The Heart Doctor and the Baby. Lynne Marshall
room from every angle, and against his better judgment, the feel-good rush fueled a growing desire to grant his coworker her biggest wish. He couldn’t let it influence him. His decision would be made the same way he made all of his medical determinations, based on logic and common sense. Nothing less.
René looked at him, the makeshift assistant, while the lovebirds and new baby continued bonding. Her expression had changed, as if she understood how much pressure she’d put on him, and how unfairly the perfect timing of this birth had played in her favor. A warm smile appeared on her face, as if the sun had cracked through thunderclouds. How could he not smile back?
“You’re not bad for a novice,” she said.
So she’d opted to keep it light, too. Relief crawled over him, as if a welcoming blanket. Birth or no birth, he wasn’t ready to make his life-altering decision, though her can-didness went far to nudge him along.
He flashed a capable look, one that conveyed I can handle just about anything. “You’re not the only one who’s full of surprises, René.”
“You want to hold him?” Claire had already dressed her contented-looking baby in blue by early the next morning.
René grinned. “I’d love to.” She’d popped in last night and found Claire sleeping, the baby swaddled and content in the bedside bassinet, and Jason lightly snoring in the lounger, so she tiptoed outside and read the pediatrician’s report instead. When the nurses assured her that Claire’s fundus was firming right up and there were no signs of excessive bleeding or fever, she’d gone home rather than wake up the new mother and father.
This morning, Jason was already down in the business office settling up, and they’d be heading home to introduce the baby to his big sister, Gina, as soon as René performed her discharge examination.
The six-pound boy squirmed when she took him and tucked him into the hook of her arm. The feel of him sent her reeling. He smelled fresh, like baby lotion and new life, and the clutching in her chest nearly took her breath away. She detected eye movement beneath tightly closed lids with no hint of lashes, and wondered what babies dreamed about. She gently pressed her lips to his head, and inhaled the wonders of his being pure as the first light. The longing in her soul for a baby swelled to near-unbearable proportions. His fine light brown hair resembled a balding man’s with a noticeably high forehead. On him it was adorable. Her eyes crinkled as the smile creased her lips.
His tiny hands latched on to her fingers, barely covering the tips. The flood of feelings converged—tingling, prickling, burning—until her eyes brimmed.
Her mouth filled with water, and she swallowed. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, discovering that Claire’s eyes shimmered with tears, too.
“I know,” Claire said. “Babies are miracles, aren’t they?”
Overwhelmed by the moment, wishing for a miracle of her own, her breath got swept away and all René could do was nod.
Jon wolfed down three bagels loaded with peanut butter and downed a pint of orange juice straight out of the carton when he arrived at work. He hadn’t slept for a second night, and the usual runner’s high had eluded him somewhere around mile eight that morning. He scrubbed his face and strode down the hall.
René was just about to knock on a patient exam room.
“Got a minute?” he said.
She started at his voice and snatched back her hand. “Oh!”
He headed for her office, stopped at the door, tilted his head and arched his eyes to guide her inside.
René’s breathing dropped out of sync, coming in gulps. She followed Jon toward her office as tiny invisible wings showered over her head to toe. Oh, God, what would he say?
She stopped one step short of entering the room, swallowed the sock in her throat and gathered her composure. She pasted a smile on her face in hopes of covering her gnawing apprehension, and proceeded inside, then prayed for courage to accept whatever Jon might tell her.
Would she have to go back to plan A, and the donor clinic? God, she hoped not.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Jon said, the second she stepped over the threshold. “A lot.” He engaged her eyes and held her motionless.
“And?” she whispered, closing the door.
“I’m bowled over by this, René. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that. I don’t understand why you insisted on asking me when Phil is single and available.” He held up a hand to stop her before she could begin with the plethora of reasons all over again. She’d recited A to Z quite thoroughly, twice, the night before last. “But I believe your sincerity in wanting this—” he glanced toward the door as if to make sure no one was within hearing range, and though it was closed, he lowered his voice anyway “—baby. I saw it in your eyes last night. This isn’t some freaked-out biological-clock whim. This is the real deal.”
She nodded her head vehemently.
“I trust you’ll stick to your word about my small role in it.”
“To the T, Jon. I promise.” Oh, heavens, she didn’t want to anticipate too much, but it sounded as if he might take her up on the plan. She could only hope and pray. And hold her breath.
“It feels really callous on my part knowing how I plan to take a sabbatical and all, and I care about you as a coworker, and, well, I don’t want things to change professionally.” He scrubbed his jaw, and the now-familiar facial hair. “This could really ruin our working together.”
“I wouldn’t want that, either, Jon.” Oh, hell, in his swinging pendulum of emotions he’d convinced her from one second to the next to give up on him. Did she really want to sacrifice their professional friendship because of her desire for a baby? Could she blame him for wanting nothing to do with her outrageous plan?
“I’d want to think we could talk things through whenever we needed,” he said. “That though I’d be nothing more than a clinical donor as far as the baby goes, I’d like to be your friend. And as a friend and donor I should be able to share in your happiness, like everyone else here in the clinic.”
She nodded at his reasonable request, afraid to get too hopeful in case he pulled the rug out from under her dream. “I’d want that, too. I don’t want to lose what we have, Jon. Never.”
He stepped closer. “What do we have, you and me?”
He studied her eyes, making her feel under a microscope. Those winged creatures returned, dropping anxious nectar over the surface of her skin. She took a slow, intentional, quivery breath.
“We have five years of hard work and wonderful achievements to share,” she said. “We’ve laughed, celebrated, mourned and prevailed together over every setback in our clinic.” She took a step closer to reach out for his hand. “No matter what happens, if you say yes, you will always be a special friend, Jon.” His long fingers laced through hers, still feeling foreign, though warm, regardless of how many times she’d clutched his hand lately.
“No one can know a thing,” he cautioned. “If it comes out, I’ll leave the clinic.”
The importance of anonymity worried her. As with any risk, there was a cost. Was she willing to accept the guilt of changing Jon’s future if someone found out? Was she willing to let him pay the price? Confidence leaked out of her pores, leaving her insecure and wobbly. Maybe plan A was the only way to go, but Jon gently stroked her thumb with his, and a silent soothing message transmitted between them.
“I promise,” she whispered. A sharp pang in her gut, over the thought of ruining whatever relationship they had, forced her to face the gravity of their possible pact. This was it. Right here, right now. Her dream, their deal, was about to become a reality. The air grew cool and seemed to rush over the surface of her skin, setting off goose bumps.
His molasses-brown gaze swept over her face, as if searching for honesty. Could he