Baby, Oh Baby! (10 page)

Jake felt his temper flare. His father-in-law sounded just like the doctor at the clinic. This isn't a dog we're discussing here. It's a child. My child. I can't pretend I don't have a child if I do."

"The key word is `if.'

"The evidence is pretty damned convincing."

"Well, even if it is yours, it's not your responsibility." "It sure as hell is! If I have a daughter, I intend to be

a father to her."

Susanna reached over and patted Jake's arm. "That's perfectly understandable." She shot her husband a pleading look. "And any child of yours will be loved and welcomed by us. Isn't that right, Tom?”

Thank heavens the waiter had come and taken their dinner order when he did, Susanna reflected later as she climbed into the passenger seat of their Cadillac. She could tell by the way Jake's eyes had flashed that he was getting angry, and she'd feared Tom had been about to say something he'd regret. She'd tried to divert the conversation away from the topic of the baby for the rest of the evening, but the subject kept coming up, and the entire meal -had been strained.

"I just can't believe it," Tom muttered as he guided their large car out of the country club's parking lot.

"It's amazing," Susanna agreed. "Imagine—Jake with a baby."

"Why the hell would Jake want to play father to the child of some woman he doesn't even know?"

"Because it's his child, too."

"We don't know that."

"Jake seems awfully sure."

"That was supposed to be Rachel's child, damn it!" Tom's voice was sharp with bitterness.

"I know," Susanna said softly.

"That doctor ought to be drawn and quartered. Why, I have half a mind to go down to Florida, find the son of a bitch, and—"

"That won't change the situation."

The only sound was the steady whoosh of the car's air conditioner. Tom steered the large vehicle out of the stone gate onto the road. "How did we end up in this mess? Things weren't supposed to turn out this way."

Her husband's voice was angry and frustrated. Susanna stared out at the night, at the bright lights of a convenience store as they drove past.

"The damnedest part is I don't know what to do about it," Tom continued.

That would be the worst part for him, Susanna thought as she glanced over at her husband. Nothing bothered him more than a situation he couldn't control. Rachel had been so much like him. Both of them had a vision of how life ought to be, and both of them thought they should be able to mold the world to fit that vision. Both of them thought they could—and should—control everything in _ their lives.

The amazing thing was how often they'd succeeded. By sheer bullheadedness and dogged persistence, both of them usually managed to make circumstances to suit their wills. It was precisely because they usually succeeded that they took it so hard when they couldn't.

Rachel's infertility - was a prime example. Susanna's daughter had planned out her whole life at eighteen, and everything had hummed along right on schedule. She'd completed college summa cum laude, and graduate school with high honors. She'd gone to work for a prestigious accounting firm straight out of school, then married her high school sweetheart. She and Jake had exchanged vows in an carefully choreographed and executed wedding, then waited two years before trying to begin a family just as Rachel had always planned.

And then she'd run into an unexpected obstacle: her own body.

"It isn't fair!" Rachel had raged to Susanna after her gynecologist had diagnosed her with severe endome- triosis. "There are teenage girls out there having babies right and left—babies they don't want and have no way to care for. Jake and I can offer a baby every advantage. There's got to be a solution."

And Rachel had set out to find it, attacking the problem as she'd attacked every other goal in her life: methodically, thoroughly, persistently. She'd consulted three different doctors and undergone a battery of tests. When the consensus was that endometrial tissue was obstructing her fallopian tubes, she'd researched the disease thoroughly. Her best chance of conceiving, she'd learned, was in-vitro fertilization. So she and Jake had become patients at the Tulsa Fertility Center.

It hadn't been easy, but Rachel was determined. She'd undergone a series of injections to make her ovaries produce eggs. The injections had made her irritable and ill, but she hadn't been deterred. She'd been scheduled to have the eggs harvested in an outpatient surgical procedure. Susanna had planned to accompany her daughter to the clinic on the appointed day.

Instead, Susanna had spent the day burying her, along with all hopes of ever having a.grandchild.

