while Pete studied a message that had obviously come through on his mobile.
‘Drink your coffee, I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, as he headed out the door.
Watching him go, Max knew he’d made the right career decision. Not for him this office life, running a successful company but always being called in to solve this or check that. Working in a hospital was much the same, noisy pagers summoning him from one place to another. Private practice might be okay, but it had changed—less personal in so many ways.
So the lecturing he did, combined with research on the spread of infection in developing countries, plus hands-on work in the same area, was his career choice. It also gave him freedom to head off and climb the odd mountain when he needed to clear his head. He had no strings attached and it worked for him.
Another confirmation this was also the right decision.
Until Pete strode back into the room, obviously flustered, clutching a small metal container not unlike a miniature silver flask and a sheaf of paperwork.
And delivered the blow that had Max stuck in his chair.
‘Max … mate, I don’t know how to tell you this. This is unbelievable. Unbelievable that it’s happened, and that it’s happened to you. Max … I just need to say it. You might already be a father.’
Aware that he was probably doing a very good impression of a stunned mullet, Max could only stare at his friend.
Finally he got it out. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘There’s a mistake with the cross-match,’ Pete croaked.
‘You want to explain?’
Max heard his voice as if it came from someone else. Icy cold. Controlled. Not his.
‘The cross-match … Names matched to codes, verified every step of the way. But your name has the wrong code on it. They’ve checked and there’s a matching mistake. Your code with another name on it. But, hell, Max, yours has been used.’
‘My sperm has been used?’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to say. It might even be a mistake—it has to be a mistake—though how it happened, I have no idea. But it’s been used. There’s a pregnancy.’
Could a life change so completely so quickly?
He stared at his friend. Pete stared back in consternation, then stood and walked to the window. He barked into his phone, demanding more information.
Max stared at his back, then down to the folder on the desk. He flicked it open.
A name … details …
Pete turned, saw what he was looking at and snatched the file away.
They stared at each other.
Shock eased and words came. Demands. Anger
He rose to his feet, coffee forgotten as he tried to absorb this impossible news. Icy anger.
‘There’s b-been a m-mix-up,’ Pete stammered. ‘Honestly, Max, this never happens—the checks and balances … I’ll find out how and why, but right now—’
‘You’re saying someone’s having my baby! Who?’
‘I can’t tell you that—it’s bad enough it’s happened. I mean, we’ll have to tell the woman when we sort out just what’s happened. God, this could ruin us!’
‘Ruin you? Ruin the clinic? What about me?’
‘And the poor woman who thinks she’s having her dead husband’s baby …’
Anger had him pacing—back and forth in front of the desk. But … Dead husband. The two words that brought Max to a halt, to loom over the desk once again.
‘What do you mean, dead husband?’
Pete looked up at him, his face pale and haggard.
‘Her husband died shortly after he was here, and she finally decided to use the sperm—have his child.’
‘The fact remains she’s having my baby,’ Max growled. He raked his hair. ‘Hell. Do we …?’ He was struggling to get his head around it. ‘Do I need to know? Does she need to know?’
‘There’s no way we can do that,’ said Pete. ‘The DNA … it’s yours, not his. That has so many implications …’
It did. Implications were all he was seeing right now, and he didn’t like any of them.
‘I need to meet her,’ he said at last, trying to think logically. ‘I need to speak to her. How far gone is she? Is the pregnancy viable?’ So many questions …
Pete recovered enough to straighten in his seat, colour returning to his face.
‘Max, you need to leave this to us. We’ll sort it. Somehow. This business is all about confidentiality. I’ll see her, I’ll explain—keep you right out of it.’
‘Keep me right out of it when it’s my baby you’re talking about?’ He couldn’t get his head around the words. My baby.
This didn’t make sense. Why the surge of certainty? Why the instant knowledge that if this was his baby, he wanted to be involved?
Maybe the rational decision he’d walked in here with hadn’t been so rational after all.
And he’d seen the file.
‘It’s Joanne McMillan,’ he said, watching his friend’s face. ‘Dr Joanne McMillan.’
‘You can’t know.’ Pete clutched his file in horror, his colour fading even further. ‘You shouldn’t have seen. Forget it. We need to talk to her—explain. I need to see her, not you.’
‘Oh, no! There is no way some woman is going to have my baby without my at least meeting her—checking her out.’
‘But it won’t be your baby—don’t you see that?’ Pete held out his hands in a plea to his friend. ‘You’ve told me you don’t want children. You’ve made a rational and reasoned decision about it and come in to have your sperm destroyed. The best way to treat it is to consider you made an anonymous donation.’
‘No way!’ He hardly knew what he was saying; he only knew it was a basic, instinctive truth. ‘This is my baby—and while I might not want it, at least I need to see it’s going to a good home. I do have some responsibility. I should have some say in the matter. As she’ll want to know—want to check me out surely.’
Light-bulb moment!
‘You said you’d go and see her to explain. Why don’t you let me go? You can make an appointment for someone from the clinic who needs to see her and I’ll go.’
‘And do what?’ Pete demanded.
‘I’ll
