The Baby Jackpot (18 page)

“Does he?” It wasn’t only her marriage that Stacy had failed to
see clearly. She’d believed she came from an ideal, loving family, while all
along they’d been wildly dysfunctional. “What else am I missing? Come on, Mom.
There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Four years ago, we told you we were moving to Salt Lake to be
near Ellie,” her mother said slowly.

“But?”

“That wasn’t the only reason.”

Stacy stopped pacing and sat on the couch. “Go on.”

“He’d had a few affairs in the past, but nothing that
threatened our marriage,” her mother said. “Then I discovered he’d been involved
for over a year with a fellow pharmacist. He was keeping some of his clothes at
her apartment, and she wanted him to leave me.”

“And he has the nerve to pass judgment on my behavior?” Stacy
reined in her outrage, determined to hear the whole miserable story. “How did
you find out?”

“The woman called to tell me about the affair.” From Ellen’s
shaky tone, Stacy could picture her mom’s drawn face. “She assumed I’d throw him
out. Instead, I gave him an ultimatum.”

“Move to Utah or you’d leave him,” Stacy guessed.

Ellen gave a small sniff. “He agreed. He swore he couldn’t live
without me, that I was the center of his life.”

“I must have heard part of that, or maybe you told me about
it.” Stacy no longer recalled the details, just her reaction. “I thought it was
romantic.”

“I let you down,” Ellen said sadly. “When you married a man a
lot like your father, I should have spoken up sooner. I should have protected
you, but you were madly in love and I assumed he’d get his act together. First
you fell for Andrew, and now you’re pregnant by some jerk—”

“No, I’m not,” Stacy interrupted. “I mean, he isn’t a jerk.”
Beyond that, she had no desire to discuss Cole. He was so honest and kind and
straightforward, he didn’t belong in this conversation.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned any of this,” Ellen said abruptly.
“I got carried away because I’m worried about you. Talking about these personal
things...it’s disloyal to your father.”

“My father is disloyal to us,” Stacy answered indignantly.

“I hear his car in the driveway,” her mom said. “Honey, if you
need me, I can come and stay with you for a while.”

A kind offer. But Stacy didn’t want mothering. “No,
thanks.”

“We’ll talk again soon.” Quickly, her mother added, “Don’t
mention any of this to your sister, all right?”

“Not unless she asks. But you should tell her.”

“She married a different sort of guy,” Ellen answered.
“Luckily. But I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Good.” After a quick farewell, Stacy hung up.

On the coffee table, the African violet Cole had given her was
bursting with tiny blooms against fuzzy, deep green leaves. She’d stuck it
there, with the wrong sort of light and without any special food, and yet it was
blossoming. She didn’t deserve to have such a thriving plant, Stacy thought.

She’d dreamed of a love that transcended the ordinary, of
storybook romance and passion. Like Andrew had provided—as a cover for his
deceptions.

This had been a weekend for revelations. When the world stopped
jolting on its axis, where would it end?

The phone rang. Harper. “Hi,” Stacy said.

“I’ve been trying to get through to you for ten minutes,” her
friend exclaimed. “You’re missing... Oh, wait. It’s a video. You can start at
the beginning. Is your computer on?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, there’s something you’d better see.”

Chapter Eighteen

No matter how many times Stacy saw Cole on-screen, the
sight of him always filled her with pride. He held himself with assurance, yet
with none of Andrew’s arrogant pride. Cole drew confidence from knowledge and
purpose, not egotism.

Stacy relaxed as she watched his image on her laptop, which
she’d set up on her bedroom desk. He sat behind a table next to Jennifer
Martin’s husband, Ian. Cole’s stockier build and frank brown eyes gave him a
solid air that, in her opinion, overshadowed the blond reporter.

“There is no Daddy Crisis,” Cole was saying. “Yes, according to
some reports, sperm counts are dropping overall, and we need to figure out why.
However, people are reproducing just fine, and I expect they’ll continue to do
so in the future.”

“Doesn’t the availability of high-tech assistance ensure that
more and more children will inherit lower fertility?” Ian asked.

“In highly developed countries, there may be some slight
impact,” Cole agreed. “But it isn’t anywhere near a crisis.”

His next few remarks, recapping familiar material, faded
against the noise that crept back into Stacy’s head from her mother’s
disclosures. Secrets...deception...betrayal. Ellen was still protecting her
husband by hiding his misbehavior from their older daughter and by asking Stacy
not to confront him about it. That might seem like loyalty, but shielding him
from the consequences of his actions only served to enable him.

On the monitor, Cole leaned forward. “We’ve been discussing
facts, but I’m also troubled by the sneering tone of many news reports.”

“You’ve been subjected to a lot of jokes,” Ian
acknowledged.

“I’m not speaking for myself.” Cole’s intensity made Stacy
quiver. “Patients may be harmed by these slurs on their masculinity. Men with
infertility already suffer from anxiety and depression. That can lead to
divorce, job loss, sometimes suicide.”

The reporter frowned. “I never considered that.”

