His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (4 page)

As Harper and her daughter peered intently at the web, Peter noted their resemblance, from their sturdy stance—legs apart, as if braced to run from a ferocious spider—to the mixture of fascination and revulsion in their green eyes. Would he see the same reactions in his own future child?

Peter tore his attention away to concentrate on Mia’s next question, which was, “Are they poisonous?”

“Orb weavers do have venom,” he confirmed. “That’s how they paralyze their prey. But they don’t often bite people, and the venom isn’t nearly as strong as a black widow’s.”

“All the same, I can’t put the children at risk,” Harper said.

“It’s no greater a risk than getting dehydrated in the heat or being bonked by a soccer ball.” Growing up intrigued by such critters, Peter had never worried about the danger. “You’re lucky I’m not your kid. I used to freak out my mother by bringing home snakes.”

“Ick! Ick!” Mia jumped around as if a real snake had appeared.

“Nonpoisonous ones.” Peter chuckled at her antics. “But for the party, you should advise the kids not to touch anything.”

“Like we would!” the little girl cried.

“Most bugs are harmless,” he advised.

“Ick!” That seemed to be her favorite word.

“You wouldn’t mind if a butterfly landed on you, would you?” When she shook her head, Peter went on. “Some creatures just need better public relations. However, I agree about not touching spiders. There are dangerous varieties in Southern California gardens and sheds, like black widows and brown recluses. You should never turn over rocks or poke around a garage without heavy gloves.”

“What if an orb weaver did bite you?” Harper clearly hadn’t lost track of their subject.

“You might experience localized pain.” Such facts stuck in Peter’s brain because he found biology fascinating. “You’d feel some numbness and swelling, possibly a blister. If there’s nausea or dizziness, you should go to the emergency room, but usually the symptoms pass within twenty-four hours.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” Harper drawled, and shut her notebook. “Mia, you can help me tell the other kids what Mr. Gladstone said, but don’t scare them unnecessarily.”

“Can I scare them necessarily?” she asked.

“Arm them with the facts,” Peter suggested. “That’s what teaching is about. Giving people knowledge so they can draw rational conclusions.”

As the three of them returned to the house, Harper said, “So—just for the sake of argument—you don’t think it’s your role to shape young minds? I heard a school board member say that was the purpose of education.”

“Only to shape their minds in terms of being logical and informed,” Peter told her. “Okay, I guess my moral values get involved, too, but I would never usurp the role of a parent. I’d hate if someone tried to indoctrinate my child in a way I disagreed with.” He amended, “If I had a child.”

Harper didn’t appear to notice the wistful note in his voice. Or, if she did, she tactfully refrained from commenting.

Mia dashed ahead of them. Peter assumed she was chasing the kitten, which had slipped inside through the partly open glass door. When they entered, though, she reappeared with a squiggly green invitation.

Holding it out, she said, “Will you come to my party, Mr. Gladstone? There’ll be cake and ice cream.”

“Honey, Mr. Gladstone is doing us a favor today,” Harper cautioned as she picked up a pizza cutter and sliced the brownies into squares. “Of course, you’d be more than welcome,” she added.

To cover his hesitation, Peter read the details. The party was next Sunday afternoon, which didn’t conflict with any of his plans. And it would be much more fun than weeding Angela’s herb garden, which was what he ought to be doing. “I accept with pleasure.”

On the kitchen table, Harper set out plates and glasses of milk. Peter observed a few cookbooks wedged between canisters on the counter, and a spice rack filled with bottles. Otherwise, the kitchen was uncluttered, with simple, tan curtains—but then, this might be a rental.

Peter was still savoring his brownie when Mia finished wolfing down hers, drained her milk and jumped up. “Can I look for bugs? I won’t touch them.”

“Sure, go ahead,” her mother said.

“You won’t mind, Mr. Gladstone?”

Her politeness impressed him. “Actually, that’s a great idea. And when we’re away from sports camp, you can call me Peter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Peter!”

The little girl raced out. Through the glass door, she and Po could be seen peering into the bushes. Peter wasn’t sure which he liked most, the antics of the little ones or Harper’s doting expression while observing them.

