Bundle of Joy (23 page)

"A little girl," said Caroline softly.

"Only if she's exactly like you."
Okay, now you've gone too far..
He wished he could reach out and snatch back his words but it was too late.

"Why, Charles, I--"

The lecturer took the podium and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief that for the next two hours somebody else would be doing the talking. He'd already said more than enough.

#

"Charles, do be quiet. Why don't you go outside? Maybe the gardener will play ball with you."

Thirteen-year-old Charlie was all arms, legs, and energy. He raced through his days full-throttle, bounding up and down the curving staircase of the Donohue house like a race car at the drop of the flag. His mother had no idea how to handle him, so she often passed him onto gardeners and cooks and butlers, in her search for someone, somewhere who could help her tame her wild child.

Not that he was bad. Far from it. Charles was a good child, enthusiastic and loyal and full of fun. Unfortunately he was exactly like his father and that was the one thing Jean Donohue couldn't abide. What a disappointment William Donohue had been, pulling against the chains of respectability as if there was something illegal or immoral about playing by the rules. You would think that someone with William's fine upbringing would have tamed his rough edges, grown more comfortable living like a civilized gentleman but William never had.

Jean sighed as she heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of her son's thudding footsteps as he tore through the front yard looking for the gardener. "Why couldn't you have managed to live, William?" she murmured into the perfumed air of her study. "I don't know how to handle your son."

Charles was his father incarnate, a living, breathing replica of William Donohue, faults and virtues both. With each day that passed Charles slipped further and further away from everything Jean held dear and important and she didn't know what she could do to bring him back.

Of course, the truth was there was nothing his mom could do to hang onto him. A few years later, when Charlie joined the navy, his mother told him how she'd felt on that summer afternoon when he was thirteen as she heard his footsteps running past her. Charlie listened impassively; his mind recorded the words but his heart remained untouched. Words that might have meant something when he was a kid carried little weight now that he was almost a man.

He'd spent nineteen years alone and turned out okay.

Now it was his mother's turn.

Maybe things would have been different if his dad had lived. Maybe if he'd had someone to play catch with or go fishing or whatever the hell it was sons and fathers did together, maybe then things between him and his mother would've been easier. But no use wishing for things you couldn't have.

Charlie was doing what he was meant to do, what he'd wanted to do from the day he was born: he was running as fast as he could. He needed to belong some place, a place where he could be himself: loud and brash and imperfect.

If he couldn't find that place sailing around the world with the U. S. Navy, then that place just didn't exist.

#

The auditorium lights dimmed and a fifteen minute film on basic infant care began. Next to Charlie, his wife sighed happily and snuggled closer, her hand tucked into his. He didn't know exactly why he'd been thinking so much about his childhood lately, except for the obvious reason. Looking at Caroline, he thought of his mother, left on her own with a rambunctious young son and no idea how to handle him. It couldn't have been easy on Jean In a way he wished he'd known that years ago when it could have mattered.

He wouldn't make those mistakes--or put Caroline in the position his mother had found herself. He was going to be there for his kid, even after the marriage was only a memory.
A deal is a deal,
he thought. They would stay married until after the baby's christening and then part as friends.

Even if he could no longer remember why they had said they would part.

#

Caroline had enjoyed the seminar but the lecturer had been extremely thorough in her descriptions of the myriad of things that could go wrong in the last trimester.
Placenta previa, epidurals, and C-sections were among the more minor inconveniences discussed. Was it any wonder she found it impossible to fall asleep that night?

She eased herself out of bed, careful not to awaken Charlie. The baby gave her a sharp kick beneath her ribcage and she smiled as she reached for her robe.
You, too?
she thought, making her way down the hallway toward the kitchen.
All that talk about due dates make you hungry?

There was something very pleasant about bustling around in the kitchen in the dead of night. Bathed in the glow from a small wall lamp, the kitchen looked warm and cozy and inviting. Charlie had rearranged the table and chairs and put them near the window. "That'll give you room for a high-chair," he'd said pointing to the perfect spot.

She thought about Jud and Sarah Winslow, a mid-thirtyish couple with whom they'd shared coffee after the workshop. The Winslows had every accoutrement known to man or woman, all of which were designed to make caring for baby as effortless as possible. In fact, keeping life effortless seemed to be their goal. Caroline had been impressed by Jud's solicitude of his wife, noting the way the businessman held doors open for Sarah and massaged her shoulders when she complained of the tiniest bit of stiffness.

"He'll be marvelous in the labor room," Caroline had remarked when she and the other woman retired to the ladies' room. "You're fortunate to have such a caring husband."

The look Sarah shot her in the mirror had been comical. "Oh, Judson is marvelous when it comes to the preliminaries, but he's already informed me he'll be at the club when I'm in delivery."

"I'm sure he's joking."

"Not Jud." Sarah ran a brush through her dark hair. "He's a wonderful husband, please understand, but when the going gets tough, my Jud is the first to get going."

Caroline had been overcome by a wave of emotion--as intense as it was unexpected--and she leaned against the sink.

"Do you need to sit down?" asked Sarah.

"No," Caroline said. "I'm fine." How lucky she was to have a man like Charlie by her side for the long haul. He may not have Judson Winslow's education or sophistication, but he had something Winslow would never have: he had a heart.

The baby kicked her again, sharp and demanding, and she laughed softly. "Okay, okay. Warm milk coming right up."

