Jacqueline Diamond - A Baby for the Doctor

In this state, Jack wouldn’t take her news well, Anya conceded. “Tomorrow night, then. Let’s find a moment to talk, okay?”

“I remember flying home from college right after Tiffany was born,” he continued, oblivious. “Holding her in my arms... She was a little cutie with her red hair. I got this wild rush, like it was my job to protect her from the world. Isn’t that nuts? I was twenty years old.”

“Kind of a strong reaction.” In the glow of a streetlamp, Anya clicked open her car lock. “You’re only their uncle. Or cousin. Or whatever.”

“Yes, whatever,” he said dourly. “But it doesn’t matter that we aren’t genetically related. We’re family. And families mean more to me than to most people.”

She stopped. “Why?”

“Because for most of my childhood, I missed out on having one.” Jack dug his hands into his pockets.

He hardly struck Anya as the product of a deprived upbringing. “You grew up in foster homes?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“My dad was a firefighter who died in a fire when I was three.” Jack stared down the dark street. “My mother wasn’t the domestic type, and after Dad died, she stopped trying to be. She adopted one cause after another and travels all over the world, saving the subjugated women of India and Africa. And South America. And Central America. And probably the South Pole.”

“Surely she took you along.” Anya had no idea how anyone could raise a child under those circumstances, but it might be exciting and educational.

“She dragged me here and there until I reached kindergarten. Then she dumped me on my grandparents.” Bitterness underscored his words.

At five years old, his mother had left him? That was harsh. With a shiver, Anya tried to relate his mother’s actions to her own situation. To her, it seemed an entirely different matter. But Jack might not see it that way.

“Grandparents are family, too,” she said.

“Mine weren’t even prepared to have Rod, a surprise midlife baby. He’s thirteen years younger than my mom, and they certainly weren’t eager to add a grandchild to the mix.” Jack seemed lost in his painful past. “Physically, they took care of me, but I grew up feeling as if I wasn’t wanted there. It was lonely.”

The opposite of me. Anya had often longed for less family. “Wasn’t your uncle like a brother?”

“A much older brother. He was a teenager when I was in grade school,” Jack said. “It was later that we got close.”

She shook her head. “I had no idea. Are your grandparents still around?”

“They died a few months apart while I was in high school.” A hurt look shadowed his face. “It felt like the end of the world to me. They may not have been perfect, but at least I had a home.”

“What about your mom?” Surely the woman had stepped up to the plate at such a critical point.

“After the funeral, she offered to fly me to Central America, where she was living in a jungle hut or something like that,” Jack said tightly. “She was vague about her circumstances, which I took to mean she’d rather I stayed here.”

“What did you do?” Anya wished she could soothe his sadness. She’d always pictured Jack as a secure person from a solid, supportive background.

“I moved in with Rod. He was in medical school by then and too busy to spend much time with me, but we got along. I received my father’s survivor benefits from Social Security, so that covered my share of expenses, and I did my best to be useful.”

“That’s why you learned to cook?”

“Along with other household skills.” He shrugged. “That’s how my childhood went. Better than for a lot of kids, but not exactly storybook.” Jack glanced toward the house. “That’s why it tears me apart to see Tiffany and Amber growing up like this. Being rich doesn’t compensate for feeling unloved and unvalued.”

“Surely their mother loves them.”

“Not enough to put their interests ahead of hers,” he said grimly.

Anya had no intention of discussing that subject. Instead, she sent forth a small feeler. “I don’t suppose you want children of your own, considering how unhappy you were.”

Deep green eyes bored into hers. “If I’m ever lucky enough to have them, I’ll be there for them one hundred percent. They’ll be the most important things in my life.”

What a devoted father he’d make, Anya thought, but how realistic was his promise? As a surgeon, he had to work long hours. The person who’d really be there morning, noon and night was the mother.

Still, seeing his hurt, feeling his unhappiness, Anya couldn’t help wanting to fix things for him. But she knew where that path led. She had the best of intentions but eventually her patience wore out, and she made dangerous mistakes.

She’d tried to be the perfect substitute for her mom with her younger siblings and to help at home as her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis grew progressively worse. Molly had put on a cheerful face for her husband and the triplets, but Anya had noticed the swollen joints and profound fatigue, the weight loss and the discouragement as one promising medication after another proved disappointing.

Anya had been exhausted by the extra work and—much as she regretted it—sometimes resentful. During her senior year in college, she was studying for exams one weekend and had decided to ignore her mother’s call for assistance from downstairs, just for a few minutes. Please, let someone else help her this once, Anya had thought. Unaware that everyone else had gone out, she’d concentrated on her textbook until she heard a sickening crash.

Trying to go to the bathroom alone, Molly had fallen and sprained her hip. Aching for her mother and filled with guilt, Anya had spent the next few days sleeping in her mother’s hospital room to make sure no such accident happened again. She’d also endured furious lectures from her father about failing those who relied on her yet again.

Then on the exams she’d received her lowest grades ever, losing a chance at a grant for a graduate program. Anya had given up her goal of becoming a nurse practitioner with her own practice. Instead, she’d taken a job at a hospital in Denver, continuing to make the hour-long commute from her small town until she’d gained enough experience and enough self-confidence to move out of state.

It was only two years later, and Anya wasn’t ready to tackle a lifelong commitment to a child or a man. Her baby would have as close to an ideal childhood as she could arrange, though—with an adoptive family. As for how Jack might react when he learned about her pregnancy, she’d rather not be there.

She’d learned the hard way that avoidance was often a wiser tactic than blunt honesty. She’d admitted to Dad what had happened that day with her mother and had received a tongue-lashing.

Yes, she’d let Jack calm down on his own rather than lash out at her out of shock. In fact, the more distance she put between them, the better. Suddenly, Karen’s house seemed like a haven.

“It was great meeting your niece,” she told him.

The tension eased from his body. “You were great. Thank you.”

“Glad to do it.” As she slid into the car, Anya added, “By the way, my roommate and I are moving.”

“Moving?” Dismay replaced his warmth. “What about your lease?”

“It’s up for renewal, and this will be cheaper,” she said. “We’re only going a few miles, to Karen Wiggins’s house. See you at work!”

Quick escape: turn on the ignition, pull out from the curb, wave blithely and go! In the rearview mirror, she saw Jack staring after her, openmouthed.

As she drove home, Anya processed the fact that she’d just committed to living with four other people, including Lucky, who was annoyingly nosy. And she still had to deal with informing Jack about his impending fatherhood.