“Oh, Ashley.” He looked at her with such sorrow she was afraid she was going to cry, and that would be very bad. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. “How can I say it? I’m so very sorry. The words are inadequate, stupid and not worth anything, but they’re all I have. I’m sorry,” he said again.
She was prying his fingers off her elbow, one by one. “Apology accepted, go away now.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just turn around and walk out that door.
“I can’t leave things like this. And I can’t let you go. You mean more to me than anyone.”
“How can you say that?” she cried, honestly shocked. “And what am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, gee, Vic, that makes it all better, I’ll forget the whole thing and we’ll live happily ever after, please pass the Cheese Whiz.’?”
He blinked at Cheese Whiz, then replied, “Well, what about me? Do you really expect me to live with the knowledge that I hurt someone who showed me nothing but kindness and generosity? Someone who saved my life? Do you expect me to say, ‘Sure, Ashley, I’ll respect your wishes, I’ll never see you again, even though I’ve got this horrible thing to make up for, even though I fell in love with you.’?”
Silence, while she rubbed her arm and thought. So funny—three weeks ago, his words would have made her soul sing. Now they just made everything worse. Finally she shook her head and said, “Those are just words. They don’t solve anything.”
“But they mean everything.”
“I want you to leave me alone,” she said slowly, deliberately. “I never want to see you again.”
He paled. “Please don’t.”
She struck him, then. Not with her fists. With words. “I asked you the same thing. That night. I begged you to stop.”
He was shaking his head. “Don’t do this.”
“But you did as you pleased while you called me by your wife’s name, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing.”
“Stop it, Ashley.”
“I’m really not interested in your requests!” she shouted. “Now go away and leave me be!”
“As you wish,” he said, deathly calm, but his eyes were bright, brimming. He turned and walked away.
She silently watched him go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One week later, Ashley walked into Jeannie’s room, not sure what she was going to say. Fortunately, Jeannie was in a heated telephone conversation with an unfortunate Dr. Ebert. The woman’s fair, freckled face was blotched with outrage and her strawberry-blonde hair was in wild disarray. She looked like a pixie on the rampage.
“—and another thing, you head-peeping, no-talent, under-analytical, over-Freudian peasant! If I tell you a new medication is giving me unacceptable side effects, that means they’re unacceptable! Not mildly annoying. You’re mildly annoying…except for days like today, when you’re extremely annoying. This stuff isn’t working for me, and I’m not taking it anymore.”
“You’re mad as hell,” Ashley suggested, smiling, “and you’re not gonna take it anymore.”
Jeannie grinned, then went back to yelling at her psychiatrist. This went on for another minute or so, until Jeannie hung up with a satisfying bang. “Lord, give us strength. That man couldn’t oversee therapy for someone who didn’t need it, much less someone like myself, delicate, with special needs.”
“Uh-huh.” Ashley had heard it all before. She wouldn’t take it seriously until Jean fired Dr. Ebert. He was the fourth psychiatrist in five years.
“What are you doing here? And on a work day, no less? Not that I’m not delighted to see you, because I am—it’s been exceptionally dull around here lately.”
Not for much longer, kiddo. “I took the afternoon off,” Ashley replied absently. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Oh?” Jean raised her eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“That depends on what you mean.”
“What I mean is,” she said patiently, “are you healthy?”
“Yes, perfectly. A perfectly healthy pregnant woman.”
Long silence, broken when Jean said cautiously, “Pardon?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Longer silence. Then Jean sat up very straight, pasted on a smile, and said, “Well, that’s—uh—congratulations?”
Ashley laughed and, just as suddenly, started to sob. Jeannie ran to her and hugged her, holding her as best she could, while over and over Ashley asked through her tears, “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”
“We’ll think of something,” Jean said, desperate to soothe her friend. “We’ll figure something out, Ash. Please don’t cry.”
* * * * *
“Okay,” Jean said a little later. They were eating ice cream in the cafeteria. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” Ashley asked with faux brightness.