Susanna's eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision turning the lights outside the car window into shapeless streaks. This was how life had looked for the past two years-dark and indistinct and surreal. Depression had smothered the life out of her, leaving her indifferent and detached, unwilling to tackle even the simplest of tasks.;

She glanced over at her husband, taking in the way his forehead was bunched in a frown, and fresh tears filled her eyes. She'd been a burden instead of a comfort to Tom. He'd been suffering, too. He still was. His reaction to the news about Jake's baby showed how deeply he was still hurting.

Tom was the chief reason she'd finally agreed to seek help—him and her old high school friend, Joan. Joan had come back to Tulsa from Chicago last month to visit her ailing father. While she was in town, she'd called Susanna, wanting to meet her for lunch. Susanna hadn't felt up to going. Worried by the way she sounded on the phone, Joan had dropped by the house, bluffed her way past the cleaning lady and found Susanna still in bed at eleven-thirty in the morning.

Under a barrage of questioning, Susanna had admitted that she hadn't left the house in three months.

"Susanna—you can't go on like this." Joan's brown eyes had been warm and concerned as she sat on the edge of the bed. "You've got to get some help."

"No one can help me," Susanna had said, her tears splotching her silk pajama top. "No one can bring Rachel back. Nothing matters anymore."

"What about Tom? Doesn't he matter?" Joan had asked.

The question had startled Susanna. "Well, yes, of course."

Joan had _taken her hand between her palms. "Tom needs you, Susanna. You've got to pull yourself together for his sake. He's lost a child, too. He needs you to be there for him." Then Joan had played her trump card: "It's not like you to let down the people you love."

It had worked. Susanna had agreed to see a doctor. Joan had called her father's 'internist, wrangled an appointment for that very afternoon, and taken Susanna to see him. The physician had diagnosed severe depression. He'd prescribed an antidepressant and scheduled weekly follow-up visits.

Joan had flown back to Chicago three days later, but she'd promised to call every day to make sure that Su- sanna was taking her medication. That had been six weeks ago. After two weeks, Susanna was feeling better. By four, she was shopping and lunching with old friends. By five, she was back to playing tennis.

"How's Tom?" Joan had asked on the phone just last week.

"Busy. Seems like I hardly ever see him," had been Susanna's answer. Her husband had been in the middle of a long, complicated, antitrust trial in Dallas when Susanna had first begun treatment, and he'd spent three weeks in Texas. When he'd returned to Tulsa, he'd immediately become embroiled in helping another client fight off a hostile takeover attempt, and he'd been so busy with work that he'd hardly noticed Susanna's improvement.

"Don't you think you need to do something to change that?" Joan had prompted, when Susanna had related that fact.

"What do you suggest?" She had asked.

"Well, for starters, get him back in your bedroom."

Tom had started sleeping in the guest room nine months ago, when Susanna's insomnia kept her up most of the night. At the time, it had seemed like a good solution; Susanna could read in bed and disturb him, and he could get a good night's sleep. Lately, though, it had just seemed lonely.

But it had been lonely long before they took to separate bedrooms, Susanna thought with a painful twinge. Rachel's death had killed Susanna's interest in every- thing, including sex. Each time Tom had reached for her, she'd pulled away. After a while, he'd, just stopped reaching.

"I'm no therapist, but separate bedrooms can't be very good for your marriage," Joan said.

"I know." Susanna had sighed into the phone. "Joanie, this is going to sound really stupid, but ..." She hesitated, then just plunged ahead with the embarrassing confession. "I don't have a clue how to get him back in my bed."

Joan had laughed. "It's like "riding a bike. It 11 all come back the moment you start."

"So how do I start?"

"Well, you might try talking to him." Even now, riding in the car with her husband, Susanna could hear the smile in her friend's voice. "Tell him you've missed him. I bet he'll take it from there."

"I hope you're right," Susanna had replied. "Lately it seems like he's moved farther away than just down the hall."

It was Joan's turn to hesitate. "Do you think there's someone else?"

Susanna had been shocked. "Oh, no. It never entered my mind." Another woman? The idea was incomprehensible. "I just meant ... well, we've lost touch. We hardly talk to each other. It's like we've become strangers."

