You're My Baby (14 page)

He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, knees bent, hands bracing his body. Maybe, just maybe, she had his attention. “And for all your anger and hurt, I have a suspicion you love him, too.” She took a deep breath and, without censoring herself, rushed on. “It's okay to love him, Andy. Really.”

Watching the boy chew on her words, she began to suspect something more. It might be okay for her to love Grant, too.

But she had no right. None at all.

 

G
RANT PACED
, waiting for Pam to return. Then he charged into the kitchen and mixed himself a stiff Scotch and water. No matter what he did, he blew it with Andy.

And now what kind of fix was he in? He'd had to send Pam to smooth things over. At least Andy listened to her. Sometimes. He swallowed a slug of his drink, letting the alcohol warm his gut. The reality was, he couldn't continue depending on Pam to bail him out. It wasn't fair putting her in the middle, and there'd be hell to pay with the kid when she was no longer around. Damn. The rapport Pam had with Andy was just one more thing that had lulled him into thinking the marriage could last. But given his lousy track record with family, what had made him think this situation could be any different?

He poured the rest of the whiskey down the sink. Alcohol wasn't the answer, nor could it help him avoid
an unpleasant truth—he was a huge jerk to use Pam like that. She had her own child to worry about. She didn't need to take on his.

Yet he'd heard her say to Andy, plain as day, “Having this baby doesn't mean we'll love you any less.”
We.
Did she mean it?

Then he regretted tossing the drink. Because an even grimmer truth surfaced. What would it do to Andy to lose her? When the time came. In September. Would that be one more blow to his relationship with his son? The final one?

“There you are.” Pam slipped into the kitchen. “I wondered where you went.”

“Where I went was straight to a fifth of Scotch.” He held up the empty glass in a mock toast.

“That bad, huh?” She opened the refrigerator, helped herself to a bottle of water, then leaned against the countertop studying him.

“I'm not used to failing.” The words were out before he realized he'd said them aloud.

“No, I don't suppose you are. In this case, though, ‘failure' is a pretty harsh word.”

“What am I doing wrong with him?”

She took a long time prying off the cap, then drank slowly from the bottle. He wondered what it was she was avoiding putting into words. “He needs something to keep him busy, something to help him feel good about himself.”

“If he'd play basketball—”

“Give it up, Coach. That isn't going to happen. Maybe part of the trouble is your expectations. Andy's asserting himself. He's going to do things his way. Not yours.” She bonked herself on the forehead. “Is that a
recipe for conflict, or what? Heaven deliver me from two stubborn males.”

He could swear somewhere in there she was chuckling at him. “I'm desperate, here. What do you suggest?”

“I have an idea. But I don't know if he'll go for it.”

“What's that?”

“I need help with the props and scenery for the play. Maybe I can dangle Angela as bait. She's an under-study.”

He mulled over the idea. “Pam, you didn't bargain for all of this. He's my responsibility.”

“It's no big deal. I
like
him.”

“But what if he gets too attached? I don't want to make it harder on him…later.”

She focused on the water bottle as if it held the oracle of Delphi. “It's a problem, isn't it? We didn't have the foggiest notion what we were getting into, did we?”

He stared at her, at first unable to reply, confused by her mixed message. She'd said she loved Andy, but just now… Was she having second thoughts? He felt sick. “I guess not.”

She went on. “So what do you think? About the play?”

He struggled for a normal tone. “It makes sense. I'll be at practice while you're in rehearsal, so we won't have to leave Andy unsupervised very often.”

“Okay. I'll give it a shot.”

“You sure didn't need all of this today on top of everything else.”

“I'm fine. Or at least as fine as I can be until I see the doctor.”

He didn't know what to do with his hands, because he wanted to pull her into his arms, to thank her, to
reassure her. Hell, to reassure himself. “I'm hoping for the best,” he managed to say.

She smiled tenderly. “I know you are.” Then she pushed off the countertop, walked past him, brushing her hand briefly across his chest, and left the room, leaving behind the faint fragrance of roses. A far more potent comforter than Scotch.

