A Mother's Secrets (Parent Portal 4)

Speaking of which...

“I’m assuming you’ll want to be present for medical visits, but I reserve the right to have my privacy protected,” she said.

The child she

’d be growing was his. Not hers. He had a right to be there for each step of its growth.

“You have a choice to make,” she told him, gesturing with a nod toward the calendars he’d put on the edge of the desk. “We can do a mock injection to make sure we have timing right with my cycle if you’d like, before using any of the embryos. They implant more than one each time, and since you’ve got a limited number and no guarantee that it will take, my doctor made the offer... They can follow a nonembryonic injection to see if my uterus is ready to accept implantation so many days after I ovulate...”

Oftentimes the mock trial was done when the embryo was being freshly prepared from a mother’s egg, because the surrogate had to take fertility drugs to put her cycle in line with the mother’s. But, in this case, because the embryos were so critically limited, her doctor had suggested Jamison might want to do that. Christine was an expert on fertility, as much as she could be without a medical degree, but she’d learned some things over the past couple of weeks.

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine with going ahead,” he said. “I don’t want to put you through anything more invasive than necessary. And from the reading I did, the mock trial is generally done when the embryos are being freshly prepared...”

She was impressed. And oddly comforted. The man wasn’t just acting on a whim. He knew his stuff.

He picked up the calendar again. “So it looks like June 7 is our day?”

Ten days away.

“Assuming we come to a contractual agreement.”

He nodded. Stood. Held out his hand.

So she shook it. As she’d done with many, many clients over the years. Probably including him and his wife.

So why, as he thanked her again, holding her gaze, seemingly letting her read into his depths, did she suddenly feel as though, with that simple, professional touch of the hand, she’d just agreed to a crazy kind of love?

Chapter Seven

Jamie had his attorney add one clause to the contract in the coming days, allowing Christine the right to have contact with the child. And also, if at any time the resultant child wanted contact, Jamie could call her and let her know, with the decision to meet up to her.

There’d be a bond there.

And Christine’s life work was about the human element involved in fertility science.

His son or daughter was going to know that his or her biological mother had passed away a year before conception. That child might want to know Christine. Conceivably, he or she might feel some gratitude. Hopefully. If Jamie did his job right.

Everything else about the contract was solid. Appropriate. Even the living expense amount—exactly to the penny of the average projected cost in the state of California, according to Jamie’s lawyer.

He’d have signed it even if it had been hugely one-sided. Two days after the meeting, he stayed on the court for a couple of hours after tennis camp, hitting balls with anyone who wanted to play with him, while he waited for the call from his attorney telling him that she’d signed the final contract that had been hand delivered to her that morning.

He’d offered, at the beginning of camp, to make himself available to any of the attendees who wanted some one-on-one time with him. He hadn’t expected the twelve-student lineup, but allotted each of them fifteen minutes after which they could go to the end of the line and wait for a second session.

The May air was balmy. Low 70s. The court protected from direct sun by the school’s amphitheater behind which they sat.

He gave the private sessions a few times every year during camp. Usually setting a stopping point before he began, but that day he didn’t. That day he needed the session more than his students did. That day they were helping him.

And when the call came, at just after three, telling him the deal was signed and legally recorded, he shared the news with the seven students left on the court with him. And took them all out for ice cream to celebrate.

He was back in the father game.

And he was going to be a good one.

* * *

She was good at her job. Able to care deeply, to empathize, sympathize, bleed compassion and keep a personal distance at the same time. To Christine, doing so was a no-brainer. A happy life meant taking care of who and what you loved.

Others told her she had a gift.