Baby on Board (17 page)

Two hours after Patrick left, the knife-sharp pain inside Kate had not eased. The baby kicked and jabbed at her, echoing her agitation. After rocking in silent, tearless anguish, she pushed herself up from the sofa and paced from room to room trying to forget, but memories clamored at her everywhere she turned. She could not rest in the bedroom that held such fresh, sweet memories of love and tenderness. The living room reverberated with harsh words and shattered dreams.

Kate retreated to the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea, hoping the brew would soothe her troubled heart. When she turned to the table to sit, she stopped short at the sight of the newspaper stacked neatly where Patrick had left it. Suddenly, it was as if he were there bantering with her, teasing Molly, as he had done that morning.

She closed her eyes. All she saw was the tenderness in his face as he thanked her for the night before. She could almost feel his touch on her cheek. When she looked again, the room was empty. Her throat tightened and closed. Her eyes burned, but she would not cry. Shivering, Kate fled back to the living room with her tea.

She walked to the window, cradling the warm mug in both hands. The wind still raged and now rain slapped against the glass panes in bursts of fitful temper. Lightning flashed in the southern sky not far away, followed by the low rumble of thunder. The garden was sodden, filled with dead leaves and tattered mums. It looked as cold and barren as Kate felt inside. There was no escape, no oasis.

She turned her back on the dreary scene, only to find herself staring at the bowl on the pedestal. Its bold, bright colors offered no solace, either. It reminded her too much of Patrick and the turbulence of their love. She traced a finger along the rim, lightly stroking the smooth glass inside, as if it were Patrick’s skin.

The front door opened and closed with a bang. “Hello, anyone home?” Molly asked loudly.

Kate turned and her aunt came through the doorway, running a hand over her tousled hair. “It’s miserable out there! I’ll be glad when tropical depression Greta heads off to New England. Be careful on those steps, the wood is soaked and very slippery.” Molly took off her wet jacket and dropped it on the rug at her feet. “I have some great news.” She stopped short and peered at her niece’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kate said evenly. She couldn’t talk about what had happened. If she said Patrick’s name aloud, she felt she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Was there a problem at the doctor’s?” Molly’s forehead creased in a frown. She walked over to Kate and stroked a hand down her cheek.

The tender touch was nearly Kate’s undoing. The tears that had so stubbornly refused to fall earlier rose up like a flood tide. She blinked them back. “Everything went fine. The baby’s doing great.”

“But something’s wrong,” Molly said. “Is it Patrick?”

Kate shook her head. The mug in her hands started shaking so hard she had to set it on the windowsill. “No. Not anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

Kate pressed her fingertips against her closed lids for a second, then looked at her aunt. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Molly frowned again. “Gone where?”

“Australia.”

“What? Whatever for?”

The tears would not be held back now. They welled up and, despite Kate’s best efforts, slid down her face. She wiped them away with a trembling hand. “He’s going to race.”

“Race?”
Molly stared at Kate, bewilderment written on her face. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me that the man who was here this morning, the one who
couldn’t take his eyes off you,
has gone to Australia?” Molly shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.” Kate covered her face with her hands. In a muffled voice, she detailed what Patrick had been asked to do after the news of his friend’s death. She dropped her hands. “So he went.”

“I don’t understand,” Molly said, her face confused. “What did you say to him?”

“Me?”
Kate stiffened. Tears still covered her cheeks. “You’re blaming me?”

“I’m not blaming anyone,” Molly said.

“It’s not my fault that he left,” Kate said, her voice sharp. “He
wanted
to go.”

“But you’re due in five weeks, Kate. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not? Because he’s been so good at sticking around lately?” Kate flipped a hand out in a dismissive gesture and nearly upset the bowl on the pedestal beside her. She steadied it, her fingers curling around the edge for a second, then let go. “The past few weeks have been just a fantasy.
My
fantasy. The reality is that Patrick can’t give up racing.”

“He
has
been here for you, Katie,” Molly said, arguing gently. “And he
is
a different man than when he got home in July. I’ve seen it and you have, too.”

