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Jessie shrugged.
“Probably because his main suggestion for moving forward is to consider having a child,” she explained. “He brought it up very casually one night recently when we were watching a movie, but I could tell he wasn’t feeling casual about it.”
“How did you respond?” Lemmon asked.
“I said we should discuss it another time, when I had more of a chance to think about it.”
“And what do you think about it now?”
“I’m not sure,” Jessie admitted. “I like the idea in theory, but in practice, I’m not so sure. After all, I’m just now physically recovering from some pretty rough stuff. I’m not sure I want to put my body through that so soon after everything that’s happened. And then there’s the other thing.”
“What thing? Lemmon asked, even though Jessie knew the doctor was aware exactly what she was refencing. She replied anyway.
“My miscarriage,” she said quietly.
Lemmon nodded supportively.
Of course, that term didn’t adequately describe what had had happened. Less than three years ago, when Jessie was married to her previous husband, Kyle Voss, she got pregnant and been very happy about it.
What she didn’t know at the time was that Kyle was a cheating, murderous sociopath who killed his mistress and tried to frame Jessie for it. But prior to that, when he had learned about the forthcoming baby, he’d secretly poisoned Jessie as means of ending the pregnancy, something she only learned later. It turned out that he didn’t consider himself the fathering type, and that was his way of handling it.
Jessie had struggled with the pain of losing the baby for months before she discovered her husband’s true nature and what he’d done. Ultimately, she’d barely survived his attempt to frame and subsequently kill her. But she wasn’t sure her feelings toward motherhood had survived the experience along with her.
“Of course,” Jessie added before the doctor could say anything, “I realize that what happened to me shouldn’t automatically preclude us from considering the idea, but I’m just not sure I’m ready. As you know better than most, I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
Lemmon smiled.
“You’ve had a lot going on for the last three years, Jessie,” she said not unkindly. “And based on what I know about you, which is more than most, that’s unlikely to change anytime soon. So, I'm not sure being busy is a good reason not to start a family. But you certainly have any number of other reasons. And we can work through all of them if you’d like to.”
The prospect of discussing what had happened to her and what it meant for her future going forward wasn’t a pleasant one. But that’s why she was here. There was no point in avoiding it, especially not in a session with her psychiatrist.
“I think I would like to,” she said, before diving in.
CHAPTER TWO
When Jessie got home, dinner was waiting on the table.
“Are you making up for some misdeed?” she asked Ryan, who was leaning against the kitchen sink in a yellow apron, smiling proudly.
“I just thought you could use a quality, home-cooked meal,” he replied, “so I called up your little sister, who walked me through it over the phone for the last hour.”
Jessie walked over and planted a kiss on his lips.
“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” she said. “Thanks so much. Plus you look extra sexy in that apron.”
Ryan blushed immediately. Jessie was always amazed that someone as attractive as Detective Ryan Hernandez had the capacity for such self-deprecating aw-shucks shyness.
After all, she’d seen many a woman swoon at his square jaw and the well-muscled frame that strained at his dress shirts, not to mention his warm brown eyes, shy grin, and adorable dimples. He could be hard as nails when taking down a suspect, but under most circumstances, he was a hot teddy bear.
“Better eat it while it’s warm,” he said, motioning to the dinner table and pointedly not responding to her “sexy” comment.
“So what have we got here?” she asked.
"It's citrus-soaked salmon with rosemary fingerling potatoes and lemon broccolini,” he said with a level of delight that was charming in its sincerity. In the description, she could almost hear Hannah’s voice telling him exactly how to describe the meal.
“Well, it looks delicious, chef,” she said, sitting down at the table.
“Any credit goes to the real chef,” he replied. “Any blame goes to me.”
