“It’s not as if we’re moving tomorrow,” his father put in. “And you wouldn’t have to join us immediately, either.”
“I promise to think about it.” That was the best Peter could do.
After dinner, they discussed his mom’s latest findings about the family history. Using historical records, she’d traced her ancestry back to some colorful characters, including a buccaneer who’d sailed with Sir Francis Drake. Now she was working on his father’s origins.
All the while, Peter’s brain hummed with the startling news about his parents. He could tell it lingered in their minds, too, although they avoided the topic until he was ready to leave.
“It’s not as if we’ll be living in another country,” Kerry said as she embraced him.
“Or on another planet, although that would be interesting,” his father added.
“I’ll email Betty my congratulations.” Except for birthdays and major holidays, Peter had fallen into the habit of relying on his parents for updates about his older sister. He missed their closeness when they were younger.
That had ended when Betty entered high school. From freshman year forward, she’d focused on earning top grades, racking up extracurricular honors and aiming for a top school. She’d made it into Yale and later Harvard Law, while he’d attended the University of California’s campus in Riverside, less than an hour’s drive from home.
Her career sizzled, and her income must be quadruple his. But Peter had a job he loved and no regrets.
He’d like to live near her and certainly near his parents, he conceded as he drove back to Safe Harbor. And having a cousin nearby should be good for his kids.
If he ever had any.
His chest tightened. He didn’t mean to be negative. All things were possible these days, but the idea of relocating threw a monkey wrench into his plans.
Arriving at his cottage, Peter wondered how he could leave the house he’d shared with Angela. She’d loved this place. He’d contributed personal touches, as well, transforming the workshop behind the garage into a gym. As for the fertility program, while he assumed the D.C. area had plenty of medical facilities, he’d made an emotional connection here, with his doctor and with the other personnel.
Not to mention Harper.
An image of her popped into his mind—her athletic stride, her funny way of trying to stroke her long hair and then remembering that she’d cut it, her tenderness with her daughter.
Thinking of Mia reminded him of next weekend’s party. In the future nursery, Peter examined the contents of the bookshelf. Because he wrote a blog reviewing biology-related books for students, publishers sent him their latest offerings, including some for younger readers. As a result, he had a number of like-new children’s books on insects, reptiles and animals.
Peter flipped through several picture books about bugs for preschoolers and a couple of illustrated volumes for slightly older readers. If he were to write such a story, it would feature more in-depth information and photographs rather than drawings.
The idea of writing about biology for children had occurred to him before, only to be abandoned because he never found the right angle. In this crowded field, Peter knew, a book required a unique angle and a distinctive look to make it stand out.
He selected the best of the batch for Mia. It had been fun yesterday, touring Harper’s yard and explaining about spiders. He could still see Mia scrunching her little face and asking, “Can I scare them necessarily?”
Longing swept through Peter, to have a child like her. A small, precious person to hold, to nurture, to stretch out his arms to as she took those first steps. Waiting another year or more, taking a chance with a different donor...but then, even if he stayed in California, he’d already decided against raising a youngster near her biological mother, especially one who was a friend.
Abruptly, a possibility occurred to Peter. He went cold and then hot, as if he were coming down with something.
To clear his head, he retreated to the backyard. Stars glittered in the summer sky, in defiance of the light pollution from houses and streetlamps. The scents of Angela’s herbs—mint and lemon balm—soothed his spirit. Yet when he tried to picture her, the face he saw belonged to Harper.
If he moved out of state, he’d never see her again. While that troubled him, he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, anyway.
He could proceed with the surrogate he’d chosen, use Harper’s eggs and have a child or children like Mia. In Maryland, the little one would grow up surrounded by family, and far from his or her biological mother.
Peter hated the idea of keeping his plan a secret from Harper. Yet if they shared the experience of a pregnancy, if she ever held a baby that belonged to them both, he’d be inviting the type of legal and emotional tangle that he was determined to avoid.
Sitting on a wrought-iron bench beside the path, he took out his phone and brought up the egg donor site. Harper’s statement said she was eager to help others form a family, that she was willing to meet the recipients or not. So, what was the difference whether the recipient was someone she knew?
Especially if he planned to leave.
While the deception bothered Peter, other considerations overrode that. As for moving, the idea was growing on him. He wasn’t nearly as in love with this house as his wife had been, and he had a year to resolve the job situation.
On the phone, he did some quick research. It appeared that Maryland accepted California teacher certifications. While he might have to take a few tests, that shouldn’t present a major obstacle.
Contrary to what he’d first thought, his parents hadn’t knocked a hole in his plans. Instead, they’d handed him a solution to his dilemma.
* * *
ON FRIDAY MORNING, HARPER felt her phone vibrate as she finished prepping Una for an ultrasound. Stepping into the hallway, she saw that the call came from Melissa Everhart, who coordinated the egg donor and IVF programs under Jan Garcia’s direction.
Had someone chosen Harper? Despite the quickening of her pulse, she was too busy to return the call now. She’d only checked in case Mia was having a problem at sports camp.
The ultrasound technician, Zora Raditch, pushed her equipment cart past Harper and into the examining room. The normally vivacious woman in her late twenties had dark circles under her eyes. As everyone knew, she was suffering through a painful divorce from her cheating husband.
Harper gave her a sympathetic nod. She’d have offered more support, except that Zora had cheated with her louse of a husband several years ago while he was married to Stacy. If nothing else, that should have provided a strong clue to his character.
At the nurses’ station, Harper made sure no last-minute patients had been squeezed into the schedule before lunch. No one had, which left her free to return to the ultrasound.
She’d reached the room when Stacy hurried alongside, no doubt having just finished assisting at a surgery. “Jim’s out of town,” she explained breathlessly. That was Una’s husband, a long-distance truck driver. “Una asked me to be here.”
“No problem,” said Nora Franco, appearing behind them. With a smile, the obstetrician added, “I love the way you two have bonded.”
“I wonder if my triplets can sense when they’re in the same room as their half siblings,” Stacy mused as she preceded them inside.
Una, reclining on an examining table as Zora readied her equipment, beamed at them. “You bet they can!”
Zora and Stacy exchanged quick nods of acknowledgment. Working