Knocked Up By The Doc Box Set (A Secret Baby Romance) Read online

  I blinked, gaping at her. “Nonsense?” I asked. “I don't know, Eric—Dr. Jones, rather—seems like an intelligent guy. I don't think he would be this concerned if it were nonsense.”

  “Doctors and drug companies just like to keep the wheels of commerce rolling,” Mom said. She laughed again. “I suppose they have to, with the number of student loans they rack up!”

  “Surely you don't think he's just trying to scam you,” I said.

  Mom shrugged. “All I know is that my mother, drank, smoked, and ate bacon every morning for breakfast, for her whole life, and she still lived a good, long life. A happy life, too. Now, I know what happens when you start chemotherapy and your quality of living drops. You don't want to put your poor mother through that, do you? Especially when there's nothing wrong with me in the first place.”

  “Nothing wrong with you?” I asked skeptically.

  “I feel fine,” Mom insisted. “Don't you worry about me.”

  The thing was, I was more comfortable living in that same state of denial, so I hadn't pressed her harder. But I'd felt guilty about it for the whole day. Now, with Eric asking about it, I felt even worse.

  “I talked to her,” I admitted. “But the talk didn't go well.” I paused and glanced up at him. “I'd like more information if that's okay.”

  “Of course,” Eric said. “I try to stay out of the office for the weekend so that I can spend more time with Emma and her Nana, but maybe you and I could talk over dinner tonight.”

  “I'd appreciate that,” I said. The more information I had about what was wrong with Mom, the more I'd be able to combat her insistence that there was nothing wrong with her and that Eric was just trying to squeeze money out of her. Whether it was right or wrong legally, the truth was, I was worried about her. We all were.

  Eric didn't really seem like the kind of guy to want to squeeze money out of his patients, though. If his true aim was to make money at this job, I had a feeling he'd be living in Chicago or some other city.

  “I'll pick you up at 7,” Eric told me. “I have the perfect place in mind.”

  That night, as I was getting ready, I found myself paying close attention to my appearance. I put on a nice green, spring dress that I knew made my hazel eyes shine, and I pulled my hair back into a neat plait. I blushed, feeling excited and nervous as I realized I was treating this like a date.

  But that was ridiculous. Eric might be smart and handsome, and I might enjoy his sense of humor. He was my mother's doctor, though, and I doubted he was interested in me in that way. This wasn't a date; we were just having dinner so that we could talk about my mother's cancer and the different treatment options that were available.

  Probably, I just wanted this to be a date because I wanted to continue ignoring the severity of Mom's condition.

  That's not true, and you know it, my inner voice chided. I blushed again, putting on mascara even though I normally didn't bother with makeup.

  A horn sounded out front, and I hurriedly headed downstairs and out to Eric's car.

  “You look especially beautiful tonight,” Eric said, and I felt a warm flush go through my body as his eyes skimmed my curves. He looked embarrassed at having said it, though, and focused his eyes back on the road. He cleared his throat. “I thought we'd drive over to Kingsfield,” he told me. “I don't know how familiar you are with the only restaurant in Tamlin, Ernie's Diner, but the owner, Ernie, is the town's biggest gossip.”

  I grinned. “Kingsfield sounds like a plan. Wouldn't want him getting the wrong impression.”

  “Great,” Eric said. “It's about 20 minutes to get there, but I know a great Italian restaurant that I'm sure you'll love.”

  I hummed an agreement and settled into the comfortable leather seat.

  “I don't know what magic you worked on Emma this week, but she seems to love the daycare,” Eric told me. “Every day when she gets home, she calls her Nana up and has dozens of things to say to her about all the things that she did. I heard you made and painted pasta necklaces today; Emma can't wait to bring hers home to show us.”

  I smiled over at him. “Glad she's enjoying it,” I told him.

  “I hope she's behaving herself, too,” Eric said, glancing over. “I know she can be a handful sometimes.”

  I laughed. “Kids are always a handful sometimes,” I told him.

