“If we’d just had that damned equipment,” he said, reminding himself that it was better if he stayed at least a little bit angry with her. Except that he wouldn’t have a grandchild on the way, an extension of Barbara, if it wasn’t for Beth’s clinic.
“Have you asked Marcus for help?” she asked, standing beside her car while he unlocked the door for her. He could see her breath in the frosty air.
“Of course not. I’d never ask Marcus for money. Too many other people do that every day of his life. The boy already thinks his money is the only reason most people care about him. I certainly don’t want him thinking that about me.”
Beth smiled, her full dimples twinkling up at him. “I didn’t mean personally. I meant Cartwright Enterprises. If you get your money from a private source, it has to buy only what it was donated to buy. The hospital no longer has a say in designating how the funds are spent. And it’s not unheard of for private companies to donate to hospitals, though the way hospitals have become big businesses themselves
, it’s not done as often anymore. Still, it’s a great tax writeoff.”
“You’re sure the hospital has no means to direct the spending?” Oliver asked. He’d understood that everything that was used in the hospital had to be hospital-sanctioned.
“They can direct only insomuch as determining which machine they deem most suitable to their needs, but all the money either has to be used for the designated purpose or returned.”
Oliver followed Beth to a steak house around the corner from the hospital, mulling over her suggestion. It might work. It just might work.
Beth was one smart woman. Which was one of the reasons he enjoyed the time he spent with her.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that her lips were made for kissing.
“OH, LOOK AT THIS ONE! It’s so tiny.” Lisa held up the cutest little T-shirt she’d ever seen.
“I think your baby’s already too big to fit into that,” Beth said, grinning at her.
“Nah,” said Crystal, a maternity nurse from the hospital. “She’s hardly showing yet. Just wait another couple of months. Then he’ll be too big.”
“Don’t even talk about it.” Lisa rubbed the front of her navy blue maternity dress. “Another couple of months and I’m not going to be able to walk.”
Everyone laughed and Lisa was suddenly glad Beth had arranged the baby shower for her. She’d missed her friends.
“Have you guys picked out names yet?” Nancy, a doctor from ER, asked.
“Sawyer if it’s a boy,” Lisa said. “Sara Barbara if it’s a girl.” The names had been picked so many years ago she didn’t even have to think about it.
She opened another gift, a pair of tiny designer tennis shoes. And looked up just in time to see Marcus standing in the doorway. He was supposed to be in Storrs at a meeting for most of the afternoon. Which was why she’d agreed to Beth’s suggestion that the shower be at her, Lisa’s, house.
He was gone before anyone noticed him, before Lisa had a chance to call him back, but not before the look on his face had torn her heart in two. Raw longing had blazed from his eyes as he’d looked at the tiny pair of shoes she held. Longing and agony. Her husband still wanted a child of his own. And it was killing him that she was having one without him.
SHE TRIED TO PULL AWAY from Marcus, to make herself, and her condition, as scarce as possible after seeing his face that day of her shower. She just couldn’t bear to hurt him anymore.
But staying away was almost impossible. Everywhere she went, everything she did, he was right beside her, watching over her. Protecting her. Loving her. And her foolish heart began to hope again. Marcus’s pain would vanish if he could only allow himself to believe that the baby she was carrying was his.
But how did she make him believe?
“LET’S GO FOR A WALK,” Marcus said one Sunday during the seventh month of her pregnancy. It was one of those sunny February days, still cold but dry, and perfect for walking. He looked disgustingly energetic in his jeans and corduroy shirt.
“I’m too tired.” Lisa was lying on the couch reading the paper and perfectly content to stay that way.
“Come on, Lis. You heard Debbie. The more walking you do, the easier the birth will be on you.”
Lisa threw down the paper. “Fine. We’ll walk,” she said, hauling herself up to go put on. some warmer clothes and some shoes. She was getting tired of everyone else knowing what was better for her than she did.
Marcus waited more than fifteen minutes before he started to get concerned and went up to check on her. What could possibly be taking her so long?
She was in the bedroom, stomping her foot on the carpet and crying like a baby. She only had one tennis shoe on.
“Lisa? What is it, hon?” he asked gently.
“Nothing,” she said petulantly, sounding more like a child herself than a woman preparing to give birth to one.