“Very funny.
She swallowed her bite of Rocky Road. “I’m due August first.”
“And there’s no question about who the—”
“No question.”
Almost a minute passed while Jean tried to figure out a tactful way to ask the next question. She finally gave up and came out with it. “Have you considered…ah…not being pregnant?”
“You mean an abortion? Yeah, I considered it.” Ashley smiled crookedly. “For about two seconds. I always thought I was pro-choice, but the thought of—no. It’s not the baby’s fault I didn’t want to be pregnant. And I can’t even think about adoption…what if the baby ends up like me? Never knowing who she belongs to, always wondering if there was something wrong with—” She cut herself off, looking away from the sympathy in Jeannie’s gaze. Then she took a deep breath and finished, “I’ll have him, or her, and do my best by him or her.”
“Okay. I just wanted to—okay. That’s what I figured you’d say, anyway. You’ve always liked little kids and babies. Remember when you used to baby-sit those horrible Hemze children? I swear, the five year-old drank blood, not milk…and the dog. The dog!”
“Yes, I remember. And they weren’t as bad as you think. Except for the dog, you’re right, she was a monster,” Ashley added under her breath. She smiled again, and it looked—and felt—a little more real on her face. “You know I’ve wanted a baby for a while. My big dream was to have my own family. I think, once I get over the shock, I’ll be pretty excited. I hope it’s a girl.”
“Jeannette’s a nice name,” she said, putting her hand over Ashley’s.
Ashley squeezed her fingers. “A very nice name,” she agreed, and they ate in contented silence for a while.
“So when are you going to tell Victor?”
Ashley choked as a walnut went down the wrong way. “Never,” she croaked, finally clearing her throat. “I’m not telling him.”
“Ashley.”
“I’m not.”
“Ashley, he’s going to be a father.”
“And he fixed it so I’m going to be a mother. Well, I have to live with that, and with the baby, but—my God, Jean, you know I never want to see him again! How can I do that if we’re raising a child together? I don’t want him in my life at all, much less as the father of my only child! Besides,” she added bitterly, “if it’s a girl he’ll probably want to name her Crystal.”
Jean just looked at her.
“No.”
Jean knew the signs, and decided to drop it. For now. Sometimes there could be no arguing with her easy-going pal. “All right, Ashley. I hope you change your mind once you get used to the idea. I know you hate what he did, but he’s the father, and he’s got a right to know.”
“He’s rich,” she whispered, so low Jean almost didn’t hear it. “And I’m not. He might have very specific ideas about how his son or daughter is raised. He might try to take the baby away from me and raise it himself.”
“Ashley, you know better than—”
“I don’t know any such thing. I can’t tell him.”
&
nbsp; “You’re afraid.”
“Yes,” Ashley said simply.
“You’re going to do this by yourself?”
“I have to.”
“I think,” Jean said thoughtfully, scraping the last of the vanilla ice cream from her bowl, “it’s time I bid adieu to our friends at Carlson-Musch. I’ve overstayed my welcome, and besides, we have a lot of work to do in the next—what? Eight months?”
“What do you mean, we?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, we’ll need a bigger place. You’re sure not staying by yourself, and the apartment I’ve got now is too small.”
“Jean, I can’t afford to live your life of luxury.”
“I have a feeling we’ll find a place that’s very reasonable,” Jean said with a confident smile.
“Jeannie…”
“Trust me. Shouldn’t you have a big glass of milk with that instead of iced tea? Caffeine, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Ashley said dryly, but felt better, just the same.
* * * * *
Ashley nodded and smiled and pretended to listen carefully to the obstetrician, but she knew as soon as she saw the location of the office it wasn’t going to work. In a gruesome ironic twist, this medical office, one of the city’s finest, was directly across from Derik’s dojo. When she’d realized that, she had almost turned around and walked out, but the secretary had called her name, and the doctor (Sharon, her nametag read, with a blue smiley face in the ‘o’, how’s that for a big bleah?) had been waiting for her, smiling, and she couldn’t bring herself to walk out on them.
