You're My Baby (18 page)

They were good. Very good.

But the best was Andy, his eyes darting around the court, his jaw clenched in determination.

So this was where he mysteriously disappeared to. Grant clearly had no idea. Equally clear was the fact Andy didn't want him to know. What was she supposed to do about this? How could Grant not know his son was this talented? How devastated would he be to realize Andy couldn't share this with him?

“Pam?” Andy had seen her. The action on the court stopped abruptly, the lone sound a ball being idly bounced by a tall African-American youth who stood with the others in a huddle, watching Andy approach her. “What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way home from the hospital when I saw your bike.”

“Crap!” He stood in front of her, eyes directed skyward as if imploring the heavens. Then in a gesture uncannily like his father's, he ran a hand jerkily through his hair. “This is all I need.”

“What?”

“For you to tell my old man about this.” He turned away. “Jeez!”

She stepped forward, knowing that what she said right now was crucial. “I haven't decided to do anything. Yet.”

He slowly pivoted to face her, regarding her with stony eyes. “I don't want him to know.”

“Why not?”

“I just don't.”

What was her obligation here? Would it hurt to keep his secret? “I'll have to think about it, Andy.”

“You said we could trust you to keep our confidences,” he blurted out.

“In your journals.”

“But no place else? Is that it?” The boy's voice was raw.

She laid a hand on his arm. “You've put me in a difficult position, Andy, but I'll tell you what. I won't say anything for now.” His head drooped in relief. “But you and I are going to talk about this later.”

He straightened and studied her warily. “How do I know I can trust you?”

She looked straight into his eyes. “Because I say so.”

He held her gaze, then finally glanced at his bike. “I gotta go.”

“I know. See you at home.” She watched him walk toward his bike and, under her breath, added, “Please be careful.”

She, too, would have to be careful. There was a delicate balance between keeping his trust and violating Grant's.

 

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
Pam cleared off her desk, erased the chalkboard and grabbed the ungraded vocabulary quizzes. Maybe she could get to them while she visited with her father.

She checked her watch. Twenty minutes to drop Andy at home, then off to the hospital. When she leaned over to retrieve her purse from the bottom desk drawer, she heard a thump, like a dropped backpack. Looking up, she saw Andy standing a few feet from her. “You startled me,” she said.

“Sorry.” He made no move to leave. His hands were stuffed in his front pockets and she could hear the jingle of coin hitting against coin.

“Ready to go?” When he still made no move, she felt a tic of annoyance. “What
is
it, Andy?”

He jutted out his chin. “Did you tell him?”

“No, I didn't. Not yet.”

“Are you gonna?”

“I don't know. It depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you can figure out why you're so determined to punish yourself.”

His face colored. “What are you talking about?”

“You love basketball, don't you?”

“What's the difference?”

Setting her purse on the desk, she summoned her patience. “The difference is that you're denying yourself pleasure and accomplishment out of some misplaced notion of revenge.”

“That's crap.” The coin-jangling grew louder.

“Is it? I think you've been blaming your father all these years for the divorce. Let me ask you something. Do you honestly think your parents would have been happy had they stayed together?”

He shrugged without looking up.

“Or that your father wanted to leave you? Walking out that door was probably the hardest thing he's ever had to do. Like you, he's been hurting every day since.” Her voice softened. “Can't you give him a break?”

“Why should I?”

Sighing in exasperation, she moved closer, settling her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Darn it, Andy, why are you so hell-bent on turning your back on love?”

“Love?” He mocked the word. “Who gives a shit?”

Her eyes held his. “You do.”

He wheeled away, picking up the backpack he'd dropped by the door. She grabbed her purse and followed him down the hall. When she caught up with him, he glared at her. “So you're gonna tell him, right?”

“No, I'm not.” Before he could react in relief, she hurried on. “
You
are. Just don't wait too long.”

All the way home not a further word was spoken.

