Chapter 23 #2
“I manage my own schedule, and I’ve become good at handling stress.
” She had no idea what she was saying. She’d never been pregnant so how would she know how she would manage a pregnancy?
Was she going to blow it right there? “Wouldn’t you say stress is relative, Dr. Lowe?
Some of us sell lakefront properties to retirees; some of us evaluate potential surrogates. Everyone’s got their kind of stress.”
He laughed then, a warm, genuine sound that seemed to loosen something between them. “Touché,” he said.
“Besides,” she added, “I think being pregnant would make me better at selling homes.”
“Really? How?” He seemed to be enjoying this. Good. She wanted this guy to be on her side.
“People trust pregnant women,” she said. “They seem nurturing. Like they know something about the future.” Marlowe might be spouting nonsense but she would have said anything to strengthen her case.
He gave her a long, amused look before glancing down at his notes. “I can’t argue with that logic.”
She crossed her legs, watching him. The sunlight hit the side of his face, lighting the faint gray at his temples.
He was attractive in a quiet, understated way—no Rolex, no tailored suit, no scent of expensive cologne like the men she’d known in Naples.
There was a comfort to him, a solidness.
He looked like a man who mowed his own lawn.
She could see him looping down a driveway to get the Sunday paper. And Samanatha stood in the doorway.
Really? Is that where my mind is going?
“Tell me a little bit about your family,” he said. “Your upbringing.”
“Well, there were three of us girls,” she said, glad that he’s asked.
“Izzy’s the youngest, I’m in the middle, and Samantha is the oldest. Our dad taught high school and Mom had taught too for a while.
You know, before we were born. But our parents were both killed in an accident up here in Charlevoix.
Christmas time, if you can believe it.” She would never get used to saying those words, although it had gotten easier over the years.
The expression on his face made her drop her eyes.
Yes, this was a guy with feelings. Maybe all psychologists were like this.
“Our parents were decent people,” she continued.
“My mother was a devoted mother. They were crazy in love.” She had to stop there or her throat would get thick.
She knew that from experience. “We turned out fine, mostly. We’re close. ”
“Would you say you have a nurturing relationship with your siblings?”
“With Izzy, yes. She’s the baby, and the one who was most affected by the, you know, situation.
” Marlowe sucked in a breath and Dr. Lowe nodded.
Words weren’t needed. He understood. “My older sister Samantha was the mothering type. She helped raise us. Sam also offered to be the surrogate. We kind of had a competition going. But something came up…” And she stopped talking.
Marlowe didn’t want him to think Sam had some kind of serious health issue, although maybe she did. Marlowe didn’t know the details.
He jotted that down too, and she wondered how much of this went into whatever report he’d have to write. Marlowe Quinn, emotionally competent, potential sibling rivalry noted.
“So you and your sisters are competitive,” he said.
“Not really,” she said. “But when it matters, we show up for each other. Over the past year, my sister and I moved to our Charlevoix summer home because we missed each other. Sam came from Chicago and I relocated from Florida. Oh, and my aunt moved here from New York.”
He looked up, and his expression softened in a way that made her chest tighten unexpectedly. “That’s amazing.”
“Well, we missed each other.”
There was a quiet moment. The clock on the bookshelf ticked softly.
Then he cleared his throat. “I’m going to ask you a few more questions about your physical and emotional readiness. Have you had any major health issues?”
“None. I run, I eat well, and I have the cholesterol of a thirty-year-old.” She was embellishing a bit but he would never know.
“Any concerns about the physical strain of pregnancy at your age?”
“Only about my wardrobe,” she said, earning another faint smile. “Otherwise, I’m fine. I’ve talked to my doctor, and she says it’s medically possible. Emotionally, I think I’m strong enough.”
He wrote something else, and Marlowe found herself studying the curve of his handwriting, the way he pressed his pen into the page. It was old-fashioned, deliberate.
“You take notes like someone who doesn’t want to forget things,” she said.
He glanced up. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Do you ever forget things?”
He smiled. “Only when I’m distracted.”
Was that a reprimand? She’d taken him off topic several times. “Sorry if I distracted you with my earlier questions.” What time was it anyway? This hour felt eternal but to check her phone would be rude.
There was a pause, then a subtle shift in his tone. “You’re curious,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that. But we’re supposed to be talking about you, Marlowe.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I am curious.” And I’m wondering if you’d be suitable for my sister.
He set the pen down, laughing. “And relentless.”
“Occupational hazard,” she said. “I ask questions for a living.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Oh, things like—what type of kitchen are you looking for, and do you really need so many bathrooms, and what are you hoping to find that you haven’t yet found?” She looked at him meaningfully. “You’d be surprised how revealing people can be when they think they’re just talking about property.”
He met her gaze evenly now, and she felt that professional distance thing again. “And what do you think you’ve found here?”
