His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (9 page)

“It’s a real dream.” She ducked her head. “I mean, it’s not a wish or a fantasy, it’s something that comes to me while I’m sleeping. Over and over.”

With no idea where this might be heading, Peter merely waited.

“I’m out in a field.” Harper studied her clasped hands. They were pretty hands, with long tapered fingers and lightly polished nails. She’d moved her wedding ring to the right side, he noted. “There are two boys playing. Sometimes they’re toddlers, other times they might be five or six.”

“Two boys?” he repeated.

A quick nod. “There’s a shadowy figure playing with them. A man, but I can’t make out his face. They’re playing catch, or tag—it varies.”

“I see.” But he didn’t.

“Nobody realizes I’m there, and I think that’s because I’m not.” Although tears glittered on her lashes, Harper met Peter’s gaze squarely. “I have the sense that I’m meant to give them life. That’s all. They won’t be
my
sons. They’re supposed to be born and I’m supposed to make that happen.”

“And let them go.”

“Exactly.”

He’d never realized her involvement was so powerful—or so unselfish. “Angela, I’m sorry.”

“You called me Angela.”

“What?” He had, he realized with a guilty pang. “I mean, Harper, I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“You love these little guys, even though they don’t exist yet,” she observed.

He had no way to express the emotions swelling inside him, except to say, “I do.”

“Me, too, but not the same way.” Harper fiddled with the cup of coffee that she hadn’t touched until now. “Still, it’s a good thing you’re moving. You’re right. I might start to get attached if I watched them grow up. But, Peter, I’m prepared to say goodbye to them. That’s what I’ve intended from the beginning, and I’ll stick with it, if you still want my eggs.”

She was leaving the decision to him? Withdrawing wasn’t an option, from Peter’s perspective. Not that he believed in premonitions, exactly, yet her dream made these “little guys,” as she put it, all the more real.

“Absolutely,” he said.

Her shoulders relaxed. “I understand that it’s your journey with Angela. Some people are bonded for a lifetime. I don’t know if that’s the case with you....”

“I believe it is.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Harper went on. “I miss Sean, but for me, the journey continues without him. As for being an egg donor, this is just one leg of the trip. Once it’s over, you’ll leave and Mia and I will have new adventures. I only hope she won’t grow too attached.”

“To me or the babies?”

“Both.” Frowning, she said, “I’m trying not to discuss the process too much with her. It’s difficult, though.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to keep the little girl at arm’s length. She was so cute, he couldn’t help being fond of her. “I guess we should explain about my plans to leave.”

“I’ll do it,” Harper told him. “And while we’re working on the book, we need to be careful around her not to act as if we’re co-parenting.”

“You’re right.” Peter would rather not pull back from Mia. Still, Harper was right. “Now where do we go from here?”

“In terms of the book or the babies?”

“Both,” he said.

Harper indicated the folder. “Why don’t you show me what’s in there, and we’ll figure it out.”

It seemed a good place to start. “Here’s how I thought we’d organize it,” he began, and took out the papers.

Chapter Nine

Grateful though she was for their forthright discussion, Harper kept one fact to herself: that, strangely enough, it wasn’t the prospect of giving up the babies that hurt most. It was the reminder that, in his heart, Peter belonged to his late wife, and always would.

However, she accepted that.
It’s not as if I wasn’t warned.

And now that they’d moved past the touchy issues, Peter was bursting with ideas for their book. He radiated excitement as they reviewed his outline and discussed how to see insects from a child’s perspective. He praised her new photos and the pictures Mia had shot, as well.

“Why not use both?” Peter asked. “Not for every insect, but we could incorporate her images and comments here and there. It brings a whole new dimension.”

“Make her a co-author?” What a valuable experience for Mia. “That’s a great idea.”

“She’ll deserve a third of the earnings, assuming there are any,” Peter said with a lopsided grin.

“For her education fund.” Harper could have hugged him. Well, almost.