“Men love children just like women do,” Cole stated. “For many
of us, fatherhood and family become an essential part of our identity.”

“Are you referring to yourself now?” Ian zeroed in on his
subject. “There’s been a lot of publicity about your private life, Dr.
Cole.”

When Ian’s gaze flicked to something off camera, Stacy guessed
his wife was signaling him to stop. But the video kept rolling.

“I had three reasons for granting this interview,” Cole
replied. “First, to clear up this Daddy Crisis nonsense. Second, to advocate for
my patients.”

“And third?” Ian prompted.

Stacy’s hands formed fists. Was he going to mention her? And
what would he say if he did?

“It’s one thing for the press to poke fun at me
professionally,” Cole said. “But there’s a woman involved here who faces a
complicated, potentially dangerous pregnancy. She’s turned down my marriage
proposal, and since she’s much wiser about such things than I am, I presume
she’s made the right choice.”

“I’m not wiser!” Stacy cried, although of course he couldn’t
hear her.

“She’s decided to locate a good—no, great—home for the
triplets.” Despite a catch in his voice, he hurried on. “The public should
respect her choice. I certainly do.”

“You’re out of the picture?” Ian queried.

“I plan to rededicate myself to helping other couples have
their
children,” Cole said. “The medical aspects
of the situation drew me to my specialty, but becoming a father, even if I never
get to hold my children, has sensitized me at a deeper level. While I hope my
future will include marrying and having children, for now, I’ll concentrate on
treating patients.”

“Any final words?” Ian asked.

“I hope the press will quit sensationalizing. They can better
serve the public by informing them of scientific facts.” Cole’s eyes narrowed,
and for a moment Stacy expected him to add some further rebuke, but he held
back.

“Thank you.” The reporter faced the camera. “We’ve been talking
with Dr. Cole Rattigan, head of the men’s fertility program at Safe Harbor
Medical Center. This is Ian Martin for
On The Prowl in
Orange County.
Thanks for watching.”

The on-screen window went black. Stacy closed the website and
discovered she was trembling.

Despite her reservations, she’d hoped—without acknowledging
it—that Cole would make a passionate public statement about how much he loved
her. Instead, he sounded as if he’d closed off a chapter in his life and opened
a new one. A chapter that didn’t include her.

He’d attempted to protect her from the press. Wasn’t that what
she wanted?

Stacy went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of herbal tea to
settle her stomach. Although she’d eaten a late breakfast, pregnancy-inspired
hunger pangs sent her foraging through the fridge.

Aside from bread, eggs and a little lettuce, it was nearly
bare. However, in the freezer, she found tubs of ice cream.

Not very healthy, but there was less than a quarter of a tub
left of rocky road. That meant, according to the unwritten laws of ice cream
etiquette, that Stacy could eat it directly out of the carton, which made it
irresistible.

Sitting at the table, she savored the mixture of chocolate,
mini marshmallows and chopped walnuts.
Cole didn’t have to
leave these.
He’d taken other food items. Yet despite being kicked
out, he’d left this for her to enjoy.

She pictured him in the parking garage, asking her to marry him
while he rescued her lipstick from behind a tire. All she’d thought about was
how unromantic he was, and she’d assumed that he was proposing out of duty. Now,
to her shame, she recalled comparing him mentally to Andrew. Andrew, who covered
his selfish nature with elaborate gifts and fancy words.

Dear, sweet Cole had brought her an African violet and a sack
of tiramisu, like a child eager to please. He’d fetched take-out food when she
was hungry. Rescued her from a mountain of hard-boiled eggs and a pair of
unfinished Boston cream pies. Tempted her out of a bad mood with a movie and
popcorn. Offered to pay half the rent when she initially refused to let him move
in, and later, left quietly despite already having paid. And he’d risked public
humiliation by refusing to hide his involvement with her pregnancy.

A song lyric popped into Stacy’s mind. She recognized the line
from the musical
Fiddler on the Roof.
“If that’s not
love, what is?”

She buried her face in her hands. How had she missed this?
She’d pushed Cole away time and again. But she hadn’t really wanted him to go,
had she?

Underneath, she’d believed that a man who loved her enough
would see past her defenses into her heart. That he’d find the feelings she hid
even from herself, and refuse to let her go.

But he had. He’d just stated publicly that he was moving
forward, without her. Not a word of criticism, either.

She supposed she could blame her confusion on her parents’
screwed-up values. But Cole had been right in front of her, offering everything.
And she’d seen only his flaws.

When Stacy lifted her hands, they were wet with tears. This
time, there was no Cole to dry them.

It might not be too late. But after what he’d said in the
interview, she doubted he would show up here again to comfort her.

She had to let him know that she saw him clearly now. That she
wanted him to ask her again to marry him, and that this time, the answer would
be yes.

* * *

E
ARLY
M
ONDAY
, outside the hospital,
Cole found a handful of reporters waiting with the usual array of cameras and
microphones. To his satisfaction, the tone of their questions had changed.

