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“I predict,” Brandon said into the silence, “that not too long from now, you’ll be sitting in my house with a plump, smiling baby wrapped in your arms, and you’ll be saying to me ‘Thank goodness it took so long. Otherwise we wouldn’t have Johnny or Sally or Mary or Tim—the most perfect baby in the world.’”
Elizabeth’s throat was so tight, she couldn’t speak.
“Lizzy?”
“Three years,” she moaned, saying it out loud for the first time, feeling the weight of all those failed cycles pressing down on her shoulders.
“It’ll happen.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“It’s way too early for contingency plans. Trust me. I’m a doctor.”
“You’re a veterinarian.”
“And I spend an enormous amount of my time consulting on breeding issues—dogs, cats, horses, goats.”
“I’m not a goat.”
“Principle’s the same.”
There was a muffled rustle on the other end of the phone.
“Elizabeth?” came Heather’s breathless voice.
Mortification flushed Elizabeth’s body. “You heard?”
“Yes. And I’m about to kill your brother.”
Brandon’s protest was faint in the background. “I wasn’t saying she was a goat.”
“Shut up,” Heather instructed Brandon. To Elizabeth, she said, “There are plenty of choices.”
“I really didn’t want this to become—”
“Since you’re still trying, I assume Reed’s not sterile?”
Elizabeth worked her jaw, but no sound came out.
Heather’s voice went muffled. “Of course we can talk about it. We’re family. You go check on Lucas.”
Her voice came back on the receiver. “Have you tried in vitro fertilization?”
“Uh … no,” Elizabeth admitted.
“Artificial insemination? With Reed’s sperm, of course.”
Once she got past the shock, Elizabeth realized there was something strangely comforting about Heather’s matter-of-fact approach. “I’ve been taking my temperature.”
“That’s good. Elevate your hips, and don’t move for half an hour afterward.”
“Right,” said Elizabeth, wondering just how far this conversation would go.
Heather’s voice went low. “Brandon doesn’t know it, but I took my temperature for six months before we tried for Lucas. I knew exactly when I was ovulating. I mean, why take chances?”
“Did you hold off on sex?” Elizabeth could hardly believe she’d asked the question.
“We did. For a little over a week. Of course, Brandon didn’t know what I was up to, so he got a little frustrated and confused.” Heather laughed. “Never had so many headaches in my life.”
Elizabeth smiled, finding the knot in her stomach easing off. “And it worked.”
“Like a charm.”
“It hasn’t for me.”
“Nature is fickle,” said Heather. “It might take time. And, as for contingency plans, if nothing else works, we’ll take your eggs and Reed’s sperm, and I’ll grow a baby for you.”
“What?” Elizabeth coughed out, certain she couldn’t have heard properly.
“I’ll be your surrogate mother,” said Heather with conviction. “We already know I grow the best babies in the world.”
Elizabeth’s chest filled with emotion, and her eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t … You couldn’t …”
“Oh yes, I could. And I will.”
Elizabeth’s sob was audible. She was completely beyond words. Heather had just made the most generous, kind-spirited offer a human being could make.
“Lizzy, you’re my sister, and I love you. And I want you to know that you’re a million miles away from exhausting your options.” She paused. “Okay?”
Elizabeth nodded, still unable to speak.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“I love you, too,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Can you come to visit? Is Reed allowed to leave the state?”
The question surprised a laugh out of Elizabeth. “Yes, he’s allowed to leave the state.
“Good. Let’s make some plans.”
“Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
“Oops. Lucas is crying. Looks like Daddy’s blowing it in there. Bye for now. We’ll see you soon!”
Then Heather was gone. And Elizabeth sat staring numbly at the telephone. Her sister-in-law was an angel. She was a saint. And somehow her strength and kindness made Elizabeth feel pathetic.
Elizabeth had once been strong. She’d once had the world at her feet. She was fit and attractive. She had a college degree and a husband to die for. She’d had confidence and energy, and a sense of optimism that told her everything was going to turn out well.
But it hadn’t.
And now she had no children, no career, and potentially no husband.
She pictured Reed, wondering what, or who, he was doing right now. Then she banished the vision, remembering Hanna’s advice instead. It wasn’t reasonable to assume he was having an affair.
It was reasonable, however, to wonder if he was coming home for dinner. She pressed the on button on the phone and dialed his office number.
It rang four times before Devon picked up. “Reed Wellington’s office.”
“Hi, Devon. It’s just me.”
“Oh. Hi, Elizabeth.” Was there something in her voice? “He just left for a dinner meeting.”
A dinner meeting? Was that suspicious? Was he with her? “Do you know which restaurant?”
Devon hesitated. “I …”
Damn. It was suspicious. “Never mind. I know I wrote it down this morning,” Elizabeth lied. “I think it was Reno’s … maybe The Bridge …”
“Alexander’s,” Devon put in.
“Oh, yes. Alexander’s. Thanks,” Elizabeth said as cheerfully as she could manage, then she hung up and pulled a business card out of her blazer pocket.
Reasonable or not, she dialed Joe Germain’s cell phone.
“Might as well make yourself useful,” she mumbled while it rang through. It was impossible to get a parking spot near Alexander’s at this time of day.
Joe was at her door in less than a minute.
“How’d you do that?” she asked, letting him into the foyer while she slipped on a coat.
“Do what, ma’am?”
“Get here so fast.”
“I was in the lobby.”
“Lurking?”
One corner of his mouth flexed. “Pretty much.”
She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Is that what you do?”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
The door closed behind them, and she pulled out her key to lock the dead bolt. “When you’re not driving. Do you simply lurk in the lobby?”
“Sometimes I wash the car.” He followed her toward the elevator.
“And shoot the bad guys?”
He reached out and pressed the elevator button but didn’t answer.
“I know you have a gun,” she told him.
“I do have a gun, ma’am.”
“Call me Elizabeth. Why do you have a gun?”
“Because this is New York City.”
The elevator car arrived, and he gestured for her to go first.
“I know you’re not a driver.”
“I am a driver, ma’am.”
“Elizabeth.”
He gave her a look that said her first name wouldn’t be passing over his lips anytime soon. “Mrs. Wellington.”
“I know you’re my bodyguard.”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“I take it you can neither confirm nor deny you were hired as my bodyguard?”
They started across the lobby.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked in a cool, professional voice.
“I’ll pretend I don’t know,” she offered. “But I think you and I should be straight with one another.”
“Am I taking you to dinner? To run errands?”
“Isn’t there some kind of special bond? Bodyguard and protectee? One that calls for complete honesty? Considering you may be throwing yourself in front of a bullet for me?”
Joe gave a small sigh. “Visiting a friend?”
“Spying on my husband.”
Joe stopped dead.
She took two more steps and then turned and fluttered her lashes. “Is that a conflict of interest for you?”
“No.” He started walking again.
“Good. Alexander’s Restaurant, please.”