 

G
RANT FELT
like a pack mule, schlepping stuff up to the guest bedroom he and Pam would now share. He nearly tripped over the top step wondering how he was going to manage to keep his hands off her. And more importantly, how they were going to fool Will Carver into believing they were in love.

Before Will was released from the hospital, Grant needed to grade his finals and get the Christmas tree up. Then there was the shopping. He and Pam were giving Andy a laptop, so that when he returned to his mother, he could take it with him. Grant mentally counted the months. Only eight and a half left. He felt like a failure as a father. Heck, maybe he was.

He heaved the armload of clothes onto the guest-room bed. He needed a special Christmas gift for Pam. But what?

She and Andy were way ahead of him. Yesterday they'd gone to the mall. When they'd gotten home, Andy had volunteered nothing about their shopping excursion. When Grant had inquired of Pam, she'd merely smiled wisely and said, “Did you tell your father everything when you were fifteen?”

Sure, the kid had a right to privacy, but Grant felt
totally out of the loop. Maybe he and Andy would have been forced to get along if Pam hadn't moved in.

But he couldn't imagine his home without her.

And now she was going to be in his bed. Every night.

He groaned in frustration just thinking about the self-control
that
would require.

 

“Y
OU DANG WELL DON'T
have to give up your bedroom, kids.” Will eased down onto the straight chair, his left leg extended, then propped his crutches in the corner of the living room.

“We'll manage,” Pam said, wondering how.

“It won't be forever.” Grant set Will's overnight bag in the hall, then eyed the staircase. “You don't really want to be confined upstairs, do you?”

“Heck, I can get up and down the steps.”

“Dad—”

Will held his palms up in surrender. “I know, honey. Slow and easy.” He looked around the room. “It's nice to be out of the hospital. Pretty tree,” he said, gesturing to the six-foot Scotch pine in the corner. “Sorry I couldn't do much in the way of presents. But there are a few things I left in the trunk of my car before I went to the hospital.”

“We'll bring them in later,” Grant said.

“I'm glad the boy'll be here with us for Christmas. Nothin' like a kid around to make the holiday.” His eyes twinkled. “And next year, just think. Gilbert Junior.”

Pam turned her back, pretending to adjust a tree ornament. Next year's Christmas would be vastly different. No Andy. No Grant. No cozy little family. Steadying her voice, she answered. “It could be a girl, you know.”

“That'd be all right. Reckon I know a thing or two about female critters.”

Pam trusted herself to face him. “That you do, Daddy.” She crossed to him and laid a kiss on the top of his head. “Now, how about some lunch and then a nice long nap?”

“I am kinda tired. Sounds good.”

Settling him in front of the TV, Pam busied herself in the kitchen, heating some soup and grilling cheese sandwiches.

When Grant came through the kitchen carrying several wrapped packages, he paused. “How do you think he's doing?”

Pam shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But he seems pretty weak.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” He started to leave, but then stopped. “I think I'll sleep in the den these first few nights. To be right there if he needs help.”

Pam noticed he couldn't quite bring himself to look directly at her. Nor did she want him to. She picked up a spatula and flipped the sandwiches. “That's a good idea,” she said not trusting her emotions. “Thank you.”

So. She had a reprieve. A few more nights sleeping alone. But the questions remained. Was Grant merely being solicitous of her father or delaying the inevitable? Was he as nervous as she was about what might happen when they shared a bed night after night?

Housekeeper. Think housekeeper.

 

C
HRISTMAS MORNING
. The turkey was in the oven, the table set, hot cider simmered on the stove. Satisfied, Pam surveyed the tree where Viola and Sebastian playfully pawed at the ornaments and colorful ribbons.
Grant was helping Will shave. Once they were finished, she'd wake Andy if he hadn't yet emerged.

He'd been all nervous excitement yesterday after delivering to Angela the delicate gold locket Pam had helped him select and returning with a boxed set of CDs he'd been wanting.

