Maternal Harbor Read online

  Dr. Klassen finally withdrew the needle. “We have three. I’ll put them in the growth media and add the sperm.”

  “When will I know?”

  “Tomorrow morning. It takes time to detect if fertilization happened.”

  The next day, a technician’s voice confirmed the miracle. Her eggs were embryos and ready.

  The implantation procedure invaded her womanhood.

  “I’m going to numb your soft tissue,” Dr. Klassen said, “but entrance through your cervical canal and into your uterus will be uncomfortable.”

  The prick of the needle hurt. Cramping attacked deep in her lower abdomen. She didn’t utter a sound. Instead, she let her mind slip to where crystals sang in a breeze.

  “Almost there.” The needle slid deeper. “Okay, I’m inserting the embryos.”

  Ten days later the cramps were worth it when Dr. Klassen told her she was pregnant. His voice contained pure satisfaction, same kind as Erica now enjoyed.

  Chapter 4

  “Even pregnant nanny goats don’t climb hills,” Doretta scolded Teagan on the sidewalk in front of Wang’s Deli.

  “They do if they’re bullied into stuffing themselves. That sandwich has to be walked off. Next time we will share one.” Teagan meant it. No more giving into Doretta’s appetite.

  Doretta acted like she hadn’t heard by staring up Sunset Hill at Teagan’s condo five blocks away. “That’s one honkin’ steep walk.

  “I’m going to burn calories.”

  Doretta raised her palms. “Okay, okay, it’s your swollen ankles.” Before getting in her Toyota, she tossed one more jab. “If you can’t make it, call 911. Those boys in blue are so cute.”

  “The only boy I want is the one in my belly.” Without a backward glance, Teagan strolled close to the buildings. She returned the smile of a woman palming the wheels of her chair; her hands flowed high and she skimmed along. She ignored the leer of a man half-hidden in the shade of a doorway. A boy zipped around her on roller blades, his green hair, bare chest and baggy pants drawing stares. Puffing in controlled breaths, a jogger sped along and disappeared into the crowd ahead.

  This sea of people exhilarated Teagan – population on the move, alive and doing. She released the last residue of stress. Pai and Jimmy would be just fine. Erica’s problems and the invasion of Black Blazers were simply things to mull over a cup of hot mint tea. The solid cloud cover dissolved into spotty holes allowing sun rays through the gloom.

  Teagan stopped by a neighborhood market sandwiched between a novelty store and a beauty salon. She plucked a basket from the stack and wandered to the fresh produce section along the back wall. She bypassed a pungent coffee mill and quickened her pace to a new crop of McIntosh apples. They felt crispy enough to snap when bitten and spray their juices in her mouth. She put two into a plastic bag. After that huge Philly cheese steak sandwich, the apples would suffice for dinner.

  “Is that you, Teagan?”

  The voice she dreaded to hear. Fighting an instant desire to flee, Teagan turned. “Mrs. Winslow?”

  “After all these years, please call me Joyce.”

  Teagan had tried to imagine the day they would happen upon each other. Now that it was here the sight of the familiar eyes, perky nose and pleasant smile touched her with pleasure instead of panic. “How's Bryan?” she asked, no longer afraid to know.

  “He's fine,” Joyce answered, too quickly.

  Teagan reached out and touched her arm. “I bet you miss him.”

  “What can I say? I'm a mother.” Joyce laughed and seemed to relax. “When is your baby due?”

  Smiling, Teagan’s hand automatically rested on her abdomen. “Dr. Klassen says I’m going to meet my son any day.”

  “A boy,” Joyce murmured and then sighed, a mournful, little gush of air. She picked up a head of lettuce, checked it, put it back, and picked up another. She wanted to say something but was hesitant.

  “Oh flip,” Teagan said. “I like you and wanted us to stay easy with each other. Just tell me what's on your mind.”

  Joyce focused on a head of Romaine and then looked up rather sheepishly. “I wanted you to have Bryan's children. When you two broke up, Bryan claimed it wouldn’t have worked. I didn't believe it then. Even after nine years, I still don't.” She shook water from the leaves. “But we shouldn't talk about this over a head of lettuce.”