“You have a terrific little girl,” Peter said. “She’s quite intelligent.”

“You’ve inspired her.” She turned toward him.

“I live to inspire,” he joked.

“Honestly, I think you do.” Having quartered her brownie, Harper nibbled on a section. She didn’t need to diet, but Peter had learned never to correct a woman about her personal regime. Even easygoing Angela had set him straight about that.

“How many people are coming to the party?” he asked.

“We invited ten kids.” Harper reached to brush back her hair, and seemed disconcerted not to encounter any long strands. “Stacy and her fiancé are helping with the food. Adrienne’s on the outdoor team. I’m not sure if any other parents will stay.”

“No grandparents?” He assumed that his own parents would be involved in all important events for his future children. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother was already planning the baby’s first Christmas.

“We’re out of luck in the grandparent department.” Harper stretched, and her long legs bumped his. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Peter rather enjoyed the contact. “No grandparents at all?” It occurred to him that, while her profile indicated no known genetic problems, it had stated that neither of her parents was living.

“My dad died in a car crash when I was sixteen,” she said. “My mom had a fatal stroke five years ago. She’d been a heavy smoker.”

“That’s too bad.” How terrible to have lost even one parent, let alone both. “If you don’t mind my asking, what about Sean’s family?” Peter wasn’t sure what prompted his curiosity, since Sean’s background didn’t affect Harper’s role as an egg donor. He just wished Mia had at least one grandparent in her life.

Harper rolled her eyes. “After his parents divorced, his dad remarried and moved to Alaska. With him, it’s out of sight, out of mind. I’m not complaining, though. He’s never been difficult like Sean’s mother.”

“Difficult in what way?”

“Critical and disapproving, even when we were in high school, although Hedy didn’t object to our marrying once we graduated from college,” Harper said. “Then she moved back to her home state of Georgia with Sean’s two sisters. She pushed for us to move there, too, and blamed me when we didn’t. It was as much Sean’s decision as mine.”

“Surely she doesn’t hold that against her granddaughter.”

“I’ll let you be the judge.” Harper’s mouth twisted. “One of my sisters-in-law has children a little older than Mia. Last Christmas, Hedy sent Mia their castoff clothes and a few used toys as her present.”

“Were those expensive clothes and gently used toys?” Although most people expected new items for their kids, Peter sympathized with reusing special items, such as a classic dollhouse or favorite books.

“We’re talking about jeans that were too small and stuffed animals with the fur worn off.” Harper wrinkled her nose. “This week, for Mia’s birthday, she sent a faded doll and a pair of old slippers.”

That was ridiculous. “Do you suppose she has dementia?”

“It’s hard to tell. She’s always been self-centered and stingy.” At her seat, Harper gathered their plates and glasses. “I don’t believe in lavishing piles of gifts on children, but choosing with care, even if it’s a pair of pretty socks, shows love.”

“What did you tell Mia?”

“The truth,” she responded. “That some people aren’t generous or loving. And that having to deal with them helps us empathize with others who have even less than we do.”

What a great response, Peter thought. “She must miss her dad.”

“Sometimes, although his memory’s starting to fade.” Harper rose to clean up. “I try to keep him alive for her through videos and talking about things he used to say or do.”

“She seems to be thriving.” He wished all his campers were as cooperative and patient as Mia. Her friend Reggie, although basically a good kid, had thrown a couple of temper tantrums.

“It helps having you pitch in.” Harper cast him a quick smile. “Your presence at the party will mean a lot.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it as much as she will.” When he didn’t have to deal with discipline or lesson plans, being around kids was fun.

After thanking her for the snack, Peter hit the road. Driving home, he wished these upbeat feelings could last. Instead, he had to face the downside of liking them so much.

There was no way he could raise her biological child or children without telling her. True, knowing where they came from and seeing Harper’s positive traits in them would relieve Peter’s concerns about using eggs from a stranger. And there might be advantages to having them meet their biological mother and half sister.

But the situation would be fraught with danger. Emotions were unpredictable. If he and Harper were to get involved and then break up, the consequences for the kids could be devastating.