“A man who might be perfect for my sister,” she said before she could stop herself. Oh, why couldn’t she shut up?
Dr. Lowe blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“You’re single, right? I don’t see any family photos. Just soccer teams and diplomas.”
He leaned back slightly, adjusting his glasses as if to buy time. “That’s very observant.”
“Not wrong, though?”
“No,” he said carefully. “I’m not married.”
“She’s lovely,” Marlowe went on. “Samantha. A little impulsive, but she could use a man who wears cardigans. It would calm her.”
Smiling despite himself, he shook his head. “I don’t think matchmaking is part of the surrogacy evaluation.”
“Not officially,” she said. “But I’m a multitasker.”
He chuckled, and she thought she saw the faintest glimmer of something beneath his composed exterior—interest, maybe.
After the laughter faded, he looked at his notes again. “All right, let’s see if we can wrap up with something resembling professionalism.”
“Too late,” she said under her breath.
He ignored that, though his grin betrayed him. “How do you imagine you’d feel once the baby is born? Would giving the child to Izzy and Skipper bother you?”
Marlowe thought for a moment, letting the question settle.
How could she answer this when she really didn’t know?
“I think it would be very emotional,” she said finally.
“But in a beautiful way. I’d be so happy to see them happy.
That’s all I want, really. I don’t need to claim the baby as mine.
I know why I’m doing it. And maybe some day I’ll have children of my own.
Who knows? I haven’t closed that door.” What? Sometimes her own words surprised her.
“That’s a very grounded answer.”
She smiled faintly. “I’ve had a lot of years to get grounded. It took time but here I am.”
He nodded. “I think that’s about all the formal questions I have. Unless you want to psychoanalyze me again.”
“Tempting,” she said. “But no.” And I hope I haven’t screwed things up.
He closed his notebook. “I’ll write up the summary and send it to the agency. If this goes forward and you have any concerns during the process, feel free to contact the office for another session.”
“Thank you,” she said. That was very kind of him.
Grabbing her jacket she got up to leave. But she paused at the door. “Dr. Lowe?”
“Yes?”
“You should put up a few more pictures. Your office looks too serious.”
“What kind of pictures?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Something that reminds people you’ve lived a little. Maybe one of you smiling.”
He tilted his head. “I’m smiling in that soccer picture.”
“Not enough,” she said with a grin. “But maybe you just need to get out more.”
Standing up, he smiled. “It’s been nice meeting you, Marlowe.”
“Yes, thank you for your time.” She was back in professional mode.
Pulling on her jacket, she scampered through the waiting room where an older man sat waiting. “He’s really good,” she told him. The poor man gave her a brief smile. He looked sad and preoccupied.
Out in the street, Marlowe exhaled, half laughing at herself.
She was supposed to be proving her emotional readiness to carry a child, not plotting a romance for her sister.
But as she drove home, she ended up going to the small beach near Sunnycrest and parked.
Her thoughts were racing and she wasn’t thinking about the curve of the bay or how the afternoon light rippled over the water.
His question had opened some topics she hadn’t considered.
That conversation had shifted something inside.
She had gone in thinking only of Izzy and the surrogacy, of doing a good deed, of being the capable sister.
But Dr. Lowe’s gentle questions had made her aware that she had quietly given up on the idea of motherhood.
Had the passing years brought that about?
Maybe. But now it was uppermost in her mind and she had to think more about it.
Below on the beach, the cold weather had brought the beginnings of ice floes.
Soon there would be a ledge of ice along the shore and plenty of snow.
But her mind was swirling with warm thoughts of babies…
and Brad. When she’d told Dr. Lowe about Brad, she’d felt soft and shivery.
Marlowe had strong feelings for him. Was she going to tell him?
He’d been so patient and obviously he was interested in her.
He seemed to be thinking about the long run.
These feelings she was having told her she wanted that too.
Thinking about the past hour, she realized that her words “Maybe I’d like children of my own” hadn’t been for Dr. Lowe’s report.
They had been for her. She put her convertible in gear and headed home.
Maybe this car wasn’t the best thing for the cold Charlevoix weather.
By the time she reached her driveway, she knew she’d see Dr. Lowe again. For Izzy’s sake, of course. For the evaluation, the paperwork. But maybe she needed some help sorting through her own future.
Inside, she dropped her keys on the hall table and kicked off her shoes. The house smelled faintly of pine and ocean air. Her phone buzzed with a text. Samantha, naturally. She’d sent this while Marlowe was still with Dr. Lowe.
How’d it go? Did he ask you weird questions about your dreams?
Marlowe smiled, typing back.
No dreams. Just the usual. You’d like him, though.
Nonsense, her sister texted back. More evaluations aren’t in the cards for me.
Marlowe laughed aloud. She had to think of something. Some reason why Sam should go see Dr. Lowe.