lasting could ever come of a relationship with him.”
Besides, Mike wanted so much more than Simone could give him.
“Sometimes opposites not only attract, but bring out the best in each other,” Isobel said.
Simone reached across the table and placed her hand over her friend’s. “I’ve told you about some of the pain I went through as a child, but I held back on the worst of it.”
“You’re a strong, dependable and resilient woman, Simone. It seems to me that you’ve overcome the emotional obstacles you faced.”
Some of them, she supposed. “But I never learned the emotional skills needed to parent. Not by example, anyway. And for that reason, I’m afraid I’ll fail the baby just as badly as my mother failed me.”
Isobel’s gaze snagged Simone’s, soothing her in a pool of compassion and understanding.
Over the years, Simone may have shared certain details about past events with Isobel, but she’d never revealed the depth of her feelings, her fears.
“Adoption is best for everyone involved.” The words came out sure, steady. Yet for a moment, something waffled inside. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“You’ve got time to let your options simmer for a while,” Isobel said. “And, after you do, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision—whatever that might be.”
“Thanks.” Simone withdrew her hand and leaned back in her seat.
“There’s something else you should keep in mind,” Isobel added. “Just because you had a bad role model doesn’t mean you’re going to make the same mistakes. I happen to believe you’d make a wonderful mother someday—to this baby or to another.”
Unfortunately, Simone didn’t share the same faith or the same vision that Mike and Isobel had.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can’t even begin to think of myself as a mom. Not with the mothering I had.” Simone chuffed. “And even now, our mother/daughter relationship is limited to Christmas cards and an occasional phone call.”
Isobel didn’t comment. Other than sympathize, what could she say?
Of course, maybe she was thinking about how close she’d been to her own mother and how tough it had been to lose her. From what Simone had gathered, Isobel had moved in with her dad after her mom passed away. The two were very close.
Simone could hardly imagine a relationship like that. She reached for the cellophane-wrapped packet of crackers that had come with her soup. “My mom recently found a lump in her breast, and even though I’ve tried to contact her several times and left messages, she won’t return my calls. She’s completely shut me out.”
“Fear of breast cancer can blindside a woman.” Isobel took a sip of water. “I’m not trying to make excuses for the mistakes your mom made when you were growing up, but she may find it difficult to talk to anyone right now. You might need to be patient with her.”
“You’ve got a point.”
They returned to their meal, but Simone focused on the saltines she’d unwrapped. Looking right through the little squares as she pondered the only real option she had.
“How do you feel about open adoptions?” she asked Isobel. “Do they work? Would it be difficult watching a child grow up in someone else’s home if everyone knows each other?”
“It depends upon the people involved. In my experience, open adoptions work out beautifully if the biological and the adoptive parents are able to put the child’s best interests ahead of their own.”
“I’ve got a couple in mind,” Simone said. “But you’re right. There’s time for me to think things through. And if I should decide not to give the baby to someone I know, I’d like you to recommend a good agency that will help me find just the right parents.”
“No problem. Tomorrow, when I have a chance, I’ll give you the names of several organizations I’ve worked with in the past.”
Simone ought to feel relieved, yet handing over her child to strangers made her uneasy, too.
But how could she even consider dumping all her personal baggage on a poor defenseless baby?
Besides, even with the few friendships she had—Isobel and, more recently, Ella—she always held back—just as she feared she would do with a baby.
On top of that, children needed a primary caregiver, someone they could trust to see to all their needs, physical as well as emotional. They needed someone to kiss their owies and to make them cookies. Someone to tuck them in at night.
How could Simone give up her job to be a stay-at-home mom?
She loved everything about being an E.R. nurse—the pressure of being in a life-or-death situation, the competent and dedicated medical staff with whom she worked, the patients who rushed in with complaints and symptoms that were sometimes hard to diagnose.
Why, she even loved the hours she kept, never complaining about a night shift or two.
No, her life wasn’t conducive to motherhood.
And she was a fool on those rare occasions when she allowed herself to think otherwise.
Nearly a week later, after Ella Wilder had treated a teenage boy who fell off a skateboard and broke his arm, Simone took the orthopedic surgeon aside. “There’s a cake in the solarium to celebrate Dr. Randall’s being hired as the new chief of staff.”
Owen Randall was a cardiac surgeon who’d suffered a serious hand injury and could no longer perform the operations for which he was trained. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make a top-notch chief of staff.
Although he’d been hired from the outside and not from within, those who’d already met the man had talked about being impressed with his professionalism, as well as his people skills.
“Peter’s very happy to be back in private practice,” Ella said.
“I’m sure he is.” With a new lady in his life—Bethany Holloway, a hospital board member—and a wedding on the horizon, Peter was undoubtedly glad to pass the baton to someone else and get back to his patients.
“Dr. Randall is in the solarium, as we speak,” Simone said. “He’s making himself accessible to the entire staff. He’s also serving cake, which is chocolate, by the way.”
Ella smiled. “My favorite. All right, let’s stop by and congratulate our new boss.”
The solarium was located on the first floor and looked out onto the hospital gardens, which had just begun to bloom with various displays of red, yellow and pink buds.
In the center of the room, Owen Randall, a stocky, fifty-something man with thinning silver hair, met Ella and Simone with a smile. He introduced himself, then handed them each a slice of cake. As he did so, the tip of his bright yellow-and-green tie dragged across the white, butter-cream frosting.
“Oops. Would you look at that?” His jovial chuckle reverberated