Although she appeared the best match for him at Safe Harbor’s egg bank, the director had assured Peter that he could also access the registries of other banks in the region. And that, he concluded reluctantly, was what he had to do.

Chapter Four

Steam from the outdoor whirlpool transformed the enclosure, with its mesh safety fence, into a secluded hideaway, an impression enhanced by the border of rosebushes and hibiscuses. Peter leaned back and let the heated swirl of water soothe his muscles.

“Worn-out from all that heavy-duty exercise?”

He cracked one eyelid in response to his father’s sarcasm. Rod Gladstone was grinning, white teeth and silver hair a marked contrast to his tanned skin.

“Some of us try to actually move around and hit the ball when we play Ping-Pong,” Peter retorted. “Which might explain why I beat you four-one.”

“If I didn’t have a bum knee...”

“I’d have beaten you four-one at tennis instead of Ping-Pong,” Peter finished. “However, I’d be willing to adjust the score in deference to your great age and infirmity.”

“Sixty-eight is not a great age. I can still do this.” With the heel of his hand, Rod sent hot water spraying over Peter.

Spluttering, he was about to respond in kind when his mother’s voice broke in. “Children, children.” Widening her eyes with mock horror, Kerry Gladstone set down her tablet computer on the small glass table near the spa.

Peter refrained. “Grow up, Dad.”

“Guess I’d better, considering I’m about to be a grandfather.”

“Not
that
soon,” Peter grumbled. His parents had returned yesterday from their trip, and while he’d been glad for their impromptu invitation to a late-Sunday-afternoon barbecue, he was in no mood to be pressured.

“Rod!” Kerry cast a longing eye at the computer, her favorite tool for her beloved genealogy research, but left it shut. “I thought we agreed our news could wait.”

“What news?” Peter asked.

“She’s right about waiting.” Rod rose, dripped heavily onto his son and stepped from the pool. “That chicken should be done by now. I marinated it with a new recipe we got from Betty.”

Peter had to admit, the scent of chicken grilling with garlic and oranges made it hard to concentrate. Still, he felt as if he’d missed a clue, or several. “Since when does my sister cook?” An ambitious lawyer, Betty worked hundred-hour weeks for a firm in Washington, D.C., commuting from her home in nearby Maryland. “What’s up, guys?”

“It’s hard to have a conversation on an empty stomach,” Rod returned, drying off with an oversize towel.

A tendency to tease was
not
one of his father’s more endearing traits, Peter thought as he hauled himself to dry land and grabbed his own towel. “Mom?” Kerry Gladstone had always been an easier mark.

As anticipated, she yielded. “Rod, it’s not fair to keep him in suspense.”

His father shrugged.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” They’d already answered his questions about their trip—they liked Betty’s fiancé, a fellow attorney named Greg Southern, and the couple were planning a small wedding next month. Peter’s invitation should be arriving shortly.

“Your sister’s pregnant,” Kerry said.

Peter caught his breath. Betty, having a baby? His single-minded sister had resisted the very idea of motherhood. “So, uh...” he managed to say.

“It was an accident, but a happy one now that she’s had time to consider.” Rod dropped his joking tone.

“She’s due in January,” Kerry added. “She plans to take three months’ leave and then work on a reduced schedule.”

“Which means sixty-hour weeks, right?” Peter knew his workaholic sister too well.

Kerry and Rod exchanged glances. There was more, he gathered. “And?” Peter pressed.

“It’s a girl,” his father said. “They haven’t picked a name.”

Peter pinned his gaze on his mother. “And?” he repeated.

She tucked the tablet into its case. “I can’t bear for my granddaughter to grow up in day care. Besides, Betty will need our support.” She stopped.

Rod blew out a long breath. “Moving to Maryland wasn’t part of our retirement plans, but there’s a lot of exciting stuff to do in the area. The National Archives alone could take years to explore.”

They were doing
what?
A hundred thoughts collided in Peter’s brain, sending up a wall of white noise.

