You're My Baby

He reddened. “You know. The baby.”

She shook her head, seemingly bemused. “Or Barnette, don’t forget.” She started back through the bathroom, then stopped. “Are you sure you’re ready to share a bathroom with a woman again?”

He had a sudden disturbing image of wet hosiery, like slimy tentacles, draped all over the towel rack and shower curtain rod. He gulped. “I’m sure.”

By the time they reached the living room, which she proclaimed “austere,” he was worn-out.

“I don’t want to intrude into your lifestyle, but—”

“Nonsense,” he said. “This will be your home, too. I want you to be comfortable.”

She sank down into the brown tweed sofa he’d bought at a going-out-of-business sale. It had been cheap and matched his cushy, man-size rust recliner.

She eyed the mantel. “Do you think we could get a shelf for those?” Move his team pictures and state championship trophies? He enjoyed looking at them while he watched TV. “Sure, if that’s what you’d like.”

Her eyes, like some malevolent detecting device, raked the room. “And maybe we could move your chair and turn the sofa this other way, so my chair would fit.”

“I guess.” What was it with women? Did they come wired with the rearranging-furniture gene? Just as he acknowledged his irritation, she relaxed against the sofa, spreading her arms in a gesture of contentment. “It’s going to be fine, Grant, really fine.”

He sought the comfort of his recliner before answering. “I hope so. But it may require more patience than we imagined.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Having second thoughts? It’s not too late.”

Second thoughts? Not about her. She looked just right sitting in his living room, even if she was discussing upsetting his ordered existence. “No. I want to marry you, Pam.” Then, grinning, he added, “And that’s my final answer.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, a peaceful expression on her face. “Good,” she said softly.

They sat in silence for several minutes, and he thought how pleasant it was to have this kind of quiet companionship. Finally she spoke up. “If we’re going to hit the county clerk’s office before our eleven-o’clock upper-school meeting, I think you’d better take me home soon.”

“I will, but first…” Curiosity had been eating at him for several days, waiting to be satisfied. “Could you tell me about the man? The father?” Needing to risk the rest, he blurted out the difficult question, “Do you love him?”

CHAPTER FOUR

SLOWLY PAM EASED her feet to the floor, caught off guard by the question, by Grant’s sudden earnestness and by her own disturbing flashbacks. Steven—devilishly handsome in an intense, scholarly sort of way. High cheekbones, dark eyes, thick black hair, and long, tapering fingers with a magic of their own. She couldn’t resist him, even after he told her the truth. But love?

In fairness, she owed Grant an honest answer. This man, not Steven, would be the baby’s father on record. She focused on the emotions Grant’s question had aroused—joy, passion, sadness, resignation. “In a nostalgic, romantic sense, a part of me will always love him. I would never have been intimate with him otherwise.”

She paused, remembering the yearning and pain in Steven’s brown eyes, recalling the apology he’d tried to voice before she had hushed him—before they had come together in mutual need and desire. Pam looked directly at Grant. “I was not promiscuous. Nor did I intend to get pregnant.”

“Have you reconsidered telling him about the baby?”

“No.” She paused, letting the sound of the word die away. “And I won’t. Fate threw us together in unusual circumstances. But he never deceived me.”

Grant appeared to be mulling over what she’d said. He probably wasn’t even aware of the furrow on his brow.

She pulled forth her deepest, most painful memory—one she’d never considered sharing. Until now. “I knew he was married. That he had two daughters, ten and twelve. He’d told me all about Julie, his wife.” Why couldn’t she catch her breath? “But what he said didn’t register until I saw her for myself.”

So vivid and distressing was the memory she was hardly aware of her surroundings or of the man sitting across from her. She struggled to go on. “He was being honored by the university. His family had flown in for the occasion. I hadn’t intended to go, but at the last minute, I couldn’t help myself. That’s when I saw her. That’s when I truly realized why he could never see me again. Never have anything further to do with me.”

