After (34 page)

Eva has kept her expression calm, but now, when she sees John, by contrast it's obvious how hard she was working to seem composed.

“Congratulations, John,” Lott says, drifting back as John comes to Eva's side.

Ignoring Lott, John looks at Eva.

“Seems like my labor's started,” she tells him.

John's smile transforms his entire aspect.

As Lott and Baldwyn fade away, John goes into midwife mode, timing her contractions.

“John, maybe you should get me inside. I sent Hope off with James to get Smith.

I think you should go and—“

Eva doesn't finish her sentence, because Smith and Hope have emerged from the fringe of trees. Seeing Eva, Hope comes bounding to the porch, distraught, and nestles into Eva.

“What's wrong?” Eva asks, stroking Hope's hair.

“Everything's fine,” Smith says. “Riggs and I just had a small argument. But he's gone to get Vallar. They should be here any minute.”

When they turn up, Hope hardly seems to notice Diego smiling and saying hello.

She goes straight to Riggs and tries to put her arms around him, but Riggs steps back, out of the closing circle of her arms, and turning away from her, says, “You go on, with Diego. He's gonna look after you for a bit.”

Hope just stands there, gazing up at Riggs, his back turned to her, her eyes filling with tears.

“Avery.” Eva's lips are curved in a kind of grin, but her voice is hard. “What argument did you and Riggs have?”

He comes in close, tells her under his breath, “It looked like he was chasing her. I thought she was running from him.”

“What did you say?”

“Honestly, not a thing. But I pushed him. A bit roughly,” he admits.

“Avery,” Eva says, her voice even, but stretched thin, “This is supposed to be a joyful day. For Hope and James, too. Please go over there and apologize to him.”

“All right, Eva.”

“And let Hope hear you doing it.”

Smith makes his way over to Riggs. “Corporal.”

Riggs turns his body to face Smith, but doesn't manage to meet his eyes. Hope stares up at the two men.

“Riggs. I want to apologize for putting my hands on you, before. I misread the situation.”

His lips pressed tight, Riggs just nods.

“Are you hurt?” Smith asks. “Your throat?”

“No, Sir.” Riggs's voice is on the verge of breaking.

“Well. Thank you for alerting me. And for looking after Hope.”

Riggs nods.

“Come on, Hope,” Smith says, “Diego's going to take you to dinner.”

But Hope won't take his hand. Won't walk along with him.

“Do you want to stay with Ri—, with James?”

Hope nods.

“All right. You can stay with him for a few minutes. But remember, Eva's about to have her baby. And she wants James with her. So don't keep Diego waiting too long.

Okay?” She gives Smith a solemn nod. “Give the poor child a hug, for god's sake, or Eva may postpone the birth indefinitely,” Smith says under his breath to Riggs before going back to Eva and John.

Riggs stands there, jaw still flexed, body still tense, eyes still fixed on some distant nothing, breathing hard until the redness in his eyes fades a little. Then he looks down. Hope is gazing up at him, her green eyes teary. A tentative, hopeful smile curves her lips. She reaches up, and after a moment, when Riggs doesn't pull his hand away, she touches. He smiles down at her. A weak smile, the effort behind it obvious. Hope presses herself to him, wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing, holding tight until he puts his arms gently around her. A moment later he lets go, backs away.

Hope's chin dimples as she reaches up and touches the red mark across Riggs's throat.

“Don't worry about that,” he says. “He didn't hurt me. And don't you be mad at him. The major was only trying to take care of you. To make sure nobody hurts you. And I want him to look after you like that. Understand?” Hope nods. “Well, I guess it's time for Eva to have her baby. Maybe you should go give her a hug, before you go with Diego.”

Hope nods, and gives him her big, guileless smile, and dashes back to Eva. For some reason, Riggs, who is used to avoiding the eyes of everyone who might pass judgment on him, turns and meets Diego's steady gaze.

* * * *

Eva's labor is shorter and easier than any of them had dared to hope, and her son, weighing in at just over eight pounds, kicks and screams to everyone's satisfaction.

As the mother and three fathers have agreed, they name the baby Gareth.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“You haven't held your son, yet.”

Riggs shrugs. “He's so tiny. I don't know why I thought he'd be bigger.”

“It's okay, James. You won't break him.”

