“You met the parents, then? Just not the child?”
“Just him. The father.” Kent Sanders.
“Are they here in Marie Cove?”
“Nope. They’re in Oregon. He’s a contractor. I saw a photo of her on his lap riding around on his backhoe and laughing up at him.”
There’d been more. A lot more. All delivered to him through Kent. The family had been happy to share their lives with him. They’d been so incredibly thankful. He’d seen school reports. Family photos. They’d even opened up her medical records to him—their offer, not his request—because he was a doctor. And because they wanted to give him the peace of mind he sought, since he’d given so much more to them.
The rest wasn’t his to share. But he needed Amelia Grace to know that he truly wasn’t after her child, any more than he’d been after the Sanderses’ girl.
“I’m looking for peace,” he told her. That was it. Just a mind and heart at peace.
“And you think I can give it to you?”
“I hope to God you can.”
“And if I can’t? What happens then?”
He had no idea.
* * *
Amelia’s sudden strong surge of desire to help him was not welcome.
The man hadn’t answered her last question. What happened if she couldn’t magically give Craig Harmon the peace he was looking for?
Hell, some days—most days—it felt like she was still seeking her own peace. She was beginning to think it was a mirage.
None of which she planned to share with the recipient of her phone call. She wanted to get rid of him, not send him further into need.
Pulling her phone away from her ear, she checked to see that they were still connected. If he was waiting for her to invite an invasion of her private life, as that Oregon family had, he was holding on in vain.
And yet...she wasn’t hanging up, either.
Which was odd. He was no one to her. She felt no connection between him and the precious child that was growing inside her.
“Why did you donate samples?” She’d asked once before. He’d said he’d give her the long story when they met. She wasn’t agreeing to meet with him. She was just talking.
“I was an only child in a close-knit family. My folks and I, we’re still close. They wanted more children, but couldn’t conceive a second. When I got to med school, I met Tad Miller and heard about what Christine was trying to do, starting up the Parent Portal with money left to her by her mother, making it a place where family came first, in an open environment where biologicals would give each other contact rights... Christine had couples wanting families, but she didn’t have men knocking down her door to leave viable sperm. My friend, Tad, was donating, his mother was involved with the clinic, and...it just sounded like a decent thing to do.”
Her heart lurched. She moved to the kitchen. Polished the chrome faucet with the bottom of her shirt. Adjusted the table in the nook, making certain that three of the four chairs were situated to catch the best of the ocean views from the bay window. She usually sat in the chair that faced the kitchen, but had been moving it around a bit. Just trying out the other spots. The views—one of the main reasons she’d purchased the two-thousand-square-foot luxury unit when they’d moved their headquarters to town the previous year—really were spectacular. Even at night.
Shortly after she’d moved in she’d spent most of one night sitting at that table with a bottle of wine, watching the lights of boats and barges, and the occasional cruise ship, bob out in the far distance. From her sixth-floor vantage point, she could also see the two blocks between her and the water.
The man had donated for altruistic purposes. Not money. At least, that’s what he wanted her to believe.
“How much did she pay you?”
“Nothing. We did, however, get extra credit in our medical cell biology class,” he added.
A-ha. So he’d benefitted personally.
Having graduated with honors, though...she wasn’t sure how much he’d needed that extra credit. It certainly wouldn’t have been enough to catapult him to the top of the class.
Dropping one thigh to the chair with the most direct ocean view, Amelia half sat in the near-dark, contemplating a cup of decaffeinated green tea. With two spoonfuls of honey. Because it was Friday night.
“So you donated, but didn’t feel completely good about having done so,” she surmised, in no real hurry to end the conversation.