Chapter Four

Malaria and Homecomings

Jordan nervously adjusted the paper gown she was wearing while she was sitting in the exam room, waiting for her obstetrician. One part of her hated these exams…sitting there, all bare except for the thin, paper gown covering her expanding body. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wry smile at the changes she was going through. First she was hot…all the time. And not just a gee-it's-a-hot-summer-even-for-Boston hot. Some days it felt like she was combusting from the inside out.

Then there was her growing belly. She had read everything she could get her hands on about being pregnant, although the doctor in her already knew plenty. The girth was a good indicator that the baby was gaining weight, there was plenty of amniotic fluid, and everything was normal.

The woman in her just wanted to know how to avoid stretch marks. So lotions, cocoa butter, even olive oil had anointed her waistline for months. So far, so good. The only amazingly great thing, besides the baby, that had happened, was that the boob fairy came. She now had a bust line that was eye catching.

"Good morning, Jordan," Dr. Andrews's voice announced his arrival before he made it completely through the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Really fine…"

Dr. Andrews looked over her chart carefully. "Weight's good….blood pressure's good…genetic testing came back good. Everything looks great. Ready to see the baby?"

Jordan nodded and patiently waited while Dr. Andrews and his nurse, Connie, got everything ready. One cold dab of the jelly-like substance on her tummy and Dr. Andrews soon had a picture of the baby on the screen. Jordan watched in near amazement as her baby's image filled the monitor, wishing that somehow, someway, despite their differences and their break up, JD could be here to see their child. Something close to regret and akin to sorrow filled her eyes.

JD would never know their child. He had never even known she was pregnant. They both knew that there was that possibility, especially after he had returned to Boston once more.

No one had known he had even been back. He just showed up at her door one night, about six weeks after the Lucy Carver debacle with Woody. There had been a knock at her door late one Friday night. A glimpse through the peep hole nearly knocked her for a loop. She had assumed most likely it was Nigel. On the outside chance, perhaps Lily. Way out in left field was the idea that maybe it was a contrite and penitent Woody.

She had assumed that JD had washed his Aussie hands of her once and for all.

But you know what happens when you assume.

He had walked to the center of her apartment after she wordlessly opened the door for him. Standing there in the middle of her living room, with his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets, he simply said, "I miss you, Cavanaugh."

"You do?" She knew her voice was incredulous.

"Yeah, I do." He walked over to her and gently tucked a curl behind her ear. "I do. I really do. You remember what I told you about love?"

"That it was like malaria?" she whispered.

JD nodded. "It is, you know. There's not really a cure, and it remains just below the skin….and just keeps re-surfacing." He swallowed hard. "But with you, it's Hoyt."

"Not any…"

"And with me it's you." He had pulled her to him then and kissed her hard. "Damn you, Cavanaugh. Damn you…" he whispered through her hair. "damn you, damn you, damn you." His lips moved over her face then.

"JD…please…"

Pulling away, he looked deep into her eyes. "One more night, Jordan. Just one more. Then tomorrow I'll turn around and walk out of this apartment and out of your life. You'll never see or hear from me again, unless you want to. I promise. Just…one more night."

He had never called her Jordan unless he was completely, utterly serious.

And every time he did, he completely undid her resolve. That night had been no exception.

Besides, what did she have to lose? Woody was happy and content with his new girlfriend and Jordan was all alone. "Yes," she heard herself whisper back. Why not? She needed the comfort of a warm touch from someone that loved her.

And if nothing else, JD Pollack did love her.

"Wait…there's something not quite right…" Dr. Andrews's voice said, breaking through her thoughts.

"Dr. Cavanaugh…Dr. C…." Emmy's voice trailed after Jordan as she got off the elevator two weeks after her last doctor's appointment with Dr. Andrews. God, she moves fast for a pregnant woman, Emmy thought as she hustled down the hallway after Jordan.

"What do you want, Emmy?" Jordan responded, a little sharply. She hadn't slept well since her last doctor's appointment as thousands of unanswered questions and scenarios played through her mind. Most everyone else was chalking her new, surly behavior to third trimester pregnancy, rollercoaster hormones, and exhaustion.