She swung open the refrigerator door and pulled out a half-gallon carton. Leave it to Charlie. These days her refrigerator was well-stocked with essentials. As organized as she was about most things, she'd never been able to muster up the wherewithal to keep on top of grocery shopping. Maybe it was the years of trekking to Super-Fresh or A & P as a little girl while her friends were outside skipping rope and playing with dolls, but she would rather bring home a deli sandwich than go supermarket shopping.

"You okay?"

She turned, cup of milk in hand, to find Charlie, rumpled and half-asleep, in the doorway. "Oh, Charles," she said, warming her hands around the cup, "did I wake you up?"

He yawned and dragged his hand through his thick, dark hair. "I turned over to hold you and you weren't there. I thought--"

She smiled ruefully. "That workshop got to you, too, didn't it?"

He stumbled into the room and reached for the milk carton that still rested on the counter. "This was worse than that first trip to Dr. Burkheit's office."

"No," said Caroline, grabbing the milk from her husband and pouring it into a glass for him. "I'm afraid there was something even worse than this seminar."

He looked at her then started to laugh. "Coffee with the Winslows?" His voice was a perfect parody of Princetonian upper-crust elocution.

Caroline eased herself into a kitchen chair and rubbed her belly in gentle circles. "Aprica strollers, English nannies, worrying about getting Junior into the 'right' pre-school." She met Charlie's eyes. "Frankly I thought I was going to be sick."

Charlie claimed the chair next to her. "Makes you wonder what they were thinking about when they--"

Caroline's laugh cut him short. "Makes you wonder what
we
were thinking about, too, doesn't it?"

He leaned forward and ruffled her feathery bangs. "We were thinking about each other. Nothing else."

She sighed, wishing his touch didn't cause all manner of emotions to rush through her body. "Look where it got us, Donohue."

He reached for her hand and drew her from her chair and onto his lap. "Any regrets?"

The baby moved and she placed her hand atop her stomach. "No regrets."

He rested his hand near hers, h
is long fingers splayed across her belly, lightly caressing. "Me neither," he said softly. "Not a one."

Poor Sarah Winslow,
thought Caroline as she closed her eyes. A husband with an M.B.A. from Harvard Business School was fine for some people, but a husband with a heart--now that was something worth bragging about.

#

A few days later, Caroline and Charlie were on their way home from Quakerbridge Mall. Caroline had long since out-distanced the parameters of normal-sized pantyhose and a quick trip to a maternity boutique had been in order. Charlie didn't have to be at O'Rourke's Bar and Grill until four o'clock and he'd elected to drive Caroline. The fact that it was getting harder and harder for her to fit behind the wheel of her sports car was tactfully left unspoken. Besides, it was a glorious mid-winter day. The sky was a deep, throbbing blue laced by wisps of cloud cover and the lemon yellow sun was bright enough to bring unexpected warmth to anyone lucky to be outside.

"Back roads or highway?" Charlie asked after they'd hunted down the elusive maternity pantyhose.

"The former," said Caroline, struggling with her seat belt. "I love those winding, country roads."

"I know," he said, raising a dark brow. "Remember our wedding night when you led me back to your place? I thought you were trying to lose me."

She started to laugh. "The truth?"

"Go ahead. I can take it."

"I was scared to death, Charles. I couldn't believe we were actually married. It was the last thing on earth I was looking for."

His laughter joined hers. "Don't think I was walking around with a wedding ring in my hip pocket looking for Cinderella."

She glanced down at her belly. "Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?"

"Always," said Charlie. "That's the one thing you can count on."

The rolling farmlands were lightly encrusted with snow, sparkling now as it began to melt in the bright sunshine. Charlie switched on the radio to a golden oldies station and his beloved Motown music filled the truck. Caroline opened the window a crack and sniffed the crisp clean air. She was glad to be alive, to be in this truck on this afternoon with this very special man beside her. She was totally at peace with herself, content with her life, not searching for anything more to--

"Charles! Stop the truck!"

With one swift motion Charlie braked, sliding gently into the shallow drainage ditch alongside the road. "You in pain?" He reached for the CB on the dashboard. "I'll call the doctor. We can get to the hospital--"

She started to laugh. "I'm fine." She pointed toward a sign a few feet ahead. "They're having an antique sale."

He blew out a long, unsteady breath. "And for that you nearly kill us?"

"A cradle," she said, enumerating the items listed on the sign. "I'd love a cradle for the baby."

"You know antique is another word for junk, don't you?"

"Oh, come on, Donohue. Let's just see what they have."

Charlie looked like he'd rather spend a weekend in hell, but he maneuvered the truck up the lane where, behind a grove of trees, they found the most beautiful restored farmhouse either one of them had ever seen. It boasted bay windows, a sloping lawn that led down to a tiny stream, and a wrap-around front porch that begged for a glider and a pitcher of lemonade. A
FOR SALE
sign was posted in the front yard with a smaller
OWNER ANXIOUS
sign attached beneath it.

"This is like something out of a movie," Caroline breathed as the owner, a woman in her fifties, showed them around. "How can you bear to sell?"

The woman shrugged. "It's not mine. My grandmother has moved to Phoenix and she wants to unload the property."

"And you're not interested?" asked Charlie.

"Who needs it?" the woman answered. "I have a condo in Bridgewater. I'd just as soon never do yard work again as long as I live."

The woman's attitude was less than welcoming but the house--well, that was a different story. "Look at that stone hearth," Caroline rhapsodized as they stood in the doorway to the great room. "Can you imagine it on a snowy day in January?"