“If this is too difficult, Pam—”

“No. I need to tell you.” She drew a deep breath, then went on. “He loves his wife. Dearly, devotedly. I saw that when he pushed her wheelchair onto the platform. When he leaned down to kiss her so very tenderly.” Tears filled her eyes. “Grant, she’s paralyzed from the shoulders down. A skiing accident.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her cheeks. “Now do you see? I was lonely. He was a kind man with needs. I guess you could say nature took its course, and here I am—pregnant. Even so there’s no decision to be made. What do you suppose knowing about the baby would do to her? To him?” She let the question hang in the air before continuing. “I’ve given this considerable thought, and I know the time may come when, either for personal or medical reasons, my child will need the truth. But I’ll wait until that day arrives.”

He ran his hands up and down the arms of the recliner before speaking. “Thank you. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about this. After tonight, I won’t ask you any more questions about him. It’s just that, well, for the baby’s sake, I didn’t want there to be, you know, complications down the road.”

His earnest, troubled face swam before her. She was missing something implied by the faltering nature of his explanation. Was he prepared to care for this baby? To want to claim more than merely the title of “father”? Could he be thinking beyond the one year limit of their agreement?

SUNDAY AFTERNOON of Labor Day weekend Pam stood in her living room knee-deep in boxes. It was difficult to know what to take with her and what to put in storage. As if sensing an impending shift in their tranquility, Viola and Sebastian scampered from chair to table to windowsill, unsettled by the disruption of their space. Pam could empathize.

She studied the solid gold band on her left hand as if it were an encoded alien object. Though small, it served as the exclamation mark on her life-changing circumstances.

The wedding had gone off flawlessly, if you could call a three-minute ceremony in a farmhouse living room with two elderly ladies as witnesses—one playing a dirgelike rendition of “Oh, Promise Me” on a wheezing pump organ—a wedding. But it would do, Pam rationalized. She was beyond virginal wedding dresses, a flower-bedecked church and multiple chiffon-clad bridesmaids. At least she would be able to tell her son or daughter about the ceremony. About the champagne-hued tea dress she’d worn, about Grant standing tall and resolute in his navy suit and about the chaste kiss he’d dropped on her cheek at the urging of the beaming justice of the peace.

But the wedding night was a different story. Non-traditional in every sense of the word. After an awkward dinner at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants, Grant had delivered her to the condo and gone home to begin sorting his things to make room for hers. Since no one knew yet about their marriage, they’d decided to postpone her move until Tuesday evening to allow Andy to settle in and Grant to break their news to him in person. Meanwhile, Pam would see about leasing her condo.

Sun streamed through the picture window, illuminating the dust motes stirred by the packing. What next? The chore seemed suddenly overwhelming. Nor could she continue to ignore the difficult task she’d been putting off—telling her father about her marriage. Even though hers hadn’t been a normal wedding day, not having him by her side had hurt.

She picked up the phone, settled in her cozy chair and summoned the kitties to her lap for moral support. She uttered a silent prayer, then dialed, waiting patiently for several rings. Her father’s knees weren’t what they once were and he moved slowly. Finally he answered.

“Daddy, it’s Pam.”

As it always did when she called, his monotone voice brightened. “I’ve been wondering when I was going to hear from you, since I couldn’t get hold of you yesterday.”

Oh, yes. The ritual Saturday night call. “I was out.”

“On a date?” he asked hopefully.

She gathered her courage. “Not exactly. But something like that.” She hesitated, then, before she lost her nerve, rushed on. “Daddy, I have some news. Are you sitting down?”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s not bad. Just something that may surprise you.”

“Girl, the cows’ll come home before you get around to telling me. What in tarnation is it?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, so here goes. I got married yesterday.” No response. Darn, she should’ve cushioned the shock somehow. “Dad, are you all right?”

“A Texas tornado gives more warning to a fella than you do. Gimme a minute.” There was a long pause, then he said, “Did you say ‘married’?”

“I did.”

“Who the hell to?” His voice betrayed the bafflement and hurt she’d been worried about.

“A good man, Daddy. His name is Grant Gilbert and he teaches with me at Keystone.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him before?”

“Well, this has been kind of a whirlwind relationship.”