  “I bet they are,” Eric said, nodding. “I can't imagine being a daycare provider and working with kids day in and day out. I hardly ever have to see kids for appointments here in Tamlin, and it's still too much for me!”

  “I'm sure it's great for you, though, since you can bribe them with suckers,” I said. “If I bribed my kids with suckers every time I needed them to behave, I'd be going through a small fortune supplying them, and it would only make them bounce off the walls even more!”

  Eric laughed. “That's true,” he agreed.

  “Still, I can't imagine being a single parent,” I mused, shaking my head. “At least I get to hand the kids back to their parents at the end of the day.”

  “You still have to worry about screwing them up for life, though,” Eric joked.

  I laughed. “But at least if I do screw them up for life, I'm not the one who has to deal with them later,” I reminded him. “You're stuck with them for life.”

  We chatted the whole way to the restaurant, and there was something easy about it. I really liked Eric; he was funny and witty, and very down-to-earth. If this had been a date, I definitely would have said that sparks were flying.

  But this isn't a date, I reminded myself as we waited for our meals to arrive. I took another sip of my wine. It was my second glass, and I was starting to feel a little flushed. But the wine was tasty, and the food, when it arrived, was just as good as Eric had promised.

  I just couldn't figure out how to bring up the questions that I had regarding my mother's medical situation. It was the elephant in the room, the reason for this whole affair. As much as I wanted this to be a date, I couldn't help remembering that this was Dr. Jones sitting across from me, and he was waiting patiently before telling me all the details about my mother's cancer.

  Fortunately, he was the one who finally brought up the conversation. He placed both his palms flat on the table as our plates were cleared away. “Regarding your mother,” he said slowly.

  I nodded. “You said the cancer was progressing,” I said.

  “It is,” Eric agreed. “Her last scan showed significant progression.”

  “What are our options for treatment?” I asked. “Can it be surgically removed?”

  “With the way that it's spread already, I'm afraid that's just not possible,” Eric said. “The best chance that we have to slow its progression is chemotherapy. But we'd need to begin that immediately.”

  “What are her other options?” I asked, knowing that there was no way I was going to convince Mom to start chemo immediately, not when she thought this was just a ploy to get her money. Chemo was expensive, I knew. I wondered whether she would even be able to come up with the money: Mom had been a schoolteacher in a low-income part of the city for the past two decades. She had always loved her job, but it wasn't particularly well-paying.

  “I'm afraid there aren't any other options,” Eric said slowly. “There are some experimental treatments that might work, but most of those would be used in conjunction with chemo treatments.” He paused. “I understand what your mom is going through. This is very scary business.”

  I shook my head. “It's not just that it's scary,” I sighed. But I didn't exactly want to tell him that Mom thought he was scamming people out of their hard-earned money.

  “I know,” Eric said, though, looking away from me for a moment. He looked pained but also thoughtful. Then, he shook his head. “I know,” he repeated. “But trust me, no matter how scary the idea of chemotherapy is, it's better than the alternative. She could get worse, faster. Neither of you wants that to happen, trust me.” He frowned. “I know I must sound like the booge
yman, saying that. I don't want to scare you, but I need you to realize that this is a very serious disease that we're talking about.”

  He looked so earnest that I realized there was no way I could continue to deny this. I nodded slowly. “What do you need me to do?” I asked.

  “You and your mother are close,” Eric said. “If you could have a frank talk with her, make her realize what could happen, remind her how much it would hurt you as well if she were to get worse, maybe she could begin to see reason.”

  “I'll try,” I said softly. “No promises, but I'll try.” I didn't know if Mom would listen to me, but I couldn't even imagine how much it would hurt me to have to watch her get worse and worse.

  I swallowed hard and resolved to talk to her as soon as I saw her again. But for now, I took another sip of my wine and followed along as Eric changed the topic of conversation.

