His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (7 page)

* * *

P
ULLING
DOWN
THE
CREPE
paper streamers after the Sargents left, Harper tried to calm her ricocheting emotions. Sitting with Peter, aware of the strength of his body next to hers, she’d felt something beyond physical attraction. A bond, a shared eagerness and a sense of vistas opening before her.

Not only did the prospect of putting her photos to use thrill her, but—at first—she’d imagined that working closely with him would give their friendship a chance to develop naturally. None of those awkward are-we-dating-yet? issues. Instead, they’d have an opportunity to discover if they meshed on more than a casual basis.

Moreover, unlike with Sean, she wouldn’t have to set aside her passion for photography. Quite the opposite: Peter inspired her with fresh ideas.

Being around him sparked her intellectually and awakened a longing to be held and caressed. Harper had underestimated how much she craved that kind of connection.

But he was moving away. Several thousand miles away. Best to put him out of her mind.

With a sigh, Harper shoved the last of her decorations into the trash can. The party had been a hit, leaving Mia happy to snuggle up with Po for a rare nap before dinner.

Harper was free to spend her time as she chose: sorting through her photos, deleting the weaker shots and touching up the stronger ones. But after a few minutes, she discovered that she needed to rest. Her breasts felt sore, a side effect of the birth control pills. Ironic that she and the surrogate were taking pills developed to prevent conception as the first stage in the fertility process.

Thinking about the babies-to-be lightened her mood. She was involved in a project far more important than a children’s book.

She’d rather not tell Peter what she was doing, Harper decided. He’d be gone soon, and this was too precious to share with someone who was only passing through her life. If he’d overheard any of her conversation with Stacy and Cole, he’d given no indication, and surely had the discretion not to bring it up.

She’d keep him safely compartmentalized. With so much going on, that shouldn’t be difficult.

Chapter Seven

By midweek, Harper still felt sore, plus she’d gained a few pounds, another side effect of the pills. Eating cake at the party hadn’t helped, she conceded.

Another week to go. According to Zack, that would coordinate her cycle and the surrogate’s. Then she’d have to self-administer hormone shots daily for a week, to stop the normal functioning of her ovaries. It all seemed so contradictory, when the point was to produce eggs, but this was how the system worked.

On Wednesday morning, a couple of Nora’s appointments canceled, leaving both her and Harper with a long lunch break. By contrast, Dr. Paige Brennan had to work in a couple of patients.

“Do you want me to prep the next one?” Harper asked Keely, aware that she owed the other nurse a favor.

Without speaking, her coworker handed her a face sheet with basic information, although most of the patient’s records were in the computer. Heavyset with straight, graying black hair cut chin-length, Keely conveyed her usual air of truculence. “Make sure you check for side effects to her hormones. She’s a surrogate.”

Harper glanced at the sheet. Vanessa Ayres, age thirty-two. Taking birth control pills to coordinate her cycle.

A wave of unease swept over Harper. What were the odds of two surrogates at Safe Harbor undergoing the process at the same time? She didn’t mean to intrude on anyone’s privacy by learning anything further about Mrs. Ayres. “Maybe I’d better not....”

Keely disappeared into an examining room. Given her mercurial temper—although she never vented it on Dr. Brennan, whom she adored—Harper hesitated to call her back.

Did this violate ethics? She’d already seen the name, so it was too late to avoid that. All she had to do was confirm some key points of the medical history, take the woman’s vitals, ask about side effects and carry out whatever directions Paige gave.

There wasn’t time to consult Nora, who’d left for lunch. Harper might as well perform her duties in a professional manner and be quick about it. Besides, it wasn’t the surrogate who’d declined contact with the egg donor. Mrs. Ayres was probably willing to go along with whatever the recipient requested, so Harper wouldn’t be breaching
her
rights.

In the waiting room, she called the patient’s name. A tall woman—about Harper’s height—responded. With reddish-blond hair and a sprinkling of freckles, she bore no other obvious physical resemblance. But then, why should she?

My babies, her uterus.
What a weird situation.

As Harper went through the prep, she couldn’t help empathizing when she asked about side effects.

“A little bloating,” the surrogate reported as she sat on the examining table.

“That must be uncomfortable.”
As if I didn’t know.

“I’m too excited to care about that.”

“You’re enthusiastic about being a surrogate?” Despite Harper’s reluctance to pry, the question slipped out. “I suppose you must be, or you wouldn’t do it.”

“It’s been three years since my first one.” Vanessa beamed. “She lives in Paris. The family emails me photos on her birthday. She’s so cute!”

