Page 22 of Doctor Daddy Dilemma

When I finally found my phone, it was blinking a red battery indicator, flashing 1 percent. Just my luck that my phone would be flat when I needed to call for help. It seemed my dreams were even falling flat. Nothing was working out for me, like the gods had frowned on my desire to propose to the one woman in my entire life I’d bonded with intimately. It felt like my childhood all over again, returning from summer camp only to be ushered back to boarding school without even a week at home to visit with my family.

I almost threw the phone. I was so upset by that point. I stood, staring at the long line of oncoming traffic knowing a tow truck would take hours to get here. My eyes scanned the vehicles passing by nearest me, then the line that extended farther up over the bridge. I didn’t recognize any of the cars, any of the drivers. My normal hired car wasn’t in the line, nor were any people I would consider my friends, though I had so few acquaintances I even associated with outside of work, that wasn’t such an unbelievable thing.

“Sir I’m going to have to ask you to get back in your car and move it.” I turned to see a traffic cop approaching me. He held his hand out toward my car and gestured with a flick of his wrist and I scowled.

“I have a flat, and my phone is dead. I need to call for a tow or something. I can’t change the tire here.” I had never felt more humiliated, not even when I made those stupid mistakes early in my career. Mistakes like that were part of the job, learning pains. Things like this were not.

I was forty-two years old and incapable of changing a flat tire. No doubt this kind officer would have helped me if there wasn’t an accident and he wasn’t directing traffic, but even he would have been wary of doing so right here on the edge of this bridge with my car halfway in the lane and the flat tire on the street side.

“I see…” He glowered at me and reached up to grab the radio clipped to his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger and spoke into it. “Dispatch, we need another tow truck. Flat tire on the side here behind the accident. This is unit three-twelve, over.”

“Copy that, three-twelve. Third truck in route, over.”

“Please just sit in your car…” The man nodded at my sorry excuse for a vehicle, and I could have sworn he mumbled something about stupid rich white men before walking away. For a moment I leaned on the side of the car next to the open door. My plans were falling apart and I wanted to scream. Charlie would be waiting for me, wondering where I was and what was going on.

As it were, there were three news vehicles out here now, one helicopter circling overhead showing the wreckage on the bridge, probably for traffic reports during rush hour, and four cop cars. The gawkers were out in full force too, staring as they drove past, as if I were part of the accident scene. This was exactly what the tabloids loved to eat up and distort. I couldn’t just sit here and wait.

So once again, I scanned the rows of traffic. They were all different cars now, the line of travelers still moving past me at a slow rate of speed. And I didn’t think I knew any of them until a silver convertible slowed and stopped next to me.

“Lexy? Baby! What are you doing out here?” It was Myra, with her convertible top down and her hair tied up in a silk scarf. Her makeup was thick as sin and her sunglasses hid her dark eyes, but I knew it was her.

Salvation!

“Oh my God, can you give me a ride to the docks?” My shout rose above the din of cars’ engines and she waved me over.

“Get your things, baby. We’re going for a ride!”

She threw her head back and cackled, and I was positively giddy for the smidgen of hope she brought. I took everything I could think out of the car while the line of traffic laid on their horns. The cops would have to sort out the car themselves; I’d happily rather pay a tow bill and an impound fee than miss this evening with my beautiful fiancée-to-be.

“Take me to my yacht, Myra. The woman I love is waiting on me.” I closed the door and buckled up with my arms loaded down with flowers and paperwork from the office.

So long as Charlie wasn’t too upset with me for being late, this still had the title “best day of my life” written on it. Now I just had to get to her.

17

CHARLIE

Lex’s captain was hovering, being nosy if you asked me, but maybe he’d heard from Lex and knew why he was late. I paced on the deck with my fingernail firmly lodged between my teeth. Being late was one thing, but this was ridiculous. Maybe I felt this way because I’d gotten here earlier than I originally planned. My flight was ready with all passengers checked in ten minutes early and we got a good tailwind, so I got to Miami faster. I also had no checked baggage because I didn’t want to have to wait in that line. I just rushed through the airport and caught the first cab.

It wasn’t like Lex to keep me waiting, and my calls went straight to voicemail every time I rang him, which meant either his phone was dead or he had it shut off. Neither of those things were like him either. He was always excited to hear from me now, once I’d gotten the hang of his schedule and didn’t call during appointments.

I tried to assuage my ridiculous anxieties by telling myself he was just stuck in traffic or that his last appointment had run late. I hadn’t encountered any traffic at all, though, and my only delay had been getting access to the boat. Even Lex’s captain wasn’t here when I arrived. I had to wait on him to escort me down the pier where only owners were permitted or accompanied guests.

“Ms. Martinez, are you sure I can’t get you a drink?” The captain once again appeared on the deck to check on me. I didn’t know if he thought I needed a babysitter or if the yacht club’s rules were so strict that even on the boat I had to be under supervision, but I was annoyed by it. Still, I put on my best smile and shook my head.

“No thank you. I’m not drinking tonight.” I’d already told him several times, even when he asked me if I just wanted water. I got that he was being hospitable, so I tried not to be overly snippy. I just wanted Lex to get here.

“You can use the remote to find something to watch if you’re bored.”

“You haven’t heard from him?” I asked again, for the third time. Surely Lex would have called his yacht captain to inform him if there was a delay setting sail this evening, but the man offered a curt expression while shaking his head.

“No, ma’am. I just do what I’m told.” He chuckled and then turned around and vanished, and I sank onto the leather couch facing the television. From this vantage point, the captain would be staring at me while I watched a show, but I had no choice. Even if I wanted to go lie down on a bed to calm the morning sickness and the nerves I felt, he’d just come find me anyway.

Picking up my weekend bag, I opened it and looked inside at the little onesie I had specially made earlier at one of those souvenir T-shirt shops near the bay. The pastel green cotton signified my obvious ignorance to the sex of the baby, but the words silk-screened on the front left no doubt why I had it. In bold yellow letters it said: “Baby Hartman.” My plan was to give this to Lex and let him draw the conclusion, because if I had to tell him, my nerves would get the better of me and I’d throw up all over his beautiful boat.

So far, the night wasn’t working out exactly as I hoped, but I knew things would turn around once he got here. I reassured myself that Lex was just running late and that I should try to relax. I found the remote in the end pocket of the couch after a bit of searching and used it to turn on the TV. Nothing seemed interesting, not a single show I wanted to watch. It ended up being background noise as I laid my head back and thought of Lex and what his reaction might be to my news.

All week I’d been wrestling with it—back and forth over how to tell him, what he’d think, how I’d feel if he wasn’t exactly excited. Every single night, I’d had bad dreams about it too, about him potentially rejecting the idea that we could have a family, about Mr. James’s accusations that Lex wasn’t all he was cracked up to be.

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