O “Okay, Lara. You can open your eyes!”
Lara obeyed, then grinned. During the afternoon the nurses had somehow found time to decorate the break room with pink and blue streamers and balloons. A huge sheet cake sat in the center of the table, a smiling baby’s face painted on it in soft flesh tones. Lara stood speechless in the doorway, amazed that the others had managed to do all this without attracting her attention.
“We knew you wanted to share your happiness,” Olivia explained, her brows rising in obvious pleasure. “And we’ve never needed an excuse to throw a party.”
“And there’s this to mark the occasion.” Gaynel, the chief nurse, came forward with a button that read, I’m PG2. As she pinned it to the collar of Lara’s lab coat, she met Lara’s gaze and smiled. “We’re so happy for you,” she said, her blue eyes darkening with emotion. “You’ve been through so much; you deserve a little happiness.”
“Aw, you guys . . .” Lara balled her hands into fists, fighting back tears. She shouldn’t have been surprised, for the clinic staff was a tight-knit group, but she had wondered if her coworkers would approve of her decision. “I can’t tell you how much you all mean to me,” she finally said, her eyes moving from one woman to the next. Her gaze came to rest upon Olivia, who stood beside her. “It’s good to know that you are all supportive. Michael would have appreciated what you’ve done, and—well, I appreciate your friendship.”
A half-dozen feminine voices rose in a chorus of support. Gaynel gave Lara a brief hug; then Olivia squeezed her shoulder. “We are behind you, Lara,” she said, her eyes brimming with tenderness. “If you need anything, you only have to ask.”
Lara thumbed a tear from her cheek. “You’ve already done too much. None of this would be possible if Dr. Braun hadn’t agreed to help me.”
“Helmut thrives on challenges.” Olivia accepted the slice of cake Sharon Swensen placed in her hand, then passed it to Lara. “Eat up. I’m counting calories, but you’re going to need some extra energy.” She sidestepped past Carol Bartlett, the transcriptionist, and waved. “Have a great time. I need to finish going over my charts, then get to the hospital. Ann McClain is in the first stage of labor.”
“Thanks, Olivia.”
Amid the happy chatter of her friends and the dull monotone of the corner television, Lara moved toward the table, then grabbed a plastic fork from a box. “Glad to see you all went all out for me,” she said, holding the plastic fork in front of Gaynel’s eyes. She gave the nurse a teasing smile as she sank into a chair. “What, no silverplate?”
“We didn’t think a woman whose car is littered with McDonalds bags would mind plastic forks,” Gaynel answered, completely unruffled. She perched on the end of the table and rested her feet on an empty chair. “Eat quick, girls; we’ve still got to close up the office.”
“The office can wait.” Sharon stretched out her legs as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ve been on my feet all day.” She glanced around, then pointed with her fork to a tabloid newspaper tucked behind the coffeemaker. “Hand me that National Enquirer, will you, Rita? I haven’t had my weekly fix of lifestyles of the rich and infamous.”
Lara struggled to swallow a mouthful of the sticky-sweet icing, then made a face. “Don’t tell me you read that stuff. Don’t you know it’s only gossip?”
“If it wasn’t true, they wouldn’t print it.” Sharon caught the newspaper as Rita tossed it across the room. “They’d get sued if they lied.”
“They do get sued.” Gaynel emphasized the point with her fork, pointing it at Sharon. “About every other week some celebrity sues the Reporter for millions. I read about that in the regular newspaper.”
“True or not, there’s no harm in it.” Sharon opened the tabloid. “Look—here’s a story about a pregnant alien abductee.” She shivered. “Can you imagine?”
“That stuff is nonsense.” Gaynel waved another forkful of cake in Sharon’s direction. “Tell her, Lara. Tell her no sane woman is going to come through our door and say she’s carrying an alien’s baby.”
Lara sliced off another bite of cake and grinned. “I have heard some pretty strange things. I know at least a dozen patients who’ve conceived after their husband’s vasectomy.”
Gaynel opened her mouth, about to respond, but Sharon interrupted with a squeal. “Look at this!” Straightening in her chair, Sharon began to read aloud: “Billionaire Devin Sloane, part-time New York resident and escort to some of the world’s most beautiful and wealthy women, was spotted in Macy’s shopping for nursery essentials. When pressed for an explanation, the handsome billionaire admitted that the babe-in-waiting is his own, due to arrive in late winter.”
“That’s no surprise,” Rita mumbled around a mouthful of cake. She paused to swallow, then continued. “I have a friend at the university who told me that some rich guy was quietly advertising for a healthy, intelligent surrogate a few weeks back.” She lifted a brow. “I guess he found one.”
Carol jerked her head up. “Around here? How exciting!”