  Teagan’s eyes blurred, embarrassing tears rose to the surface. Her heartbreak over Bryan should stay dormant, not make her blubber.

  “I hope all goes well for you,” Joyce said kindly and then glanced at her watch. “I really have to run.”

  Teagan recognized the white lie, but let her go – no sense in prolonging an awkward situation. Pain encircled her lower back. It seemed sharper than before. Quickly, she tossed a few more items into her basket, paid, and trudged up Sunset Hill. Now the crowds were in the way and she anxiously threaded through them, hurrying to be home. Seeing Joyce brought back memories of the time spent at her home: eating around her table, shooting pool in the rec room, watching late movies.

  Teagan hurried faster. Why couldn’t she completely forget? She needed to be alone and to bury his memory once again. Was it really nine years since she’d returned the engagement ring? Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime ago; other times, only yesterday that they were still at college sparring intellectually. She loved stretching her mind with Bryan at the end of the opposing thought wave. Russian history was the only subject in which he earned better grades.

  “So what,” Teagan said. “Knowing about Rasputin won’t help me sell fish.” Long before she met him, she wanted to own a fish market. Couldn’t remember when she didn’t. He knew that. But her life-long goal grew into the issue that broke them apart. It shouldn’t have.

  The following year, they’d both earned their degrees; his giving him the privilege of administering a school, hers to sink or swim in the world of small business. They were also engaged.

  Their life together was settled until Bryan couldn’t land a job in the local school systems and accepted one in Oklahoma. She finally gathered the courage to say, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t go with you.”

  “You promised we’d be together,” he said. “I can’t stand separation.”

  “That’s asinine, Bryan. One year in Alaska, and I’ll have the down payment for my shop.”

  “You know I have to take the position in Oklahoma. Come with me. We’ll get married in Vegas. After a couple of years, I’ll re-apply to the Washington school districts and we’ll be able to move back.”

  “Two years is what I need. By the time you return, I’ll have my market going and we’ll be together.” She willed him to understand the attachment she felt for the waterfront, understand what she owed. It was there she found acceptance as a child; the old salts gave her what no one else bothered to. And she would give them a place to sell their catch. Give them a fair price, help keep them afloat.

  Bryan’s brows rose; doubt of her sanity rested in his eyes. “You want to spend a whole year on a fishing trawler?” He meant his question to be incredulous, but it sounded sarcastic.

  Why couldn’t he see? “I want you and my own business.” His face chiseled with disappointment and his shoulders hunched with sadness, and she’d ignored them, stayed locked in the foolish pride of being right. In the days afterward, she repeated the refusal to go with him until he relented and agreed their love was strong enough to survive the miles.

  And it was, she thought. So what happened?

  Now she understood the two lonely years she’d put between them was a time too long. She’d learned the hard bitter way when his letters stopped and he no longer returned her messages. Then she heard of his marriage. Why couldn’t he wait? Or understand? She had to be her own woman before she became his.

  Not until Teagan finally hauled the grocery bag through her front door, set the deadbolt, and leaned against the door did she manage to put to rest the memories that flowed unchecked. She hoped
it’d be another nine years before she ran into Joyce again.

  Teagan carried the groceries by the comfortable clutter of objects she loved: pottery, magazines, ivy, Navajo throws, early American furniture and scented candles. Her condo wasn't a complete mess like Doretta's, nor stark to the point of bareness like Pai's. It simply suited her. She wondered how a baby sharing her haven would change it. Silly thought. Didn’t matter how much. She vowed to keep him the center of her days, and then doubted her need to vow. Keeping him foremost should come naturally.

  In the kitchen, the fragrance of jasmine floated from the candle Pai bought for her birthday. Maybe the reason for Pai’s paranoia was fear of change, afraid of her ability to care for her baby.

  No, it seemed more than that.

