A Baby Affair (Parent Portal 2)

Chapter One

“Listen to your voicemail. Christine called from the Parent Portal. You need to call Dr. Craig Harmon. I left you a voicemail about it. And here’s the doctor’s number, so you don’t have to write it down.” A phone number ended her sister’s frantic text.

Sitting in the window seat in a plane crowded with travelers facing customs, Amelia was weary from an eight-hour flight. She immediately put a protective hand over her mostly flat belly, tucking it beneath her tight white cotton shirt and lace-pocketed black jeggings. She warned herself to stay calm. Stress could have a negative impact on the baby.

So could all of the other people taking their time to vacate the plane. Because they were causing her stress. With a couple of thumb swipes she accessed voicemail. Pressed to listen.

“Amelia, lishquensenhse...”

It went on for thirty-three seconds, that garbled sound in Amelia’s ear where her younger sister’s message should have been. Either Angeline had been in a loud crowded place when she’d left the message, or technology had just failed. Either way she was screwed.

Hell. Just hell. Why did she need to call a doctor? Please God, let her baby be okay. At a little more than fourteen weeks along, she’d passed the critical first three months.

Standing, she hit her head on the rounded ceiling of the plane, attempting to see how much longer she was going to have to wait.

At least ten rows. Maybe eleven. She glared at the backs of slow-moving heads and pressed her sister’s speed dial icon. And got Angeline’s voicemail.

Of course.

Ripping a silent expletive that stood in for the frustrated tears she was holding back, Amelia remembered that Angeline, who was also her business partner, was in a meeting with the New York designer who could ensure their financial security for a long time to come. Not that they were hurting, anyway. Who’d have thought sewing lace on jean pockets, and adding lacy embellishments to their purses as teenagers, would have exploded into a retail business that kept them both bountiful?

Six rows to go. Voicemail still garbled the second time she tried to listen to her sister’s message. She’d bumped her head on the low ceiling twice more. And the guy in the aisle seat at the end of her row hadn’t bothered to put his tablet and extra battery back in the pack under the seat in front of him.

She had the number. At the rate things were going, she could have the call made and done before she exited her row. Action immediately followed the thought. Amelia was too het up to think twice.

For all she knew, Dr. Harmon was on staff at the Parent Portal, the private fertility clinic where she was being followed. Perhaps its staff just wanted to let her know he’d written an order for the sixteen-week ultrasound. Or some more blood work—there were a lot of things they could check on these days, and she’d opted for all of them.

As tired as she was, it would be like her to make something out of nothing. And Angeline would think she’d heard the voicemail.

Taking comfort in the curtain of long auburn hair around her face, she stood slightly hunched, watched people slowly vacate and listened to the fifth ring—rehearsing words in her mind for when the receptionist picked up.

This is Amelia Grace. I was told to call this number... Is Dr. Harmon available?’

Three rows to go.

And a male voice answered her call.

“Craig Harmon...”

* * *

“Dr. Harmon?”

The call came in on his private line, where he was just Craig, but... “Yes.”

“This is Amelia Grace. I was told to call you.”

He’d been waiting hours for her call. But hadn’t expected it would come that day. Maybe not even that week. Figured she’d need time to process.

He shrugged out of the white coat he still wore to see patients, where others of his peers opted for shirts and ties. White coats had pockets.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, feeling anything but his usual confident self. He was generally the one offering calm reassurance. Assistance. Advice and treatment. He was the one with answers. Now he needed some. “As I told Ms. Elliott, at the clinic, I’d like for us to meet.” He ran a hand through dark blond hair, which needed a cut. He had to do this.