Baby Comes First (5 page)

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“If it’s a matter of hunting the guy down, I
have resources, and we could –-”

“I know you mean well, but that’s not what I
want.”

“Is he a criminal? Are you afraid he might
hurt you or the baby?”

His line of questioning was getting harder to
evade. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to give him the
entire truth, either. “No, but – ”

“Even if you don’t want to see the man again,
he should be held financially responsible. You shouldn’t have to
support the baby all by yourself.”

“Why are you so concerned about this? This is
my life, my choice. It has nothing to do with you.”
At least,
nothing that you’re going to know about.

“It’s just not right. A man should take care
of his children.”

Something in his voice made her say quietly,
“This is very important to you.”

“It should be important to everyone. A
society that doesn’t care for its children won’t survive.”

“But this is more than your pro-bono cases.
You really care. Why?”

He looked uncomfortable. He said stiffly,
“This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you and your baby.”

Hannah wasn’t going to let him avoid her
question. She put her hands on his desk, leaning toward him. “And
I’m asking why it’s so important to you that you can’t let me live
my life without telling me what to do.”

For a moment, she thought Mr. Jamison would
order her from his office, angry at her impertinence, but then he
said, “Fair enough.” He pushed his chair back from the desk. After
what seemed like a minute of silence, he said simply, “My father
abandoned my mother, leaving her with four children. She had little
education and almost no job skills. She tried to track him down, to
get some financial support, but he was too slippery. He’d change
jobs or move out of state.”

He stated the facts as bluntly and logically
as if he were supporting a legal argument in one of his briefs.

Hannah added quietly, “And back then, there
weren’t as many laws to make a father support his children.”

He nodded. “My mother did all she could,
working two jobs, never getting enough sleep. My oldest sister
Margaret practically raised us. Finally, when I was fifteen, my
mother died. The doctors said it was pneumonia, but I think her
heart was worn out and she gave up.”

“What happened to you?”

He shrugged. “An aunt took us in for a few
years, until we were able to take care of ourselves.”

For a moment, Hannah didn’t know what to say.
No wonder he felt so deeply about men taking responsibility for
their children. She asked, “How old were you when your father
left?”

“Two.”

“Do you remember him at all?”

“No, there are a few photographs, but I don’t
remember him.”

And you hate him
. “I’m so sorry. That
must have been hard for you.”

She could tell he did not want her sympathy.
“I survived,” he said dryly.

But at what cost? Hannah wondered. The pains
of childhood had a way of rippling through one’s adulthood, like a
rock thrown into a lake. Luke Jamison was a fighter, a brilliant
attorney, but a lonely one. Did he have any friends?

The thought startled her. She’d never thought
of him as a person before, with his own demons. He’d merely been
her boss.

Finally, she said, “I can see how your
childhood has influenced you, but my situation is different.”

“But don’t you see that by not telling the
father, you are, in effect, denying your child the benefits of a
father?”

“I’m not your mother. I have a good job. I
can raise this child by myself.”

“But what if something happens to you?”

“That’s my problem.”

He persisted. “Children need two
parents.”

Deep in her heart, Hannah knew he was right.
Two parents were the ideal, but her child wasn’t going to have
that, unless she found someone to marry later -- and the odds of
that happening were infinitesimal. “I don’t want to discuss this
with you. If you don’t have any other work for me, I’ll go back to
my desk,” she said, and retreated before he could say anything
more.

In her email the next morning, she saw that
Mr. Jamison had sent her links to three psychological studies that
said children of single mothers with no access to their fathers
suffered emotionally and socially. He wouldn’t give up. He was
going to do everything in his power to convince her to notify the
father.

She sent him back a terse reply. “Are you
trying to prove these theories by your own actions? MIND YOUR OWN
BUSINESS!”

After that, he didn’t mention her pregnancy
or her baby again. They worked together, almost silently,
communicating as little as possible for several days.

Hannah told herself that she should be
pleased with this turn of events, but to her surprise, his silence
drove her crazy. He didn’t have to say anything, because she knew
what he was thinking. His dark brown eyes followed her whenever she
walked across a room. Sometimes she’d catch him looking at her
stomach, frowning.

The sooner this baby was born and she could
quit, the better. She marked her calendar with countdown numbers.
Fifty-nine days and counting.

Then on day fifty-six, she started bleeding.
She’d read enough about pregnancies to know that a little spotting
could be normal, but after an hour, she decided that this wasn’t
normal and she called her gynecologist. She spoke to a nurse
practitioner at first, and within minutes her doctor was on the
line.

Dr. Armanzo told her to meet her at the
hospital for a check up. “It’s probably nothing serious,” she said
calmly. “But if it is, I’d rather have you there, than at my
office.”

“I’m not having contractions,” Hannah said.
“Do you think I’m in labor?”

“Come to the hospital, and we’ll find out,”
the doctor said calmly. “And take a taxi. I don’t want you
driving.”

Hannah hung up the phone with shaking hands.
Dear God, please help my baby
.

Mr. Jamison came out of a meeting to get his
phone messages. “I need the document list for the Peterson case,”
he said briskly, then took one look at her face and said, “What’s
happened? Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not –-- I don’t know --- I have to
go.” She stared at her desk, unable to remember where she kept the
phone numbers for taxi services. She picked up her purse, and
spilled its contents. She felt stupid, as if nothing she did was
working.

Mr. Jamison bent down to help her.

“No,” she said with rising panic. “I don’t
care about my purse. I need a taxi.”

“Why?”

“I need a ride to the hospital.”

“Is something wrong with the baby?”

“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes.

Mr. Jamison scooped up her things and dumped
them back into her purse. “A taxi will take too long,” he said
firmly. “I’ll drive.” He stood and offered his hand to help her to
her feet.