 

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
Pam drove slowly down Connie's street, barely registering the brilliant fall foliage. She'd called from the obstetrician's office to ask if she could drop by. Dr. Ellis had examined her, checked the fetal heartbeat and then concluded that what Pam had experienced, though irregular, was nevertheless not a threat to the baby.

Now, more than ever, this child was important to her. She would lose Grant and Andy the following fall. With each day, she felt herself becoming more involved with them, more dependent upon them, more concerned for them. But surely loving and caring for her baby would help make losing them bearable.

She pulled into Connie's driveway, turned off the motor, then closed her eyes briefly. If only Grant hadn't been so quick to agree with her yesterday when she'd suggested they might not have known what they were getting into.

Yet who could blame him? He hadn't bargained on the problems her pregnancy presented, not to mention the triangular family dynamic.

One thing was for certain. No matter how tempted she was, there would be no more late-night excursions to his bed. Even if the memory of his warm, strong body often interfered with her sleep.

That decided, she slung her handbag over her shoulder and walked from the car to Connie's porch.

Connie greeted her effusively. “It's been way too long since we've had a good chat, unless you count those brief snatches of conversation between classes, which I don't. Jim's at a meeting, so I have all the time in the world.” She ushered Pam to the glassed-in sun-room, shaded by a huge pecan tree and decorated in bright yellows and greens. “Iced tea? Wine? Soda?”

“Iced tea sounds wonderful.” While Connie disappeared into the kitchen, Pam sank into a wicker Bombay chair and curled her feet under her. She needed Connie's support, because tonight she was calling her father and Barbara to tell them about the baby. Her lips curled in distaste. She had no doubt Barbara would react in the same way she had when she'd learned of the marriage. Indifference thinly disguised by disapproving surprise. Even though she'd made up her mind long ago that there was no changing her sister, Pam admitted to herself that she kept trying, hoping for a glimmer of sisterly affection. How could a childhood loss, no matter how devastating, continue to cause such bitterness?

“Here we are.” Connie breezed into the room, bearing a tray with tea, lemon, sugar and a plate of ginger-snaps.

Pam accepted her glass and took a refreshing sip, then grabbed a cookie before Connie sat down on the floral-upholstered glider.

“This is such fun,” Connie said. “Between getting Erin off for college, settling Mother and Vernon in their new condo and dealing with all the usual school stuff, I haven't had much time for girl-talk.” She grinned suggestively. “So let's get right to it. How's married life?”

“Uh, different from what I expected.”

“How so?”

“For starters, there's Andy.”

Connie chuckled. “Not exactly a honeymoon cottage, then?”

“Privacy is in short supply.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Can't you give the kid a few bucks and send him to the movie?”

“We manage,” Pam said, blushing. She wasn't used to white lies. They managed, all right. Managed to avoid each other.

“Seriously, how are things working out with Andy? He's pretty quiet in homeroom, but he seems like a nice enough youngster.”

“It's taking time for him to adjust, but kids like Chip Kennedy and Angela Beeman are helping. I'm more worried about him and Grant.”

Connie stopped her gliding motion. “Oh?”

“They're like two circling grizzly bears, each one afraid to actually engage the other.”

“That surprises me. Grant is so good with kids.”

“It surprises him, too. He has such a stake in earning his son's respect and love.”

Connie shook her head. “Men. I don't suppose they could just talk it out?”

“What?” Pam raised her eyebrows mockingly. “And actually risk emotional disclosure?”

“I hope Grant knows how lucky he is to have you by his side just now.”

Pam lowered her head, wondering whether, in fact, Grant felt lucky or burdened. “I'm pretty fortunate, too.” Who else would have come to her rescue? But what she couldn't confess to Connie—or anyone—was her own fears. She was becoming way too involved
with Grant and Andy. Somehow she had to detach herself and deal with her own burgeoning emotions.

“So now you're getting all geared up for the play production?”

