Chapter Nine

Billy’s eyes roamed from Angela’s sleeping form to the front door and back. Should he leave? Should he stay? Would she remember what she’d said about making babies? Did she even know what she’d said?

Picking up the dirty dishes, his gaze fell on the pills she’d just taken. What did they have her on anyhow? Setting the lunch plate back down, he lifted the nearly full bottle of pills. Oxycodone. Crap. No wonder she kept zonking out. What crackpot doctor gives a woman oxycodone for minor outpatient surgery?

Something didn’t add up. For almost two full days her friends had kept round-the-clock vigilance on her. And her doctor prescribed enough high-powered dope to keep a seasoned addict high for a week.

He carried the dirty plates to the kitchen, rinsed them, and loaded them into the dishwasher. All the while he let what she’d told him in recent conversations bounce around in his mind. Endometriosis. Chance of conception. Window of fertility. House full of children. Marriage and babies. In that order.

Not comfortable with leaving her alone, Billy considered how pissed she would be if he helped himself to the laptop at the foot of the sofa? Unwilling to leave her and unwilling to wait, borrowing the laptop without permission won the internal debate.

At the kitchen table, he opened a browser and began reading up on endometriosis. With each new website, he read more of the same. Varying degrees of severity and pain. Issues with fertility. No cure. Hormone therapy versus surgery. For a single woman who’d dreamed her entire life of having children, he couldn’t imagine a more heartbreaking diagnosis.

He read article after article with little deviation. Most of the information recommended use of over-the-counter painkillers. Nothing mentioned anything as strong as oxycodone. So why did this doctor prescribe this med this time? Searching further for other suggested meds, he brushed away memories of Joe.

“Gotta fight the pain. Push on. Have another pill. Just one more, man. It’s the nature of our chosen profession. Just one more.”

When he finally glanced up at the clock, it was past ten, and Angela showed no signs of stirring. Closing the laptop, he pushed back the chair and rubbed at his leg. A constant reminder of his mistakes. “Just one more.”

“One more what?” Angela wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“Nothing.” He stood. Like the centuries-old ghost in a haunted castle, that day wouldn’t let him forget. His own conscience wouldn’t allow it. But he was damned if he was going to talk about it now. Angela had enough troubles of her own.

She blinked a few times, then glanced quickly about the room. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.”

“As long as you don’t answer yourself, then you’re all right.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He slid the laptop back into its place beside the sofa. “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed it while you were sleeping.”

“Not at all. But what time is it?” When she finally focused on the clock across the room, her eyes grew round. “I’ve been asleep for what…?”

“Four hours.”

“And you’re still here?”

“It would look that way. Yes.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. At least sit down.” She motioned to the chair nearest her.

“You worry too much about how things sound.”

“Could be.” She nodded. “But I do anyhow.”

“Let’s make a deal. I promise not to take what you say the wrong way and you promise not to worry so much about how it sounds.”

A renegade yawn escaped and she quickly covered her mouth, then swiped at the droplets pooling in her eye. “Why is it your tear ducts are directly attached to your yawn factor?”

“Yawn factor?”

“You know.” She smiled. “Wake up yawning and eyes start dripping like a broken bathroom faucet.”

“Oh, yawn factor.” He chuckled. “I suppose it’s for the same reason a sneeze always comes in threes.”

“I know! Why do you suppose that is?”

“Mystery of life. One of those questions you ask God when you get to heaven. Like, what causes déjà-vu.”

“And who really killed JFK?” A bright smile replaced the sleepy gaze. “And Amelia Earhart. What happened to her?”

Billy smiled. He liked it when she got all enthused about simple things.

“Isn’t there anything you’re curious about?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“There has to be some life mystery you want the answer to.”

He hitched his shoulder, rubbed his jaw, and settled for, “How did Marilyn Monroe die?”

Her loud burst of laughter surprised him, too quickly followed by a pinched grimace. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Did I say something funny?”

Still smiling, she shook her head but didn’t move her hand from her stomach. “You didn’t really. I just thought it so typically male to think of Marilyn Monroe.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“No need. JFK was pretty hot himself.” Placing her hands on either side of her, she straightened. “I know I’ve asked this before, but since I’ve been told not to worry about how things sound, why are you still here?”

“You fell asleep before I could say good-bye.” “Nice try, sailor.”

“I’m not a sailor anymore.”

“I thought once a sailor always a sailor.” “Those are the Marines.”

“Ah, never confuse a squid with a jarhead?” “Squid? Where’d you hear that?”

“JAG. My mother loved that TV show. For one hour on Tuesday nights, there was no dragging her away from the TV. I know all sorts of useless information. Never wear your cover inside. Always wear it outdoors. And no one ever calls it a hat.”

“I’m impressed, but you do know that real navy lawyers don’t fly fighter jets or battle terrorists outside of a courtroom?”

“I do. But suspension of reality is an expected part of network television. And you haven’t answered the question.”

“I noticed you’re on some heavy-hitting drugs.” He pointed to the pills with his nose.

“The doctor said most women with endo don’t actually pass out from the pain. I was already taking so much ibuprofen he knew nothing over the counter was going to work.”

“But oxycodone? There are other pain pills that are less addictive.”

“Oh, I won’t get addicted. I shouldn’t be in much pain anymore. Since I already had a prescription from the emergency room, my doctor told me I could take these for a few more days to manage any postop discomfort.”

“Stronger men than you have said that and been taken down.”