Having dropped their bombshell, his parents went to finish preparing the meal. Although it was dinnertime, July sunlight bathed their backyard with its flagstone patio and outdoor kitchen. For years, they’d poured loving care into this comfortable home in the Orange County town of Yorba Linda, nesting for their retirement. Now they were leaving it?

More than that, they were leaving Peter. And his future children.

On automatic, he helped set the table and fetched potato salad and coleslaw from the refrigerator. As they ate, his parents filled him in on their plans to sell the house, with the goal of settling into a new home before the baby’s birth.

I was counting on you.
He didn’t speak the words aloud, though. While his parents had more or less promised to help with his future family, Betty had an equal claim to their support. And she was pregnant, whereas he had no guarantees of what might happen.

The chicken might have been delicious, but Peter hardly noticed. He had to focus on saying the right things and hiding the fact that he felt blindsided.

What was he going to do?

Finally his parents fell silent. Glancing in front of him, Peter was surprised to see he’d eaten a slice of apple pie. All he had to show for it was the lingering taste of cinnamon.

“Well?” Kerry said.

“I don’t think he heard the question,” Rod murmured.

“What question?” Peter asked.

“We asked if you’d consider moving, too.” Worry lines creased his mother’s face. With her strawberry-blond hair and trim figure, she didn’t usually look her sixty-seven years. Now, though, Peter registered how old she was becoming.

He expected to be there for his parents, just as they’d always been here for him. Wasn’t it a son’s duty to help his folks as they aged, assisting with medical and financial choices? But a pair of lawyers were better qualified to do that than he was.

“I can’t.” That was Peter’s first reaction, and the more he thought about it, the less he could see any way around it. “It’s not as if I can just pick up and land another job.”

“It’s not impossible,” his father said. “They have schools in Maryland.”

“It isn’t that easy.” Each state had its own requirements for a teaching credential. That might require taking classes, delaying his job prospects. Moreover, the situation would set back his quest to have children by at least a year. “I’d have to start all over with finding a fertility program and interviewing surrogates. And the delay...well, who knows?” While most thirty-one-year-old men might not be concerned about fertility, Peter faced extra obstacles.

His mother blinked hard. Hoping he hadn’t made her cry, Peter reached across the table to cup her hand. She gave him a shaky smile. “We realize we dropped this on you like a ton of bricks.”

“It’s not as if we’re moving tomorrow,” his father put in. “And you wouldn’t have to join us immediately, either.”

“I promise to think about it.” That was the best Peter could do.

After dinner, they discussed his mom’s latest findings about the family history. Using historical records, she’d traced her ancestry back to some colorful characters, including a buccaneer who’d sailed with Sir Francis Drake. Now she was working on his father’s origins.

All the while, Peter’s brain hummed with the startling news about his parents. He could tell it lingered in their minds, too, although they avoided the topic until he was ready to leave.

“It’s not as if we’ll be living in another country,” Kerry said as she embraced him.

“Or on another planet, although that
would
be interesting,” his father added.

“I’ll email Betty my congratulations.” Except for birthdays and major holidays, Peter had fallen into the habit of relying on his parents for updates about his older sister. He missed their closeness when they were younger.

That had ended when Betty entered high school. From freshman year forward, she’d focused on earning top grades, racking up extracurricular honors and aiming for a top school. She’d made it into Yale and later Harvard Law, while he’d attended the University of California’s campus in Riverside, less than an hour’s drive from home.

Her career sizzled, and her income must be quadruple his. But Peter had a job he loved and no regrets.

He’d like to live near her and certainly near his parents, he conceded as he drove back to Safe Harbor. And having a cousin nearby should be good for his kids.

If he ever had any.

His chest tightened. He didn’t mean to be negative. All things were possible these days, but the idea of relocating threw a monkey wrench into his plans.

Arriving at his cottage, Peter wondered how he could leave the house he’d shared with Angela. She’d loved this place. He’d contributed personal touches, as well, transforming the workshop behind the garage into a gym. As for the fertility program, while he assumed the D.C. area had plenty of medical facilities, he’d made an emotional connection here, with his doctor and with the other personnel.

