Jack picked up his towel and a glass from beneath the bar and began wiping out nonexistent water spots. Mel had learned long ago that that was a move Jack used when he didn’t know what to say or how to act. Sometimes he did that to look busy when his mind was spinning out of control, or to keep from throttling someone. “How does it work, exactly?” he asked.
“Well, you determine whether you’re good candidates—and I can tell you we are. You look over screened surrogates and interview some. You harvest some eggs from me, collect some sperm from you, have a qualified lab create embryos from our egg and sperm, freeze them, implant a couple in the surrogate and—”
“And get six or eight babies?” he asked, lifting a brow.
“No, Jack. Just one. Outside chance of two, but if you choose a surrogate with a proven uterus who conceives easily, the doctor will only implant one, or a maximum of two embryos. If it doesn’t take after a few tries, the doctor might chance three at the outside. Having all the embryos take on the third or fourth try? A miracle. No, Jack. It will be one baby. The chance of two would be the same odds as us having our own set of twins if I still had a uterus and we decided to have one more pregnancy.”
His towel-covered hand continued to rotate inside the glass and he was quiet. His face was a stone, void of expression.
“Jack?” she asked. “Not such a crazy idea, is it?”
He let out his breath. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that this sort of thing is your business—your area of expertise. I try, though.”
“And?”
“And it might help if you’d try to remember that it is not mine.”
“And that means?”
He put down the glass and towel. He leaned his elbows on the bar so his face was even with hers. He grabbed her hands again. His eyes and his voice were soft. “Mel, if we hadn’t had a baby and you wanted one really badly, I’d do almost anything I could to help that happen for you. If you asked me to think about opening our home up to one more kid, maybe a kid who otherwise might not have parents, I could give that some serious consideration. You know—room in the heart, room in the home. But this thing you’re asking…” He shook his head almost sadly. “I don’t know if I can watch our baby make another woman fat. I don’t know if I can watch our baby come out of another woman’s body.”
“You don’t have to watch,” she suggested.
“Getting you pregnant was about the biggest trip I ever had in my life,” he said. “Knowing you were knocked up, battling through your mood swings, watching your belly grow and move, then giving birth…it was sacred to me. A miracle. Mel, our two kids and all that went into getting them, hardly anything measures up to that. Something about my swimmers meeting up with your eggs in a dish in a lab, growing inside some woman I don’t know…”
“But it’s a last resort!”
“No, baby. A last resort is being thankful for the blessings we have. If things had been different and a third one came along, I could live with that. I could be happy about that. But we don’t have to have one more.” He made a face. “At least not that way.”
She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “It’s just very strange and alien to you.”
“You got that right,” he agreed.
“But it’s done all the time.”
“I don’t do it all the time,” he said.
“Before you make a final decision, will you at least talk to John Stone about it? The clinic he worked in before coming to Grace Valley had a very active fertility practice. I think Susan said she and John needed a little jump start to get their first child. Would you do that, please? Would you talk to John? Ask him some questions from the man’s point of view?”
He pursed his lips for a moment. “For you,” he said. “I’ll talk to John about it. I’ll ask some questions. But the way I feel right now, Mel? This isn’t something I want to do.”
“Talk to John,” she said. “Please?”
He leaned toward her and kissed her. “Okay.”
“Thank you, Jack. It would mean a lot to me if you could try to just keep an open mind.”
“I’ll try, babe. I’ll really try.”
Erin was bored out of her skull. When Ian and Marcie left her after spending one night, she just sat around for a couple of days. The longest days of her life. But, determined to get a handle on her life and forge a new direction, she pulled out some of the books she’d brought along—self-help books about relaxing, serenity, meditation, the psychology of inner joy, the power of positive thinking, the energy of intention, taking control of your emotional life, and her personal favorite—Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.
She’d read many self-help books, but her usual fodder was about focus and effectiveness, organization and efficiency. She liked those books; it fed her work habit. In the quiet internal books—she couldn’t even find anything to highlight. And Erin liked to highlight. It made her feel enterprising.
When she had satellite hookup, she tried TV. Out of three hundred channels, she couldn’t find anything to engage her brain. She put on a movie and realized that even her favorite chick flicks weren’t as much fun without Marcie giggling or sighing and Ian whining that he was being tortured.
So she e-mailed her office and told everyone even remotely related to her cases and clients that she was computer functional again and already feeling very rested and relaxed, so she had the time to consult if they needed her input. Since they were all at work, the responses came instantly. We’re doing fine—just enjoy yourself. Everything under control, boss, have a good time. No problems here, Erin—just make the most of your vacation!
She decided it was probably best to leave the cabin, so the next morning she jumped in her car and headed over to Eureka to do a bookstore prowl. Erin loved to read, but she read for a couple of hours in the evening and had no interest in wiling away an entire day with a book, even a great book. She was much better at staying busy. So, on this trip through the bookstore she bought books on crafts, from gardening to quilting. Before buying any actual craft supplies, she decided she’d graze through the books to see what caught her interest. Lord knew she had never had time for crafts before.
When she got home late in the day, she poured herself a glass of wine and paged through the books. Everything had the same effect on her—it was like watching paint dry. Then she got to the book on gourmet cooking that had slipped in there and her throat tightened up. Her eyes blurred and burned. Gourmet cooking? For one?
The next morning she headed out again—this time to Costco and Target. She bought a hammock to string between two trees and some large, fancy plants and big pots for the deck. When she got home and realized she’d forgotten to buy tools for hanging the hammock or potting soil for the plants, she left the whole business outside for when the spirit moved her. If it moved her.
The next day she just got in the car in the morning and drove; time to see the sights. Time to check out those little tucked-away antique stores she claimed she couldn’t wait to visit yet had no real interest in. While she drove, she thought—mostly about Marcie and Drew. She was so proud of them both; so honored to have been the one to help them get to this stage in their young lives.
Finally, finally, finally that time of life she’d worked so hard toward was here—they were truly adults who could manage full, productive, happy lives.
Suddenly she realized she’d driven south for hours and was almost to the turnoff to Clear Lake. She pulled off the road. She could take the turnoff and just go