Eclipse of the Heart (29 page)

The ribbons seemed to reach out and curl around her heart.
Anticipation rose within her as she thought about the baby picture she'd place in
the frame. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have her light colored hair,
or Logan's raven-dark hair?
His gray eyes or her own brown
eyes?
If it was a boy, she couldn't help hoping he'd look at least a bit
like Logan.

Sighing, she placed the frame on the table. It was a
reminder of the fact that she'd have to send photos to Logan. Regardless of her
wishes, he was not going to disappear from her life.
Or, at
least not from his child's.

She couldn't be sure why he was sending these presents. Was
it pure generosity? Or was he subtly reminding her each time of his claim?

Whether she liked it or not, it would be his baby as well.

The next Friday, both women were waiting with anticipation
for the FedEx delivery. They were not disappointed.

He sent a darling baby mobile, with pastel-colored jungle
animals hanging from a carousel top.

The wrapping paper rustled as Mrs. M. touched a blue
elephant. "Hand-knit," she said.

"So soft."
Amanda stroked
the tawny lion.

Logan's note said:
Our child will need
strength, courage, and the ability to reach for the stars. Tell me, what does
the zebra represent?

Amanda passed the note over to her companion. "Clever,
isn't he?"

"Okay, the elephant is for strength, the lion for
courage. The giraffe is the star-
reacher
." Mrs.
M. tapped the brightly contrasting black and white stripes. "What about
the zebra?"

Amanda pondered the little animal, trying to ignore the
mushy feeling in her heart. "A zebra is nothing if not a herd
animal," she said. "Could it represent community?"

Mrs. M. nodded.
"Nothing more
important when you're bringing a baby into the world than a community of people
to love her."

Amanda pressed her lips together. She knew exactly what
Logan meant.
Family.
The communal
unit that would provide the ideal environment for her baby.

She dropped the mobile back in the box. Wonderful, happy
people were raised in less than ideal environments, as well. She'd have to
remember that.

Mrs. MacDonald reached for the tote bag she used for her
crochet. She pulled out a partially finished pale blue and green baby blanket.
The colors had been cleverly shaded together so the blanket looked like a
calmly rolling sea.

"This little zebra reminds me of something I've been
meaning to say," Mrs. M. commented.

"Please don't," Amanda begged.
"Especially
not if you're planning to talk about Logan."

Mrs. M. aimed a crochet hook at her. "Your baby needs a
father. So I can't help talking about Logan since, if I don't miss my guess,
he's the one who can most likely claim that title."

"My baby doesn't need an absentee father."
Amanda's hands moved protectively to cover her stomach.

The crochet hook stabbed the air again. "I have never
known Logan Winter to shirk a responsibility. He would not be an absentee
father."

Amanda wished she could snuggle up to the baby blanket and
hide from the world. "I'm sure he would adhere to his idea of
responsibility," she said. "I don't choose to let my life be
manipulated by what he thinks is best."

"He has an excellent track record of knowing what's
best," Mrs. M. responded sharply.

"I don't doubt it," Amanda said stiffly. "I
still prefer to lead my own life."

"You're depriving him of the right to be involved in
his child's life. Is that fair?"

Amanda blew out a sharp sigh. "Life isn't fair."

"No one knows that better than Logan." Mrs. M
stabbed the baby blanket like it was a demon she needed to slay.

"What are you trying to say?"

"He deserves some happiness," the woman answered
fiercely. "Can't you see that?"

"What makes you think I can give him that happiness? He
told me that he was unable to love. Should I offer my child up to a man who
says that?"

"Of course he can love! He's just afraid to do
so."

"Afraid? Why? What happened to him? What is the big
mystery no one can talk about?"

"I can't tell his story." Mrs. M. sighed, her
burst of fierceness disappearing. "Can't you see? Nothing scares him more
than the thought of loving someone he may lose."

"Loss is always a possibility," Amanda pointed
out. "There are no guarantees in life." The words echoed in her head,
reminding her of the loss she'd sustained. Had she ever moved beyond the death
of her father? Was she still reacting to that pain in her determination never
to be dependent again on someone who might, one way or another, leave her?

"You have a strange view of humanity," Mrs. M.
said, "thinking you're all alone on this big old planet and can't accept
help from anyone." She poked her crochet hook into the blanket and pulled
the yarn fast. "None of us are totally independent."

"Who's going to take care of me if I don't?"

Mrs. M. snorted. "Take care of you? I'm taking care of
you right now, on behalf of Logan."

"He forced me to accept this help! He threatened me
with a custody battle!"

"Good for him. Who would be helping you otherwise?
You're in a very dependent state right now. That doesn't make you less of a
person, does it?"

Amanda shoved back her chair, wincing at the loud screech.
Yes, she was an incomplete person. Ever since her father died, and left a big
hole in her heart, and a sense of insecurity that she hadn't been able to
banish yet. She had to depend on herself. That had been her mantra since she
was ten years old. She couldn't alter it now.

Biting her lip, she carried her teacup over to the sink,
accepting the painful reality of her current life. Carrying a teacup was about
the extent of what she could do on her own. Yes, she was dependent on the
kindness of others.

"That's enough plain speaking for today." Mrs. M.
folded up the blanket. "I've got to get lunch on. But you're hurting a
person who doesn't deserve it and you need to think about that."

Amanda clenched her hands on the sink and stared out the
window. "Logan is the least emotionally needy person I've ever
known."

"Then you don't know him well."

The two women maintained an uneasy truce over the weekend.
Mrs. M. would never shirk her duty, and Amanda knew a calm atmosphere was best
for the baby. She certainly wasn't going to bring up the subject of Logan
again.

Unfortunately, the next attack came from an unexpected
source.

Rosie.

