The Secrets of Midwives (15 page)

When I drew back, Patrick looked amused. “Wow. A hug?”

I blushed. “Hormones.”

“Ah.” Patrick nodded. “Gillian and the baby are both doing fine. How 'bout I update you over dinner?”

“Do they even serve food at The Hip?”

“Who said anything about The Hip?”

Anne became preoccupied with her computer screen. I frowned. Who said anything about The Hip? No one, I suppose, but … we only
ever
went to The Hip. In fact, other than when Patrick's father died, when I spent the day at his mother's place, I don't think I'd ever seen Patrick anywhere other than the hospital, my apartment, and The Hip.

“So … what time are you off?” he asked.

“Seven thirty. But—”

“Great.” Patrick signed a document, closed a manila folder, and handed it to Anne. “I'll pick you up then.”

He left the room and I felt my eyebrows soar. Pick me up? Usually Sean, Patrick, and I just sloped down to The Hip one by one as we came off shift and joined whoever was already perched at the bar. We left in a similar way, usually when we'd had too much to drink. No one ever picked anyone up. And, now that I thought of it, no one ever ate dinner.

“Neva.” Anne's voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Just had a buzz from the clinic. One of the women needs help reattaching her baby.”

“Oh.” I waved at her as I hurried into the room. “Yes. Thanks, Anne.”

*   *   *

At 7:33
P.M.
, I sat in a tub armchair, feeling like a schoolgirl waiting to get collected for the prom. On my lap was a canvas bag filled with empty Tupperware containers that I'd been meaning to take home for a month.

“Ready?”

Patrick had slipped in without me noticing and was standing before me in a fresh blue shirt and jeans with brown lace-up shoes that he hadn't been wearing when I saw him an hour ago. He carried no bag whatsoever—I had no idea how guys did that—and his jacket, brown leather, was tossed over one shoulder. I caught a whiff of something. Cologne.

I glanced down at my flat shoes, navy hospital pants, and white shirt. Next to Patrick, I looked like a junkyard dog. A pregnant junkyard dog. Patrick, to his credit, didn't appear outwardly disgusted, but then again, why would he? It wasn't a date. Was it?

I pushed to my feet so fast my head began to spin.

“Whoa. You're not going to faint on me, are you? I'm off shift and I usually deal with people a little smaller than you.”

We stared at each other and I was struck by the unfamiliarity of Patrick. Usually I'd throw out a wry joke, but now I wasn't sure it was appropriate. The clothes, the cologne, the picking me up? I managed to roll my eyes before pushing through the door. As I skimmed past him, he took the canvas bag from my shoulder and tossed it over his own.

A couple of pretty nurses were in the elevator when it opened, and Patrick made a great show of putting his hand out to stop the door from closing on them. He couldn't help himself. One of them shot me a glare of pure envy. A flutter traveled through me from head to toe. I wasn't sure if it was a good flutter or a bad flutter.

“So, where d'you want to go?” he asked.

“I don't know. Nellie's?”

I immediately wanted to retract the words. Nellie's was casual and the food was good, but it was also located directly under my building and was staffed by middle-aged waitresses who'd seen me there alone enough to develop an obsession with my love life. Arriving with Patrick wasn't going to go unnoticed. But it was too late; he was already nodding. “Sure,” Patrick said. “Nellie's, it is.”

We strolled in silence. It would have been amusing if I wasn't so self-conscious. Patrick and I had never had a problem with conversation. Was he nervous too? And if he was, what did that mean? When I couldn't take it anymore, I blurted out, “I have a joke. A guy phones the local hospital and yells, ‘You've got to send help. My wife's in labor!' The midwife says, ‘Calm down. Is this her first child?' He replies, ‘No! This is her husband.'”

This got a full guffaw from Patrick. I couldn't help feeling pleased. But when he held my gaze after his smile had slipped away, I looked away.

The bell dinged as we entered the restaurant. Judy, the worst of the waitresses (in a gossipy sense), looked up, immediately animated. By the time the door had closed, she was already elbowing one of the others. They were going to have a field day. A free booth sat in the back, and I beelined for it until a tug at my elbow stopped me in my tracks.