So here she sat, trying to be enthusiastic to a woman she’d never see again, about an office she’d never return to.
“Well, that’s it. Do you have any question, Ashley?”
“No.” She forced a smile. “You’ve answered them all, Doctor—uh—”
“Opitz. But please call me Sharon.”
“Right. Well, I don’t have any questions, and I’m running late…”
“Say no more. I’ll walk you out.” Sharon rose from behind her desk. She was a tall, blue-eyed blonde with high cheekbones, so fair-skinned her skin was almost translucent. The only flaw Ashley could see—if you could even call it a flaw—were the laugh lines around her eyes. Her lab coat was forest-green, which was something Ashley had never seen before—she thought it was a national law that doctors had to wear white coats. Sharon had been pleasant, even cheerful, and generous in information sharing. Ashley had liked her immediately. Too bad. “May I recommend Dr. Ammentorp’s group across town? They’re in Cambridge.”
“Huh?”
Sharon patted her shoulder. “I get the feeling you might still be shopping around for an OB. I don’t think we clicked.”
“Oh, no! No, it’s not you. It’s the location.”
“The reasons don’t matter,” Dr. Opitz said kindly. “If you’re not comfortable here, that’s good enough for us—and you shouldn’t think for a second that you have to justify anything. To me, or to yourself. When it comes to what’s best for your baby, you’re the boss. We’re just advisors.”
Ashley shook the woman’s hand. “I wish you could be my doctor,” she said truthfully, “and I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“Oh, go on, now,” Dr. Opitz said with a giggle. Strange, to see a woman in her forties giggle like a teenager. Ashley couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she left the office. It really was too bad, but she couldn’t take the chance of running into—
“Oh my God! It is you!”
Resigned, she turned and saw Derik Mann, who had just stepped out of the bagel shop next to the OB’s office. He was holding a dripping bagel sandwich, and had gripped his drink so hard the plastic lid popped off.
She sighed. “Hello, Derik.”
He ran the ten feet separating them, spilling soda all over the sidewalk. “I saw you go in from across the street, but figured it was someone who looked like you. How are you?”
“Fine.”
He screeched to a halt in front of her. “Listen, I’m really glad I ran into you. Can I buy you lunch?”
“No. I’m late.”
“Then I’ll walk you to your car. I’ve got to talk to you.”
She was well and truly trapped. “If you like,” she said, resigned. “It’s a bit of a walk, though. Parking around here stinks.”
“That’s Boston for you,” he agreed. “Give me your license plate number and I’ll post it behind our front desk. Anytime you’re in the area, you can park in my lot for free.”
She smiled at him, not intending to ever be in the neighborhood again, but touched by his offer. “Thanks, Derik.”
He grinned back. “If you talk to Victor, I promise I won’t have you towed.”
She felt the smile slip away. “Not funny, Derik.”
His face fell. “Sorry. But listen—that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Victor’s really taking this hard.”
“He’s taking this hard?” I’m pregnant and he’s taking this hard? Excuse me if I don’t cry a river.
“Yes,” Derik said simply. “He’s really broken up about it. I’ve never seen him so upset, not even the day he walked in on Crystal and—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Good enough, that’s not one of my favorite mental pictures, either. But I was hoping you could be persuaded—or bribed—to give him a call.” He offered her the soggy bagel sandwich and she bit the insides of her cheeks so she wouldn’t smile. “Aww, come on,” he coaxed. “You know you want it. A freshly baked garlic bagel, rare roast beef, honey mustard, big juicy tomato slices…”
“Yuck, get it away from me.”
“Pleeeease call him? He really misses you.”
“Cut it out,” she said, beginning to be angry.
“I will as soon as you stop acting like he meant it,” Derik said, a little edgy himself now. “Like his having a concussion was all part of his big plan to seduce you!”
“Seduce me! Ha!”