Pam pounced on the change of subject. “Rehearsals start next Monday. I'm tickled with the cast. And, believe it or not, I've even talked Andy into helping backstage.”

“With his height, I though he'd be playing for Grant.”

“That's part of their problem. Andy doesn't want anything to do with Grant as a coach.”

“Any reason why not?”

“I think Andy's punishing his father for not being around for things like Little League and shooting hoops after dinner.”

“Poor kid. As if it were totally Grant's fault.”

“I know. And now, of course, the poor guy has my pregnancy to contend with.”

“What do you mean? Is something wrong?”

Pam filled her in about Andy's lukewarm reaction to the news and her recent scare.

“Give yourself a break, honey.” Connie's eyes were warm with sympathy. “Your pregnancy is no burden to Grant. Quite the contrary. And Andy will come around once he gets used to the idea.”

“I hope so.” Connie's optimism was a welcome antidote to her own doubts. Before her friend's kindness could undo her, Pam shifted gears. “I could use your help, if you're willing.”

“Auntie Connie's standing by. Anything. Shoot.”

Pam raised up her sweater, revealing a safety pin barely holding together the waistband of her skirt.
“Would you go shopping with me? I have no idea what I'll need.”

Connie clapped her hands. “I'd love to go, but bear in mind, it's been twenty years since I was pregnant.”

“That's still more experience than I've had.” She couldn't tell Connie, not yet, that she was going to need all the help she could get. Once Grant was gone.

 

A
FTER SUPPER THAT EVENING
, Pam sat on the edge of Grant's bed, clutching the receiver in her hand. She'd decided to deal with Barbara first, get the worst behind her. True to form, her sister hadn't disappointed her. “A little quick, isn't it?” was her initial response. Not “That's great news,” or even a “When are you due?” Pam tried to ignore the implied judgment by sharing her own pleasure. Barbara wasn't buying it. “Motherhood is lots of work, you know.” Giving up then, Pam inquired about her nieces, her brother-in-law's new clinic. Safe topics. At the conclusion of the conversation, Barbara uttered begrudgingly, “Take care of yourself.”

With a clunk, Pam dropped the phone into its cradle. What had she expected? If there was fault to find, Barbara would seize on it. And, in this case, there was fault. Lots of it. But damned if she'd let Barbara rain on her parade. There was joy, too, in abundance.

Straightening, she dialed her father's number, waiting patiently while the phone rang five times. Finally he picked up. “Daddy? How are you?”

After the “Fine” that masked the truth about his knee, he went on to tell her about one of the horses that had gone lame and about a neighbor's sciatica. “Those fellas of yours okay?”

“They're great.”

“And you?”

“That's partly why I'm calling. I have some news.” She drew in a deep breath.

“Well, don't keep me on tenterhooks.”

She looked up to see Grant lounging against the door frame, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I…I hope you'll be pleased.”

“Can't be pleased if you don't spit it out.”

“I'm going to have a baby.” She bit her lip, anticipating his reaction.

“Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, girl? Whoo-ee. Isn't that somethin'? I'm going to be a grandfather. Goldurn.”

Air whooshed out of her lungs. “Oh, thank you, Daddy.”

“For what?”

“For being pleased.”

“Why in tarnation wouldn't I be?”

“Well, Barbara thought it was a little soon.”

“Barbara.” He snorted. “Don't pay her any mind. She's my daughter, but I gotta tell you. I love her, but I don't always like her. I dunno. She just never was the same after your momma—”

“I know, Dad.”

“But let's not talk about that.” It was as if he'd realized that a reference to the manner of her mother's death might not be timely. “When's this little fella comin'?”

She laughed. “You and Grant. The ‘little fella' could be a girl, you know. And
she's
arriving in late spring.”

“You tell that husband of yours, I'm proud of him. He's done good work.”

Pam looked up at Grant, beaming down at her as if he
really
had done the “good work.” She couldn't let
those warm blue eyes get to her. He was her friend. Period.