Читать книгу The Would-Be Daddy - Jacqueline Diamond - Страница 9

Chapter Two

After meeting with a family at her private office in Garden Grove, fifteen miles north of Safe Harbor, Franca drove to her nearby home Saturday morning with her mind in turmoil. She’d insisted on retaining her old practice when she’d joined the hospital staff, partly in case the new job didn’t work out and partly because she refused to drop loyal clients.

She wasn’t sure how much good she’d done today, though; it had been an effort to concentrate on the conflict between an adolescent girl and her parents. However, they’d shown progress in their ability to set reasonable boundaries while respecting the teenager’s right to privacy.

At her apartment complex, Franca followed the walkway between calla lilies and red, purple and yellow pansies. In the spring, Jazz had been unable to keep herself from plucking the flowers until Franca explained that the blooms were for all the residents to enjoy. After that, the child had taken care to avoid picking or trampling them.

What a change from when she’d entered foster care. Jazz had lacked self-control, even for a two-year-old. Having a regular bedtime, eating three meals a day at a table and following rules about storing toys after use—everything was a fight. But beneath the stubbornness, Franca had sensed the child’s anger over having her world torn apart and her hurt at feeling abandoned. Distraught about facing trial, her mother, Bridget Oberly, had been a frequent no-show at arranged visits.

As a foster parent, it was Franca’s job to prepare the child to return to her mother’s care. The more self-sufficient Jazz became in terms of potty training and dressing, and the more she was able to obey rules, the better she’d handle her mother’s unpredictable lifestyle. Since her father had died in a gang shooting, her mom was parenting solo.

Gradually, she’d bonded with Franca, running to her for hugs and curling in her lap for story time. When Bridget agreed to an adoption, Franca had been deeply grateful.

She’d never imagined that her world could shatter so utterly.

Now she stepped inside her second-floor unit with a sense of entering paradise lost. She’d tried to enliven her simple apartment with personal touches: a multicolored comforter crocheted by her mother was draped over the couch, while on the walls, she’d hung framed photographs shot by her brother, Glenn, of the wildflowers and summer meadows near his Montana home.

At the doorway to Jazz’s bedroom, tears blurred Franca’s vision. The fairy-tale bedspread and curtains that she’d sewn herself, the shelf of books and the sparkly dolls remained unchanged, yet their princess was gone. Bridget had told Jazz she could take only a single suitcase because of their cramped unit. Franca wished she could drop by to check on the preschooler’s well-being and reassure her.

The ringing of the phone drew Franca back to the present. The caller was Ada Humphreys, owner of the Bear and Doll Boutique, where Franca had often taken Jazz to pick out toys and books.

“I just got a new catalog of doll-clothes patterns,” Ada said after they exchanged greetings. “That little girl of yours will adore them.”

Franca kept running into people who hadn’t heard the bad news. Despite a catch in her throat, she forced out the words, “Jazz is...gone.”

“Gone?” Ada repeated.

Franca summarized what had happened. “She trusted me to take care of her and I let her down.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but with her mother’s history of drug use, couldn’t you sue for custody?” Ada asked.

“My lawyer advised against it. He said there was no guarantee I’d win, and it might be counterproductive.”

“In what way?”

“Jazz’s mom may face retrial on the same drug charges,” Franca explained. “If that happens, it’s better for me to stay on good terms.”

“So if she’s convicted, she might relinquish Jazz to you again,” Ada said.

“Exactly.” Franca couldn’t keep the quaver from her voice. “Otherwise, my little girl could end up in the foster care system and I’d have no claim on her.”

“How awful,” Ada said. “But it’s fortunate Jazz had you during such an important part of her childhood. You’ve prepared her to succeed in school and life.” The mother of a second-grade teacher, Ada understood a lot about learning and child development.

“That’s a positive attitude.” Franca wandered into her own bedroom. On a side table, her sewing machine sat idle, threaded with pink from the Valentine’s Day dress she’d stitched for Jazz.

“I can understand you might not be making doll clothes for a while,” Ada said. “It’s too bad. Sewing is such a relaxing hobby.”