“Ha, yourself. If you knew anything about him you’d know he’d never hurt a woman, especially not someone he likes as much as you. He was sick, don’t you get it?”
“The fever didn’t give him any emotions, any feelings, he didn’t have already buried,” she argued, “and just because it happened once doesn’t mean—” She stopped and then said slowly, “How did you know about what happened?”
“Uh...”
“Victor told you.” It wasn’t a question. She went crimson from mortification, turned, and began walking abruptly to her car.
“For God’s sake, we’re friends!” he yelled after her. He stuffed his lunch into a trash can, wiped his hands on his thighs, and caught up to her. “He had to talk to someone about it, Ash. You don’t know what it was like for him.”
“I don’t know what it was—do you hear yourself?”
“He is devastated,” Derik went on stubbornly, more than a little annoyed. Sure, he felt sorry for Ash, but couldn’t she see it was the karmic equivalent of a car crash caused by brake failure? Nobody’s fault? “He really fell for you. I was telling myself that very day that I hadn’t seen him so happy in years, and then this had to happen. It’s a mess, but if you guys try…if you give him a chance, just one chance, I know you can fix it.”
Ashley shook her head. She was tired, and she didn’t want to fight with Derik, and tears were threatening. “I can’t. It’s over. We’re done.”
Derik opened his mouth to plead on Vic’s behalf some more when comprehension hit him like a punch. He’d been so excited to see Ashley he hadn’t immediately realized she’d been leaving the doctor’s office. A clinic for women, in fact.
“Why were you at the doctor’s?” he asked, and he could see the abrupt change of subject startled her.
“Mind your own beeswax,” she snapped, feeling childish, but unable to help it.
“You’re not the boss of me,” he snapped back, relieved to see a ghost of a grin. He held his hands out placatingly
. “You’re right, it’s none of my business. Listen, I’m sorry I upset you. I’ll see you later and I meant what I said about parking for free, okay? Especially when you have a doctor’s appointment.”
She was so anxious to get away from him, he saw with amazement, that she barely nodded before getting into her car and closing the door with a firm ‘chunk’. He jumped back before she could back over his toes, and watched her drive away. Then he sprinted for the doctor’s office, skidding to a halt in front of the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi,” he panted, while she watched him, amused. “My friend was just in here and she thinks she might have left her purse. Ashley—” For a terrifying second he couldn’t remember her last name, then recalled it sounded just like Vic’s. “Lorentz,” he finished. “I offered to run back and get it for her.”
“How far did you run?” she asked with a smile. “Five miles? Hold on, I’ll check.” She picked up the phone and dialed two digits—calling one of the exam rooms, Derik figured. “Hello, Dr. Opitz? It’s Yvonne. Your last appointment, Ashley Lorentz—did she leave anything behind when she—uh-huh. Okay. Thanks for checking.” She hung up and shook her head. “Sorry, she didn’t leave her purse here.”
He was looking at the neat stacks of business cards on the left side of her desk; spotting Dr. Opitz’s, he reached out and took one. There it was. Sharon Opitz, MD. Specializing in Obstetrics and Pediatrics.
“Oh my God,” he breathed.
“Sir?”
He tucked the card into his wallet and ran out without so much as a goodbye.
* * * * *
Ashley trudged up the steps to her and Jean’s apartment. Jeannie was apartment hunting from Carlson-Musch, a frightening prospect, and wouldn’t allow Ashley to help. “You’ve got enough things to worry about and besides, you’ve never cared where you lived.” True enough, and Ashley was glad to leave the details to her friend, but she wondered if Jean would be so foolish as to take an apartment without seeing it first. Well, as Jean had wisely said, she had other things to worry about.
Like packing. Not that she had a lot of things, but the thought of picking them all up and stuffing them into boxes was daunting. If only she weren’t so tired. Tired and sad…it seemed she was always on the verge of tears these days. And she was lonelier than she had ever been in a life that had been, for the most part, nothing but lonely.