They asked about the impact of infertility on men and how this
led to depression and suicide. Although he had no statistics—fortunately, in his
opinion, since he didn’t want to emphasize the negative—he was able to expand on
his insights into men’s needs and vulnerabilities.

“Fathers are the men who love and protect children, whether or
not they provide the sperm,” he told the cameras. “They’re the ones who are
there for you when you fall down or need a helping hand. They’re also the ones
who stand by Mom, who listen to her and support her.”

He didn’t mention that his own biological father had done none
of those things. True, Jean-Paul Duval had simply been honoring his agreement
with Cole’s mother, but neither of them had consulted their son.

After Cole excused himself to prepare for surgery, he realized
he didn’t have to cite his absentee dad in so many words. His aching childhood
loneliness informed every word he spoke.

Along the route to his office, several staff members stopped to
compliment him on the interview. When he checked his email, he found messages
from the administrator, Owen, Adrienne, Zack and several other physicians,
cheering him on.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re an inspiration,” Zack
had written.

Not exactly an overwhelming compliment, Cole reflected in
amusement. Or perhaps it was.

His upbeat mood didn’t last long. There was, he saw, no message
from Stacy, not that he’d been naive enough to expect one.

Her stopping by on Friday night with the relinquishment papers
had brought home her determination to put him and, soon, this pregnancy behind
her. Since it would be awkward having her assist him, Cole had emailed the
nursing director on Saturday, requesting to switch nurses for his surgeries this
week.

All that remained was for him to sign those papers. Yet every
time he looked at the legal words that would cut his bond to his children
forever, something held him back.

She must be irritated at the delay. Well, he’d get it done this
week.

On the surgical board, Cole saw that Anya Meeks had been
assigned to him, while Stacy was assisting Zack. Anya didn’t know Cole’s
preferences and lacked Stacy’s gift for anticipating which instrument he needed
next, but she was learning.

Then he spotted a dearly familiar lady emerging from the
elevator. Silky brown curls, a cute, pointy chin and a figure growing lusher by
the day... Would he ever get over the twist in his chest at the sight of
Stacy?

Cole dodged into the operating suite.

* * *

D
ISMAYED
,
Stacy took in the schedule. She’d checked the board on Friday, so knew it had
been altered.

Her first instinct was to march to Betsy Raditch’s office and
demand to know why. But she could guess well enough: Cole must have requested
it.

He didn’t want her in his operating room.

Stacy struggled to breathe through the pain. She forced herself
to suck in air and get a grip. If anyone saw her acting unsteady, Betsy might
assign her to routine office or desk duty for the rest of the pregnancy.

Stacy loved surgical work. And if she behaved like a
professional, Cole might take her back...into his O.R.

What about into his life?

She intended to work on that.

* * *

Fathers are the men who love and
protect children.
His words from the interview had a disturbing habit
of lingering in Cole’s thoughts during the morning’s surgeries, like a melody
that refused to quit.

He kept visualizing those precious little shapes on the
ultrasound screen. And recalling how Owen’s twins had become distinct
individuals even at the toddler stage.

Here he stood, reversing a vasectomy so his patient would have
a chance to become a biological father. How could Cole give up his own
babies?

He craved nuzzling their little necks, and watching them grow
up with the same yearning he’d felt to be accepted by his own father. That
desperate longing had powered his young self through French lessons and enabled
him to pass up buying electronic gadgets to save for a plane ticket.

True, his father had disappointed him. But Cole had survived,
strengthened by the awareness that at least he’d tried.

During his last operation before lunch, it occurred to him that
Stacy was pushing to choose an adoptive couple much too early. Maybe that meant
she was trying to lay her own doubts to rest. Otherwise, why the rush to
commit?

His pulse speeding, he decided to talk to her. No matter how
much it irked her, he couldn’t sign those papers without one final effort.

* * *

I
N
THE
LUNCHROOM
, Stacy sat with Ned and Harper, well aware
that they’d be enjoying a freer and livelier conversation without her there.
From a nearby table, she kept hearing snatches of dialogue—“I love how he told
them off!” and “He didn’t exactly call the press morons, but he might as well
have”—that indicated hospital staffers on their lunch break were discussing
Cole’s interview.

Finally, after a halfhearted discussion of changes to the
nurses’ locker room trailed into silence, Ned said, “Well, let’s stop avoiding
the subject. What did you think of Cole’s interview?”

“He was brilliant.” Stacy stared at her half-eaten sandwich.
Even her appetite was failing her today. “Did you notice he got the schedule
changed?”

“I noticed.” Although Ned worked in Dr. Tartikoff’s office, he
cruised by the surgical floor frequently to chat with nurses there. And he had
an inquisitive nature.

“Are you sure that was Cole’s doing?” Harper asked gently.

Ned rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

“He’s given up on me,” Stacy said.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Ned prodded. “He said in the
interview you turned him down.”

“I did, but...” Stacy cut to the chase. “I’ve been an idiot.
The truth is, I don’t deserve him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harper said.

Ned regarded her pensively. “You know, Stacy, you don’t have to
be perfect to deserve love. Sometimes people just want to give it to you.”