She decided to consider the next few months as a special period—limited and unique, a time when babies might grow and a book take shape. By next summer, this part of her life would be over. She planned to cherish every moment, and then, like a butterfly from its cocoon, leave it behind.

“What do you think about breaking up some of the text into sections that will fit inside boxes?” he asked. “It’ll help hold the reader’s attention.”

“And it’s visually appealing, too.” Returning her attention to the printout, Harper bent her head close to his and went to work.

* * *

“L
OOKIT
!
L
OOKIT
!
L
OOKIT
!”
Inside the Bear and Doll Boutique, Mia raised her cell phone to take pictures of a shelf of bears costumed as fairy tale characters. “Can we use these, Mommy?”

Harper laughed. Every morning that week, they’d arisen early to catch the insects unawares. “Honey, we aren’t writing a book about bears.”

“I’ll make my own book, like Peter showed us.” Mia had saved the instruction sheet from her birthday party.

“Good idea.” Harper guided her daughter out of the path of several older children. The store was crowded today because the proprietor, Mrs. Humphreys, was holding a youth workshop on how to make doll clothes.

At the counter, Harper paid her daughter’s fee. “Are you sure it’s all right to leave Mia here for an hour?” she asked the cheerful older woman who’d been a friend of Harper’s mother. “I’ll be a few doors down at A Memorable Decor.”

“She’ll do fine,” Ada assured her. “I’m happy to keep an eye on her.”

Once Mia was settled, Harper checked her watch. It was nearly 10:00 a.m., when she’d arranged to meet Stacy at the antiques store. In addition to furnishings, it carried vintage clothing and had just received a shipment of bridal gowns.

She found her friend waiting in a narrow aisle lined with desks, mirrors and ottomans. “I peeked already,” Stacy noted as they wended their way to the rear of the shop. “You’d be surprised how relaxed some of the waistlines are.”

“I guess they had pregnant brides in the old days, too.” Harper noticed how markedly her friend’s bulge had grown in the two weeks since the birthday party. Three babies meant triple the expansion.

“Not such old days.” Stacy checked a descriptive tag. “This is from the 1970s. The hippie era.”

“Forty years ago! That’s old,” Harper said.

“Look at this one.” Stacy lifted down an elegant dress with cap sleeves and a high waist.

A saleslady appeared at her elbow. “Shall I put that in a dressing room for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Spotting a couple of dresses on another rack, Harper went to investigate. “This is beautiful.” She lifted down a Grecian-style gown with a wrapped empire waistline. Whirling, she couldn’t resist holding it against herself.

“Oh, my goodness, are you getting married? Congratulations.”

Startled, she met the friendly gaze of the woman she’d last seen on an examining table: Vanessa Ayres. “Uh, hello.”

“Funny how I keep running into you.” The surrogate spread her hands expressively. “Peter Gladstone called a few days ago to explain that you’re the egg donor and to apologize for putting us both in such a ticklish position. I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk.”

“And here we are.” As good as his word, Peter had taken the initiative in straightening out matters, with Vanessa and with the hospital administrators. On Monday, Harper had been on edge until Nora reassured her that all was well, although the hospital’s attorney had complained about the delay in informing him.

“This is beautiful.” The strawberry-blonde fingered the chiffon fabric.

“It’s not for me,” Harper said. “Stace?”

Her friend swung around from the row of dresses. “Hello?”

Harper made introductions and explained that Stacy was also an egg donor. That prompted her friend, who seemed to feel no embarrassment on the subject, to disclose that she’d accidentally become pregnant the same month the eggs were harvested.

“If you’re getting married, things must have worked out, or am I assuming too much?” Vanessa responded.

“Things have definitely worked out.” Stacy’s gaze fell on the Grecian dress. “I love that!”

Harper handed it over. “Try it on.”

“You bet.”