Riggs stares down at the sleeping infant, its pink face peeping out from the white blanket in which it's been nearly mummified. Then, he bends down and gingerly works his thick fingers under the little bundle, and slow, holding his breath, lifts his son. Gazes at the tiny face, the shut, puffy eyes, the little snub nose, the red lips. The sparse tufts of dark hair peeking out from the edges of the blanket.

“Sit down. It'll be more comfortable, holding him.”

Riggs cautiously makes his way to a chair, sits, figures out how to cradle the baby in his arms.

“James?” She takes a moment to find her words. “The major told you he was sorry?”

Riggs breaks away from her gaze. “Yeah. He didn't have to, though. I know what he thought. And I know why. It's fair, him not trusting me.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You would never hurt Hope.”

“You don't know that.”

“Would you?”

Riggs lets go a heavy, sad sigh. “I think I'd rather have my arm cut off than see her hurt. I'd never...I swear to god, it makes me feel like throwing up, just thinking of that. Of anyone hurting her that way.”

“I believe you, James. Why do you think I trusted you to go off alone with her?”

“I figured you were rolling the dice. Maybe I wouldn't do anything bad. And if I did, it would be just me. Not Lott and Baldwyn, both.”

“You know Hope likes you? That she's your friend? That she thinks you're her friend?”

“Yeah.”

“It would hurt her a hundred times worse if you did something like that, than if Lott or Baldwyn did. Even together. Even brutally. If I'd thought there was the least chance I couldn't trust you with her, James, I'd have risked the two of them.”

Riggs looks down at the baby, hiding his face from Eva.

“I mean it. I know, I trust you with her.”

“Okay,” he says, still staring down at the baby in his arms, sounding close to tears.

“I hope you'll still be her friend. It'll hurt her a lot if you push her away because you're worried what people think.”

After a long silence, without looking up, Riggs asks in a hushed voice, “Eva?”

“Hmmm?”

“Does she know?”

“What?”

“What I did, that day in the orchard? What I did to the others?”

“No.”

“When she finds out, she won't want me to be her friend any more.”

* * * *

“I wonder if this is some kind of record,” Eva says to Smith.

“What's that?”

“Gareth is four days old. And I have yet to change a diaper.”

“Well. You carried him for nine-plus months. And gave birth to him. And breast-feed him every three hours. I suppose wiping his bottom is the least the rest of us can do.”

“True.”

Smith gets all the cracks and crevices clean with his characteristic efficiency, embellished every few seconds with an adoring glance, or a look of quiet wonder. Then he tapes the diaper to a snug fit and lifts his son to his chest, grinning down at the wiggling, squeaking infant.

When he comes to Eva with the baby in his arms, Smith watches her eyes fix on the infant, watches an expression of joy suffuse her features.

“You're happy. Aren't you?” he asks tentatively.

Eva meets Smith's eyes. She smiles. “Avery. You didn't make me do this. I chose it. I wanted it. And yes. I'm happy.”

A small smile bends Smith's mouth, and a melancholy fog clears from his eyes.

“Would you like it—“ he starts before blurting, “I want to stay with you tonight.”

She laughs. “Avery. I'm in no shape to—“

He shakes his head. Laughs, sort of. “I just want to feel you next to me, Eva, as you fall asleep tonight. And as I fall asleep. I want to wake up with you beside me.”

* * * *

Eva and John are curled up on the bed, facing one another, the newborn cradled in the hollow between them. Stroking the fine, dark strands crowning the baby's head, John is gazing down at his son like he's utterly in love. And then he looks at Eva with that same rapt, adoring expression, like he might cry, but with a smile curving his lips.

Eva's serene smile goes wide and warm.

“I didn't think it was possible, that I could feel this way again,” he says. “So, so happy.” Careful of the sleeping baby, John leans forward, touches Eva's lips with his, lingering, parting for a deep, tender kiss. “Thank you,” he sighs.

She laughs. A shy, nervous little laugh.

“I don't mean,” he stammers, laughing at himself, “I know you didn't do this for me.” He casts a glance down at the baby. “And that's not what I mean. I mean everything. Just how you are, what we have. I don't know what I thought the rest of my life was going to be like, after I ended up here. I think I had some feeling that, that was it. That my existence was just going to be...well, that, I guess. Existing. Not living. Not really. Just getting through day after day and night after night, trying to hold myself together, hacking at the ground with a spade every day, trying to grow enough food to sustain my body, when my brain felt numb and my heart felt dead. And now,” he laughs again, “I don't know. I just feel full. Happy. Because of you.”