  Chapter Five

  Eric

  I couldn't keep from glancing over at Olivia as we drove home. I felt horrible for the things that I'd said about her mother's illness at the restaurant. I didn't want to scare Olivia into thinking about her mother potentially dying, but I didn't know how else to galvanize the pair of them into taking some sort of action. Now, though, Olivia just seemed upset, and I didn't know how to fix it. We'd been having such a fun evening, too.

  I tried to tell a joke. “You know you’re a doctor when, within minutes of meeting someone, you’re telling them to take their clothes off, lie down, and let their knees fall open. And they do it!”

  Olivia looked over at me, startled by the joke, and she laughed. But then, as though that release of emotion unlocked the rest of her feelings, she suddenly burst into noisy tears.

  I winced and pulled over next to a cornfield. There was no one else on the road at that hour, but I flicked the hazard lights on anyway. Then, I pulled Olivia into my arms.

  Normally, I wouldn't embrace a patient's family member like this, and I couldn't help thinking about how this was the second time that her pain had moved me to pull her into my arms. But then again, there were all these thoughts about Emily in my head lately. There were all the ways that Jeannie's illness and Olivia's sorrow reflected everything that had happened in my life two years prior.

  In some ways, at least.

  But Emily had never had a chance, not like Jeannie did. Emily had had pain in her back that she’d assumed was a natural part of getting older. She hadn’t wanted to bother me with extensive exams, and she'd downplayed the extent of the pain. Eventually, it had gotten to the point where she couldn't downplay it anymore, and I'd finally insisted on the tests that we should have done long before that point. But by then, it was too late.

  Emily had died two months later. I'd still been in a state of shock after her diagnosis, and I was devastated. I blamed myself for her death: if I'd only noticed things sooner, we could have gotten the treatment that she needed. I was a doctor; I should have realized that the pain was worse than a normal backache. I should have said something when the pain persisted month after month.

  But I hadn't. And because I hadn't, I had lost her.

  Part of why I was so insistent that Jeannie start her treatments right away was because I couldn't handle having another Emily on my hands. I couldn't sit back and watch Jeannie fool herself into thinking that there was nothing wrong with her, to let things go until it was too late to help her.

  Olivia sniffled, still clinging to me, and I just gently rocked her back and forth, wishing that there was something I could say. No matter how many difficult situations I'd had to deal with over my years of being a doctor, I couldn't seem to muster the words to soothe her now, though. Everything just seemed contrived. Fake.

  Finally, she composed herself and pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

  “I'd tell you another joke, but I'd be afraid it would go over as poorly as the last one,” I finally managed to tease. “I don't think I'd ever be able to show my face again!”

  Olivia giggled and shook her head. “I'd hate for that to happen,” she said sincerely.

  As I put the car back in drive, she reached over to take my hand, holding it timidly, like she thought I might pull away. I lightly squeezed her hand and rubbed my thumb across her knuckles.

  We got closer to Tamlin, and I suppressed a sigh, hating the tension in the car and hating that the comfortable banter from earlier in the evening seemed to have all dried up. If it weren't for this cloud of her mother's illness hanging over us, I had a feeling that Olivia and I could be good friends. Maybe even something more than friends, since God knew I was smitten with her good looks and charm.

  Not that I should be thinking about that.

  “Hey, would you mind if we swing by Nana's house and pick up Emma?” I asked suddenly. “It's on our way.”

  “No problem,” Olivia said, smiling over at me, and I was glad to see that she was feeling better, or at least putting on a brave face.

  When we drove up to Helen's house, the lights were on in the living room. “You're welcome to come in,” I told Olivia. “I'm sure Helen would love to meet you. Emma's told her all about you, after all.”

  Olivia smiled shyly. “All right,” she said, undoing her seat belt and following me up the walk and into the foyer.

  In the living room, Helen and Emma were busy putting together a puzzle on the coffee table. They clearly hadn't heard us come in, but that made sense since Emma was chattering away in a voice that was a little too loud for being indoors. But then again, Helen's hearing wasn't that great; maybe Emma was just trying to make up for that fact.

  Helen put in the final piece of the puzzle, patting it with satisfaction. “Look at that, Emily dear,” she said. “All finished!”