“Sloane lives only about ten miles out of town,” Rita pointed out. “If he found a girl at the university, she could very well be one of our patients.”
Carol pressed her hands together. “Read on, Sharon. What does it say?”
Sharon snapped the paper and kept reading. “‘I am delighted that I am soon going to become a father,’ Sloane told our investigative reporter, ‘but I do not wish to divulge the name of the surrogate mother. We have a private arrangement and I wish it to remain confidential.’ Before leaving with an armful of goodies, Sloane added that he has no plans to marry.”
Sharon looked up, her eyes glowing. “What I wouldn’t give to be that woman!”
“Surely you’re not serious.” Gaynel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “This sounds a little too weird, if you ask me. Surrogate arrangements almost always end in trouble or a trial. It’s not natural. I’ve never met a woman who could hand a baby over with no thought or concern for it.”
“I have.” Lara spoke quietly, but her voice echoed in the room. She turned and met Gaynel’s gaze. “Not every woman has a highly developed maternal instinct. I’ve met women who left their babies on doorsteps, who auctioned them off to the highest bidder, who let their boyfriends abuse them to the point of death. You can’t assume every biological mother will be a good parent. Sometimes I wonder if I will.”
“You’re going to be a great mother.” Gaynel draped her arm over Lara’s shoulder. “If you’re worried, well, you just put those thoughts out of your mind. I remember being scared to death when I first got pregnant. I didn’t know a thing about being a mother. The thought of being responsible for a child petrified me.”
Lara patted Gaynel’s hand, wondering how the nurse had managed to read her mind. “Thanks. I guess it’s natural to feel a little apprehensive. I’m not worried about the pregnancy part, just about—well, things like telling my mother-in-law. Eva wasn’t at all supportive when I mentioned having Michael’s child.”
“She’ll change her mind once she knows it’s a done deal.” Rita’s curls bobbed as she nodded. “Just wait until you show her that first sonogram picture. Or make a tape of the baby’s heartbeat and play it for her. That’ll make her come around.”
Gaynel glanced at her watch, then tossed her paper plate into the corner trash can. “Come on, Sharon, we’ve got to get back to work.” She stepped forward and tugged on the corner of the tabloid, pulling the paper from the other nurse’s hands. “Come back to earth, honey. We can’t have you mooning over some rich guy when there is work to be done. I’ve got to get home and cook dinner.”
“He’s so handsome,” Sharon groaned, draping herself over her plastic chair in a melodramatic pose. She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead and sighed. “All those good looks and money, too! Life is not fair! Why couldn’t I have met him before I met Bill?”
Lara stared thoughtfully at the black-and-white photograph. “You know”—she bent to pick the paper up from the floor—“I met Devin Sloane a few days ago. At Dr. Braun’s lab.”
Sharon’s eyes flew open as she pulled herself upright. “You’re kidding, right? Or are you just trying to bedevil my poor broken heart?”
“No, I’m sure. At the time I thought his name sounded familiar, but I didn’t think much about it because I had other things on my mind.”
Sharon placed her hands over her heart and looked at Lara with a glint of wonder in her eyes. “Is he as dreamy in real life as he is in his pictures?”
Gaynel pointed toward the corner television. “He was featured on the ‘Celebrity Minute’ on the twelve o’clock news. I saw the whole thing ’cause Olivia asked me to tape a news report about the new children’s hospital.”
Sharon’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you still have the tape!”
“Sure I do.” Gaynel moved to the VCR, then punched the power on. “Hang on a second, and I’ll find it.”
Lara watched as Gaynel pressed the rewind button and a grainy panorama of the hospital filled the television screen. “Devin Sloane was at the hospital for the ribbon cutting ceremony,” Gaynel said, her eyes alert and trained on the screen. “A reporter caught him as he was getting into his limo.”
Rita grabbed the remote and jacked up the volume as Gaynel pressed play. The twelve o’clock news report’s “Celebrity Minute” logo flashed across a black-and-white photo of Devin Sloane in a tuxedo; then a blonde reporter’s head filled the lower corner of the screen.
“Devin Sloane, billionaire companion to Hollywood stars and local philanthropist, has admitted that he expects to join the ranks of other celebrities who have fathered children late in life,” the reporter said, a video of Sloane rolling across the screen. “Like Jack Nicholson, Warren Beatty, and Donald Trump, the handsome entrepreneur has fallen under the beguiling spell of booties and baby rattles. His spokesman reports that Mr. Sloane expects to be diapering a wee one sometime in early February.”
“February!” Sharon grinned at Lara. “Isn’t that when you’re due? If you see him again, you’ll have to talk about babies.”
The reporter’s next words were drowned out by a wave of reproachful shushing; then the room fell silent.
