His Baby, Her Heart. Sue Swift
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sets planted, I need to shower and make dinner.”
“Oh, sure.”
“If you want to stay out of the firing line, you can sit on the porch.” Dena nodded at the screened veranda circling her weathered, redwood home.
While the kids romped with Goldie, Alex took his briefcase and the contract from the Jag, then retreated to the enclosed porch. He settled himself on a rattan couch upholstered in a flower print. Dividing his attention between Dena and the twins, he flipped through the Wall Street Journal.
Dena soon finished and went into the house. She emerged a few minutes later with two beers in hand. She plopped down next to Alex on the couch, offering him a bottle.
“When can you go to the doctor’s office for the implant procedure?” Alex gave her the copy of the surrogacy contract she’d left in Gary’s office.
She dropped it onto the couch between them. A symbol of their divisions, he thought.
But she sat close enough to touch. “When do you want this baby born?”
He caught her scent, something flowery. To cover his unease at her nearness, he took a swig of his beer. “I never thought about it. Does it make a difference?”
“It may be an old wives’ tale, but a lot of people think that children born in the spring and summer have a better chance at life.” Dena twisted off the cap from her bottle.
“In what ways?”
“Higher birth weight, lower infant mortality, that sort of thing.” She sipped her beer.
Alex winced at the thought of infant mortality. How could Dena sound so casual? “But we’d have to wait until August to have a baby born in May. That’s five months away.” Besides, he didn’t want to base anything about his baby on rumors or myths. He preferred research. “I think we should start right away. The first implant might not take.”
“You mean I might have to do this procedure more than once?” Dena set her bottle onto the floor next to her feet.
Alex faltered. “I’m afraid so. Remember what happened with Tamara? We could never get an embryo to stay.”
Dena’s soft, full lips tightened. “I’m sorry you and Tamara had to go through that. We can start whenever you’re ready. Just give me enough notice so I can reschedule my jobs and find child care for the twins.”
“Can Irina watch the twins? I’d volunteer, but I’d like to be nearby.”
“Hmm. If you want Mom to baby-sit you have to check with her. Obviously she’s my first choice, but we have to work around her catering jobs and her production schedule. The director won’t allow the twins on the set.”
Dena’s mother, caterer Irina Cohen, starred in a cable television show, Irina Cooks! It had made Ashkenazi Jewish cuisine wildly popular in the Sacramento area. “Why not?” Alex asked.
“You didn’t hear? Oh, this happened when you took Tamara to that cancer place back east.”
“Sloan-Kettering.” The treatments there had left Tami sick and bald. Alex swallowed down the painful memories with a gulp of brew.
“Yeah. Mom took the kids to the set one day, sure everyone would love her adorable grandchildren.”
“They really are cute.” Messy, but cute. Alex watched Jack tease Goldie with a tennis ball. Far from seeming offended, the retriever wagged her tail and barked, jumping up and down. She chased Jack around the side of the house.
“Anyway, Miri got into the food. She was in her meal-wearing phase, when everything went into her hair or on her chest.”
“She must have been quite a sight.” Alex knew that his child would never do any such thing.
Dena continued, “You know how much Jack likes to climb? He got onto one of the gaffer’s booms.” Picking up her bottle, she stood and stretched. The movement lifted her breasts inside her snug T-shirt. “Well, I’m gonna hit the shower. See ya in a while.”
The door slammed behind her as she went into the house.
Alex picked up the newspaper, but the discussion of mutual fund investments in high-tech security systems couldn’t hold his interest.
Unwittingly, his thoughts strayed to Dena. He imagined her ascending the stairs, entering her bedroom and stripping off her dirty clothes, exposing her strong body and round breasts. They’d rise higher when she unclipped her long, wavy hair.
He yanked his mind back to a columnist’s analysis of the Fed’s recent change in interest rates. This train of thought was disrespectful to Tamara. Besides, he didn’t find Dena attractive. Did he?
She’d switch on the shower and step in, wiggling her toes with pleasure at the splash of the warm water. When she shampooed, the water would slick her hair into dark, wild whips. Foam would cascade down her curvy form, clinging to her nipples. Without inhibition, she’d toss her head when she rinsed.
Was Dena’s libido as fiery as her mane?
What was he thinking? His X-rated fantasies starring Dena shocked him. He hadn’t found anyone sexy for well over a year—hadn’t had an erotic impulse since Tamara had started chemo and grown so sick. He’d devoted himself to her healing. Then, when it became clear she wasn’t going to make it, he’d helped to ease her way out of this world into a better place.
His body’s yearning spun him into tumult. He hadn’t wanted to make love for months. And now, it was Dena Randolph who had prodded his dormant libido into life.
Dena, of all people. She didn’t turn him on, he silently argued to himself. It was just that he’d been without a woman for so very long. She happened to be nearby when the natural reawakening of his sexual urges took place.
His soul cried out for Tamara. In a way, he felt he was losing her again. Another little bit of his life with her had receded into the past.
He desperately wanted to make love again, but he could never have the woman he needed: his wife. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, he accepted that he’d never again touch her, never hold her, never bury himself deep inside her.
Never love her.
He blinked back tears. Dear God, how he missed Tami. He took out a handkerchief and rubbed his face.
Closing his eyes, he recalled one of their last conversations. She’d framed his face in her hands and, looking at him with those lovely blue eyes, said, “Alex, listen to me. After I’m gone, I want you to go on.”
He’d argued with her, telling her that she’d soon be well and they’d be happy together again.
She’d shaken her head. “No. Please don’t belittle me by hiding the facts. I know I’m dying. Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll go on. Promise me you’ll have a good life, Alex. Promise me you’ll find someone to love.”
Now he leaned back and sighed. “I’m trying, Tami,” he said aloud. “But it’s so damn hard—”
A wet nose thrust into his palm, making his body jerk and his thoughts scatter. Goldie again nudged his hand, inviting him to play. Alex blinked, returning to the present.
He looked across the lawn for the twins, but Dena’s yard, dim and quiet in the waning light, held no chattering, screeching children.
Where were the twins? Jumping to his feet, Alex scanned the front yard. Guilt flooded him. How could he have been so inattentive?
He groaned. If he couldn’t watch two four-year-olds, how could he raise a baby alone? How did Dena do it? His respect for her soared.
His shoes clattering down the three wooden steps to the lawn, Alex left the veranda when he realized that he couldn’t see anything. He strode to the