The Pregnant Virgin. Anne Eames
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later, after he had left the clinic, that she remembered what he had started to say. I was wondering if maybe you—
If maybe what? You’d like me to father your child? Why, yes. That would be very nice, thank you.
Another client stopped at the counter and she wiped the smile off her face. She had to do something about this imagination of hers. It was going to get her into trouble someday. Maybe it was time she switched to horror fiction.
On Thursday, Ali stopped in the hospital gift shop to check out the new arrivals. They always had the cutest seasonal decorations and infant clothes. She was trying to decide whether she liked the papier-mâché ghost or witch the best when she glanced up and saw Brad in the next aisle.
He looked up and a warm smile lit his face. “Hi,” he said, looking sincerely glad to see her.
“Hi,” she said, praying he wouldn’t notice how very glad she was to see him.
He was holding a small pair of blue overalls that, after looking at the price tag, he put back on the rack.
She hadn’t even considered that he might have children. For some strange reason she’d hoped hers would be the first. He looked up at her again and she did her best to hide her thoughts.
“For your son?” she asked.
He laughed. “Oh, no. Not me. Just looking for a little something for one of my patients. Delivered my first baby today.” He beamed as if he were the proud father himself. “Eight pound healthy boy. Any suggestions?”
She didn’t know how much he wanted to spend and wasn’t comfortable asking, but since most residents she’d met were broke she pointed to a blue-trimmed terry bib with an attached pacifier. “This is usually a safe bet.”
He picked one up and said, “Great. Thanks.” Then, turning to face her, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, Ali…I’m not very good at this, but would you like to do something tomorrow night?”
She stared at him, not believing her ears. She’d been sitting right there after the game when he’d talked about his wife. What did he think she was?
She headed for the door, not even dignifying the question with an answer. “Excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
“Wait a minute.” He was right on her heels. “I know I’m out of practice, but what did I say wrong?”
She spun on him. “It’s not what you said. It’s what you left out.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Let me give you a clue. It starts with w-i and ends with f-e.” She started to turn, but he caught her elbow.
“You think I’m married?”
He was a good actor; she had to give him that.
“Pizza after the game? Your ‘old lady’ waiting for you at home?”
He let go of her arm and started to laugh. “You mean, Sally?”
“Yes, Sally.”
“She’s my sixty-five-year-old landlady. A very protective and dear lady who watches over me like a hawk, that’s all.”
She gave him a sidelong look, wanting to believe him, but afraid he’d soon dash the hope and excitement building behind her rib cage.
He drew an X over his heart and held up a palm. “Honest. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
Ali folded her arms and let a smile slip across her face. “What would you lie about?” His dimples reappeared and by the quickening of her pulse she knew she was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Nothing with you. I have a feeling I’d never get away with it.”
“Smart man.”
“So, what about it? I was thinking if the weather is nice we could take the People Mover down to Hart Plaza and listen to a little jazz, watch the freighters go up the river. You know…your basic cheap date.”
She was flirting with danger and she knew it. He was simply The Face, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be wise—
“Sounds terrific. I’d love to.”
They firmed up the details and went their separate ways, with Ali doing her best to act as though this was no big deal. It wasn’t until she entered the next wing that she realized she was holding a witch in one hand and a ghost in the other, neither paid for. She raced back to the gift shop and made good on her purchases, then somehow got through the rest of the afternoon.
That night, though, she found herself obsessed with Friday’s date. She laid out half a dozen outfits on her bed, finally deciding on casual navy slacks and a two-piece powder-blue sweater set. She debated whether to wear these to work or to take them in a bag and change afterward, since he was meeting her there. Decisions, decisions. Now she knew why she didn’t date. It drove her crazy.
In the end she wore the outfit to work, but at quarter to five, with her stomach in knots, the phone rang and it was Brad.
“I’m really sorry, Ali. I’m going to have to ask for a rain check. There’s been a three car pileup on the Lodge Freeway. Serious injuries. I don’t know when I could get away.”
“I understand,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Unfortunately I’m on call the rest of the weekend.”
“Such is the life of a doctor.” She shrugged and remembered another doctor who often called and canceled.
“E.M.S. is just pulling up. Gotta run.”
She listened to the dial tone for a moment and then slowly replaced the receiver. What a fool she’d been to allow herself to get her hopes up. But she had no doubt he was telling the truth.
This time.
Yet memories of other times when she’d heard her mother crying into her pillow in the next room came back to haunt her. How many birthdays and anniversaries had her mother spent alone? And how many of Ali’s recitals and basketball games had her father missed? For that matter, how many had he ever made? She couldn’t remember a one.
She locked up her desk and left the clinic, feeling sadder but wiser.
Maybe Brad had fathered her child. Maybe. But it was best she remembered that doctors weren’t meant to be dads.
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