dots.” Harper fingered her hoop earring. “At the party, I was talking to Caroline Carter—you know, the fertility department secretary—and she mentioned a house for rent in her neighborhood. They allow pets. It’s been off the market because of some major plumbing work. Once they start advertising, it’ll get snapped up fast.”

Dismay swept over Stacy. The papers on the coffee table must be a lease. “You’re moving?”

How could she bring a stranger into this situation? Still, it wasn’t Harper’s job to serve as her caretaker.

“I know this is sudden.” Her roommate studied her worriedly. “But we always said this was a temporary arrangement. I’m earning more now that I’m working for Dr. Franco. I guess the whole business with Una made me realize how I’ve put my life on hold since Sean died. My life and Mia’s, too. This house becoming available seems like, well, like a sign.”

Stacy didn’t want to put a guilt trip on her friend. Harper had no idea about her pregnancy, and Stacy decided not to lay that on her right now. “When?”

“Next weekend,” Harper said apologetically.

“That soon?” How was she going to find a roommate by then?

Her friend produced a sheet of paper. “I made a list of hospital personnel who might want to share an apartment. Think of the advantages. No more kid stuff everywhere, and you can bring the rest of your furniture out of storage.”

Stacy did miss the sofa and end tables that hadn’t fit in the living room, plus she’d save money not having to pay for storage. But that was a small consolation.

I was counting on you.

Gazing into the apologetic face of the woman who’d been one of her best friends since middle school, Stacy bit back the words. The two of them had shared grief over Sean’s and Vicki’s deaths and the demise of Stacy’s marriage. The rotten timing wasn’t Harper’s fault.

“I’ll throw you and Mia a housewarming party once you’ve settled in.” Stacy glanced at the list of potential roommates. “Meanwhile, I’ll start calling some of these people.”

“I’ll help. Thanks for understanding, Stace.”

“Of course I do.”

The bell buzzed. Harper started for the door. “Who do you suppose that is?”

In the shock of her roommate’s news, Stacy had almost forgotten about Cole’s visit. “Wait! I’ll get that,” she said.

Too late. The door was already open, and the pair of them were face-to-face. Unless Stacy intervened, they were likely to tell each other things she wasn’t ready for them to share.