"Well, then, get reacquainted," Joan had urged. "Tell him how you feel. And if that doesn't work, I'm sure you can come up with a way of showing him."

That had been her intention when she'd gone to the airport to meet Tom. She'd thought he'd be pleased to see her out of the house, glad to see her interacting with friends and family. She'd thought an evening of dinner and pleasant conversation with Jake would break the ice between her and Tom. ` She thought they'd joke and laugh on the drive home, then open the champagne she'd left chilling in the refrigerator, and before they'd each finished a glass, they'd wind up in each other's arms.

That had been the plan—until she saw Tom walk out of the jetway, a tall, attractive blonde at his side. Tom had been listening to the woman intently, his head inclined , in that way Susanna knew so well, a way that meant his full attention was focused. He'd thrown back his head and laughed in a way she hadn't seen in a long time. It was a young, sexy laugh, rich and full-bodied, the way he had laughed when they were dating.

The laugh had struck her as odd. But the way he'd sucked in his stomach when the woman looked at him—sucked in his stomach and straightened his back, the way a man does when he wants to look his best-well, that had made the hair rise on the back of her neck.

She'd felt the strangest stab of alarm, uneasy and outof-place, as if she were somehow intruding. She'd an almost overpowering urge to turn and leave before he saw her. But then Tom spotted her, and she felt like a Peeping Tom who'd just been caught red-handed outside a bedroom window.

Tom had quickly introduced her to Kelly, and the explanation seemed natural enough—the woman was a fellow attorney who had been opposing counsel on a recent case. They'd attended the same 'legal conference, and had coincidentally booked the same flight home. There was nothing truly unusual about the situation, nothing except for the odd, frightened feeling it left in Susanna's gut.

She'd never been the jealous type. In thirty-three years of marriage, Susanna had never once doubted Tom's faithfulness. He'd always been a wonderful husband.

But then, until lately, she'd always been a wonderful wife. Lately, she realized with sudden, sickening clarity, she hadn't been much of a wife at all.

"Is there someone else?" Joanie's words floated through Susanna's mind now, as Tom steered the car onto their elegant, oak-lined street in north Tulsa. A cold, achy fear gripped her stomach. She tried to shake it off, but it held her fast. Tom was different-distant, removed, remote.

He pulled into the long drive that led to their house, hit the automatic garage door opener, and slid the car into the garage.

She followed him into the house, through the kitchen door. He dropped the keys on the kitchen counter.

"I've got a bottle of champagne in the fridge," she ventured. "Would you like some?"

"Champagne?" He couldn't have sounded more incredulous if she'd offered him an armadillo.

She nervously twisted her fingers together. Throughout their marriage, they'd always shared champagne on special occasions—anniversaries, Christmas, New Year's. "I—I put it in to chill before I picked you up at the airport. I thought ..."

She took a hesitant step forward, feeling unnaturally awkward.

Tom regarded her warily. She stopped and swallowed hard. "Look ...I—I know I haven't been much of a wife to you lately. I haven't been myself. But the medicine is helping, and I'm better. I'm even sleeping through the night again."

Tom looked away. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

Susanna's heart pounded hard. This was her husband, for heaven's sake. She had every right to make a pass at him.

Screwing up her courage, she took another step toward him, stopping at his side. She placed her hand on his chest. "I—I'd like it if you'd move back to our bedroom."

Tom stood stock-still, but she felt his heart pick up speed under her hand. He cleared his throat in that way that meant he was uneasy. "Gee, Suze, I don't think tonight's a good night for that. I'm upset about Jake's news. And I've, uh, got a headache." Tom's hand patted hers. His lips curved in a reassuring smile, but his eyes never quite met hers. "I'm afraid I'd just toss and turn and keep you awake. I don't want to set you back just when you're making progress."

A huge lump clotted her throat, making it hard to speak, much less to muster a smile. She tried nonetheless. "Okay."

He kissed her cheek, a soft, brotherly peck. Susanna's heart broke into a million pieces. She quickly turned her back to him, trying hard to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. ``Well, I'm going to turn in. Good night."

She hurried upstairs to the master bedroom, stifling back a sob, trying to stifle the fear clutching at her throat as well.