“Where do you think you're going without saying hello?”

I turned. “Hello, Judy.”

She grinned, and her weathered face dissolved into a puzzle of lines. Although I never inquired into Judy's personal life—a kindness I wished she'd return—her lack of wedding ring indicated that she hadn't had a love life of her own, or if she had, it couldn't have worked out too well, because here she was in her blue uniform and white tennies six days a week, paying far too much attention to the lives of the customers.

“Don't go scooting back there, there's a table available here in my section.” Judy gestured to a table in the middle of the restaurant. “I want to make sure you're looked after properly. I'm Judy, by the way,” she said to Patrick, gesturing at her right breast, where her name was embroidered. “If you need anything at all, ask for me. I'll get y'all some water.”

I slinked into the red leather booth and Patrick, after giving Judy a smile that sent her tattooed brows rocketing into her hairline, slid in opposite me.

“Sorry,” I said. “Forgot to tell you about the crazies at Nellie's.”

Patrick perused the menu. “I hear they have good burgers here,” he said. “Should I order two?”

“If you're really hungry. Tell me about Gillian.”

Patrick groaned. “Fine.” He placed the menu flat in front of him. “If you're going to be all business. Gillian's daughter is completely healthy, apart from the lip and palate, and she'll be a great candidate for surgery. I gave Gillian the details of a pediatric plastic surgeon, and they can do the surgery while she's still a baby so they won't have to worry about her being teased at school or anything. It's a good result. Oh, and Gillian and David have called her Grace.”

I gave a tiny gasp. “They have?”

“I should tell you, though, the doctor on duty was furious when we came in. He was ranting and raving about home births and how it was negligent to deliver this baby at home. I explained that the baby was never in any distress, but … he was a hater. He said he would report your mom to the Board of Nursing.”

“Report her? For what?”

“Who knows? He'd probably had a long shift and was blowing off steam. I doubt he'll go through with it.”

“Well, he should go right ahead if he wants. She didn't do anything wrong. The baby was delivered safely under the care of the best midwife I know
with
a pediatrician present. Good luck to him if he thinks he's got a case.” Heat pulsed around my face and neck. “Who was the doctor, anyway?”

“Didn't know him. But if the Board of Nursing contacts me, I'll confirm she did everything by the book. She'll be fine.” He hesitated. “I'm surprised you're so protective of your mother. Given that you can be quite … hard on her.”

I opened my mouth to respond, and then I paused. Was I hard on her?

“At least, the way you talk about her,” he continued. “You obviously have your issues.”

“Well … it's just a matter of fairness,” I said. “She wasn't negligent. In fact, it was my idea to call you and give Gillian the option of delivering at home. I don't want my mother picked on because she is in a minority group of midwives who deliver at home.”

“I agree. And with any luck, she won't be.”

Judy arrived to take our orders. After she left, I folded my hands in my lap. Why was this so awkward? I'd hung out with Patrick more times than I could count. But now, when I wanted to launch into banter, my throat clamped shut like a preterm cervix. Patrick, at least, had found his tongue. He told me about a three-year-old boy who'd shoved a marble so far up his nostril that he required surgery to extract it, and a mother who'd brought her son in three times in three months for suspicious injuries, whom he'd had to report to children's services.

Once the meals were delivered, Patrick went quiet. He cut his burger in half and lifted one half to his mouth, then paused. His face was hesitant. “Anyway. I've been thinking…”

“About?”

“About your baby.”

“You've been thinking about m
y
baby?”

He nodded. “You said it didn't have a father. Well … what if you told people I was the father?”

I blinked.

“People know I stay over at your house sometimes. It would stop all the questions. I know you hate all the questions. We could say that we're a couple.”

“In the nicest possible way—why would we do that? What I mean is … what's in it for you?”

“What?” He looked shocked. “Nothing.”

