The Accidental Daddy Page 11

  ‘I think,’ she began as she perched beside him, apparently unconcerned by his proximity, ‘that one of the biggest problems could be the ventilator. Remember Dr Prentice telling us he would be on it post-op?’

  Max nodded, although he wasn’t sure he did.

  ‘Well, having to go onto a ventilator could make a newborn think he’s back in the womb, as he doesn’t need to do any breathing on his own, which means it can be a struggle to get him off it again. It’s always a risk in newborns—the ventilator thing—and that’s why, although he’s having his oxygen supplemented in here, he isn’t physically attached to a machine that breathes for him.’

  Max reached out to stroke Harry’s soft, soft skin.

  ‘I think he’ll manage coming off okay,’ he said, his eyes on his son. ‘He’s a tough little guy.’

  ‘And you’d know that, how?’

  Max heard the tease in her voice and knew she’d be smiling.

  ‘I just know,’ he told her. ‘Don’t I, Harry?’

  The baby moved, just slightly, in his sleep and they both laughed.

  How long since she’d laughed with a man?

  The thought wove through Joey’s mind, along with one that seemed to think being able to laugh with someone was an important part of any relationship.

  ‘The other concern the medical staff will have will be nutrition. They won’t know how his stomach will react to breast milk—or anything else. I imagine he’ll still be getting most of his nutrition through a drip. Then, at some stage, they’ll begin to give him very small amounts of breast milk, probably through a nasogastric tube.’

  ‘Which has its own complications,’ Max put in. ‘I do remember that part. If he’s fed like that for too long, he’ll object to having to work for his dinner and you could have trouble breastfeeding.’

  He looked up at her.

  ‘Were you intending...?’

  Joey realised she was doing better when he was watching Harry and she was reciting nice safe medical facts, but when the man looked at her...

  ‘Yes, because it’s easiest, and there’s always food on hand,’ she replied, pretending she wasn’t at all embarrassed discussing breastfeeding with a strange man.

  Which she shouldn’t be, of course, but inside she was squirming with discomfort over something so normal.

  How could this be?

  Was it more than the hormonal surge?

  Was she sickening for something?

  Lovesickness?

  Not love, of course, but something similar, something juvenile—

  ‘I’ve lost you,’ Max said, leading her back from the messy track her thoughts had taken.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing, her mind having been on the man, not the infant.

  Somewhere outside church bells were ringing, sounding faintly in this little corner of the hospital.

  ‘Pity he was born yesterday,’ Max said. ‘My mother used to say a little rhyme about children born on different days of the week. I know it starts Monday’s child is fair of face and goes on from there. If I remember rightly, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, while Sunday’s child gets all the good stuff.’

  ‘Sunday’s child! It’s Sunday!’ Joey muttered in absolute panic.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong with that?’

  Max had obviously heard the panic for he turned to look up at her, taking one of her hands in both of his in a comforting way.

  ‘David’s parents—they phone me on Sundays. Every Sunday, without fail, unless they’re overseas, which they are at the moment, but, oh, Max, they’re coming here on their way back to Melbourne. How am I going to tell them? When should I tell them? What am I going to tell them?’

  She was asking him?

  He was still having difficulty coming to terms with the situation himself, and Joey was asking him for help?

  Max tried to think, but the situation was so far beyond belief there was no logical way to think it through.

  ‘Do you have to tell them?’ He asked the question cautiously, gently, not wanting to upset her more than she was already upset.

  ‘Of course I have to tell them.’ She hissed the words at him, not yelling because of Harry but definitely upset.

  Nonetheless, he had had his reasons for asking, so he might as well keep going.

  ‘Why?’

  Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  ‘Because it’s the truth,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t have them thinking Harry’s David’s baby if he isn’t!’

  ‘Why not?’ Max persisted, but this time he thought he should help her out by at least offering some reasons for not telling. ‘They have phoned you every week, Joey, even before you decided to have the baby, so it follows they look on you as family. The baby is yours, won’t they love him for that reason alone?’

  He could tell by the scowl on her face that he wasn’t getting anywhere.

  ‘And who will it hurt for them to believe it’s David’s? I imagine they’ve been really looking forward to having something of their son given back to them.’

  Anguished now, the blue eyes!

  ‘But he isn’t David’s, he’s yours!’

  Max stood up and eased her into the chair as tears began to leak from her eyes, slow and fat and apparently unnoticed, so he took out his handkerchief and wiped them away, Joey being lost in a world of misery that was closed to him.

  She took the handkerchief from him, mopped her face, then leaned back in the chair and reached out to rest her fingertips on Harry’s arm.

  ‘I can’t not tell them,’ she eventually said, calmer now—determined.

  ‘Truth at all costs!’ Max muttered to himself, and as memories surged in his head he wanted nothing more than to walk out—to walk away from Joey and Harry and the mess that one stupid, avoidable accident had caused.

  Not that he could...

  Joey saw the shadows of emotion passing across Max’s face and remembered something he’d said at some stage of their short acquaintance—something that had made her think some confession of truth had hurt him badly in the past.