“No, he isn’t,” Kate said, biting each word off in anger. Anguish and rage filled her heart. “He won’t change. He loves racing too much to give it up.”

Molly watched her with concerned eyes. “He loves
you,
Kate.”

Kate shook her head fiercely. “But not enough,” she said through gritted teeth. “He loves danger
more.
”

In anger and fury, Kate swept the glass bowl off the pedestal. It hit the wall, then the floor, with a crash. Shards of red and gold glass sprayed out over the hardwood.

Molly gasped. “Oh, no!”

Kate stared openmouthed at the mess scattered across the living room floor, afraid to believe what she saw. She lifted dazed eyes to Molly’s. With a hand to her cheek, Molly looked at Kate, her own eyes wide.

“What have I done?” Kate’s eyes welled with tears again.

“It was an accident,” Molly said softly.

“No.” Kate shook her head slowly, looking down at the shattered glass. Tears began streaming unchecked down her face, falling to dampen her shirt. “No. It was no accident. I broke it because I was mad at Patrick. Or mad at myself. I lied to him.”

“What?” Molly’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Kate met her aunt’s concerned eyes with her own tear-washed ones. “I told him I was marrying Steve.”

“Kate, why?”

“I thought it was better that way. That I would feel better when he left for good. When this was all over.” Kate hugged her arms around herself. “But I don’t. I lied and now he’s gone and I feel worse than ever.”

Molly stepped over to her niece, glass crunching under her feet, to enfold her in a warm embrace. “It’ll be all right, Katie.”

Kate rested her head against the older woman’s shoulder. She wanted to take comfort from the embrace, but the vast emptiness inside her refused to allow it. Only one person could fill that abyss. She pulled back and looked into her aunt’s eyes.

“I have to see Patrick.”

“Not tonight. It’s not safe to travel. Why don’t you just call him?”

Kate shook her head fiercely. “I’ll take my phone and try to call in the car. But I have to see him in person.”

“But—”

“I have to tell Patrick the truth. About Steve and about how I feel. That I…I love him. I owe him that much at least.” Kate swallowed hard. “Then he can make his own decision. He’ll go. Or he’ll stay.”

The two women’s gazes met and held. Molly must have read the determination in Kate’s eyes. She didn’t protest anymore. “Then let me drive. I won’t stay here and worry about you on a night like this.”

“Thank you.” Kate laid a hand against her aunt’s cheek.

“Wait here. I’ll get my car.” Molly patted Kate’s arm, then went across the room to where she had dropped her raincoat and slipped into it. As she pulled open the front door, a burst of wind slashed rain into her face. “We both must be crazy,” she muttered.

Kate followed her to the hall and reached into the closet for a long raincoat. When the tan fabric wouldn’t button over her girth, she grabbed an umbrella for additional protection. Gathering up her purse and her keys, she went back into the living room, ignoring the glass under her feet, and peered through the window that looked out over the alley. When Molly’s red SUV appeared, Kate made her way back to the front door and went outside.

The rain beat against her immediately and the wind whipped her hair around her head. She yanked the door shut behind her and opened the umbrella. A gust nearly ripped it from her hands. Taking a tighter grip on the handle, she angled it into the wind to protect her face. As she took the first step down, another gust caught the umbrella. The force pulled Kate off balance. Her purse tumbled out of her other hand, and her feet slipped on the wet wood.

Kate grabbed for the railing, but it was too late. She fell heavily onto her side, twisting to keep the bulk of her belly from hitting the edges of the steps. A sharp pain stabbed through her and she cried out. Then her head hit something hard and the world turned gray, then slowly black.

P
ATRICK RUBBED
a hand over his face and pushed two fingers against his gritty eyes. Seated at the rear of the crowded plane, he was cramped, uncomfortable and tired.

Mostly, he was heartbroken.

He tried to ignore the empty feeling in his chest. His MP3 player kept a constant stream of rock and roll flowing into his ears. He thumbed through the stack of sailing magazines he had brought and studied his planning charts for the Indian Ocean. He reviewed the specs for the boat and the weather reports that Chris had e-mailed. He did all the things he usually did to prepare himself for a race. Nothing worked.