  A pain, sharper than before, cramped across Teagan’s abdomen and left no doubt. This was it. And explained why an inward pressure to complete and make ready pressed from within. Mentally prepared, she knew what to do and calmly reached for the phone. She punched in the numbers to the clinic and told them her labor started. A nurse told her to wait and go to the hospital when the pains were ten minutes apart.

  She crossed to her picture window overlooking the harbor. It the distance, the rise and fall of the moving water calmed her as she timed the next two contractions. Fifteen minutes apart, plenty of time for a shower. She turned from the window, but her eye caught something. Her senses sharpened and her full attention tuned in on the parking lot. At the intersection, a black SUV sped away.

  In the bathroom, she clumsily shed her clothing and twisted the shower knob to full. She held onto the frosted-glass door, letting the warm spray beat on her back until another pain grew sharp enough to move her. Not quite standing straight, she toweled dry and checked her body. Pregnancy changed her in acceptable ways, blue-veined breasts swollen with colostrum, nipples taut, navel stretched and protruding. The rest of her was hidden below the son who was pushing to be free.

  Holding onto the sink, Teagan breathed evenly, counting silently, waiting for a contraction to ease. When it let go, she ran her fingers through her wet curly hair and quickly dressed. She was going to meet her son, and she was ready to get on with the birthing of a baby. If only he was Bryan’s son. Teagan swore. Her body’s urgency to expel her child weakened her defenses against his memory. He just wouldn’t stay buried.

  When she reached for the phone, it jangled. What now? She lifted the receiver.

  Doretta announced, “I'm in labor!”

  “Me, too. Your mama was wrong about the moon. It isn't even dinner time.”

  “The moon does something to tides even in the daylight. But it might take hours and hours before the biorhythms of the universe expel your baby into--”

  “Go to the hospital, Doretta. I have to call a cab.”

  “Mama is coming for me. Just think, our babies will have the same birthday.” Doretta let out a sharp yelp, then panted Lamaze-style into the phone. “Okay, so I admit Pai wasn't a sissy after all.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Erica is going to be so mad she's the last one. I can hardly wait to--”

  Teagan depressed the button and dialed the cab service. Thankfully, when she told the dispatcher she was in labor, they promised only a ten-minute wait.

  The newly-installed telephone rang late that night, an unacceptable noise in the quiet of Derek’s nursery. Frowning, Erica answered. No mistaking the singsong voice on the other end. She gritted her teeth. She did not need this, not now. “Yes, Pai.”

  “Doretta and Teagan had their babies.”

  Erica stiffened. “Boys?”

  “Yes, the ultrasounds were right. Doretta’s is the biggest, more than ten pounds. Now all we need is yours.”

  “Need?” The telephone line sounded empty. Erica reached to put the receiver in its cradle.

  Pai’s hushed voice carried, “Well, I mean for us all to have our babies. Any signs of pains yet?”

  “No.” Erica’s empty hand slid to her son.

  “Doretta says the full moon is catching babies.”

  “My son will choose when he’s ready.”

  “Well, Teagan wanted me to make sure you’re all right.”

  Erica forced a polite tone. “Of course I am.” She lowered the receiver and carefully replaced it. Her knuckles returned to their normal color. Cupping both hands around the baby still safely held within her, she murmured, “You were smart to let them be first. Last is always best.” But she did want him out of her womb; it might stifle his maleness.

  Erica crossed to the walnut-stained crib. The pale blue blanket was still tucked enough for her father’s quarter to bounce on it, if he were here to toss it. A small teddy bear rested in one corner, the only thing that spoke of softness. Erica recalled the day Teagan carried the four identical bears into the clinic. They filled her arms with biscuit brown fur, white tufted ears and white bellies. She handed one to Pai, Doretta and her, claiming she couldn’t resist.

  Doretta and Pai cooed like idiots over the extra soft pieces of fluff.

  I’ll have to watch for softness in Teagan’s son, Erica thought and lowered herself into the spindle-backed rocker. Any sign of femininity, and he won’t play with my boy. Derek needs strong, smart, athletic comrades.