  ‘Please sit down again,’ she said, and moved, intending to let him have the chair.

  ‘No, stay there,’ he said, resting his hand on his shoulder to urge her to stay. A strong, warm, ever so comforting hand.

  And something as minor as a hand resting on her shoulder distracted her so when he did sit she had to think back to what she wanted to say—or ask!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘YOU SAID SOMETHING before about truth hurting people,’ she finally managed. ‘Was it back at the office, or since then? Not that it matters, but did the truth hurt you sometime?’

  She looked up into his face, still shadowed by an emotion that looked very much like sadness.

  ‘Apart from when a couple of fiancées told me what they thought of me?’ he said flippantly.

  But the flippancy was a cover, she knew that from the way he studied her, and once again she wondered if he’d answer the question—truthfully—or avoid it. His smile, slight though it was, gave her the answer.

  ‘Not me, but the eldest of my sisters. She was pregnant with her first baby, Mum’s first grandchild, and on the way to hospital to deliver it, her husband decided he should confess all—and told her about an affair he’d been having while she was pregnant.’

  ‘Great timing!’

  Max nodded.

  ‘She was okay at first—she was already having contractions and didn’t have time to think about it—but after the baby was born, she—’

  ‘The marriage broke up?’ Joey guessed.

  ‘Almost immediately,’ Max replied, ‘and she became depressed, seriously depressed. She might have been
a candidate for postnatal depression anyway, and the shock exacerbated it, but she was in and out of hospitals for years—still is. Mum and my sisters between them have brought up her daughter, Maya.’

  Joey tried to imagine how she would have felt but it was so far outside her experience it was impossible—apart from hoping fervently that she wasn’t going to suffer postnatal depression.

  She looked at Max, who was still lost in his memories.

  ‘She’s special to you, that particular sister?’ Joey guessed, and he nodded.

  ‘Very special,’ he said, smiling slightly now. ‘She was like a second mother to me, and during my teenage years I could tell her all the things—ask all the questions—I couldn’t tell or ask Mum. Our father left us when I was five—the youngest of the tribe—and I think Phoebe took his place in a lot of ways, giving Mum far more support than he ever had, and looking after all her younger siblings, especially me.’

  Joey could feel his hurt, and understand it...although...

  ‘Should he not have told her, the husband? Would continuing to deceive her been better?’

  Max sighed.

  ‘Hell, Joey, I don’t know. It’s just that I can’t help thinking of those people, David’s parents, looking forward to their grandchild and then learning it’s not their grandchild at all. Wouldn’t it be like a death to them? Won’t they grieve for that baby? Feel the loss?’

  Joey frowned up at him, obviously not liking what he’d said. So shut up now, his inner voice suggested, but did he listen?

  ‘How would it hurt them to not know?’ he continued, and the frown on Joey’s forehead deepened.

  He felt a quixotic urge to smooth it away, to run his fingers over that creamy skin, to tell her everything would work out in the end.

  Not that he was in any position to offer advice about happy endings. He was more confused than he’d ever been in his life.

  He didn’t like the thought that had just occurred to him, but he had to put it forward.

  ‘Are you worried they might guess if you don’t tell them and they see me around Harry too much? Do they visit as well as phone? I’m away a lot anyway and...’

  He stalled, torn between emotion and common sense, but it had to be said.

  ‘Would it be easier to not tell them if I opted right out of the picture?’

  It hurt more than he’d expected to actually say the words—like a slicing knife wound, in fact—but...

  ‘Are you listening to what you’re saying?’

  Even muttered, the words were so filled with disbelief they seemed like physical objects flung into the air around them.

  ‘You’re talking about deceit. Not a little deception but an ongoing one—a forever-and-ever deception. You think that’s okay? And as for you opting out, as you put it—you’re not really in, are you? Oh, you’ve been great and I appreciate all you’ve done, but you’ll be off again before long, you said so yourself. You’re really nothing more than a sperm donor, only not anonymous. So is it better for Harry to have a father who bobs up now and then, or not have one at all? That’s what I need to consider.’

  Gobsmacked didn’t cover what Max felt.

  ‘Nothing more than a sperm donor?’ Max managed to mutter, but Joey was already halfway out of the unit, and from the stern look on the face of the nurse who was just entering, it would be better if he didn’t follow.

  The woman fiddled around the crib, every crisp movement telling Max she’d heard some part of the conversation and was definitely on Joey’s side.

  As she stalked away, she confirmed his guess, turning to say, ‘You shouldn’t be upsetting her!’ in a very reproving voice.

  ‘Of course I shouldn’t,’ Max told Harry.

  But Joey was right, wasn’t she?

  He would be off again in less than a month, even sooner if he was called up to join an emergency response unit, travelling to an outbreak somewhere in the world.

  And that work had become his life—as Joey’s work was hers. Not that he didn’t enjoy the ordinary work he did—lecturing, research. But it was the ERU work that gave him a buzz and an enormous amount of satisfaction.