“I do enjoy it.” A puffy blue concoction on a hanger caught Franca’s eye—the bridesmaid’s dress from Belle’s wedding. Considering Belle’s usual good taste, why had she chosen such ugly gowns for her attendants?

Last month, Belle had pulled out all the stops in her wedding to a likable CPA. Franca had been glad to serve as a bridesmaid, despite the strain on her budget to pay for this awful creation, its bows and lacy trim more suitable for a Pollyanna costume than for a woman in her thirties. She wondered what the rest of the half dozen attendants would do with their froufrou getups. Donate them to charity? Use them in community theater productions? Clean the garage with them?

“Well, don’t be a stranger,” Ada said. “You never can tell when you might need a gift, or be in the mood to sew for fun.”

On a shelf, a couple of dolls that doubled as bookends caught Franca’s eye. How shabby they’d become, as had the dolls in her office. They underwent plenty of wear and tear in play therapy, where she used them along with stuffed animals, coloring materials and building blocks.

Franca hadn’t planned to drive to Safe Harbor today, but she refused to sit here and stew in her unhappiness. A visit to the Bear and Doll Boutique was exactly what she needed.

“You’re an inspiration,” she said to Ada. “My dolls deserve a new wardrobe, and I have a perfectly hideous bridesmaid dress to cut up.”

“Some of these new patterns are darling.” A bell tinkled in the background, signaling the arrival of a customer. “I’ll see you soon.”

After clicking off, Franca changed from her skirt and jacket into jeans and an old sweater. Since her hair was frizzing out of its bun, she shook it loose and ran a brush through it, which did little to tame the bushiness. But Ada wouldn’t care about Franca’s appearance, and she doubted she’d run into anyone else she knew.

Out Franca went, her mood lifting.

* * *

“BEST MAN AT your wedding?” Marshall repeated. He wasn’t ready to answer, nor to ask the question uppermost in his mind until he had a better grasp of the situation. “Have you set a date?”

“Yep, three weeks from now.” When the elevator arrived at the ground floor, Nick let him exit first. “There’s nothing like an April wedding, Zady says. Lucky for us, the Seaside Wedding Chapel had a cancellation.”

“Not so lucky for the couple who canceled, I presume,” Marshall said.

“Maybe they decided to elope instead.” How typical of Nick to look on the bright side.

As they passed a couple of nurses’ aides in the hall, Marshall heard the murmur that often greeted their rare appearance side-by-side: “Are they twins?”

He’d been irked in school by the striking resemblance between him and his cousin, who was a year younger. Wasn’t it obvious that Nick’s brown hair was a shade lighter, and that at six feet tall he lacked an inch of Marshall’s height?

Nevertheless, people considered them look-alikes. And since they were also close in age and shared a surname, teachers at their magnet science high school had often compared them academically. How unfair that Marshall had studied until his head hurt to earn top grades, while Nick, with his quick grasp of essentials and his unusually good memory, sailed from A to A.

After attending different colleges and medical schools, they’d accidentally landed at Safe Harbor Medical at almost the same time, which had created confusion among their colleagues. Good thing they specialized in different fields, Nick in obstetrics and Marshall in urology, or their patients might wind up in the wrong examining rooms. Or worse, the wrong ORs.

Nick must have heard the muttering, too. Rather than stiffening, he draped an arm over Marshall’s shoulders. “If they want to yammer about us, bro, let’s show ’em what pals we are. Okay if I mess up your hair?”

“No.” Marshall eased away from his brother.

Nick removed his arm. “Loosen up, man.”

“I’d rather not.” However, Marshall had no desire to renew the friction that had flared between them over the years. His perfectionist, high-achieving parents had encouraged him to scorn his freewheeling cousin and Nick’s irresponsible parents. They’d hidden a dark secret, though: unable to have children, Upton and Mildred Davis had adopted Marshall, their nephew, as a toddler. In exchange for their silence, Mildred and Upton promised to help pay the younger Davises’ household expenses.