Harper had heard that many countries, including France, banned surrogacy, with the result that foreign parents came to California for fertility services. The state’s laws protected all parties in such arrangements while leaving medical decisions to the individuals.

“Was it your genetic child?” she ventured.

The woman nodded. “My twelve-year-old daughter’s thrilled to have a half sister. She plans to study French in high school so they can talk if they ever meet.”

Goose bumps rose on Harper’s arms. “Your husband’s okay with this?”

“In addition to our daughter, he has a twenty-year-old son from his previous marriage.” Vanessa’s straightforward manner assured Harper that she didn’t mind the line of questioning. “He’s relieved that I don’t insist on enlarging our family, because we can’t afford it. I’m sure you’re aware how much college costs these days.”

“My daughter’s only six. Seven,” Harper corrected. “We celebrated her birthday last weekend.”

“How darling!”

Although tempted to chat further, Harper reined in the impulse. “Let me check on the doctor.”

In the hall, Keely said Paige was running late. That wasn’t surprising, since the obstetrician never hurried a patient who needed to talk.

Harper popped in to explain to Vanessa, adding, “Would you like me to bring you a magazine from the waiting room? We usually keep some in here, but I don’t see... Oh, there’s one.” She retrieved a maternity magazine from atop a cabinet.

Vanessa regarded the heavily pregnant cover model. “That’ll be me in a few months. It was a joy sharing my pregnancy with Cécile—my first mom. She and Maurice flew here for the ultrasound and late in the pregnancy, to feel the baby move. And of course for the delivery. This round, it’s a single dad. I’m curious to see how that will go.”

Best not to hear any more. “I’m sure it will work out fine.” Harper eased toward the exit.

“He’s a great guy.” On the examining table, Vanessa wrapped her arms around her upthrust knees. “His wife died and he’s too devoted to her to consider marrying again, but he craves children. He’s a teacher, and after talking to him, I’m sure he’s well prepared for what’s involved.”

Harper’s chest squeezed. What were the odds of there being two men like that in Safe Harbor? She should have left five minutes ago. Or, better, she should have insisted Keely prep this patient.

And she should have suspected that Peter couldn’t be as wonderful as he seemed. While pretending to be her friend, he’d been treating her like some object he might purchase. How long had he been considering her as the egg donor? How much of their contact had been a way to assess her suitability? Just thinking about it made Harper furious.

After a light knock, in walked Dr. Brennan, a six-foot-tall redhead who shot her a startled look. “Nurse?” Her sharp tone made it clear this was an inappropriate situation.

She knows.
How many other people were aware of the connection between Harper and Peter? Paige, Nora, Zack, even Cole?
Everyone but me, apparently.

Flushing, Harper hurried out. At the nurses’ station, she was grateful to find no one else around.

Thoughts tumbled over one another. What would she say to Peter on Saturday? Would he find out that she’d talked to Vanessa? What should she do?

While Harper hadn’t known
his
identity, he’d obviously known hers. Although the egg donor registry didn’t carry full names, clients saw a profile, including a photo. Last Sunday, when Peter heard her discussing her feelings with Cole and Stacy, no wonder he hadn’t commented. He’d understood perfectly well what was going on, and had kept it from her.

How could he have deceived her like this? What kind of person was he, anyway?

Fists clenched, she considered marching over to the hospital and telling Melissa she was withdrawing. It would be awkward all the way around, but then, that wasn’t her fault. Now that she’d stumbled on the truth, it would be impossible to go through with this procedure while feigning ignorance.

A painfully familiar scene unfolded in Harper’s mind. In a green meadow, two little boys were playing...

If she halted the donation at this stage, she might be excluded from the program permanently. Even if Safe Harbor allowed her to remain, what future recipient would choose an egg donor who’d reneged? And how disappointing for Vanessa. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Mostly, Harper hated to abandon those little boys. Sure, she could rationalize that they were mere fantasies. Never real. Never meant to take tangible form. But in her heart, she saw them growing up, tall and strong.

How could Peter do this to her?

Take a deep breath and think it over.
She had more sense than to go off half-cocked.

As for the birth control pills, Harper decided to keep taking them for now. To stop abruptly might cause problems, and if she asked Zack about that, she’d have to explain what she’d discovered.

Before anything else, she needed to confront Peter. Maybe he’d have the decency to explain to Melissa that he was responsible for putting Harper in this situation. Then she might not be ousted from the program entirely.

He’d be upset, though. He might claim that keeping her in the dark was a valid choice. If so, they’d argue, and that would be the end of that.

Her gut twisted. After Saturday, Harper wasn’t likely to see him again outside sports camp, and by next summer he’d be gone. She’d miss him far too much. And so would her daughter.

