Jacqueline Diamond – His Baby Dream (страница 9)

As anticipated, she yielded. “Rod, it’s not fair to keep him in suspense.”

His father shrugged.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” They’d already answered his questions about their trip—they liked Betty’s fiancé, a fellow attorney named Greg Southern, and the couple were planning a small wedding next month. Peter’s invitation should be arriving shortly.

“Your sister’s pregnant,” Kerry said.

Peter caught his breath. Betty, having a baby? His single-minded sister had resisted the very idea of motherhood. “So, uh...” he managed to say.

“It was an accident, but a happy one now that she’s had time to consider.” Rod dropped his joking tone.

“She’s due in January,” Kerry added. “She plans to take three months’ leave and then work on a reduced schedule.”

“Which means sixty-hour weeks, right?” Peter knew his workaholic sister too well.

Kerry and Rod exchanged glances. There was more, he gathered. “And?” Peter pressed.

“It’s a girl,” his father said. “They haven’t picked a name.”

Peter pinned his gaze on his mother. “And?” he repeated.

She tucked the tablet into its case. “I can’t bear for my granddaughter to grow up in day care. Besides, Betty will need our support.” She stopped.

Rod blew out a long breath. “Moving to Maryland wasn’t part of our retirement plans, but there’s a lot of exciting stuff to do in the area. The National Archives alone could take years to explore.”

They were doing what? A hundred thoughts collided in Peter’s brain, sending up a wall of white noise.

Having dropped their bombshell, his parents went to finish preparing the meal. Although it was dinnertime, July sunlight bathed their backyard with its flagstone patio and outdoor kitchen. For years, they’d poured loving care into this comfortable home in the Orange County town of Yorba Linda, nesting for their retirement. Now they were leaving it?

More than that, they were leaving Peter. And his future children.

On automatic, he helped set the table and fetched potato salad and coleslaw from the refrigerator. As they ate, his parents filled him in on their plans to sell the house, with the goal of settling into a new home before the baby’s birth.

I was counting on you. He didn’t speak the words aloud, though. While his parents had more or less promised to help with his future family, Betty had an equal claim to their support. And she was pregnant, whereas he had no guarantees of what might happen.

The chicken might have been delicious, but Peter hardly noticed. He had to focus on saying the right things and hiding the fact that he felt blindsided.

What was he going to do?

Finally his parents fell silent. Glancing in front of him, Peter was surprised to see he’d eaten a slice of apple pie. All he had to show for it was the lingering taste of cinnamon.

“Well?” Kerry said.

“I don’t think he heard the question,” Rod murmured.

“What question?” Peter asked.

“We asked if you’d consider moving, too.” Worry lines creased his mother’s face. With her strawberry-blond hair and trim figure, she didn’t usually look her sixty-seven years. Now, though, Peter registered how old she was becoming.

He expected to be there for his parents, just as they’d always been here for him. Wasn’t it a son’s duty to help his folks as they aged, assisting with medical and financial choices? But a pair of lawyers were better qualified to do that than he was.

“I can’t.” That was Peter’s first reaction, and the more he thought about it, the less he could see any way around it. “It’s not as if I can just pick up and land another job.”

“It’s not impossible,” his father said. “They have schools in Maryland.”

“It isn’t that easy.” Each state had its own requirements for a teaching credential. That might require taking classes, delaying his job prospects. Moreover, the situation would set back his quest to have children by at least a year. “I’d have to start all over with finding a fertility program and interviewing surrogates. And the delay...well, who knows?” While most thirty-one-year-old men might not be concerned about fertility, Peter faced extra obstacles.

His mother blinked hard. Hoping he hadn’t made her cry, Peter reached across the table to cup her hand. She gave him a shaky smile. “We realize we dropped this on you like a ton of bricks.”

“It’s not as if we’re moving tomorrow,” his father put in. “And you wouldn’t have to join us immediately, either.”

“I promise to think about it.” That was the best Peter could do.

After dinner, they discussed his mom’s latest findings about the family history. Using historical records, she’d traced her ancestry back to some colorful characters, including a buccaneer who’d sailed with Sir Francis Drake. Now she was working on his father’s origins.

All the while, Peter’s brain hummed with the startling news about his parents. He could tell it lingered in their minds, too, although they avoided the topic until he was ready to leave.

“It’s not as if we’ll be living in another country,” Kerry said as she embraced him.

“Or on another planet, although that would be interesting,” his father added.

“I’ll email Betty my congratulations.” Except for birthdays and major holidays, Peter had fallen into the habit of relying on his parents for updates about his older sister. He missed their closeness when they were younger.

That had ended when Betty entered high school. From freshman year forward, she’d focused on earning top grades, racking up extracurricular honors and aiming for a top school. She’d made it into Yale and later Harvard Law, while he’d attended the University of California’s campus in Riverside, less than an hour’s drive from home.

Her career sizzled, and her income must be quadruple his. But Peter had a job he loved and no regrets.

He’d like to live near her and certainly near his parents, he conceded as he drove back to Safe Harbor. And having a cousin nearby should be good for his kids.

If he ever had any.

His chest tightened. He didn’t mean to be negative. All things were possible these days, but the idea of relocating threw a monkey wrench into his plans.

Arriving at his cottage, Peter wondered how he could leave the house he’d shared with Angela. She’d loved this place. He’d contributed personal touches, as well, transforming the workshop behind the garage into a gym. As for the fertility program, while he assumed the D.C. area had plenty of medical facilities, he’d made an emotional connection here, with his doctor and with the other personnel.

Not to mention Harper.

An image of her popped into his mind—her athletic stride, her funny way of trying to stroke her long hair and then remembering that she’d cut it, her tenderness with her daughter.

Thinking of Mia reminded him of next weekend’s party. In the future nursery, Peter examined the contents of the bookshelf. Because he wrote a blog reviewing biology-related books for students, publishers sent him their latest offerings, including some for younger readers. As a result, he had a number of like-new children’s books on insects, reptiles and animals.

Peter flipped through several picture books about bugs for preschoolers and a couple of illustrated volumes for slightly older readers. If he were to write such a story, it would feature more in-depth information and photographs rather than drawings.

The idea of writing about biology for children had occurred to him before, only to be abandoned because he never found the right angle. In this crowded field, Peter knew, a book required a unique angle and a distinctive look to make it stand out.

He selected the best of the batch for Mia. It had been fun yesterday, touring Harper’s yard and explaining about spiders. He could still see Mia scrunching her little face and asking, “Can I scare them necessarily?”

Longing swept through Peter, to have a child like her. A small, precious person to hold, to nurture, to stretch out his arms to as she took those first steps. Waiting another year or more, taking a chance with a different donor...but then, even if he stayed in California, he’d already decided against raising a youngster near her biological mother, especially one who was a friend.

Abruptly, a possibility occurred to Peter. He went cold and then hot, as if he were coming down with something.

To clear his head, he retreated to the backyard. Stars glittered in the summer sky, in defiance of the light pollution from houses and streetlamps. The scents of Angela’s herbs—mint and lemon balm—soothed his spirit. Yet when he tried to picture her, the face he saw belonged to Harper.

If he moved out of state, he’d never see her again. While that troubled him, he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, anyway.

He could proceed with the surrogate he’d chosen, use Harper’s eggs and have a child or children like Mia. In Maryland, the little one would grow up surrounded by family, and far from his or her biological mother.

Peter hated the idea of keeping his plan a secret from Harper. Yet if they shared the experience of a pregnancy, if she ever held a baby that belonged to them both, he’d be inviting the type of legal and emotional tangle that he was determined to avoid.