He stumbled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes, just as Grant helped Will into the living room. The older man greeted them exuberantly. “Merry Christmas, everybody.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.” Andy stood at the base of the stairs in his bare feet. “Anything to eat?”

After Pam served him a banana and warm cinnamon roll, they gathered around the tree, soft Christmas music playing in the background. Pam fought a pang of wistfulness. The scene appeared so festive, so homey.

Andy seemed tickled with his laptop, and the sweater she'd bought Grant turned out to be exactly the shade of his blue eyes, just as she'd hoped. Everything was greeting-card perfect until Andy opened his present from Will.

“Gramps, you're the greatest!” Andy's face was as animated as she'd ever seen it. “Wow!” He handed around the lettered certificate inside the box. “This entitles Andy Gilbert to one hand-tooled leather saddle and a half interest in Sagebrush Pepper Boy.”

Pam watched the spectacle in disbelief.

“Now, I know, you'll be living with your mother some. But I reckon when you visit your family here, you'll be comin' to the ranch. A fella's gotta have his own mount.”

Grant, his lips thinned in a grim line, caught her eye. She slowly lifted her shoulders in bewilderment. She'd known nothing of her father's intentions.

Then Will pointed to a package wrapped in red foil. “Get that for Pam, would you, Andy?”

She examined the card, then looked up, confused.

“You're seein' it right. Barbara sent it. Asked me to give it to you.”

She and Barbara hadn't exchanged gifts since Barbara had left home immediately after her high school graduation. They'd talked briefly on the phone several times following Will's surgery, but…why in the world would her sister suddenly be giving her a Christmas present?

With trembling fingers, Pam opened the card and read the brief message. “My children used this. Now that you're having a baby, I suppose Mother would've wanted you to have it. Barbara. P.S. I hope all goes well for you with your pregnancy.” Silently she handed the card to her father.

“Reserve judgment till you see what it is, honey. I think maybe Barbara's trying.”

Pam slid her hand under the slick paper and slowly pulled it off. All she had to do was lift the lid of the box. But it suddenly seemed too much. She sensed the eyes of the men on her and knew she couldn't delay further. She removed the lid and parted the layers of tissue paper.

Lying in the box was something she hadn't seen since she was a tiny girl, but which was, nevertheless, comfortingly familiar.

“What is it?” Andy asked impatiently.

She gathered the pink-and-blue quilt against her breast and said with tear-filled eyes, “It's the baby quilt my mother made for my sister and me. See?” She pointed to the embroidered “LC” in the corner. “Lillian Carver.”

Grant looked at Will, then at Pam. “That's quite a gift.”

“I know,” she said, holding it against her where Barney lay quietly at rest. She took back the card from her father and studied it.
I hope all goes well for you with your pregnancy.
Could it be? Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't resentment that had held Barbara in its grip. Maybe it was fear. Fear of loving and losing someone else as she'd lost her mother.

In that instant, Pam made a decision. It couldn't hurt, could it, to invite Barbara to come help after the baby came? And it might make all the difference.

Just when she thought Christmas couldn't get any better, Grant nodded to Andy, who disappeared toward the garage. “Andy and I have a little something for you, too,” Grant said.

Pam could hear Andy banging through the kitchen, clearly carrying something large. An elfin helper couldn't have looked any more pleased with himself than did her tall, beaming stepson when he entered the room bearing an exquisite wooden cradle and a huge flat package.

Happiness flooded through her. She turned from one to the other. “Grant, Andy, I'm overwhelmed.” She walked over to the cradle and crouched beside it, imagining her child rocking to sleep. She rubbed her fingers along the maple wood. “It's beautiful,” she said softly. “Just beautiful.”

Andy bounced on his heels. “Do you like it?”

The two men exploded in laughter. “That's what the woman said, son,” Gramps shifted in his chair. “You came up with a winner.”

“What's this?” Pam lifted the large package from the cradle. “It's heavy.”

Grant sat forward expectantly, elbows on his knees. “Open it.”