Hannah was too upset to argue with him. She
held on to his arm, grateful for his quiet strength as they walked
quickly through the law offices to the elevator. Part of her mind
noticed that various co-workers were watching their departure with
interest, but she didn’t care what they thought. She was too
worried about the baby.

Mr. Jamison left her at the parking lot
entrance and drove up a few minutes later in a sleek, black foreign
convertible that must have cost a fortune. He hopped out of the car
and opened the passenger door for her.

“I really appreciate this, Mr. Jamison,”
Hannah began. She sat on the smooth leather seat and lifted her
legs inside.

He smiled grimly. “I think after today, you’d
better call me Luke.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

Luke?

Hannah wasn’t sure she wanted to call him by
his first name, but right now she was no position to argue. She did
appreciate his help. Waiting for a taxi would have wasted precious
minutes.

She dabbed at her eyes with a wadded up
tissue and stared out the windows as he drove through the crowded
downtown streets to the hospital.

“What’s the trouble?” he asked quietly.

“I’m spotting. Bleeding.”

He stared through the windshield, not
glancing at her. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He nodded. “If the baby was born today, it
could survive, couldn’t it?”

“Yes, but it would still be premature. At
thirty two weeks, the baby would still have immature lungs, and
possibly other problems.”

“I’ve read stories about babies only twenty
three weeks along, who have done well.”

After months of medical intervention,
perhaps. The media liked to publish the miracle baby stories. They
didn’t write many stories about premature babies who died or
suffered handicaps. She knew Luke was trying to be helpful, by
giving her reassuring facts, but discussing it seemed to make it
worse. “I’d rather not talk right now.”

He reached over as if he was going to give
her hand a squeeze, then drew back. He said nothing.

He drove up to the emergency entrance and
helped her out of the car. “We need a wheelchair!” he said loudly.
Within minutes, an orderly was there to help her.

Hannah told the woman what Dr. Armanzo had
told her.

“I’ll go park the car and be with you as soon
as I can,” Luke said.

Hannah was startled. “You’re staying?”

“Did you think I’d just drop you off? Of
course I’m staying.”

“You don’t need to –” she protested bravely,
but inwardly she hoped he would.

“Do you have anyone else to stay with you?”
he asked pointedly.

Until this moment, Hannah had never realized
how alone she really was. With her father dead and her mother in
assisted living, there was no one to help. She could call
Christine, but she would have to find someone to watch her
children. She had girl friends, but most of them worked during the
day. “No, I don’t have anyone.”

“Then I’m staying. I’ll take care of the car
and be back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

While he was gone, a clerk admitted her to
the maternity ward and she was taken to an examination room to wait
for Dr. Armanzo.

Dr. Armanzo arrived just as Luke was
returning. She was a grandmotherly woman with iron gray hair pulled
back into a long braid. Hannah appreciated the air of calm
confidence she exuded, and never more so than today. She felt
certain that Dr. Armanzo would know what to do.

“Is this your husband?” the doctor asked.

“No,” they said simultaneously.

“He’s my boss,” Hannah said just as he said,
“I’m a friend.”

She looked at him. Was he her friend? She
supposed that taking her to the hospital had elevated him to that
level.

Dr. Armanzo asked her more questions about
the spotting and ordered an ultrasound. “Do you want me to step
outside?” Luke asked.

She knew he was trying to respect her
privacy, and she started to say, “Yes, please,” then realized that
no, she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him near her, for
emotional support, as irrational as that might seem. Right now, she
wanted someone beside her. She caught his hand with hers. “No,
stay.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. He
stood quietly by her side as she lay on the examination table.

The doctor undid the zipper to her skirt and
pushed the waistband down and rolled her blouse up to expose her
stomach. As the technician guided the ultrasound wand over her bare
skin, Hannah and her doctor watched the results on a large black
and white monitor.

Dr. Armanzo pressed her lips together. “Hmm.
Just what I suspected. You have placenta previa.”

“What does that mean?”

“The placenta is growing over the cervix.
This occurs in about one in every 200 births. The risks are that
the baby might not get sufficient blood, or that the mother might
hemorrhage – especially during delivery.”

Luke’s fingers tightened on hers.
“Hemorrhage?”

“Yes, but with careful monitoring, it rarely
rises to a serious level.” She addressed Hannah. “You’re fortunate
that you only have partial, instead of full placenta previa. And it
appears that you have stopped bleeding. But we will still need to
be careful.”

“And what exactly does ‘being careful’
involve?” Hannah asked.

“First of all, I want you to stay at the
hospital for a few hours, for observation, to make sure you are
okay. Then you get to go home and lie down.”

“For how long?”

“Until the baby’s born.” Dr. Armanzo smiled
at her look of astonishment. “That’s right. I’m putting you on
complete bed rest. You can get up for no more than five minutes
every hour. The rest of the time, I want you flat in bed. Not even
sitting up. You are to stay horizontal.”

“But what about my job? I can’t –” Hannah
stopped when she realized what she was saying. “Of course I can.
I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

“Don’t worry about your work,” Luke added.
“That’s not important.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“But what will you do?”

“I’ll get a floater.”

Hannah knew how he hated working with the
floaters, but she knew he was right. Work didn’t matter right now –
the baby came first. She let her breath out slowly. “Complete bed
rest,” she said weakly. “Wow.”

“From what I hear, the first week is rather
relaxing,” Dr. Armanzo said kindly. “Many women find it is a good
time to catch up on all their reading and take extra naps. You can
think of it as a vacation.”

“But after the first week?”

“It’s more difficult,” the doctor admitted.
“You’ll need to find something to do to keep from going stir crazy.
Many women knit or start a needlework project.”

“What about meals and things like that?” Luke
asked.