Head tilted, she studied him carefully before speaking, “You? Did your injury hook you on painkillers?”

He shook his head. Considered how much to say. How much did he want to say? “Someone I once knew.”

“Good friend?”

He nodded. Talking wasn’t coming easily anymore.

She tipped her head to the other side as though that would reveal more information to her. “So you stayed because you’re concerned I’ll get hooked on pain pills?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes, I’m concerned about you, but, no, I’m not worried you’ll get hooked.” That much was true. He’d make sure of it if he had to move in with her and stand guard.

“Thank you. I think. But I can assure you I’ll be fine.”

“What about your plans?”

“Did Kara talk to you? So help me if she put you up to this, I’ll…” Color seemed to bleed from her face. “Oh God. She didn’t tell you about her harebrained idea. No, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that to me. Did she?”

“Harebrained?” Billy hadn’t realized people still used that word. Never mind following what she was babbling about.

“She did. I’m so sorry. She had no right. I told her you weren’t interested. She simply wouldn’t take no for an—”

“Whoa. Back up. The only thing she asked of me was to bring you something to eat. That’s not what you’re talking about is it?”

Eyes wide, she shook her head.

“And you’re not going to tell me what Kara wants me to do, are you?”

She shook her head again, looking very much like someone trapped in a corner by a madman with a butcher knife.

“Do I have to figure this out for myself?” he asked.

Her eyes grew impossibly wider. “I hate it when my mouth moves faster than my brain.”

“I think it’s rather an endearing quality, but I’d like to know what’s going on.”

Covering her eyes with one hand and blowing out a deep breath, she quickly rambled on, “Kara thought I should have a test-tube baby, but that’s so cold and impersonal, not to mention a family needs a mother and a father, so I nixed that, at least until later when I’m desperate. Or more desperate. So now Kara and Lexie want me to find a husband fast so I can have a baby before I run out of time. The first name to come up was Dr. Shepherd. I don’t see that happening. Which didn’t matter because Lexie thinks I should to go to Oahu to find a good man since there’s no one decent left on Kona who’s under one hundred, but Kara thinks I should ask you.”

From Billy’s stoic expression, Angela was unsure if he’d managed to follow her babbling. Or if he could have simply been stunned into silence. “I told you it was harebrained.”

She wished he’d say something. Anything. Watching him carefully, she could almost see the wheels in his mind turning, though she had no clue what he was thinking. Was he leaning towards strangling Kara or her? “You don’t have to worry. I told Kara you don’t think of me that way, and that’s just fine. Really.”

Holding up his hand, he leaned forward in the chair, dropped his elbows onto his knees, and linked his fingers in front of him. “What did your laparoscopy reveal?”

“I definitely have endometriosis.”

His head bobbed, silently encouraging her to continue. Only she had nothing more to add.

“How serious?” His face still a blank slate, she couldn’t determine what he might be thinking. “There was some minor growth on my ovaries, but the doctor believes he was able to remove most of it.”

“Do you have a timeline?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Everyone seems to be married to the idea of two years. But there are no guarantees this will even stop the pain, never mind knowing about my conception possibilities.”

He sat still as a stone statue. No muscle twitches, no fingers fidgeting, no readable expression. “Will you need more aggressive surgery?”

“Eventually, it’s a real possibility.” Surprised at how easy it felt to answer him, she suddenly realized it was mostly due to the direct, pointed, and informed questions. “You seem to understand a lot about endometriosis.”

“I read up on it.”

“Because of me?”

He nodded. “I told you I was worried about the meds.”

“Well the good news is it’s not fatal.” She didn’t know what else to say. How to get out of this awkward situation. She couldn’t blame this on Kara’s margaritas. If only she could ask him to leave without sounding like a sulking child. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will. But that’s not the issue is it?” “No,” she whispered, looking down. It wasn’t. “You’ve told me what Lexie wants you to do and what Kara wants you to do. What do you want?”

* * *

Billy had to thank Uncle Sam for every morsel of his calm facade. The first flutters of apprehension stirred in his gut at the mention of a family needing a mother and father. Adrenaline ratcheted up a notch at the thought of Dr. Shepherd with his hands on Angela to make that family, and the lid blew off at Kara’s final suggestion of involving him.

The navy had taught him well. Plan for the best, expect the worst, and be prepared to be surprised. He neither planned nor expected but was surprised nonetheless. With every question and response, he was quickly scrambling to maintain his calm.

Only seconds had passed since he’d asked what she wanted, and with each painfully slow movement of time, another thread of his practiced military control snapped.

“I want to stop hurting.” Her gaze still cast downward, her voice so quiet and cautious, like a storm-fed wave crashing ashore, her pain smacked into him.

His heart stuttered from the blow. “And…?”

More silence. He resisted the urge to reach out to her.

“I suppose, in time, I could adopt.” Finally, she looked up at him. “I still want to be a mother.”

The lost hope in her eyes pummeled at his already-wounded heart. The same pain he’d seen in her eyes the night of the party. A mother grieving her unborn children. “So this hasn’t changed your mind about love, marriage, and babies in that order?”

“If I wait to find someone, I could still have that, the babies just may not be my biological babies.”

“Then you’re okay with adoption?”

She chewed on her lower lip a minute before nodding. He knew it would be a long while before she actually believed that. No one spends their entire life dreaming of something and then in less than two weeks decides they’re okay with giving it up.

The question he needed to answer now—and fast—was how far was he able to go to save her dream?