in the waiting room, and since there were other doctors who practiced at the clinic, it wouldn’t be too long before she was called.
After the door shut quietly behind her, Samantha headed to the front desk so she could check in with Wilma Goodheart, the receptionist. Wilma, who was in her late fifties, had worked at the Institute almost since day one and seemed to know each patient by name.
As Samantha approached the desk, she said, “Good morning, Ms. Goodheart.”
The receptionist, with her silver-streaked hair swept into a no-nonsense bun, glanced up from her work and smiled warmly. “Hello, Mrs. Keating. You look bright and cheerful today. I take it you’re feeling well.”
“I am. Thank you.”
Samantha had asked the woman to call her by her first name several months ago to no avail. Apparently, Wilma insisted upon referring to all the patients as either Ms. or Mrs., which was nice. But Samantha didn’t like to be called Mrs. Keating. Every time someone addressed her that way, she felt compelled to turn around and see if Peter’s mother was standing behind her.
“Go ahead and find a seat,” Ms. Goodheart said. “I’ll let the nurse know that you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Samantha chose a chair near the window and reached for a magazine. But as she did so, she couldn’t help noting that two of the other pregnant women were seated next to men. It was nice to see expectant fathers be so supportive of their wives or girlfriends, and Samantha couldn’t help being just a wee bit envious.
As she thumbed through the pages of the latest issue of Parents, her name was called. She looked up to see Sara Beth, the head nurse at the Institute, and smiled. Samantha had always liked the petite, red-haired nurse.
“How are you doing today?” Sara Beth asked as Samantha approached.
“I’m doing great, thanks.”
Sara Beth, who held a medical chart in her hand, led Samantha to the scale and weighed her. Then she took her to exam room two, where she had her blood pressure and pulse rate checked.
“Everything looks good, Samantha. I’ll let Dr. Demetrios know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t have to wait long, because a few minutes later, Dr. Demetrios entered the exam room.
He was a big man, with olive skin, dark hair and brown eyes. The first time she’d met him, she’d been surprised by how handsome he was. Based upon his professional reputation, she would have thought him to be a lot older, a lot more scholarly in his appearance.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “How are you doing, Samantha?”
“Great. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m glad.” He studied the open chart Sara Beth had left on the counter.
Since Dr. Demetrious was a renowned fertility specialist who divided his time between research and his medical practice, he didn’t have as many patients as most obstetricians, so Samantha was glad to be able to count herself as one of them.
“Everything looks good,” he said. “But we’ll see what the sonogram shows us. I’d like to get a better view of Baby C.”
After she got settled on the exam table, Dr. Demetrios turned his back to her and made some adjustments to the equipment, and she watched him work.
The last time she’d been at the clinic, she’d overheard two women in the waiting room whispering about him. From what she’d gathered, a former patient had once claimed that he’d impregnated her. The story made the gossip column and the society page of the Boston Herald, and Dr. Demetrios took a leave of absence to clear his name.
A DNA test proved that the child wasn’t his, but the false accusation had shadowed his reputation, at least for a while.
Samantha wouldn’t have held his personal life against him, since he was such a good doctor, but she was glad that the charges were unfounded. And from what she understood, he’d recently eloped not long ago.
According to the women who’d been gossiping, his new wife had been a waitress and a single mom. And Samantha had found the story heartwarming. It gave her hope that one day she, too, might find someone to love, in spite of being the mother of three children.
She hoped the doctor’s troubles were finally over, and that his story had a Cinderella ending. After all he did for childless couples, he certainly deserved to be happy himself.
When the doctor had everything set up, he asked her to raise her blouse, then slathered her belly with gel so he could proceed with another ultrasound.
Samantha was mesmerized by the sight of her triplets.
“Baby C has turned around,” the doctor said, “and it looks like … yes, it’s a girl.”
Samantha’s heart soared with the news. She was going to have at least one of each, a boy and a girl. How cool was that?
“And Baby B?” she asked.
“Well, if it will move just a little. There we go. Another boy.”
“Two boys and a girl,” she said, smiling through the tears in her eyes. “I’m speechless. And so blessed. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Dr. Demetrious chuckled. “No need to do that. I just did my job. Nature did the rest.”
She couldn’t help giving God a whole lot of credit, too. And on the way out of the clinic and to the parking garage, she offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
Then she climbed behind the wheel of her Jag. Before turning on the ignition, she stroked her growing belly. This pregnancy was the ultimate gift to Peter, to his parents. And she hoped they realized that.
They would be surprised when they heard the news—shocked, even. After all, it had been five years since Peter’s death. But thanks to Dr. Demetrios and the Armstrong Fertility Institute, Samantha was pregnant with the children she and Peter were meant to have.
She did, however, suspect the Keatings would eventually embrace the news. Peter had been their only child and the love of their lives. Yet she still couldn’t seem to pick up the phone and invite them over—or pop in on them, something she’d never done before.
Still, she’d have to tell them. And she’d have to tell Hector, too.
But for a woman who was bursting at the seams with excitement, she couldn’t help wanting to keep her secret to herself for a little while longer.
On Sunday morning, Hector walked outside to get the Boston Herald and noticed that Samantha’s sprinklers were on. He’d heard them go on at four that morning, but it was well after eight, and they hadn’t shut off.
Water saturated her lawn and had streamed onto the sidewalk, over the curb and into the gutter.
Her newspaper, which had been neatly folded when the paperboy had tossed it onto the lawn, was soaking wet. Hadn’t the guy noticed the
