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Never again. She would never rely on another man for her happiness. This time around she would be one in charge of her future. Of whether she had another child or not.
She dropped into the padded metal seat and scooted it under the table, cringing as the legs made an awful squealing sound against the polished wooden floor. The man at the podium glanced her way again, a frown on his face. She mouthed, “Sorry,” then dug into her attachе for the notes she’d brought. How was she going to speak when it came her turn?
The crowded room would have been nerve-racking enough, but to have someone who’d once known the most intimate details of her life sit there and weigh her every word?
Her thumb scrubbed over the spot on her finger. Empty, but not forgotten. Neither had her muscle memory erased the habit of reaching for it whenever she was nervous.
Or missing him.
No, she didn’t miss him. Not anymore.
The moderator gave a quick summary of the topic and then started down the line of presenters, reading from a sheet that evidently contained each person’s professional bio. She stared at her notes, willing the words to make sense. Willing herself to drown out the well-modulated voice from seconds earlier. Her thumb searched for that missing ring yet again.
Stop it, Kady.
She should have been counting people, so she could brace herself for the mention of her ex’s name, but since she didn’t remember how many seats there were, all she could do was sit there in dread.
“Dr. Tucker Stevenson, pediatric surgeon specializing in fetal surgery at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, New York City.”
Her heart twisted. Even the best surgeon in the world couldn’t have prevented what had happened three years ago. And Tucker was one of the best.
The moderator moved on to the next panelist, listing dry facts that barely scratched the surface of what made each person live and breathe...and grieve.
“Dr. Kadeline McPherson, maternal-fetal medicine, at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia.”
No mention of anyone’s personal life, how many children, spouse’s name. Thank God. And she was even more thankful that she’d gone back to her maiden name. Kadeline Stevenson might have caused awkward questions that she’d rather not answer. She suspected Tucker would prefer that little tidbit to remain buried as well.
She gulped.
Buried.
She hated that word. Avoided using it like the plague.
Speech. Read your speech.
Fiddling with her thin sheaf of papers that contained words she’d recited hundreds of times, she prayed for a clear head. The question-and-answer phase was the trickier part, trying to think up responses on the fly.
With Tucker sitting in the same room.
Forget about him, Kady.
The table microphone inched its way down the line as each person finished.
Tucker’s turn came, and his voice cut through her all over again. So much for forgetting about him.
His words were sure and firm, with a confidence that came with being the top in his field.
Kady closed her eyes and tried to drown him out with a bawdy mental rendition of “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall”, but it didn’t work. Especially since he’d sung that very song to her during her labor to take her mind off the pain.
If only she’d known the real pain would come months after the baby’s actual birth.
“Fetal surgical intervention is necessary in any number of cases. My most recent involved an obstructed urethra in an eight-month-old fetus. Surgery removed the blockage and mother and baby were both fine.”
They were both fine. How many times did he say that in a day?
Light applause followed his speech, just like it had everyone else’s. Kady realized she was the only one not clapping, but just as she went to join in, the sound died away, leaving her with her hands up, palms facing each other.
Tucker chose that very moment to glance her way. One side of his mouth quirked up, a crease coming to life in his right cheek.
Her breath caught as a spark of something dark arrowed through her abdomen. For a few awful seconds she couldn’t look away. He evidently didn’t have the same problem, giving his attention to the next speaker, who talked about controlling blood pressure in patients with preeclampsia.
She wasn’t making that mistake again.
She focused on some nameless audience member as the microphone moved again, capturing the topic of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. So far no one had mentioned genetic abnormalities, but no symposium of high-risk pregnancies would be complete without that element. Normally she could just sit there stoically, an expression of polite interest superglued to her face.
But with Tucker sitting just down the row? Almost impossible.
Was he thinking the same thing?
Doubtful. He’d somehow seemed to be able to push Grace out of his life and thoughts with the same ease that he’d signed those divorce papers. Out of sight. Out of mind. Was that how it worked with him?
No, she’d seen his grief firsthand. Raw and angry and ready to wreak havoc on the gods for what had happened. In the end, the only true havoc he’d wreaked had been on their relationship when he’d stated they were having no more children. Ever. She’d had no say. Her request to him to go with her to genetic counseling had fallen on deaf ears. Nothing had moved him from his stance.
And yet a second ago he’d tossed her a smile that had napalmed her senses as if nothing had ever happened between them. As if they were old friends.
They were not friends.
The drone of voices went silent. Glancing up in a panic, she realized it was because it was her turn to speak. The microphone was already in front of her. How had she missed that?
Clearing her throat and hearing it amplified through the whole auditorium made her wince. As did the light laughter that accompanied it. “Sorry. It was a long flight.”
More laughter. Louder this time. Maybe because the flight from Atlanta to New York only took a little over two hours.
The emotional distance, though, was much, much longer.
She forced an amused crinkle to her nose. “Long day at the office?”
This time the laughter was with her rather than aimed at her. It helped put her at ease and allowed her to temporarily block out all thoughts of Tucker Stevenson. Plunging into her brief five-minute speech, she allowed her passion for the subject at hand to propel her through to the end. Wasn’t her specialty all about empowering women during difficult times?
And wasn’t that what her IVF quest was all about?
The audience clapped, and she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking a glance back down the line of presenters. Tucker was leaning forward, his elbows planted on the table, head swiveled in her direction. This time he gave her a nod that she could swear contained at least a hint of admiration.
For her?
A shiver went through her.
No, she had to be mistaken.
A thought came to mind. Had he gone through with the procedure?
