The Doctor's Second Chance

As soon as Jake set the carrier on the examination table, the baby started to fuss.

Violet lifted her out of the seat, and the little one began to root against her chest. “Hungry, are we? Well, I’m sure your cousin Jake will get you a bottle ready while I weigh you.”

Jake froze, eyes wide, as if she’d blinded him with her otoscope.

“You do have a bottle for her, don’t you?”

He reached inside the diaper bag and pulled out a can. “There’s this powdery formula. And bottles.”

He sounded clueless. How would this child survive? How had his cousin dared leave the baby with him?

Violet huffed. “Go down the hall. There are samples of that exact brand in the storage closet on the right.”

“Yeah. I know where the sample closet is.”

Of course he did. He’d probably spent time in his aunt and uncle’s office.

While he was gone, she weighed and measured the baby girl, jotting the figures on the paper covering the exam table. “I’ll need to make her a file,” she called. “And I need that medical consent form. Do you happen to have any of her records with you?”

He lumbered into the room holding up a disposable, formula-filled bottle, smiling as if he’d discovered precious gold. “Yes, in her bag. I’ll find them.”

“What’s her name?”

With his back to her, he ignored the question and seemed to frantically search, tossing out diapers and wipes, empty bottles and clothes. At the bottom of the bag, he found a folder. “Here it is.”

She broke the seal off the bottle, popped the top and began to feed the hungry baby, who slurped down the food. As Jake flipped through the records, Violet headed to grab another bottle to send home with him.

Sweet blue eyes stared up at her before finally turning sleepy. Violet’s chest tightened.

Holding and feeding a precious baby never failed to open up old wounds, renewing the pain of having her own baby taken from her and put up for adoption by her parents.

Yet the opportunity reminded her that there were many children around town who needed a caring touch. Needed someone to look out for them.

“She’s falling asleep.” Violet put the baby to her shoulder and patted her back. “Be sure you always burp her like this after you feed her.”

Once the baby belched, she returned her to the exam table. “I’ll do a quick check and then she can have a nap in her car seat.”

Violet glanced at Jake. He was watching every move she made, his eyes taking it all in like a first-time parent overwhelmed by a new life depending on him, afraid he’d do something wrong. She couldn’t help but smile as she examined the baby’s ears. “You never told me her name.”

* * *

Jake’s brain nearly buzzed. How could he tell this doctor that he had no idea what the child’s name was? A child in his care.

He and Dr. Crenshaw were already adversarial. And now he was going to have to admit he had no contact information for the mother. No baby name. No father’s name. No mother’s address. Nothing but a copy of hospital records from Atlanta labeled Baby Girl West. He assumed Remy had filled out a birth certificate application, so surely the girl had a legal name.

What about those papers she mentioned?

One last, frantic flip through the documents in the bag revealed a folded copy of the birth certificate paperwork crammed between two folders along with the medical consent to treat form. When he read the name on the form, Jake sucked in a breath.

Remy had named the girl after his mother.

“Abigail,” he choked out. “Her name’s Abigail.”

As the doctor continued the exam, Jake wondered at Remy’s intentions for the girl. Had she planned all along for Jake to raise Abigail? Or had the decision been sudden, born out of desperation?

“Ears look good.” Violet warmed the stethoscope and listened to the baby’s chest and back. “Heartbeat and lungs are perfect.”

With her short, wavy black hair, cut so that it flipped some at the ends, Violet looked too young to be a doctor. But despite the hair, her big, serious hazel eyes and white lab coat made her a convincing professional.

She glanced at the baby’s belly and poked around. “Umbilical cord has already fallen off. Healed nicely. She seems to be in good health.”

Relief swept through him. At least Remy had been taking good care of her.

“What’s her birth date?”

That info he did have. “She was born on the Fourth of July.”

Dr. Crenshaw pulled a sheet of paper out of a file folder and charted the weight on a graph. “Two weeks old. She’s at the fiftieth percentile. Weight, length and head circumference look good. And I also need her last name.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, frustration seemed to spark at his inability to focus and communicate basic facts.

The baby looked groggy, her belly full, content. His earlier panic inched down a notch. “Abigail West.” He glanced again at the form, his chest tightening. Remy had given the girl his dad’s middle name—which was also Jake’s middle name. “Abigail Lee, L-e-e, West.”

“Thank you,” the pediatrician mumbled, her tone adding an unspoken finally as she filled in the blanks on some sort of form.

She probably questioned his mental faculties. He was beginning to wonder himself. “Here’s that medical release form from her mother. Do you have some kind of booklet on basic infant care? I wasn’t sure about whether to boil the water or use milk for the formula. Or how to sterilize the bottles—or if I even need to. That kind of thing.”

“Don’t give her cow’s milk yet. Here.” She wrapped the baby up like a burrito and leaned close to set her in his arms. As she did, the doc’s short, flippy black hair caught on his beard and tickled his chin.

“I’ll go make Abigail’s file,” she said. “You should probably change her diaper so she’ll take a nice long nap for you.”

Diapers. There would be lots of messy diapers in his near future. The thought nearly made him wretch.

“You have changed her diaper, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Ever changed any diaper?”

“No.” His incompetence had been revealed. Could she report someone for being an inept babysitter?

She simply sighed. “Sounds like you need a crash course.”

“I do. Would you be willing to come home with me to help get Abigail settled? I’ll pay you whatever you’d bill for, what? Four appointments in an hour? Six?”

“Do you have a friend you could ask?” Her hazel eyes were serious, concerned, as if she feared he didn’t have any friends. Which only showed she must think the worst of him. Still, for some reason, he found the concern endearing.

Caution, Jake. No matter how cute she looks with her feathery hair and big serious eyes, this conniving woman took advantage of Aunt Edith and Uncle Paul. “No, I don’t have anyone else to ask. The older ladies in my church may not know the current child-rearing recommendations. I don’t know the young moms well enough to ask a favor. And the women I’ve dated...well, none of them would be good with kids.”

She gave a derisive snort. “Not dating the maternal type, huh?”