Starting Now (13 page)

“You mean Libby?” Casey asked, looking up for the first time.

“Yes. She knows the doctor you saw in the elevator.”

“Dr. Stone. He’s hot.”

Brad grinned.

Lydia was grateful Casey had lightened the mood, although they had yet to broach the subject of the pregnancy, if there even was a pregnancy. Perhaps it was wishful hoping on her part, but Lydia still found it difficult to believe that either Casey or her friend Ava could possibly be pregnant.

“Dr. Stone told Libby that he suspected one of you girls is … pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Casey repeated slowly, frowning. “No way.”

“If you are pregnant,” Lydia said, wanting to be sure Casey understood that she shouldn’t be afraid to tell them, “then Dad and I are here to help you. The most important thing is to get you to a doctor. The baby … well, we’ll deal with that subject when the time comes. What’s important is that you know you can come to us with anything.”

“You seriously think I’m pregnant?” Casey asked, her head rearing back.

“We don’t know,” Brad told her. “That’s why we’re asking.”

“It’s not me.”

“You’re sure? One of the things Dr. Stone said was that you might not even know you’re carrying a baby.”

“It’s not me,” Casey insisted. “No angel came to see me and I’m not giving birth to Jesus.”

Lydia smiled in spite of herself.

“Could it be Ava?” Brad asked.

Casey shook her head. “No. Dr. Stone is wrong. How would he know, anyway? We were only with him a few minutes.”

This was the same question Lydia and Brad had both asked.

“Libby said one of the reasons she came to me is because there might be a legal issue involved.”

“I’m still … you know.” She seemed embarrassed to say the word.

“A virgin,” Lydia supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Brad said forcefully. “Keep it that way.”

Casey blinked several times. “I won’t always be, Dad. I’ll get married and have kids one day, you know.”

“No problem.” Brad raised his hands as though surrendering. “But I want you to wait until you’re at least thirty.”

“Dad!”

“Just kidding.”

Lydia rubbed her thumb over the top of Casey’s hand. “I think I should probably call Ava’s grandmother,” she said, thinking out loud.

“Don’t,” Casey urged. “Her grandmother isn’t there half the time anyway. Ava thinks having them with her makes her sad because her daughter died and now she’s stuck with them.”

“But her grandmother needs to know so she can talk to Ava.”

Casey considered that for several moments, gnawing on her lower lip. “Let me do it.”

“Casey, I appreciate the offer but I think I should be the one …”

“Mom, I can help Ava. I know I can. Ava trusts me. The other night when I snuck out of the house?”

“Yes,” Brad said.

“I was helping Ava … I brought her food. I have a few times now. Her grandmother said she’s getting fat and would only let her eat salad for dinner and she got really hungry. So I took her some food.” They both fell silent as the implication that Ava was “getting fat” sank in.

“Oh, Casey …” Lydia hardly knew what to say. “I appreciate that you want to talk to your friend, but there are a lot of factors involved in this.”

“Let me be the one,” Casey pleaded. “If you do it then I doubt
she’ll ever come back to the yarn store. She might open up to me, but she would never with you.”

Brad placed his hand on Lydia’s arm. “Maybe you should let her.”

Lydia reluctantly agreed. She liked Ava, but it was true that the girl hardly said a word whenever she was around. Ava seemed to draw deep into herself when she was at the store, and Casey had taken the other girl under her wing. But it went against Lydia’s better judgment to put this on Casey’s shoulders. “Let me think on it, okay?”

Casey nodded and then brightened. “Maybe Libby should be the one.”

“Libby,” Lydia repeated.

“Ava likes Libby a lot,” Casey volunteered. “She told me so.”

“That’s a possibility,” Lydia repeated slowly.

“Libby’s mother died when she was the same age as Ava. She talked to Ava, too, when we went to the hospital. Ava didn’t say much but I could tell she really likes Libby. She’d listen to her; I know she would.”

That was the answer, Lydia mused, as a huge sense of relief filled her. She’d ask Libby to talk to Ava. If the girl liked and trusted Libby, then perhaps she would open up to her.

High on enthusiasm, Libby’s steps were lighter as she walked into Seattle General. When it rained it poured, as the proverb went—and it was just as true of good news as bad. First Sarah had phoned to say that Martha Reed was unhappy with Ben Holmes’s working on her account. Libby didn’t mean to gloat, but she knew she was ten times the trust and estate lawyer Ben Holmes was.

The second bit of positive news came as a complete surprise. Just that morning Robin had ever so casually mentioned that a friend of hers might have a line on a job for Libby. When pressed, Robin had been reluctant to say much more, but she’d told Libby that she’d give her details when she had them.

Although Robin had refused to answer questions, Libby suspected this friend was the very one the prosecutor had set her sights on. Every time Robin mentioned her contact she looked away, as though she was afraid Libby might read more into it than she intended.

Libby couldn’t stop smiling. It wouldn’t be long now. Intuitively
she sensed this long dry period was about to come to an end. An oasis was in sight.

Sharon saw her and smiled. It was the same smile she’d had the day she’d insisted Dr. Stone was interested in Libby. Little did Sharon know the real reason he’d asked for a private word.

“Did Dr. Stone find you?” the nurse asked as soon as Libby entered the nursery.

Libby frowned. “No.”

Her smile grew to the size of a Cheshire cat’s. “He asked about you again.”

“Oh, goody.” If he had more news along the lines of what he’d shared last time they spoke, she’d rather not see him, she mused wryly. Then again he’d been on her mind almost nonstop since the day they’d met in the elevator, and then later when he’d asked her to coffee. No matter how many times she tried to keep him from her thoughts, he was there. It’d been a long time since she’d been this strongly attracted to a man. It irritated her that she felt drawn to Phillip Stone. She didn’t even like him. He was arrogant and rude and yet … yet he’d cared enough about a young girl to risk approaching Libby with his concern. That couldn’t have been easy.