“Sloane has remained silent about the mother of this affluent babe-to-be,” the anchorwoman continued, “citing the need for confidentiality in what is reported to be a surrogate arrangement.” The reporter tilted her head and gave the camera a saucy smile. “Is it truly a surrogate arrangement, Mr. Sloane? Or will we hear the pealing of wedding bells in your future?”
“He’s awfully sure of himself, isn’t he?” Gaynel said, her gaze glued to the television screen. Devin Sloane, appearing cool and utterly natural, was working his way through a crowd outside the hospital with smiles and handshakes. No woman clung to his arm, Lara noticed, though more than a few flashed eager smiles in his direction.
“If you were worth two billion dollars, you’d be confident too,” Sharon said.
Lara shook her head, scarcely able to believe she’d spoken to the billionaire. She should have recognized Sloane that afternoon, but she’d been so concerned about Michael’s genetic screening that she had scarcely given any thought to the men loitering in Braun’s lab—and what business would a wealthy financier have with Dr. Braun?
She dismissed the question. The two probably played golf together or something.
Lara stood, picked up a napkin, and wiped a smear of icing from the lapel of her lab coat. “Thanks again, ladies. This was fun.” She tossed the napkin in the trash can, then winked at Sharon. “If you find out who Sloane’s lucky woman is, let me know. Maybe we can work out a deal to share maternity clothes.”
For the next few weeks, Lara felt like a medical textbook come to life. She could recite the early symptoms of pregnancy in her sleep—light cramping, nausea, breast tenderness, and an enervating exhaustion—but when those sensations rose in her own body, she wanted to crow for joy.
The Women’s Clinic did not usually schedule OB patients for an exam until after their second missed menstrual period, but Olivia welcomed Lara to the exam table a month after the fertilization date, as thrilled with the pregnancy as Lara herself.
“Helmut is ecstatic,” Olivia remarked as she made her notes on Lara’s file. “He is quite proud—almost amazed—that the first implantation took hold. He’s already begun work on the paper he wants to publish about your case, but he’s being very secretive about it.” She laughed. “He probably thinks I’m going to correct his grammar or something.”
Lying on the exam table, Lara turned to look at Olivia. “Isn’t anyone else doing similar work? I thought gene splicing had come a long way.”
“In farm animals, perhaps,” Olivia answered, “but though gene therapy is a common treatment these days, Helmut doesn’t know of anyone who has succeeded in reshaping a child’s genes before conception.” She clicked her pen, then slipped it into the pocket of her coat. “He wants to know how you’re doing at every stage of the pregnancy. So”—she shot Lara a piercing glance—“if you have no objections, I’d like to allow him access to your file. You’ll have to sign a consent form.”
“I’m so grateful to him.” Lara folded her hands across her belly. “Of course, he can see anything he’d like. I’ll sign the release.”
Olivia nodded. “I’ll tell Carol to forward your file to his office after she enters changes on your record. He can examine it over the computer network.” She gave Lara’s chart one final glance, then snapped the folder shut. “I appreciate your openness, but I’m asking Carol to forward only your patient number, not your name. I don’t think you want Helmut’s students poring over your weight and measurements week after week, do you?”
Lara laughed. “So, Doc, how do I look?”
Olivia’s professional expression softened into a smile. “You’re beautiful. You’re healthy. Your heart and lungs sound great, and the clinical pelvimetry indicates that you’ll have a disgracefully easy birth. According to our calculations, you’ll deliver a healthy baby right around February fourth, plus or minus two weeks.”
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over the chart. “Now, do you want to hear the standard speech, or will you let me save my breath?”
“I have it memorized.” Lara pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I can continue to do the things I did before pregnancy, including climbing mountains, water-skiing, and riding horses—as long as I regularly did those things before I became pregnant. I should not, however, jog long distances or at a fast pace after the first four months. I should exercise to keep my weight down, but moderately, and remember that labor is a physical event, so I’d better stay in shape.”
“Diet?” Olivia prompted.
“A balanced diet is crucial.” Lara grinned. “And a two-pound weight gain per monthly visit is all you’ll allow without fussing at me.”
“Absolutely right.” Olivia pulled herself off the counter and took a step forward. “And the baby, Doctor Godfrey—how big is the little daredevil now?”
Lara felt a curious tingling shock. She knew the answer, but until that instant had never applied the fact to herself. “An inch long,” she said, sliding her palm over her belly. “Little Morgan or Megan is an entire inch long by now.”
Olivia patted Lara on the shoulder, then moved toward the door. “Very good, Doctor Godfrey. Now get back to work.” Her eyes twinkled as she paused in the doorway. “Just because we’re thrilled for you doesn’t mean we don’t want you around.”