* * * *

There's a quiet knock, and Eva pokes her head out the bathroom door as Smith enters the bedroom. In silence, they exchange smiles before Eva goes back to dressing after her shower, and Smith sneaks up to the crib and peers down at the sleeping infant, a smile suffusing his expression at the sight of those tiny fists, those impossibly long lashes and smooth skin, those pink lips, that tiny body, arms and legs akimbo, sweetly-frog-like in the little yellow onesie.

When Eva pushes the bathroom door open, Smith joins her in the lingering, thinning steam, and they smile at each other's reflections in the mirror while Eva combs her fingers through her heavy, wet hair. Her smile fades as he brushes her hair aside and touches her neck with his lips. A moment later, he kisses again, his index finger sliding her shirt, inch by inch, baring her neck, her shoulder to his mouth.

He coaxes her and she turns to him, lets him kiss her ear, her cheek, lets him nuzzle into her damp hair. Lets him touch her lips with his. Then he grins, his hazel eyes seeking her through a fog of arousal.

“Eva,” he breathes, holding her gaze, pressing his warm body against hers.

A smile flashes across her lips, then fades. She nestles against him for a moment, then slips away.

“Mind watching Gareth for a bit? I'd like to go for a run.”

“A run? Yes, of course. I'll look after him.”

“Thanks. Hope's off with John, so it's just the baby.”

“We'll be fine. Enjoy your run.” There's only a trace of disappointment in his voice.

When she comes back, her olive drab tank darkened, her forehead beaded with sweat, Smith is perched, straight and watchful, at the side of the bed. Eva casts her gaze around the room.

“No sign of John and Hope?”

“Not yet.”

“Guess I need another shower,” she says.

“I'll stay,” Smith says. “In case he wakes up.”

“Okay.”

When she emerges, clean and dressed in fresh clothes, the baby is still asleep, and Smith is still perched on the edge of the bed.

“Eva.” She looks at him. But she doesn't go to him. He rises and goes to her, where she's standing by the open window, cooling in the breeze after her run and her hot shower. “I want to ask you something.”

She smiles. He smiles back, but as his mouth curves, his sharp eyes seem to dim.

In a quiet, tight voice he asks her, “Have your feelings changed?”

Her smile fades. “Changed?”

“When we're around the others, and you look at me, I don't think so. But when we're alone, I feel like you're constantly eluding me, pulling back, slipping away.” Eva is slowly shaking her head, back and forth. “Please, Eva. Don't pretend anything with me.”

“No, Avery.” She smiles through tears. “I swear. I love you the same as before.

Except more, maybe.”

Smith's effortful firmness dissolves and he kisses the tears from her cheeks, pulls her gently to him. Then he sets her away, caresses her wet cheeks, seeks her eyes.

Gives her a tender smile.

“But something is going on,” he says.

“I just,” she starts, then laughs, tears rising again. “Wow, this is stupid. I just feel like I've been transplanted into an alien body. So when you touch me...”

Smith looks like his heart is breaking.

He cups her face in his hands, kisses her lips, her cheeks, her nose. Her mouth again. “You have no idea, Eva, how beautiful I find you. Even more now, than when you first arrived. You looked such a child then. I've seen you flower into such a gorgeous woman. Every day of your pregnancy, you were more alluring. And now—do you have no sense of how much I desire you? How hard I've fought to restrain myself the last few weeks, trying not to be a complete cad?”

This time when Eva laughs, there's real mirth in her eyes. Her voice soft, almost shy, she says, “It's not that I feel ugly. Or insecure. It's really just what I said. My body doesn't feel like . . . my body. I feel sort of like I'm visiting. Borrowing. Everything feels so different. I feel different in my skin. Kind of...a stranger to myself.”

“Well,” he says, twining his fingers into hers, nuzzling her neck, then holding her gaze, “don't you think it's time you were reacquainted?”

Later, he will think,
She gave me that. On purpose. I'd never known her like
that—unsure, so shy as she yielded to each kiss, each touch. John had and I hadn't, so
she gave me that.