  Could he give it up?

  Would he have to give it up if he wanted to play a major role in Harry’s life?

  And if he gave it up, would he be replaying his father’s role—there but chafing against the bonds of family life? Eventually giving in to the urge to bolt?

  He reached into the crib and ran his finger lightly down Harry’s arm, then studied the sleeping infant, while a mixture of pride and fear and uncertainty and, yes, he thought perhaps love, churned inside him.

  Maybe the question was, could he not be involved in this child’s life?

  * * *

  Back in her room, Joey sat on the bed, staring at the breakfast of cereal and cold toast that had been left on her table.

  Cereal and toast! Exactly what she’d ordered because cereal and toast was what she always had for breakfast.

  Boring, boring, boring cereal and toast!

  Have I become so dull that a breakfast that included sausages and bacon and mushrooms has unsettled me? she demanded of herself.

  Not dull exactly, she objected, but maybe a tad regimented.

  And regimented when one had a demanding job was good, wasn’t it?

  Of course it was, so why was she sighing?

  She hated to admit it, but the problem wasn’t really the excitement of bacon and mushrooms, much as she’d enjoyed them—the problem was she’d enjoyed the breakfast so much because of the company.

  Because of Max Winthrop.

  Here today and gone tomorrow Max Winthrop...

  Maybe gone even now. Hadn’t he just offered to opt right out of the situation?

  Not that her child could be called a situation...

  And had he made the offer solely because of the looming phone call from David’s parents and the ‘tell or not tell’ argument, or had he already been looking for a way out of a very sticky situation?

  Some innate kindness in the man had caused him to stick around once her water had broken, and then, apparently, being there for the birth—actually holding Harry as he was born—had made him feel a bond with the child he’d accidentally fathered.

  Was that enough for him to commit to a child for life? Or, once the initial curiosity wore off, would he vanish from Harry’s life?

  And how would that affect Harry?

  This time Joey groaned, timing it badly.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?’

  Max settled beside her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. He tucked her hair behind her ear and peered into her face.

  ‘Tell me!’

  An order!

  But could she?

  Was if fair to share her doubts with him?

  He’d been so good—sticking with her through the birth and then promising to stay on for Harry’s op—wouldn’t sharing her doubts about his fathering ability be unkind?

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she muttered. ‘I was just thinking.’

  ‘Painful thoughts?’ he prompted, but she shook off his oh-so-comforting arm and stood up, dragging her hair back into a scrunchy, although she knew how unattractive that must make her look right now.

  Did it matter?

  She realised it did, which led to the next realisation—that while his coming and going from their lives might not bother Harry, it would bother her.

  Stop this relationship—whatever it is—right now! her head ordered.

  But the operation? her heart whimpered.

  ‘I think I’ll go back and sit with Harry,’ she said, but her escape was thwarted when a tap on the door announced the arrival of visitors—Lissa, her friend from childhood, accompanied by
the eldest of her children, Joey’s goddaughter, Grace.

  ‘We’ve come to see the baby,’ Grace announced, wrapping her arms around Joey’s waist and looking up into her face. ‘Mum says I can’t hold him, but I can look, can’t I?’

  ‘You certainly can,’ Joey told her, dropping a kiss on the girl’s forehead, trying desperately to sound rational and together, although she knew Lissa must be studying Max, now standing by the bed, and storing up a million questions.

  ‘Sorry! Lissa, this is Max Winthrop. Max, Lissa and Grace Jones. So, Grace, you’re in luck. I was just going off to sit with Harry. You coming, Lissa?’

  If she says no I’ll have to kill her, Joey decided, because there was no way she was leaving her insatiably curious friend with Max—not for an instant.

  Max must have caught the vibe for he led the procession out of the room, saying, very casually, ‘I’ll see you later, Joey.’

  ‘And just who is that mesmeric man?’ Lissa demanded as they went their separate ways down the corridor.

  Mesmeric?

  Was that how Lissa saw him?

  Had he mesmerised Joey?

  ‘Well?’ Lissa demanded.

  And Joey stalled—her mind switching off the mesmeric question but then going blank. There were so many ifs and buts rattling through it, no words could possibly come out.

  Not sensible words, anyway.

  Until something Max had said—who knew when?—came back to her.

  ‘He went to uni with Harry’s paediatrician,’ she said, then, knowing that wouldn’t stall Lissa for long, continued, ‘Did you know I’d called him Harry? And did Meryl tell you about the problem he has—duodenal atresia, a blockage in his duodenum—so he needs an operation? It’s tomorrow, and although I know it’s a simple op and quite common and the surgeon’s fantastic, I can’t help feeling sick about it.’

  Which was both the truth and enough of an admission to divert her kind and empathetic friend completely.

  ‘Oh, Joey,’ Lissa said, putting her arm around Joey’s shoulders where Max’s arm had been. ‘Poor you! But you know he’ll be all right—although I don’t suppose all the assurances in the world make a jot of difference when it’s your baby.’