“He … he hasn’t been to the gym in a while. If he wanted to talk to me, all he had to do was show up there,” Libby said, thinking out loud.

“That’s easily explained,” Sharon said. “His rotation for the operating room changed at the first of the month. He assisted last week, so if he hasn’t been following his regular workout schedule, that’s probably why.”

“Oh.” She hated to admit it, and she would not to anyone, not even Robin, but the fact was that she’d missed seeing him. She’d wanted to tell Phillip how she’d handled the situation with the girls and get his reaction. And truth be told … she was looking to feed this attraction. Yes, he had a great body and he was good-looking. Robin called him “hot stuff” and that was all well and good, but it was more than that. She appreciated what he’d done, and gradually her
opinion of him had started to change. She’d heard from Sharon and other nurses how deeply Dr. Stone cared for his tiny patients and their parents. Despite herself, Libby found herself wishing she would run into him.

The last time Libby had felt like this was in college, when she first met Joe while waitressing. Joe’s personality was completely the opposite of Phillip Stone’s. Joe was funny and outgoing; he was the kind of guy everyone wanted at their party simply because he was so likable. Part of his charm came from his large, chaotic family.

After Timmy was killed, Libby had been raised as an only child. She’d been fascinated by the bantering exchange between Joe and his siblings. Family gatherings were noisy, chaotic affairs, with babies crying and children madly racing through the house. The men gathered around either the television or the barbecue, and the women congregated in the kitchen, exchanging recipes or housekeeping tips. Libby had felt completely out of place, and she’d often sat in the corner on her visits to his house, unaccustomed to the noise and pandemonium. Still, she’d loved it, and she missed spending holidays with his family even more than she missed Joe.

“Well, Dr. Stone wants to see you,” Sharon said, looking pleased with herself, as if she was solely responsible for matchmaking the two.

Rather than continue this unsettling conversation, Libby looked at the newborns lined up in neat rows in the nursery. There’d been a full moon, and Sharon had warned her that there were always more births at such times. The nurse had been right, because Libby had yet to see this many newborns at one time. But then again she’d been a volunteer for only a short while.

“You’re very good, you know,” Sharon mentioned, reaching for a chart.

Libby paused. “With the babies?”

Sharon set the chart down and looked at her. “You’re a natural. I’ve watched you. The first couple of times I could tell you weren’t accustomed to holding an infant.” She smiled, as though reliving the
memory. “It was almost as if you were afraid they were going to break, and then after a while you relaxed and started to sing. The transformation in you was amazing. Really amazing.”

Libby was too tongue-tied to respond right away. “I remember my mother singing to me.” The memories were fleeting. She’d been sick with strep throat, Libby recalled, and her fever had raged for two days. It had hurt so much to swallow. Back then test results took twenty-four hours. Now, from what she understood, it took only minutes to diagnose strep, but when she was young it’d taken time to grow the culture.

Her mother had sat on the edge of Libby’s bed, under the pink canopy, and gently brushed the wet hair from her fevered brow and sang her to sleep. If Libby closed her eyes she could almost hear her mother’s melodic voice.

Sharon’s words meant a great deal. “Thank you,” Libby whispered. The nurse was right. In the beginning it had felt awkward to hold these tiny babies. This morning as she walked to the hospital, Libby realized how eager she was to spend time with the precious newborns.

“Do you have children?” Sharon asked.

Libby looked away and shook her head.

“You should. You’d make a wonderful mother.”

Her throat thickened and she moved toward one of the cribs rather than let her friend know how deeply the words had touched her.

“Well,” Sharon continued at the end of a sigh, “I better get busy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded strange, Libby realized, and she was grateful when Sharon didn’t comment.

Libby picked up a seven-pound baby girl with the surname Knight. She had a small pink bow clipped to a tiny patch of hair. Kissing the infant’s brow, Libby settled into the rocker. As if the infant was aware of everything taking place around her, Baby Knight stared up at Libby. She sang a medley of Barry Manilow hits until the baby yawned and her eyelids drooped closed. After several minutes Libby replaced her in the tiny bed.

The baby directly across from Baby Knight let out a lusty cry, as if demanding her attention. Libby turned and looked at him, and smiled when she saw that his surname was Wilson.

She picked him up and gently cradled him in her arms as she returned to the rocking chair. He wasn’t easily comforted, and he arched his back, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“My, my, aren’t you a hotheaded one,” she whispered. Placing him over her shoulder, she rubbed his back and sure enough he burped. Libby laughed softly and continued to rock him.

Holding these babies in her arms, her head and heart flooded with regrets. She wished she’d worked harder at saving her marriage. In the end, Libby had been convinced she and Joe would never be happy together; each of them wanted the other person to be something they were not. At the time it had just seemed best to walk away. Now, holding these babies in her arms, Libby was left to wonder what might have happened if they’d stayed together, gone to counseling, worked out their differences. If she had, perhaps the infant in her arms would be her own. Their baby. That would never happen now, and sadness filled her heart. If she could turn back time, Libby realized, she might have made different choices. The divorce seemed like an easy way out for what had become a strained and difficult relationship.

With these thoughts circling in her mind Libby glanced up and froze. Her heart shot to her throat and remained lodged there as she locked eyes with the man on the other side of the nursery window.

Joe. Joe Wilson, her ex-husband.

How was this possible? Had her imagination conjured him up? He looked real. In fact, he looked as shocked as she did.

Standing, she replaced the little boy in his crib and walked out of the nursery. Joe stood by the door when she opened it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning. “That’s my son.”

“I … I volunteer here at the hospital. I had no idea he was your baby.”