The past few months had changed him more than he ever thought possible. How had he ever spent three months away from Kate and only had contact with her once? It was inconceivable. Now, three
hours
away from her seemed like an agonizing trial. And he had sold his boat and bought a house without one pang of regret. What more proof did he need? He was a different man whose heart was filled with a yearning for one woman and the child she carried. Bashing across the ocean, pushing for every ounce of speed a boat could give, placed a distant third in the things that mattered most to him.

He fidgeted in his seat, anxious for the flight to be over. What difference it made, he didn’t know. He would just be getting on another plane for a longer flight when this one reached L.A. Kate was lost to him now. He loved her, but she would never know it. Soon she would marry Steve and start a new life. Patrick swallowed hard. The ache in his heart grew with every mile he traveled away from her. He would have to learn to live with that pain now; there was no hope of reprieve.

Closing his eyes, Patrick tried once more to sleep, but all the things he wanted to say to Kate circled through his head, keeping him awake. What would he say? Mostly just the simple truth. He needed her. He loved her. He sighed, opening his eyes again, and reached for another magazine. He would have to get some rest on the long flight to Melbourne.

When they landed in Los Angeles, Patrick filed off the plane with the rest of the passengers. As he followed them up the jet way, he turned on his cell phone and checked his messages. His heart started beating fast when he saw Kate’s number listed as a missed call. There was also one voice mail.

Patrick stopped stock-still in the middle of the hallway and punched in the code to retrieve it. A man with a briefcase and a roller bag swerved around him with a muttered curse. Patrick passed through the gate, pushed only by the momentum of other passengers. He held his breath, waiting to hear Kate’s voice. A woman’s voice sounded, breathless and hoarse. But it wasn’t Kate.

“Patrick. It’s Molly. Kate had an accident. We’re at Arundel Medical Center. Please call me back as soon as you get this message.”

Patrick dropped the phone away from his ear as it beeped and the voice prompt asked him if he wanted to save the message or delete it. He stopped again, stunned by the report. People streamed past him on both sides, the airport concourse busy even at this late hour. He hit the redial button. Kate did not answer. Overhead, he heard a woman’s voice announcing a departure.

“Flight five-two-two with nonstop service to Dulles International Airport is now in final boarding at gate C thirty-four. All passengers should make their way to gate C thirty-four now, for an on-time departure.”

The voice over the loudspeaker sent a shock through Patrick’s mind. He looked up, wildly searching for the gate number he had just exited: C 11. Gate C 10 lay just ahead. Without leaving a message, he closed the phone and spun around, nearly plowing into a large man in cowboy boots and a Stetson.

“Watch it, son!”

“Sorry. I have to catch a plane!”

The man’s answer went unheard as Patrick raced down the corridor, dodging people, luggage and carts as he ran. He heard another announcement for the flight just as he slid to a stop at the check-in counter. He shoved his phone into a pocket and pulled out his wallet, fumbling for his credit card. A burly man in a burgundy jacket and tie looked up at him over the top of his half-glasses.

“Please, get me on this flight.”

“Sir, we’re just about—”

“Please,” Patrick interrupted. “I just found out that the woman I love was in an accident. She’s eight months’ pregnant. I have to get back to the East Coast as soon as possible.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then his fingers began to tap the keyboard in front of him. He muttered a few words into a handheld radio before looking at Patrick again. “It’s gonna be expensive.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick said, drawing in a deep breath.

The man took his credit card, tapped, muttered some more and soon pulled a boarding pass out of the printer behind the counter. Handing it and the credit card to Patrick, he said, “Sign here.” Then he pointed to a woman in a blue nylon jacket speaking into another radio. “Give this to the lady at that door.”

“Thanks, man.”

The man smiled dourly and Patrick rushed to the gate agent. She scanned his pass and, minutes later, he was seated. He pulled his phone out and dialed Kate’s number again. There was no answer this time, either. His fingers tapped the armrest as he waited for the signal to begin his message.