The thought of her ex-husband never fathering another sweet baby girl like their Grace pierced straight through her. He’d been a wonderful daddy—once he’d got over his initial fears of inadequacy. He’d loved their daughter in a way that had made her go all gooey inside—had made her hot for him and him alone. No other man could touch what she’d once felt for Tucker.
Watching as that pristine white casket was slowly lowered into the ground had changed him, though.
It had changed both of them.
Gone had been the days of frantic lovemaking. Of being unable to wait to get each other’s clothes off. In fact, Tucker had moved into another bedroom soon afterward, cutting himself off from her completely.
The difference between them was that Kady had never completely let go of hope. Even in the aftermath of Grace’s death.
It took two recessive genes coming together to cause Tay-Sachs. He could have had children with someone else and not had a problem. Although since neither of them were of Ashkenazi Jewish heritage, it had never dawned on them that they could be carriers until it was too late. What were the chances? Enough to land them with a horrific diagnosis.
Any future children they’d produced would have had a one in four chance of having the same deadly genetic imprint.
But there were other ways to have kids. Adoption. Even genetic selection of embryos, although that thought made her stomach swish sideways.
The last panelist finished and not one of them had spoken about genetic abnormalities, which she found odd. Unless there was a dedicated workshop just focusing on screening. She would have to look at the schedule and avoid any such session like the plague.
The moderator opened the floor to questions—the moment she’d been dreading the most.
The first one came from a female audience member and was directed at Tucker. “How many fetal surgeries have you done? And what are the most common things you’ve corrected? The last question goes along with that. Have you ever had a case that you knew was hopeless?”
The long seconds of silence that followed the query would have made any librarian proud. Only Kady knew exactly what had caused it. And why.
A thousand pins pricked the backs of her eyelids and she had to steel herself not to let them take hold. Instead, she clasped her hands tightly together and willed him the strength to get through the question.
“I’ve done a few hundred surgeries, although I don’t have an exact number. The most common procedures I’ve run into have been neural tube defects. And, no, I’ve never had a case where I’ve given up without at least exploring every available option.”
That answer jerked her head sideways to stare down the line at him. He most certainly had. The fact that he could sit there and let that answer fall from his lips made the pendulum swing from sympathy back toward anger.
Only this time he didn’t look her way, so her mad face was useless.
Two questions later, someone asked Kady what her toughest case had been.
“That would be my divorce.” She laughed as if it was all a big joke, even though that barb had been sent straight toward the hunk to her left. “Sorry. No, my toughest case was a mother who came in at six months carrying quadruplets. She’d had no prenatal care and was seizing—in full eclampsia.” A whisper of gasps went through the audience. Kady waited for it to die down, knowing the worst was yet to come. That case had made her cry, and had almost, almost made her quit medicine completely. But they needed to know the realities of what they would face.
She forced herself to continue. “Only one of those babies survived. That was hard. I can’t stress enough the need for early intervention and care, and you should stress it to your patients as well. Knowledge really is power in cases like this one. If she’d been followed from her first trimester, we probably could have given her a good outcome that ended with four live births.”
Even as she said it, she knew—from experience—there were some conditions that no amount of care or intervention could fix.
An hour later, the questions had been exhausted and people filtered from the room, leaving her to stuff her papers back into her bag and plan her escape. The moderator handed her a note. She glanced at it and frowned. The head of maternal-fetal surgery at Wilson-Ross wanted her to stop by his office when she had a chance.
Why? Unless it had something to do with the conference. She made a mental note to swing by the hospital as she dropped the slip of paper into her purse. Her fingers brushed across the IVF clinic’s letter, and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at it. It was a huge decision. But maybe it was the best one for her.
“I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” Someone settled into the vacated chair next to her.
She snatched her attention from the letter, jerking the edges of her handbag closed.
Get real, Kady. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
“I could say the same thing about you.” She hadn’t meant that to come out as surly as it had.
His glance traveled from her face to her hand, making her realize her fingers were still clenched around the opening to her bag.
“The difference is,” he said, “I work here.”
“I was a last-minute substitution. Your administrator asked me to come.”
“Ah, so you’re taking Dr. Blacke’s place, then. I’d wondered who they got.”
“Is he traveling?”
“No. He found out he has pancreatic cancer last week.”
Up came her head, her eyes finding his. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Tucker. I had no idea. Does he have a good prognosis?”
“Unfortunately no, although all of us have seen hopeless cases turn around completely.”
“And sometimes they don’t.” She forced her fingers to release their death grip on her purse, afraid he’d read some kind of telling emotion into the act.
Ha! As if there wasn’t.
“You’re right. Sometimes they don’t.” He studied her for a few seconds before continuing, “Our divorce was the toughest thing you’ve ever handled?”
“It was an icebreaker. It was supposed to be funny.” Especially since they both knew the correct and not-funny-at-all answer would have been Grace’s death. “None of them know we were ever married, much less divorced.”
“And yet we’ve been both.” His mouth tightened slightly. “Maiden name?”
“Easier, don’t you think?” If he could do short, concise questions, so could she. Especially as her heart was beginning to set up a slow thudding in her chest that spelled danger. She needed to get out of there.
“Easier? Possibly.”
Possibly? That drew her up short. How did that even make sense? Of course it was easier.
“I think it is. People won’t automatically see the last names and wonder if we’re brother and sister. Or something else.”
One side of that mouth quirked again. “Oh, it was definitely something else.”
The thudding became a triplet of beats. Then another. How was it that he could still turn her knees to jelly with the single turn of phrase?
“Tucker...” She allowed a warning note to enter her voice.
He leaned back in his chair. “So how are you?”
“Fine.”
Sure she was. Right now, she was anything but fine. Why had she let herself be talked into this stupid trip?
