You're My Baby (5 page)

Tall trees shaded the yard and a hardy arborvitae hedge obscured the foundation. He pulled in the driveway beside the kitchen door.

“Aha! I knew it. There it is.” She pointed toward the backyard, half of which was devoted to a large concrete patio with a basketball hoop at the far end.

He chuckled. “What'd you expect? This way, when I miss a shot, I'm not visible from the street.”

“You? Miss a shot?” She poked him playfully. “Your secret's safe with me.”

He ushered her to a chaise longue near the grill and excused himself. When he returned, he carried a glass of lemonade for her and a beer for himself. “I guess you're off alcohol now?”

“Yes, thanks. That's thoughtful of you.” She didn't have the heart to tell him that citrus ate at her stomach lining.

He busied himself at the grill, while she studied the yard. It could do with a feminine touch. No flowers had sprouted here in a long time and the patio furniture was rusty and mismatched. She studied the lawn, trying to visualize a sandbox or a swing set. It was odd that he hadn't invited her inside. Maybe that would come later.

When, at last, he finished swabbing the chicken pieces with a lemony sauce that smelled wonderful, he pulled up a chair at right angles to her and sat down.

She smiled. “All set?”

“For now. I hope you don't mind not going out to a restaurant.” He folded his hands, nervously circling his thumbs.

“We can talk better here.”

“That's what I figured.” He drew himself upright. “I've been doing a lot of thinking—”

“Me, too.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“What on earth for?”

He placed his hands palms-down on his thighs. “For
assuming you would welcome my crazy idea. You must think I'm about as self-centered as they come.”

The lemonade soured in her throat. “Wait. What are you trying to say?”

“This isn't a business proposition. You need a real family. Not—what do they call it—a marriage of convenience.”

Pam could literally feel the color draining from her face. “Are you reneging?”

He leaned forward, his expression anguished. “I would never do that. It's just that…I took advantage of your…position.”

“And you don't think my marrying you would take advantage of yours?”

“Jeez, Pam, I never should have mentioned it. Logically, I suppose, it made sense, but marriage has to be about more than what's good for Andy, what's good for the baby. It would need to be about us. Otherwise, we could never pull it off.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course I am. Aren't you?”

“Is that why you're calling this off?”

His jaw dropped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked straight into his. “I'm saying yes, I'll marry you.”

“But—”

She swung her legs to the ground to face him. “It
can
be about us. It can be about two friends who have mutual respect for each other. Love may be an overrated emotion. I can't speak for you, but I've never had much luck with it. Surely we can reach an understanding, somehow compromise to make this work.” She hesitated. “Unless you've totally changed your mind.”

“You're certain about this?”

“My baby needs a name. And I can't think of a better one than yours. But I do think it would be prudent to put our understanding in writing. Just so we're clear.”

“You mean some kind of contract?”

“Exactly.”

He took hold of her hands, then rose to his feet, pulling her up, too. He took a deep breath, then said in a husky voice, “I'll do my best to make this arrangement as comfortable for you as I can.”

They stood motionless, their eyes locked. Pam's face was flushed with an emotion she couldn't name. It was beyond gratitude, beyond fear. Finally she broke the spell. “Looks like we have an agreement to formalize and a wedding to plan, Mr. Gilbert.”

 

P
AM AMAZED HIM
. Calmly, confidently, she'd agreed to marry him. With a tectonic shift, his plan had lurched from the theoretical to the actual. Detecting the odor of seared meat, he edged toward the grill. “We'll think better on full stomachs.” Grateful for the excuse to turn his back, he took the chicken pieces off the fire, all the time trying to master his confusing emotions—relief mixed with panic, excitement tempered by anxiety. And fear. Not of the day-to-day stuff—that he could handle. But fear that the unexpected elation welling within him would be short-lived. He'd promised not to hurt her. But, he suddenly realized, he'd given her the power to hurt him, if he let himself care—and it was going to be almost impossible not to.

Over dinner they agreed to obtain the marriage license in another county the next morning and be quietly married on Saturday. Further, she consented to live in his home. Naturally they would maintain separate bank
accounts and, for legal purposes, Pam would retain her maiden name. Besides, all the school rosters would already list her as Carver. That way, she said, it would be easier when…

But he noticed she didn't complete the sentence.

Then, clearing his throat nervously, he said, “I guess I need to reassure you about something. This is a business deal. I wouldn't expect we'd, uh, have—”

“Sex.” She completed his thought. “Of course not. That never crossed my mind. We're just friends, and friends we'll remain.”

With all the details committed to writing, they dug into the meal with gusto. Pam even apologized for her hearty appetite. “The little guy needs to grow,” Grant suggested.

“Little guy?” She looked up with a smile that turned him to mush. “It could be a girl, you know.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Healthy. That's my preference.”

He couldn't get over it. Here they sat, talking babies, as if it was the most natural of conversation topics. He hadn't discussed babies, not really, since Shelley was pregnant with Andy. And to tell the truth, for all his brave front, the thought of Pam's pregnancy terrified him. What if something went wrong?

“How about the house tour? We'll have to figure out where to put your stuff and where you'll…sleep.” Leading the way toward the house, he cursed under his breath. The word “sleep” echoed and reechoed with each step he took. And the visuals were equally disturbing.

Pam stopped at the kitchen stoop. “That's a problem, isn't it?” She furrowed her brow. “Unless you plan to tell Andy about our little charade.”

He groaned. “No, that can't happen. Everybody, and I mean everybody, has to believe we're for real, especially for you and the baby.”

“Then we'll simply have to work something out.”