Since the dressing room was the size of an old-fashioned phone booth, Harper waited outside. “Don’t let me interrupt your shopping,” she told Vanessa.

“I’m killing time while my daughter’s sewing doll clothes.” The surrogate smoothed her palm over an embroidered runner on a table.

“So is mine.” Feeling awkward with this unfamiliar relationship, Harper searched for a way to continue the conversation. “I’d have stayed with her but I promised to help Stacy.”

“I’d have stayed, too, but now that she’s twelve, Sarella doesn’t want her mommy hanging around.” The other woman shrugged. “It’s lucky I can go on having babies. That satisfies my maternal instincts so I don’t cling.”

“Sarella,” Harper repeated. “What a pretty name.”

“She hates it.” Vanessa gave her an ironic smile. “She wishes we’d named her after the latest teen idol.”

“I’m glad Mia hasn’t reached that stage yet.”

Silence fell. Elsewhere in the store, a young couple raised and lowered the side bar on a crib, while two older women lifted teacups and examined the bottoms.

“I wonder if he’s planning ahead for when he has grandchildren.” Harper indicated a middle-aged man testing a rocking chair.

“I’m certainly not going to ask him,” Vanessa replied in a low voice.

“Maybe he just has trouble falling asleep.”

“I’m not going to ask him that, either.”

They chuckled. Harper was wondering if she should poke her head into the dressing room when Stacy emerged in the Grecian gown. Supported by a single strap on one side, it flattered her figure and her complexion.

“Well?” She examined herself in a cheval glass. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely the best yet,” Harper said.

“Gorgeous,” Vanessa agreed.

Grinning, Stacy ducked back into the dressing room.

“How romantic,” Vanessa said dreamily. “I love everything about weddings.”

“I may not love everything about them,” Harper admitted. “But Stacy deserves this, especially after her terrible first marriage.”

“I’m sure he was a complete jerk.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “But yes.”

“How lovely to meet her, and chat with you.” The surrogate removed a veil from a hat tree, turning it in her hands to examine the lace. “We’re companions in arms, doing something marvelous together.”

“It seemed presumptuous of me to get in touch with you directly, though,” Harper said. “I mean, because I work in your doctor’s office.”

“Who cares?” Vanessa replaced the veil. “A surrogate’s medical details aren’t exactly a secret.”

That reminded Harper of something she’d been wondering. “By the way, do you expect to attend my procedure?” The retrieval was scheduled for Tuesday, with the transfer on Friday. “I don’t know what the, uh, etiquette is.”

“Etiquette?” Vanessa’s eyebrows rose.

“What’s customary,” Harper amended. “Since you’ve done this before, you’re the expert.”

Vanessa laughed. “I’m far from an expert.” The surrogate appeared more relaxed with this topic than Harper was. “As for etiquette, there isn’t any. We may not be the very first women to interact this way, but we
are
pioneers. That means we’re making up the rules as we go.”

That was an aspect of this process that Harper hadn’t considered. “You’re right. This is a new area.” There was no established way for the mother of the eggs to relate to the surrogate carrying her baby for a third party. Not many years ago, this would have been the stuff of science fiction.

“I’m keeping a scrapbook for the baby,” Vanessa went on. “Pictures of my pregnancy and so on. That way, he’ll have a complete record, like any other child.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” Knowing how much Mia enjoyed reviewing her baby book, Harper admired Vanessa’s kindness. “I don’t plan to have anyone take pictures of me injecting myself with hormones, though.” After finishing the birth control pills, she’d moved on to this new phase. So far, her reactions had consisted of soreness in her bottom from the needle and tenderness in her abdomen.

“Ouch!” The surrogate touched her wrist. “You’re a brave woman.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Pregnancy is as old as mankind,” Vanessa reminded her. “Donating eggs isn’t.”

“Funny that we call it donating, even though we get paid.” Harper knew she was rattling on, but she preferred not to dwell on the medical aspects of what she was doing. Just thinking about it made her wince.