That silence had lasted for nearly thirty-five years, until last Monday. Out of the blue, Uncle Quentin had confronted Nick and Marshall with the truth, explaining that he wanted to repair past wrongs. Instead, he’d simply dumped his burden on his sons, then taken off for his home a hundred and fifty miles away in Bakersfield.

Everything Marshall believed he knew about himself and his parents had been thrown into turmoil. Why had they been ashamed of his origins? Had they been so strict because they feared he’d turn out a mess like his birth parents?

As they exited the hospital via a side door, Nick asked, “Is that a no? I assure you, I have the bride’s approval.”

“Considering that Zady’s my office nurse, I should hope so.” Marshall didn’t wish to offend either his brother or the future Mrs. Davis, whom he liked and respected. Besides, being invited to serve as best man was an honor. “Of course I’ll stand up with you.”

On the path toward the parking structure, their strides synchronized. “Maybe we should rent different color tuxes,” Nick said cheerfully. “I’d hate for the bride to get confused and marry the wrong guy.”

Leave it to Nick to find humor in their embarrassing resemblance. “What exactly does a best man do?” Marshall asked. “Aside from making sure the groom shows up and doesn’t lose the ring.”

Halting in his tracks, Nick whipped out his phone. “Let’s see.”

“I didn’t mean for you to research it now.”

“We’ve only got a few weeks.” He tapped the screen.

Marshall gazed across the curved drive to the newly acquired building, where construction equipment buzzed. The Portia and Vincent Adams Memorial Medical Building—popularly referred to as the Porvamm—would provide much-needed operating suites, laboratories and other facilities for the men’s fertility program.

A little over a week earlier, two groups of doctors had nearly come to blows over how to allot the two floors of office space. Marshall and Nick had taken opposite sides, with Marshall in favor of keeping the entire Porvamm for the men’s program, while Nick and his comrades protested that they deserved a break from their cramped quarters.

Before open warfare could break out with scalpels flashing in the corridors, they’d reached a compromise. Encouraged by Zady, Marshall had proposed a concession, and last Monday the administration had agreed to assign a quarter of the offices to obstetricians and pediatricians.

“Duties of a best man,” Nick read aloud from the phone. “Serve as the groom’s adviser on clothing and etiquette. I think we can skip that part.”

“I know nothing about weddings, so I concur,” Marshall said.

“Organize the bachelor party,” his brother continued.

“Okay to video games and pizza,” Marshall said. “I draw the line at strippers.”

Nick laughed. “I’d love to see you plan a party with strippers, just to watch your face get redder than a blood specimen, but you’re off the hook. Because of the tight time frame, Zady’s skipping the bachelorette party, too.”

What other land mines lay in wait? Co-opting the phone, Marshall scanned the list. “I can make a toast at the reception, and I’ll be glad to dance with the bride and the maid of honor. Should I be squiring around the other bridesmaids, too?”

“There aren’t any.” Reclaiming the device, Nick resumed their walk toward the garage. “Just Zora as matron of honor.” The bride’s twin sister was an ultrasound technician. “You might have to ride herd on my future mother-in-law, though. She’s reputed to be a dragon.”

“You haven’t met her?” Marshall had presumed that introductions to the bride’s parents would be a priority.

“Zady doesn’t plan to invite her until a few days before the ceremony. That’s enough notice for her to fly down from Oregon but short enough to minimize the damage.” Nick shrugged. “I’ve heard many stories about the woman’s drinking and trouble-making. Zady’s plan seems sensible.”

Marshall hadn’t given any thought to what kind of wedding he’d have. If he’d ever spared a moment’s reflection on the subject, however, it wouldn’t include misbehaving in-laws. That brought up a delicate subject. “Will my mother be invited?”

“I put Aunt Mildred on the guest list.” Inside the parking structure, Nick halted beside his battered blue sedan. “Unless that’s a problem for you.”

“I doubt she’ll accept,” Marshall blurted. In response to his brother’s quizzical expression, he explained, “I tried to talk to her after Uncle Quentin dropped his bomb, and got nowhere.”