  Erica rocked, enjoying the stillness in the room she’d prepared. She’d chosen the largest of the small square bedrooms in her depression-era house. The window faced Puget Sound and beyond to the Pacific. Although unseen in the view, the strength of the waters would feed Derek’s soul. She’d built a seat below the window and filled it with toys designed to teach dexterity and problem solving from early infancy. Reading would come to him naturally, like it had for her. His play time wouldn’t be wasted. All her plans were in place, waiting only for the perfect son she carried. He would have everything he needed to grow and be a leader.

  We’ll go visit all the boys tomorrow morning,” she murmured and pressed on different places of her abdomen, feeling for movement. Nothing. She slipped her hand under her waistband to press deeper into flesh. She cringed at the tightness of her skin. It was stretched unbearably tight. Would it ever shrink back strong enough to carry the weight of her weapons belt? Men never worried about such a thing. She pressed lower. From deep inside, she felt a light nudge. He didn’t want to be bothered.

  “That’s right, you rest now.”

  Chapter 5

  Oklahoma City held nothing for Bryan Winslow since his wife of eight years announced she discovered true bliss in the bed of some Phillips executive. After the divorce, Bryan traded his Firebird clunker for a brand-new Jeep Cherokee, rented a U-haul trailer, packed everything Cherylee didn’t want and drove to I-135. He merged into traffic and hugged the slow lane until the city grew distant.

  When a convoy of semis thinned, he accelerated into the left lane. The Jeep’s powerful engine responded with ease. This vehicle would carry him away, far away from the flat plains and the flat marriage, leaving behind the divorce court and heading to the place he’d spent his childhood summers – his grandmother’s cabin in the mountains near Glacier National Park.

  Bryan longed for the shelter of mountains. He needed to escape the treeless, windswept plains. Nowhere had this land buckled or folded, not even into the smallest of peaks. He figured the Almighty swatted it flat before adding grasshoppers, flies, mosquitoes, chiggers, and roaches to test man’s sanity, to see if the ever blowing wind could drive them into Hades – or divorce court. It was dumb to blame the landscape for his obsession with the school and Ronda Rae’s bitchiness, but his wounds were fresh and raw. Later he’d remember the good. For now, he’d blame this land and retreat to the shade and smell of alpine evergreens.

  This had been a dry year, not only for him, but for the soil. The thin crops were already harvested, leaving sun-bleached stubble for rabbits and white tail deer to pick through for fallen grain. Bryan gave up counting road kill at ten rabbits, two skunks, and one bull snake.

  He should return home to Se
attle and see his parents, but what could he say if he ran into Teagan? Thoughts of her pestered him more than they had in a long time. Bryan was disgusted with himself for letting the two women in his life run rampart in his mind. Both relationships failed.

  “So be it. Get on with life,” he muttered and glanced at his watch. He switched on the radio to catch the last newscast he’d hear with an Okie twang. The slow rhythmic voice coming from the dash told about a high school shooting. Six students dead. The announcer listed the names of the dead children. The solemn voice then reported the known facts about the three arrested killers.

  The whole world made Bryan sick, and he switched the radio off, thankful he’d never dealt with such a horrible mess at his school. He took pride in his ability to control students and teachers alike. A principal’s job took more diplomacy than he’d realized. Maybe he was glad to leave that behind, too.

  Hunger rumbled in his stomach. His appetite had been zilch for weeks, but now he wanted to eat. An Exxon truck stop near the turnoff to Salina advertised a special for a hungry man’s breakfast. He needed a good dose of fat. No more tofu or anything else Ronda Rae insisted was good for him, like health clubs and Yani.

  Before going inside the café, Bryan pumped unleaded fuel into the tank and washed the windshield. He paid and then scanned around for the restroom. After relieving himself, he stood at the sink, letting lukewarm water trickle over his hands. He needed to quit whining, let go of his disappointment. When was the last time he felt something besides disgust?

  He chuckled when he realized it was right now. Right now. He checked to see if his shirt was tucked in properly and walked into the restaurant, confident his face remained unscarred by his recent emotional battles and the whites of his hazel eyes showed no bloodshot damage.