“You’re being paid for your time and discomfort, which is a polite term for
pain,
” the other woman answered. “Not for the eggs themselves.”

Nevertheless, Harper wished she didn’t have to take money from Peter. But he’d assured her it had been set aside long ago and, with college tuitions soaring, Mia’s fund needed the boost.

The dressing room curtains parted and Stacy emerged with the dress folded over her arm. “You deserve every penny of that money.”

Had she heard the entire conversation? Harper wondered. “Were we talking too loud?”

“Not loud enough. I had to strain really hard.”

“You of all people understand what we mean.” Vanessa’s goodwill bathed the three of them in a shared sense of sisterhood. “I’m glad you found a dress.”

“By next month, we may have to decorate a wheelbarrow with satin and lace to trundle me down the aisle, but I’ll feel like a Greek goddess,” Stacy responded cheerfully.

“Like Aphrodite,” the surrogate suggested. “The goddess of procreation.”

“Was she?” Stacy yielded the dress to the saleslady. “I’m fuzzy on my mythology.”

“Aphrodite was also known as Venus.” Vanessa strolled with them to the register. “I’m named after her, according to my mother.”

“Appropriately,” Harper noted.

“Isn’t Venus the one who’s always painted naked?” Stacy ignored a startled glance from the saleslady.

“And with perfect boobs,” Vanessa said.

Stacy made a face. “Don’t remind me. Mine are starting to hurt.”

“Developing milk ducts,” the surrogate said.

“Too much information.” Harper preferred to focus on the dress, which the red-faced clerk was hurriedly wrapping. “Does it need alterations?”

“Maybe a few. Good thing my mom’s coming,” Stacy replied. “She’ll take care of that. No sense altering it till the last minute, anyway, since my body keeps changing.”

After she departed, Harper and Vanessa walked to the doll boutique. A couple of cyclists, wearing helmets and bending low over their racing bikes, passed them on the adjacent trail.

“You’re welcome to attend the transfer, if it’s all right with Peter,” Vanessa said.

Startled, Harper had to think about that. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll beg off. Unless it’s important to you.”

“I’m fine either way.” Although about the same height, they had different strides. The other woman sped up to match her pace. “The way Peter talks about you, I gathered that you’re friends.”

“My late husband used to work with him,” Harper said. “And he knows my daughter from sports camp.”

“Oh.” Vanessa didn’t probe further.

Harper wasn’t about to mention the book project. Vanessa’s romantic attitude reminded her of how easily people might make assumptions. After Peter left, Harper didn’t want others assuming she must be brokenhearted.

Anyway, they’d reached the boutique. And inside, Mia’s eager face filled her with joy.

Harper had her family. And soon, with luck, Peter would have his, too.

* * *

T
HE
PHOTOS
WERE
STUNNING
.
A ladybug snacking on an aphid, a grasshopper struggling to free itself from a spiderweb—Harper had outdone herself.

“Incredible.” Although she’d offered to email him the pictures, Peter was glad she’d saved them until Sunday afternoon so they could review them together, along with shots by her daughter. “Harper, you’re incredibly talented, and I’m sure it took a lot of patience to capture these moments.”

“What about mine?” demanded the little girl who sat between them at the kitchen table.

“They make a wonderful complement, Mia. That means they go well with your mom’s pictures.” That gave Peter an idea. “I’d like to include some tips for children on taking their own photos. Mia, you can help me with ideas.”

“I like that.” Harper’s approval warmed him.

“Yes!” Mia wiggled happily. “Can I show you my book? I wrote one, too.”

“You bet.” Amused, he watched as she squirmed out of the chair and ducked beneath the table. She crawled across his legs and sprinted off.

“Mia!” Harper called. “That was rude. You can’t climb all over people.”

About to speak in the girl’s defense, Peter stopped himself. Although it was tempting to indulge the child, he shouldn’t interfere.