“Then why? I mean … what would you tell your girlfriends?” I asked. “Telling a girl that you accidentally impregnated a friend can be a real mood killer. Besides, it's more complicated than you've considered. What happens down the track, after the baby is born? Are you going to tell people that you are involved in my baby's life?”

He blushed, but said nothing. It confirmed to me that he hadn't thought it through. “I don't know. We'll figure it out.”

“We'll figure it out? Patrick—why would you even want to?”

He studied my face for a long while. I tried to do the same to him, but I had no idea what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Fine,” he said. “It was just an idea.”

His cheeks were still pink. I didn't get it. Anyone would have thought I'd slapped him, rather than let him off the hook.

“It's an appealing idea, I'll admit,” I said. “And you're right, people would believe it. Marion would be thrilled.”

He picked up his burger again. “If you change your mind, say the word.”

Patrick insisted on paying, which was a little weird, but I didn't question it, lest things get weirder. He could afford it, and after all, he'd slept on my couch for several years now. He owed me. Judy and Trish smiled at Patrick with creepy enthusiasm as he approached the counter to settle the bill. When I couldn't watch anymore, I pushed through the double doors into the evening and straight into a person.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, staring into the face of Lorraine Hargreaves, chief resident of obstetrics at St Mary's. “Dr. Hargreaves. I'm so sorry.”

“Lorraine,” she corrected. Thankfully she didn't appear hurt. “I didn't see you there, Neva!”

Dr. Hargreaves was a formidable woman—tall, attractive, well proportioned. She bordered on intimidating, but with a few grays littering her raven hair, and a slight overbite on her front teeth, she had enough imperfections to make her approachable.

“Well, I see the rumors are true.” She reached forward, letting her hand skim, but not quite touch, my belly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Best job in the world, motherhood. Even if you love your job as much as we do.”

I couldn't help a smile, being part of a “we” with Dr. Lorraine Hargreaves.

“Yes,” I said. My hand traveled to my belly. “Yes, I'm looking forward to it.”

“You don't need an ob-gyn, I suppose?”

I laughed, imagining Grace's face. “Probably wouldn't look good for the birthing center if I got myself an ob-gyn,” I said. “Besides, I couldn't afford you.”

“I'm sure I could do you a deal. But you won't need me. You do a great job at your birthing center.”

“Thank yo—”

“So? Who is the lucky guy?”

“Oh, um…” The idea of telling the chief resident of obstetrics that my baby didn't have a father was vomit inducing. “Actually…”

“Evening, Lorraine.” Patrick appeared beside me, hand extended.

“Well, well … Patrick!” Dr. Hargreaves shook Patrick's hand, and whistled. “Haven't you two kept this quiet? I know a few women at the hospital who are going to have a broken heart, Patrick. And men, for that matter, Neva.” She chuckled. “It's a match made in heaven, now that I think of it. I hope Patrick's been taking good care of you?”

“Oh, no, actually he's—”

“—trying but she's very independent.” Patrick's warm hand enveloped mine. “Perhaps you can convince her that she should take it easy in the last trimester, avoid any situations that could make her stressed?”

I blinked at Patrick.

“I'm surprised anyone should have to tell her that. Let him help you, Neva. He obviously wants to.”

Patrick's arm was strewn casually round my waist, his fingers interlaced with mine. He grinned at me and nodded imperceptibly.

“Fine.” I smiled at Lorraine. “I will.”

*   *   *

When Dr. Hargreaves was gone, I stared at Patrick.

“She's going to think we're both nuts when she finds out you're not the father of my baby, you know.”

“Probably,” Patrick agreed. “
If
she finds out.”

“She
will
find out.”

“Only if you tell her. I'm not going to.”

Again, I scanned his face, looking for some way to make sense of things. I couldn't find a single, solitary reason. “Why, Patrick?”

“Are you really that dense?”

“Let's say I am.”

Before he could respond, my phone alerted me of an incoming call with a short buzz. I frowned. It was very late for a call. And I didn't recognize the number.

“I'd better get this,” I said. I accepted the call. “Neva Bradley.”