Not to mention Harper.

An image of her popped into his mind—her athletic stride, her funny way of trying to stroke her long hair and then remembering that she’d cut it, her tenderness with her daughter.

Thinking of Mia reminded him of next weekend’s party. In the future nursery, Peter examined the contents of the bookshelf. Because he wrote a blog reviewing biology-related books for students, publishers sent him their latest offerings, including some for younger readers. As a result, he had a number of like-new children’s books on insects, reptiles and animals.

Peter flipped through several picture books about bugs for preschoolers and a couple of illustrated volumes for slightly older readers. If he were to write such a story, it would feature more in-depth information and photographs rather than drawings.

The idea of writing about biology for children had occurred to him before, only to be abandoned because he never found the right angle. In this crowded field, Peter knew, a book required a unique angle and a distinctive look to make it stand out.

He selected the best of the batch for Mia. It had been fun yesterday, touring Harper’s yard and explaining about spiders. He could still see Mia scrunching her little face and asking, “Can I scare them necessarily?”

Longing swept through Peter, to have a child like her. A small, precious person to hold, to nurture, to stretch out his arms to as she took those first steps. Waiting another year or more, taking a chance with a different donor...but then, even if he stayed in California, he’d already decided against raising a youngster near her biological mother, especially one who was a friend.

Abruptly, a possibility occurred to Peter. He went cold and then hot, as if he were coming down with something.

To clear his head, he retreated to the backyard. Stars glittered in the summer sky, in defiance of the light pollution from houses and streetlamps. The scents of Angela’s herbs—mint and lemon balm—soothed his spirit. Yet when he tried to picture her, the face he saw belonged to Harper.

If he moved out of state, he’d never see her again. While that troubled him, he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, anyway.

He could proceed with the surrogate he’d chosen, use Harper’s eggs and have a child or children like Mia. In Maryland, the little one would grow up surrounded by family, and far from his or her biological mother.

Peter hated the idea of keeping his plan a secret from Harper. Yet if they shared the experience of a pregnancy, if she ever held a baby that belonged to them both, he’d be inviting the type of legal and emotional tangle that he was determined to avoid.

Sitting on a wrought-iron bench beside the path, he took out his phone and brought up the egg donor site. Harper’s statement said she was eager to help others form a family, that she was willing to meet the recipients or not. So, what was the difference whether the recipient was someone she knew?

Especially if he planned to leave.

While the deception bothered Peter, other considerations overrode that. As for moving, the idea was growing on him. He wasn’t nearly as in love with this house as his wife had been, and he had a year to resolve the job situation.

On the phone, he did some quick research. It appeared that Maryland accepted California teacher certifications. While he might have to take a few tests, that shouldn’t present a major obstacle.

Contrary to what he’d first thought, his parents hadn’t knocked a hole in his plans. Instead, they’d handed him a solution to his dilemma.

* * *

O
N
F
RIDAY
MORNING
, H
ARPER
felt her phone vibrate as she finished prepping Una for an ultrasound. Stepping into the hallway, she saw that the call came from Melissa Everhart, who coordinated the egg donor and IVF programs under Jan Garcia’s direction.

Had someone chosen Harper? Despite the quickening of her pulse, she was too busy to return the call now. She’d only checked in case Mia was having a problem at sports camp.

The ultrasound technician, Zora Raditch, pushed her equipment cart past Harper and into the examining room. The normally vivacious woman in her late twenties had dark circles under her eyes. As everyone knew, she was suffering through a painful divorce from her cheating husband.

Harper gave her a sympathetic nod. She’d have offered more support, except that Zora had cheated
with
her louse of a husband several years ago while he was married to Stacy. If nothing else, that should have provided a strong clue to his character.

At the nurses’ station, Harper made sure no last-minute patients had been squeezed into the schedule before lunch. No one had, which left her free to return to the ultrasound.

She’d reached the room when Stacy hurried alongside, no doubt having just finished assisting at a surgery. “Jim’s out of town,” she explained breathlessly. That was Una’s husband, a long-distance truck driver. “Una asked me to be here.”