She called first thing Monday morning. In her usual way, she
started off bluntly. "I don't know what you've been up to, girl, but he's
giving up on you."

No need to wonder who 'he' was.

"I'm not responsible for whatever Logan chooses to
do." She thought that sounded quite dignified.

"He's putting the Cape house on the market."

Amanda gasped as her dignity fled. "Where I'm
living?"

Rosie snorted. "Don't worry. There's a clause that says
you can remain in the guest house for as long as you like."

A whisper of relief blew through Amanda. She must have made
a sound.

"Yeah," Rosie said sarcastically. "Isn't it
nice that he's still able to show consideration for you, when you can't even be
bothered to take his phone calls?"

"Have you been sending these baby gifts?" Amanda
demanded. She wouldn't give Logan a glimmer of credit if Rosie had been doing
all the work.

"What gifts?"

Amanda sighed.
"Never mind.
Why's he selling?"

"Something about a friend who needs
money.
You know, Logan is nothing if not loyal."

"When did you become president of his fan club?"

"You're a stubborn fool, Amanda."

"I need my independence. Why is that so hard for
everyone to accept?"

"The man wants a connection to his child! Why is that
so hard for you to accept?"

"He's been whining to you?"

Rosie blew an exasperated sound through the phone.
"We've been meeting after work about my clothing line. Logan's
writin
' a business plan for me."

"Hey, Rosie, that's great." Amanda's tone
softened. "I don't blame you for feeling kindly toward him. With your
talent and his connections, I know you'll do well."

"I'm gonna need your help, too, after you get this baby
popped."

Amanda laughed. "It will be my pleasure."

She disconnected thoughtfully. She supposed she shouldn't be
surprised that the other women in Logan's life thought so highly of him. He had
plenty of charm when he wanted to use it. Maybe she should listen to what they
were saying. Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face?

One month later, Logan's gift was a big box of children's
books. Amanda had grown used to getting the packages every Friday, even as she
recognized that they were a masterful way of both softening her toward Logan,
and also reminding her that he wasn't going to give up the request for some
sort of custody.

She squealed with delight as Mrs. MacDonald opened the box.
Nothing could have pleased her more. She began lifting out the crisp volumes.
Big, colorful picture books.
Illustrated
children's classics.
New stories she'd never heard of. She spread them
out over the kitchen table. It was a wonderful collection.

"Now that's what I call excitement," Mrs. M. said
with a smile.

"I love books." Although she wouldn't say so, she
was thrilled to think that Logan might place the same importance on books for
their child that she did. "Do you think I could add these to the
library?"

"Sure." Mrs. M. cocked her head as the doorbell
rang. "That must be the yard guy. I need to let him into the storage shed
at the main house."

The library was a small room with French doors that opened
toward the beach. Sunlight poured through the glass in thin streams of gold,
and picked out the jeweled tones of books lining the walls. The Oriental carpet
on the floor reflected the same rich colors. Comfortable maroon leather chairs
with plump ottomans filled the corners, and a sliding rocker invited one to
cuddle with a child. Everything gleamed with cleanliness and sunlight, but the
space always seemed sad and empty.

It had taken Amanda a few days to figure out why the room
seemed lost in the past, until she noticed there were no recently published
books on the shelves. The collection had stopped breathing several years ago,
and she wondered again what had happened to the family, presumably Logan's,
that used to live here. The books stood on their multi-colored spines like
sentinels that were never relieved of duty. No one took them down to pore over
their treasures. No one escaped through them into another world of imagination
and drama.

Today, though, she had a happier errand. Rubbing her aching
back, she placed her box of new books on the console table by the doorway. The
children's section was opposite her, to the left of the French doors, where
natural light would be available to a browsing child. She could almost picture
a small boy with Logan's dark hair sitting cross-legged on the floor, his gray
eyes bent to a book as he was transported to another life.

Luckily, the shelves weren't completely full, although each
shelf had only a small blank space. She would consolidate the existing
collection so that she could place her new books all together. That would make
it easier to remove them when she left the lighthouse.

She waddled over to the bookcase. Now that she was well into
her eighth month, she understood the ungainly gait adopted by pregnant women.
Her center of balance had shifted, and not in a good way.

Although she'd browsed in this library on many a long
afternoon, she hadn't checked out the kids' books. She leaned over, delighted
to see many old friends among the volumes.
The best of
children's literature.
She saw Anne of Green Gables and The Secret
Garden for a daughter.
Tom Sawyer and
Pendragon
for a boy.

Classics.
Poetry.
Humor.
Love.
All spread out
before her.

She had to bend over since the books were lower down on the
shelves, where a small person could reach them. It wasn't easy to do with her
stomach in the way. But she had a compulsion to get this chore done today.

She eased a book out of its spot.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry.
Eerie.
Unforgettable.

She grabbed the boxed set next to it.
Little
House on the Prairie, by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
A tale
of self-sufficiency.
Just what she needed to remind
herself that she could accomplish whatever she needed to do.

She grabbed a couple more and then had to walk the books
across the room to the little table. Retrieving anything from the floor was
impossible in her condition. On the way back, a glint of silver sparkled from
the back of the shelf where she'd emptied the books.

She bent down to check it out.
A silver
picture frame?
How had it fallen behind the books?

Well, she'd rescue it. The lighthouse could use some photos,
even of people she didn't know.

She removed a few more books and another picture frame was
revealed. What in the world? Had someone deliberately placed the frames back
there?

Moving as quickly as she could, she cleared the shelf. For
some reason, she was worried that Mrs. MacDonald would appear and demand that
she stop re-arranging the library. Why, she couldn't say. But now that it was
clear the frames had been deliberately hidden, her actions seemed sneaky, as if
she were revealing something that was intended to be concealed.