Only she knew she was saddled with a new worry.

"This came for you by special delivery. I signed for it for you since you weren't in." Emmy handed her a long envelope. "It's from Dr. Andrews," she continued cheerfully.

"Thanks, Em…sorry about snapping at you. It's just been a rough morning."

"No problem, Dr. C." With the blessed ignorance of the unknowing, Emmy walked back to her desk.

Jordan took the envelope in one hand and opened the door to her office with the other. Then shutting and locking it behind her, she sank into her chair and laid the envelope on top of her desk, staring at it for a long time. Dr. Andrews had run tests…and in the envelope were the results of those tests…tests that could determine her baby's future. She swallowed hard.

She had asked that the results be mailed to her instead of her being phoned with them. If they came in the mail, she always had the option of not opening the envelope and reading the results until she felt she was ready.

If she ever was.

So she had a choice. She could open them up now and know her baby's future.

Or she could wait. She took a deep breath and picked up the envelope, holding it gingerly…as if it were a snake that might bite her.

Then shoved it into the bottom of her pocketbook.

She wasn't ready.

Her nerves were on edge and her hormones were on overdrive. And it wasn't helping that he was late.

Max had finally called her. She had haltingly spilled out most of her story to him before she revealed to her father that he was going to be a grandfather in the short span of a few weeks.

There had been dead silence on the line for a few seconds…long enough for Jordan to wonder if they had lost a connection.

"Are you okay?" he had finally asked, his Irish brogue as thick as ever.

"I'm fine…now, anyways. I'm not on the run any longer and I'm back home."

"So I'm going to be a grandfather, eh?" Jordan could hear the laughter behind her father's voice. "Never believed the day would come when my only daughter would see fit to bless me with heirs."

"Dad…"

"So do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"No. I don't want to know."

"A boy would be nice. He'd have to be easier to raise than you were…"

"Dad!"

Max chuckled. "Just kidding. So everything's fine?"

"It would be better if I could get you to come home for a little while."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you, Paw-paw. Don't you think your grandchild will want to know you?"

Max had sighed. "I would love to come home for this – the birth of my granddaughter or grandson. But if I do…no talk of the past…your mother's murder…none of that…"

"I promise."

"I mean it, Jordan. You need to concentrate on you….and your baby. Your mother would want it that way."

"I know. And I promise."

That promise was all it took to get Max back to Boston. At least for a little while. Jordan was waiting for him at what used to be The Pogue. Only Max was a half an hour late and Jordan was left wondering if her dad had gotten cold feet after all.

And then his huge form appeared at her side. "God….let me look at you." Max swept Jordan up in a hug before setting her from him, slowly examining her from head to toe. "Good. You look good."

"For a pregnant woman?" she asked, slipping back into her side of the booth.

"For my daughter." He sat down opposite of her.

Max ordered a beer and Jordan ordered orange juice. Between the two drinks and an order of cheese fries later, she had told her father everything. Max leaned forward and took both of her hands in his. "But you're okay?" he finally asked, fatherly concern lacing his voice.

Jordan nodded. "It's just been rough."

"I know. Thank God Woody was on your side."

She smirked. "He wouldn't have been if I hadn't of shipped him all the evidence."

"Then thank God JD kept meticulous records."

"Yeah." Her voice trailed off as her eyes held a haunted look.

Max noticed…whoever this JD Pollack was, he had been special to his daughter….but maybe not as special as that blue-eyed, Wisconsin cheese head she had spent years avoiding her feelings for.

Max wondered if those feelings had ever fully disappeared. He watched his only daughter as she idly stirred her orange juice with a straw, her eyes miles away from where they were sitting and felt his heart break for Jordan one more time. "You're sure there's no chance that this baby's not Woody's?" he gently asked. For all his gruffness, Max believed that love really did conquer all and that somewhere in all this madness, Jordan and Woody still cared for each other. It might be hidden under piles of hurt and miles of regret, but he held on to that hope.

"No." That one syllable was said with such force and certainly that Max knew Woody wasn't the father of his grandchild – and whatever place the detective once had in Jordan's heart was now gone.