Cassie Miles - Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

She knew that she’d skipped her last period but hadn’t worried because Dr. Prentice told her she might be irregular after her testing. Prentice, that bastard. Why had she believed him? With good reason, damn it. She had twenty-five years of good faith; Prentice and Dr. Ray had been part of her life since birth.

Setting her purse on the counter, she took out the kits from the convenience store: three different brands. Two of the kits had two tests inside the box, and she set the extras aside.

She followed the simple instructions and arrayed the three test sticks on the counter beside the sink. Then, she waited, counting the seconds.

Each test had a different indicator. One showed a plus sign in the window to indicate a positive. Another showed a pink line. The third would turn blue.

Though counting didn’t make time go faster, reciting numerical progressions had always soothed her. As a child, she learned to count prime numbers all the way up to 3,571—the first five hundred primes. Five hundred unique numbers, divisible only by themselves and one.

The last time she had seen Dr. Ray over dinner, she’d talked about prime. He had suggested—in his kindly way—that she might want to pursue deeper interpersonal relationships. Make friends, join groups, go on dates, blah, blah, blah.

She had told him that she was happy just as she was. Some people needed others to make them complete, but she was unique. Like a prime number, she was divisible only by herself. Singular.

If she was pregnant, she’d never be alone again.

One of the tests required only one minute to show results. She could look down right now and see. But the others needed five minutes, and she didn’t want to peek until all the results were in and could be verified against each other.

But she couldn’t wait. She looked down. The first test showed a positive.

Could she trust a kit from a convenience store? It hardly seemed scientific in spite of the claim on the box of ninety-nine percent accuracy in detecting a pregnancy hormone, hCG, released into the body by the placenta.

The second test repeated the positive. And the third.

She was pregnant, pregnant and pregnant.

Tentatively, she touched her lower abdomen. Hello, in there. Can you hear me? An absurd question. At this point in development, the fetus wouldn’t have ears. But they shared the same body, the same blood. The food she ate nurtured the tiny being that grew within her. The miracle of life. Amazing. Infuriating.

Damn it, this couldn’t be happening! She dug into her purse and found her cell phone. Dr. Prentice’s private cell phone number was in the memory.

He answered after the fourth ring. “I’ve been expecting to hear from you, Eve.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“I assume you’re aware of—”

“I’m aware, damn you. I just took a pregnancy test.”

“You’re upset.”

A mild description of her outrage. “You might as well have raped me.”

“Not at all the same thing. Rape is an act of violence. You received the highest quality medical care. My intentions were for your own good. I could have hired a surrogate, you know.”

“A what?”

“A surrogate mother. Some women rent out their wombs like cheap motels.”

“I know what a surrogate is.”

Her voice was louder than she intended. Blake knocked on the bathroom door. “Eve? Are you all right?”

She didn’t want to deal with him. This wasn’t his problem. Lowering her voice, she demanded, “Why, Dr. Prentice? Why would you do this?”

“Ray’s research indicated the optimum condition for development comes when the biological mother carries the fetus and bonds with the infant.”

Biological mother? Bonding? None of what he’d just said made sense. “I ought to hire a lawyer and sue you.”

“Don’t bother. When you came for your examination, you signed a consent form.”

With a jolt, she remembered being handed several documents on a clipboard. “You told me it was a routine medical procedure.”

“If you like, I can fax you a copy.”

He knew her too well, knew that she wouldn’t bother to read the fine print. She had trusted him. “I have to know why.”

“To create the second generation.”

“Second generation of what?”

From outside the bathroom door, she heard Blake. “Who are you talking to, Eve?”

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“Unlock the damn door,” Blake said.

“In a minute.”

She moved to the farthest wall of the bathroom beside the toilet. A magazine stand held back issues of Psychology Today. Guest towels with a teal-blue border hung from a pewter rack. She spoke into the phone. “Signed consent form or not, this was wrong.”

“What’s done is done,” he said.

“I’m not ready to be a mother.” Everything in her life would have to change. She’d have to find a way to juggle work and child care. There was so much to learn, an overwhelming amount of research. How could she manage? “Maybe I should give the baby up for adoption.”

“That would be a mistake.”

“It’s not your call, Dr. Prentice.”

“Let me give you something else to consider. Do you remember five years ago when I had you on medication?”

The earlier scare about possible radiation poisoning. “Another lie?”

“I’m a scientist,” he said archly. “I don’t deal in ethics. Five years ago, the medication I gave you was actually a fertility drug that encouraged ovulation. You produced several eggs which I then harvested during your physical exam. I used those eggs to create embryos.”

“My egg?” The impact of this new information hit her hard. “You implanted me with my own egg?”

“The fetus you’re carrying is biologically your own.”

My baby. Her hand rested protectively on her stomach. She felt a deep, immediate connection. This is my baby.

“This entire process would have been far less complicated,” Dr. Prentice said, “if Ray had agreed to facilitate. He had a decent grasp on your psychological development and could have convinced you that having this baby was a good idea. Brilliant, in fact. You’re lucky to take part in—”

The room started to spin. Eve never fainted. But her knees went weak. I’m having a baby. She collapsed with a thud. The phone fell from her limp hand onto the tiled bathroom floor.

Eve heard the sharp rap of knuckles against the bathroom door—a faraway sound, like pebbles being tossed down a well.

Blake called through the door, “Are you all right? Eve, answer me.”

She wasn’t all right. Too many variables swirled inside her head. Nothing made logical sense.

“I’m coming in,” Blake said.

The doorknob turned. Through a haze, she saw him come closer. He knelt beside her. His fingers rested on her throat, checking her pulse.

“Locked door,” she said. “How did you …”

“Picked the lock,” he said. “Can you sit up?”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Her eyelids closed, shutting out the light and the intolerable confusion. Her mind careened wildly. How could she be pregnant when she’d never made love? She had the result without the experience. People told her sex was great, but she hadn’t tested the theory, didn’t know for sure. There was a lot she didn’t know, like how to be a mother. Would the baby look like her? A girl baby or a boy? Oh, God, what would she tell her parents?

She was aware of being lifted from the bathroom floor and carried like a little girl. If only she could go back to those more innocent times. Her childhood memories were happy. Not idyllic, but happy. Her parents had loved her, even though she had never quite fit in. She always felt different, like an alien girl who had beamed into their normal world from the planet Nerd.