For Their Baby. Kathleen O'Brien
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a room at an amusement park of sex.
But he wasn’t even trying to deny that there had been a second whirl on the roller coaster that night. Her heart hardened a little, processing its disappointment.
The unruffled demeanor of both men also answered another question: whether David had shared all the dirty details with Malone. She wondered when David had told him. Just today, to prepare for the meeting with her? Or eight weeks ago, when David had arrived home from the Bahamas with a good tan and a great locker-room story?
“I’m perfectly clear about the two of you,” David answered coldly. “But I have no idea what you might have done before that night, or in the eight weeks since.”
She scowled, then leaned forward, her mouth open, her cheeks as hot as if he’d held a match to them. “I don’t—”
“Kitty, listen,” David said, forestalling her. “I can understand why you might think I’m a fool, because I certainly acted like one in the Bahamas. But I’m not. Before I accept…” He stopped, and for the first time he looked uncertain. “I need to establish beyond a doubt that the child is mine.”
Suddenly she was precariously close to tears. Damn these hormones. She blinked hard and narrowed her eyes.
“Well, we’d better find a way to establish that in a hurry. I lost my job because of this pregnancy, although of course they cooked up some other excuse. And I don’t have insurance. This pregnancy isn’t going to be easy. I’m Rh negative, but you’re probably not, which is a problem. My mother had two miscarriages, and my family has seen three sets of twins in the past three generations. I’m not a high-risk pregnancy, but it’s not exactly a cakewalk, either. So if you think I’m going to see some quack at some third-rate charity clinic, where God only knows—”
“Hey.” He put his hand over hers. It was the first physical contact since that night, and even through her anger she sensed the warm sizzle of skin against skin. She moved her hand up onto the table. She didn’t want his pity pats.
“Kitty, please,” he said. “Relax. It’s absurd for us to—”
She lifted her chin. “Too late,” she said. “This whole thing is absurd, and believe me, I know it. But, still, here it is.”
David shook his head, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with such an emotional female. Well, let him try being pregnant. Let him try being jobless and homeless, and counting pennies, and waking up in the night doubting yourself, wondering if your own child would be better off adopted…
“There’s a test we can have done right away,” he said.
She frowned. “It’s too early for an amniocentesis.”
“I know, but—”
Everyone fell silent as the waitress set down coffee and toast. Great. The kitchen had buttered the toast, though Kitty had made a point of asking for it dry. Little greasy yellow puddles glistened on the brown surface. Nausea twisted Kitty’s stomach. She swallowed hard and pushed the toast to the side, out of sight behind the silver coffee carafe.
When they were alone again, Malone took over, as if handling Kitty were a relay race, and the baton had been passed to give David a rest.
“The test David’s referring to is called CVS, which stands for Chorionic Villus Sampling. It’s quick—a week, maybe ten days at most for the results. If it’s done properly, through an obstetrician we mutually agree upon, David will accept the results as definitive.”
She looked from one man to the other, wondering if she could trust any of this. Was she being set up for some kind of fall?
She hadn’t researched Colby Malone, of course, since she hadn’t known whom David would consult. But she had used Google to research the heck out of David, and she hadn’t found anything squalid or dishonest. In fact, at worst, he appeared to have an over-active social conscience. All kinds of charity functions and do-gooder lawsuits, lots of sober interviews in boring, peer-reviewed journals.
So apparently the indiscriminate sex had been an aberration. What happens in the Bahamas, and all that.
She had pretty strong feelings about the importance of a father in a child’s life, but still. If David had turned out to be a true sleazeball, she would never have breathed a word to him about the baby. She’d work five jobs if she had to, rather than saddle her child with an untrustworthy, deadbeat dad.
But David clearly was, with the occasional lapse, a good guy. He had a right to know he was about to be a father, and he had an obligation to assume his half of the responsibility.
The two men waited, apparently patiently, for her answer. Malone never seemed to look anything but pleasantly confident, but David’s face was tight and wary. Suspicious. She wondered if he hoped she’d refuse to submit to the test—which he could take as proof that her accusation had been a con from the start.
She breathed through her mouth, so that she didn’t smell the coffee, which suddenly seemed too bitter.
She’d heard of this CVS thing, read about it somewhere, maybe, but she hadn’t paid enough attention. Why should she have? She’d never imagined it could matter to her. “Are there risks?”
Malone started to shrug, but David nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “The risks are very small, but I want you to understand completely. Colby brought some materials.”
Malone retrieved a colorful brochure from his briefcase. She took it from his outstretched hand, wondering where he’d picked it up on such short notice. Did his practice specialize in paternity suits or something?
She leafed through the brochure blindly, the words indecipherable through the haze in her brain.
“You don’t have to read it now,” David said. “Take your time. Obviously you can consult any physician you like while you make your decision, though, as Colby said, the test must be performed by someone we agree on. Colby has a few names to suggest.”
“Of course,” she said, and accepted Colby’s doctor list, printed on creamy, classy letterhead that said Diamante, Inc. Whatever that was.
The brochure was glossy and obviously expensive, as well. That meant the test wasn’t cheap. “Who will pay for this CVS test? I know you said you wouldn’t be drawn in before—”
“Since it’s in my interests to settle the problem definitively, one way or another, I’m willing to pay for it.” David waved the issue away, as if payment were sublimely unimportant.
And she knew, from her Google searches, that, to him, it was. A few hundred, a few grand, he’d never miss it.
Suddenly her anger surged back, full force. Well, bully for the big guy, to whom her pregnancy was the “problem.” The “mistake.” When he realized the baby really was his, he’d probably have Colby sue the condom company, and her child support checks would all come marked Trojan, Inc.
Jerk.
She slid the brochures into a neat stack, like folding a bad poker hand. She stood, pushing her chair back with a scrape that echoed through the nearly empty restaurant.
“Make the appointment,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER THREE
DAVID SAT in the waiting room of the obstetrician’s office, surrounded by pregnant women, hyperkinetic toddlers and hovering husbands. He hadn’t ever been so uncomfortable in his life.
It might as well have been tattooed across his forehead: I don’t belong here.
He flipped through the newspapers he’d found on the magazine table and tried to remember who was running in the upcoming special elections. But real life, or what he used to call real life a week ago, seemed remote. Kitty’s announcement had blasted him into an alternate dimension. He still met clients, took depositions, researched case law, but it all had