Another Man's Child

“Did I say anything about going to Angelo’s?”

He’d stopped the car at the marina. And right in front of her, bobbing in the deep blue ocean, was a sleek beautiful sailboat with a huge red ribbon blowing from the masthead. But the name, written in large gold print across the stern, was what finally reached her. Sara.

The name she’d chosen for their firstborn, in memory of her little sister.

“She’s ours?” she asked, still staring at the boat. She’d always wanted to learn to sail. And Marcus had always promised to teach her. But somehow they’d never found the time.

“Happy birthday, Lis.”

Excitement bubbled up inside her. Excitement and hope for the future. Their future. This was something they could do—together.

“Are we going to sail her today?”

“Unless you’d rather go straight to Angelo’s,” Marcus said, his eyes twinkling.

Lisa punched him in the arm, then threw her arms around his neck, kissing him full on the mouth. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“You like her?” he asked, and she heard the hesitation in his voice. There it was again, his questioning his ability to please her. She just didn’t know how to convince him that he still made her happier than any other person on earth. That it was something he did just by loving her. She cursed his parents for teaching him that he had to earn affection, for showing him that if he was ever cause for disappointment, he’d lose that affection. For convincing him that he was responsible for everything—even those things beyond his control. For making him doubt that he was worthy of his wife’s love.

Lisa looked at the Sara again, the shiny white bow trimmed with royal blue. “It’s perfect,” she said, giving him another hug. She’d just have to keep showing him until he believed again.

“In that case, Dr. Cartwright, let me teach you how to sail.”

They didn’t go far, they didn’t go fast, and at times, Lisa was more of a hindrance than a help, but she loved every minute of it. The boat was just the right size for a two-man crew, and Lisa was delighted when she discovered the cabin below, complete with a tiny kitchen, an even tinier bathroom and a queen-size bunk.

“We’ll christen it soon,” Marcus called down from the deck where he was busy maneuvering them toward Long Island Sound. Lisa smiled. He’d read her mind—as he often did.

She was exhausted but happy when they finally docked the boat in the slip just before sundown. She couldn’t remember a day she’d enjoyed more. The Connecticut shoreline beckoned them, the lush green banks blending into the vivid blue sky as if rendered on canvas by a painter.

Lisa’s skin was a little tender from so much time in the sun, her cheeks and hair were filled with salty ocean spray, her clothes were damp and wrinkled, and she felt great. She watched as Marcus went forward and secured the Sara to the dock. The wind had blown his hair into casual disarray, his polo shirt had come untucked from shorts that were no longer white, and his skin had a healthy golden glow. A secret little thrill washed through her as she watched him. He was gorgeous—all man—and he was hers.

A pretty young woman standing with a baby on her hip on the deck of the boat across the dock from the Sara smiled and waved when she saw Lisa on the deck. Lisa waved back just as a toddler came running up and clutched the woman’s leg, saying something Lisa couldn’t hear.

With a shrug and another little wave, the woman took the child’s hand and led him away. Probably to the bathroom, Lisa thought. She wondered if the woman knew how incredibly lucky she was.

And she was so young. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two or -three. A whole decade younger than Lisa. And she already had two children. Lisa blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes, quickly wiping away the couple that spilled over, cursing herself for her weakness. She lived a blessed life, with a man she adored. It was enough.

“Let’s get this thing bedded down,” Marcus said, his voice clipped. He’d come up behind her.

Lisa swung around, stricken. Marcus looked from her tear-filled eyes to the other boat, where the woman and her children had been standing only seconds before, and then turned away. His shoulders were as stiff as his Puritan ancestors’. Lisa knew he’d seen the whole thing.

Cursing herself again, Lisa ran her hand along his back. “Marcus—”

“Leave it, Lis.”

He didn’t look her way again as he instructed her on furling the sails.

Lisa helped Marcus secure the Sara in the slip, eager to learn everything she could about caring for their new boat, but much of the glow had gone from her day. Marcus was beating himself up again, and this time it was her fault. Suddenly thirty-three felt ancient.

A MONTH LATER Marcus gave Lisa another surprise, though he wasn’t there to share it with her. She went in to see little Willie Adams again, the eleven-yearold ball player with the broken back. She’d talked to Marcus about the boy weeks before, and he’d agreed that they would finance the boy’s treatment, but so far, Willie’s physical-therapy sessions had been a complete waste of time. She’d been particularly worried because the boy’s lack of progress stemmed more from his defeated attitude than it did from his injury.

But when she entered his room at the hospital that morning, he was wearing a baseball glove and tossing a ball between it and his free hand, in spite of the cast that kept most of his torso immobilized. His red hair was combed into place for the first time since she’d admitted him, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“How you doing today, Willie?” Lisa asked, taking the chart from the end of his bed to see what could have brought about such a miracle. Had the boy regained some more feeling in his legs? And if so, why hadn’t she been called? She’d left instr

uctions to be informed the minute there was any change.

“Hi, Doc. Watch,” Willie said. He shoved the covers down past his toes, and slowly began to rotate his right foot. And then, a bit more quickly, his left.