I’m an idiot. But how could I have known?

As for Peter, he’d be free to select another donor. A more suitable one, a woman who hadn’t been foolish enough to start caring about a man who was only using her.

* * *

E
MERGING
FROM
THE
HOSPITAL
garage on Thursday for his appointment with Dr. Rattigan, Peter wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that slammed into him. His throat clamped shut until he could scarcely breathe.

He and Angela had come here full of hope, seeking fertility treatment. A few weeks later, after a series of tests, she’d received her shocking diagnosis.

Since her death, Peter had been back several times, experiencing only an undercurrent of sorrowful memories on his way to see Dr. Rattigan. Yesterday, though, had marked the second anniversary of his wife’s death. As he did every month, he’d visited the cemetery to put flowers on her grave.

He’d shed a few tears, missing her. He’d recalled happy occasions: their wedding, their honeymoon on Catalina Island, their joy the day escrow closed on their house.

Today, painful memories swamped him. Angela in the last days, her soft brown hair struggling to grow back from chemotherapy, her hazel eyes dull, her body racked with pain. He’d felt so helpless, longing to substitute his strength for her frailty, to carry her out of the hospital and take her home as if, miraculously, being surrounded by her favorite possessions would restore her to health.

Although most of her treatment had occurred at a cancer center, she’d learned the terrible truth here at Safe Harbor. The shock of that first, horrifying discovery, the kindness and sorrow on her doctor’s face, the realization that their dreams of parenthood were turning into a nightmare, swept over Peter full force.

For the year after her death, he’d had irrational reactions, half expecting another bolt from the blue—fearful of bad news at his annual checkup, worried when he couldn’t immediately reach his parents that they’d been in an accident. Recently, though, he’d been so busy planning for the surrogacy that he’d put all that out of his mind.

He forced himself into motion toward the medical office building. This reaction would pass. And, indeed, the shock began to fade once he reached the lobby. As he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, the lingering sense of dread faded to a ripple of anxiety.

Dr. Rattigan’s nurse, a fellow named Lucky with a solid physique and military-style short hair, ushered Peter into a room. No exam today, just a chance to raise questions.

Cole entered moments later, looking far more dignified in his white coat than he had wearing pipe cleaner antennae at Sunday’s party. He regarded Peter with a mild frown. Was he wondering about Peter’s personal involvement with Harper?

If so, he didn’t mention it. With brisk efficiency, he asked how Peter felt and then reviewed the upcoming medical procedure.

Where other physicians had failed to find the cause of Peter’s low sperm count, Cole had determined that he suffered from a rare immunological response. Possibly as a result of a sports-related injury to the testicles during adolescence, his body had begun producing antibodies that killed much of his sperm. Enough remained, however, for him to become a father with the aid of modern technology. Since surrogacy with donor eggs required using in vitro fertilization, anyway, this didn’t pose a major additional problem.

“Once the eggs are retrieved from the donor, they’ll be taken to the lab.” Cole’s voice had a smooth tone, as if he’d recited these words many times, which no doubt he had. “The embryologist will inspect them to make sure they appear healthy, and then microsurgically inject the sperm.”

“Any risk of a mix-up?” Peter, who remained standing, folded his arms. This might be a clinical procedure but it was intensely personal, as well. “I don’t want to find out years later I’m raising some other guy’s kids.”

“We label eggs and sperm and check their identity at every step,” Cole assured him. “In fact, we confirm the ID several times at each stage.”

That was reassuring. “Go on.”

“The following day, the oocytes—the eggs—will be assessed to determine those that contain two pronuclei, which will indicate fertilization,” the urologist continued. “Each pronucleus contains genetic information from one of the parents.”

“I figured that out,” Peter said dryly.

“Ah, yes, you teach biology,” Cole murmured. “Still, I don’t want to omit any details.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We continue to monitor the development of the fertilized oocytes. When they’re three days old, they should contain eight cells. At that point, if everything is developing normally, they’re ready to be transferred into the surrogate.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Peter said.

Cole blinked. “Do I? Far from it. The transfer takes careful coordination by a team including the embryologist, the physician and an ultrasound technician. It’s done through a catheter while the patient, the surrogate in this case, is awake. She lets the team know if she experiences any cramping.”

“What if she does?”

“Mild cramping isn’t necessarily a problem, but the doctor will check to be sure the catheter is in the proper position.”

“How many embryos would you implant?” Peter asked. “I mean, transfer.” He preferred using the correct terminology.

“That’s a controversial topic,” the doctor said. “Some countries restrict the number of embryos by law to no more than two.”