  I felt a pang go through my heart, and I quickly turned to Olivia to explain. “Emily was Emma's mom,” I murmured. “My former wife.” I grimaced. “Like I said, Helen's memory isn't great these days. She sometimes forgets who she's talking to.”

  Olivia blinked at me and then shook her head. “Emily and Emma aren't such different names,” she pointed out. “And my grandmother, when I was growing up, sometimes would call out the name of every other grandchild before she finally got to mine!” She grinned fondly at the memory.

  I couldn't tell her how relieved I was to hear that, but something must have shown on my face if the way she reached over and lightly squeezed my hand was any indication. Then, she stepped toward the living room, and I hurriedly followed after her.

  “Daddy!” Emma squealed delightedly, clapping her hands together. Then, her eyes narrowed at Olivia. “What is she doing here?”

  I grimaced, embarrassed by Emma’s reaction. She'd had only positive words to say about daycare all week, but I could tell that Olivia was pretty frazzled every evening when I came to pick up my daughter, and I knew that it wasn't Harlan giving her trouble. I frowned at her. “Now Emma, that's not very nice,” I scolded.

  “I don't want to go to daycare now,” Emma said, her lower lip wobbling.

  It was Helen to the rescue, though. “Of course you're not going to daycare now,” she said soothingly, petting the girl's hair. “I bet your Daddy has just come to take you home for the night. You won't go back to daycare until Monday. Remember, you promised to go on a long walk with me tomorrow, and then we were going to bake cookies on Sunday.”

  “You promise?” Emma asked, her expression still cloudy.

  “I promise,” Nana said solemnly.

  “You pinky promise?” Emma asked.

  Helen dutifully linked pinkies with the girl, winking over at me as she did so. That broke the spell of unhappiness, and Emma slid off her chair and came over to me, hugging my leg tightly. Helen slowly made her way over as well.

  “So, I presume that you are the lovely Ms. Sable,” she said, taking Olivia's hand between her own. She gave me a look, clearly wondering what Olivia was doing there with me. I felt embarrassed, knowing what this might look like to her. Of course, I had told her that one of my patient's family members
and I were going out to dinner to discuss treatment options, but I hadn't told her that I was having dinner with an attractive young woman. She probably thought 'discuss treatment options' was just an excuse.

  Olivia blushed. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Beal,” she said.

  “Daddy, I ate all my vegetables and Nana let me have ice cream,” Emma announced proudly, heedless of whatever was going on in the shared looks between her elders.

  “Emma,” Helen scolded playfully. “That was supposed to be our little secret!”

  Emma popped a finger in her mouth and then grinned toothily up at me. “Oops,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes with mock exasperation. “What am I going to do with the two of you?” I said. I picked Emma up and balanced her on my hip, then leaned in and kissed Helen on the cheek. “Have a good night,” I told her. “I need to get Olivia home.”

  “Is it past her bedtime, too?” Emma asked, and we all laughed.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Olivia said to Helen.

  “You too, dear,” Helen said. “We'll have to have you over for dinner sometime. To show you how much we appreciate you taking the little rascal off our hands every day!”

  Olivia laughed. “It's my pleasure,” she said.

  “Right now, I think it's time to get the little rascal home to bed,” I said, but I lingered for another moment, wondering at the picture we made. Almost like a family.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. Olivia and I weren't even dating, and we weren't going to date. I needed to stop thinking of this in relationship terms. She was just the daughter of one of my patients; I was sure she didn't see me as anything other than a doctor.

  I suppressed a sigh and headed out to the car, resolving to get her home quickly so that I could quit thinking about the not-quite-date that we'd been on that night.

  Chapter Six

  Olivia

  I wasn't sure why Eric wanted me to meet his mother-in-law, but it was sweet, seeing the three of them interact as a family. It cemented the idea in my mind that Emma really was a good kid. Looking for attention, certainly, but all her brattiness made sense in that context. I'd just have to work harder to show that I was paying attention, even when she wasn't having one of her temper tantrums.