He still couldn’t refer to Nick’s father as “Dad.” That title belonged to Quentin’s older brother, who, to be fair, had been as hard on himself as he’d been on his adoptive son. A brilliant inventor of medical devices and a savvy businessman, Upton Davis had amassed a fortune. After his death five years ago of an aneurysm, he’d left half his estate to Marshall, along with a request to take care of his mother.

Marshall had done his best. How sad that his mother no longer wanted his help.

“You told her that you now know you’re adopted?” Nick leaned against his car.

“Uncle Quentin beat me to it.”

“How did she react?”

“Badly.” When Marshall had called Thursday night to confirm their usual dinner date on Sunday, she’d dismissed him coldly. “She said now that I’ve learned I’m not really her son, not to bother. Then she hung up.”

“That’s harsh, even for Aunt Mildred,” Nick said.

“I’ve called but all I get is her voice mail.” How could his mother reject him for something that wasn’t his fault? She was the one who should be apologizing, yet Marshall hadn’t asked for that.

To him, Mildred would always be Mom. His birth mother, Adina Davis, had died of lung cancer two years ago. Thanks to the family’s secrets, Marshall had never had a chance to know the woman who’d given birth to him except as a charming but volatile aunt.

“Give her a chance to recover,” Nick said. “She’s never been the warm, cuddly type.”

“There’s an understatement.” Might as well raise the other issue on Marshall’s mind. “I suppose your father is on the guest list.”

“Yes. Zady requested it. She’s more generous than I am after he let us down.” In addition to hiding the truth about Marshall, Uncle Quentin had abandoned his wife and son when Nick was ten. “I may tolerate his presence, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him.”

For once, the two of them agreed on something, Marshall thought. And for all that he’d lost by his parents’ deception, at least they’d been there for him.

Mercifully, neither he nor his brother showed signs of their parents’ mental instability. Although about 50 percent of the children of bipolar patients suffered from a psychiatric disorder, sometimes the odds worked in your favor.

“The important thing is that you and Zady enjoy your wedding.” Curiosity propelled Marshall to ask, “How’s Caleb reacting?”

Although his nephew’s conception four years ago had been an accident, he’d proved a blessing to Nick. Named after their grandfather, the boy had come to live with his dad after his mother’s death in a boating accident.

“He’s excited about being the ring bearer.” Nick grinned. “That’s another duty of the best man—supervising my son. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. More than fine.” Marshall had felt an immediate attachment to his nephew when they’d met a few months ago. If he had a kid, he’d relish every minute of the boy’s—or girl’s—childhood.

“I’ll email you with whatever we decide about tuxedos. I’d prefer a dark suit, but I doubt Zady will go for that,” Nick said.

“I’m sure she’ll keep me informed.” Noting the exhaustion on his brother’s face, Marshall remembered that the man had been on duty all night. “Go home.”

“Gladly.” Lifting a hand in farewell, Nick ducked into his car.

Marshall surveyed the scattering of vehicles for a familiar white station wagon. Its absence brought a pang of disappointment. What had he expected, a repeat of last night’s impromptu karaoke duet?

Recalling what the surgical nurse had said about Franca’s foster child brought a wave of sympathy. She must be grieving.

While Marshall respected her decision to take in a troubled child, he had to be honest. If he and his future wife were unable to have kids, he’d be happy to adopt, but only if they nurtured the child from infancy. He’d never invite trouble by taking in a foster kid. The discovery that his own parents had been so ashamed of adopting him that they’d kept him at arm’s length reinforced his reservations.

His footsteps slowed as he neared the silver sedan, his earlier reluctance to go home closing over him. He could call Franca to offer his support, he mused. He had her cell number, which she’d provided to the staff.

Then he got another, better idea. Since his best-man duties involved Caleb, why not buy the boy a gift? A teddy bear dressed in a tux, perhaps.

Marshall recalled passing a shop on Safe Harbor Boulevard...the Bear and Doll Boutique, that was the name.

And since Franca was no doubt clearing away reminders of her foster daughter rather than acquiring more toys, he didn’t have to worry about an awkward encounter, or the possibility of a heart-to-heart conversation. As he’d learned from his father, it was his responsibility to deal with his own problems, and he intended to do just that.