The Christmas Baby Bump. Lynne Marshall
Munroe’s office, as well as the new setup. She’d held a minimeeting with her nurse, discussing how she liked to run her clinic and telling her exactly what she expected. She wanted to make this transition as smooth as possible, and stuck around later than she’d planned, logged in to the computer, reading patient charts for the next day’s appointments. For this stint, she’d concentrate on the gynecological portion of her license.
There had been one stipulation for her taking this job, and Jason Rogers had agreed to it. Though she’d take care of the pregnant patients, she wouldn’t be delivering their babies. Fortunately, after perusing the patient files, none of Dr. Munroe’s pregnant patients would be at term during her stay. And Jason had eased her concerns by mentioning that it would have been very hard to get her privileges at their local hospital anyway. She’d been in the process of picking up the pieces of her career, knew she could handle the clinical appointment portion, but no way was she ready to deliver a baby again. The thought of holding a tiny bundle of life in her arms sent her nearly over the edge.
Her stomach rumbled and in need of changing her thoughts, she packed up for the day. As she crossed the reception area, the front clinic door swung open and in rushed Phil Hansen with a little dark-haired boy tagging along beside him. The slant of the boy’s eyes with epicanthic folds, and the flattened bridge of his nose, hinted at Down syndrome.
“Hold on, Robbie, I’ve got to make a call,” Phil said, shutting off his beeper and reaching over the receptionist’s desk to grab the phone.
Robbie smiled at her as only a child with no fear of strangers could. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi, there.” Her insides tightened and her lungs seemed to forget how to take in air, knowing her son, Justin, would have been close to Robbie’s age…if he were still alive. She looked away. Before her eyes could well up, she diverted her thoughts by eavesdropping on Phil’s conversation.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, then hung up and blew out a breath. “Great. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he mumbled.
She cringed that he cussed so easily around a child.
Phil’s gaze found her. A look of desperation made his smooth, handsome features look strained. He glanced at Robbie and back to her. “I need a huge favor. I just got a call from the E.R. One of my patients inhaled his crown while the dentist was replacing it, and I need to do an emergency bronchoscopy to get it out.” He dug his fingers into his hair. “Can you watch Robbie for me? I’ll only be gone an hour or so.”
What? Her, watch a child? “I can’t…”
“I don’t know what else to do.” His blue eyes darkened, wildly darting around the room.
He was obviously in a bind, but didn’t he have a child-care provider?
She glanced at the boy, who was oblivious to Phil’s predicament, happily grinning at a picture of a goldfish on the wall.
“Pish!” he said pointing, as if discovering gold.
“I’m really in a bind here,” Phil pleaded. “The E.R. is overflowing and they need to get my patient taken care of and discharged. I can’t very well plop Robbie down in the E.R. waiting room.”
Oh, God, there it was, that lump of maternal instinct she’d pushed out of her mind for the past three years. It planted itself smack in the middle of her chest like an ice pick. She studied Phil, his blue eyes tinted with worry and desperation. She’d give the wrong impression if she refused to help out, and she’d come to Midcoast Medical to help. He’d seemed so sincere earlier when he’d offered his assistance anytime she needed it. A swirl of anxiety twisted her in its clutch as she said, “Okay.”
“You’ll do it?” He looked stunned, as if he’d just witnessed a miracle.
Well, he had. Never in a million years would she have volunteered to do this, but as he was in such a bind…
She nodded, and her throat closed up.
“Thank you!” He grabbed her arms and kissed her cheek, releasing her before she had a chance to react. “You’re the best.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Just watch him. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be a good boy for Stephanie, Robbie,” he said before he disappeared out the door.
Why couldn’t she have left earlier, like everyone else in the clinic? Dread trickled from the crown of her head all the way down to her toes. Her heart knocked against her ribs. She’d made a knee-jerk decision without thinking it through. She couldn’t handle this. There went that swirl of panic again, making her knees weak and her hands tremble.
The boy looked at her with innocent eyes, licking his lips. “I’m hungwee.”
She couldn’t very well ignore the poor kid. “So am I, but I don’t have a car seat for you, so we can’t go anywhere.”
She’d spoken too fast. Obviously, the boy didn’t get her point.
He held his tummy and rocked back and forth. “Hungweeeeee.”
Oh, God, what should she do now? She scratched her head, aware that a fine line of perspiration had formed above her lip. He was hungry and she was petrified.
Think, Stephanie, think.
She snapped her fingers. The tour. Jason had taken her on a tour of the clinic that morning, and it had included the employee lounge. “Come on, let’s check out the refrigerator.”
Robbie reached up for her hand. Avoiding his gesture, she quickened her step and started for the hallway. “It’s down here,” she said, as he toddled behind, bouncing off his toes, trying to catch up.
She switched on lights as they made their way to the kitchen in the mansion-turned-clinic. “Let’s see what we can dig up,” she said, heading for the refrigerator, avoiding his eyes at all cost and focusing on the task. She had every intention of writing IOU notes for each and everything she found to share with Robbie.
Some impression she’d make on her first day, stealing food.
Heck, the fridge was nearly bare. Someone had trained the employees well about leaving food around to spoil and stink up the place. Fortunately there was a jar of peanut butter. She pulled out drawer after drawer, hoping to find some leftover restaurant-packaged crackers. If the kid got impatient and cried, she’d freak out. Drawer three produced two packs of crackers and a third that was broken into fine pieces. Hopefully, Robbie wouldn’t mind crumbs.
“You like peanut butter?”
“Yup,” he said, already climbing up on the bench by the table. “I wike milk, too.”
Stephanie lifted her brows. “Sorry, can’t help you there.” But, as all clinics must, they did keep small cartons of juice on hand for their diabetic patients. “Hey, how about some cranberry or orange juice?”
“’Kay.”
“Which kind?”
“Boaff.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Anything to keep the boy busy and happy. Anything to keep him from crying. She glanced at her watch. How long had Phil been gone? Ten minutes? She blew air through her lips. How would she survive an hour?
After their snack, she led him back to the waiting room, careful not to make physical contact, where a small flat-screen TV was wedged in the corner near the ceiling. She didn’t have a clue what channels were available in this part of the state, but she needed to keep the boy distracted.
“What do you like to watch?”
“Cartoons!” he said, spinning in a circle of excitement.
She scrolled through the channels and found a cartoon that was nowhere near appropriate for a child.
“That! That!” Robbie called out.
“Uh, that one isn’t funny. Let’s