He held open the back door and she stepped into the small kitchen and stood, speechless, studying the aqua sink and countertop, the cocoa-brown appliances, the wallpaper sporting aqua and brown steaming coffee cups on a yellow background. With a sinking feeling, he saw it from her fresh viewpoint. “Uh, I haven't gotten around to doing much with the kitchen.”

She tried a smile. “Vintage 70s decor. All we need is the Brady Bunch.”

“Maybe, um, we could redecorate.”

“Don't be silly, it's only for a year.”

“Oh, yeah.” Why hadn't he realized how dated and ugly his kitchen was? He hastened to put distance between him and the Martha Stewart disaster. “Down this hallway on the left is the dining and living room combination.” He stopped and made a vague gesture. “The master bedroom, bath and den are on the right. What first?”

“And up there?” She gestured at the staircase.

“Two bedrooms and a bath.”

“Where does Andy sleep?”

“Upstairs.”

“I guess, then, you'd better show me the master bedroom.”

He stood aside and let her precede him. The plaid bedspread was drawn barracks-tight over the king-size mattress. His dresser top was bare except for a pewter dish for pocket change, a small portable television set and a basketball trophy. The bedside table sported a lamp, an alarm clock and the biography he was reading.
The bare wood floor suddenly looked utilitarian. When, after a few moments, she hadn't said anything, he couldn't stand it. “Well?”

She screwed up her face as if searching for the word. “Spartan. Masculine.”

“Is that bad?”

She shrugged, then smiled. “C'mon, you've seen my place. The kindest thing that can be said of my taste is organized chaos.”

“But you can bring your things.” He looked around helplessly. “Do whatever you like.”

“Plants?”

He nodded.

“Wall hangings?”

“Sure.”

“A big, old braided rug?”

“Why not?”

“A nest for Viola and Sebastian in the corner?”

“In
here?
”

“My kitties always sleep with me.”

That stopped him. The darned felines were going to be better off than he was. “Uh, where did you have in mind for us to sleep?”

“Show me the den.”

He led her through the bathroom to the small room crowded by his desk, bookcase and a beat-up daybed. He noticed her studying the bed. “I suppose I could sleep in here,” she said, eyeing the sagging mattress dubiously.

“I thought I would.”

“Grant, look at it. You're a foot taller than that thing is long. If anyone's going to sleep in here, it'll be me.”

“Okay, we'll try it that way, but I don't want you and Barney to be uncomfortable.”

“Barney?”

He reddened. “You know. The baby.”

She shook her head, seemingly bemused. “Or Barnette, don't forget.” She started back through the bathroom, then stopped. “Are you sure you're ready to share a bathroom with a woman again?”

He had a sudden disturbing image of wet hosiery, like slimy tentacles, draped all over the towel rack and shower curtain rod. He gulped. “I'm sure.”

By the time they reached the living room, which she proclaimed “austere,” he was worn-out.

“I don't want to intrude into your lifestyle, but—”

“Nonsense,” he said. “This will be your home, too. I want you to be comfortable.”

She sank down into the brown tweed sofa he'd bought at a going-out-of-business sale. It had been cheap and matched his cushy, man-size rust recliner.

She eyed the mantel. “Do you think we could get a shelf for those?” Move his team pictures and state championship trophies? He enjoyed looking at them while he watched TV. “Sure, if that's what you'd like.”

Her eyes, like some malevolent detecting device, raked the room. “And maybe we could move your chair and turn the sofa this other way, so my chair would fit.”

“I guess.” What was it with women? Did they come wired with the rearranging-furniture gene? Just as he acknowledged his irritation, she relaxed against the sofa, spreading her arms in a gesture of contentment. “It's going to be fine, Grant, really fine.”

He sought the comfort of his recliner before answering. “I hope so. But it may require more patience than we imagined.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Having second thoughts? It's not too late.”

Second thoughts? Not about her. She looked just right sitting in his living room, even if she was discussing upsetting his ordered existence. “No. I want to marry you, Pam.” Then, grinning, he added, “And that's my final answer.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, a peaceful expression on her face. “Good,” she said softly.

They sat in silence for several minutes, and he thought how pleasant it was to have this kind of quiet companionship. Finally she spoke up. “If we're going to hit the county clerk's office before our eleven-o'clock upper-school meeting, I think you'd better take me home soon.”

“I will, but first…” Curiosity had been eating at him for several days, waiting to be satisfied. “Could you tell me about the man? The father?” Needing to risk the rest, he blurted out the difficult question, “Do you love him?”

S
LOWLY
P
AM EASED
her feet to the floor, caught off guard by the question, by Grant's sudden earnestness and by her own disturbing flashbacks. Steven—devilishly handsome in an intense, scholarly sort of way. High cheekbones, dark eyes, thick black hair, and long, tapering fingers with a magic of their own. She couldn't resist him, even after he told her the truth. But love?

In fairness, she owed Grant an honest answer. This man, not Steven, would be the baby's father on record. She focused on the emotions Grant's question had aroused—joy, passion, sadness, resignation. “In a nostalgic, romantic sense, a part of me will always love him. I would never have been intimate with him otherwise.”

She paused, remembering the yearning and pain in Steven's brown eyes, recalling the apology he'd tried to voice before she had hushed him—before they had come together in mutual need and desire. Pam looked directly at Grant. “I was not promiscuous. Nor did I intend to get pregnant.”

“Have you reconsidered telling him about the baby?”

“No.” She paused, letting the sound of the word die away. “And I won't. Fate threw us together in unusual circumstances. But he never deceived me.”

Grant appeared to be mulling over what she'd said.
He probably wasn't even aware of the furrow on his brow.

She pulled forth her deepest, most painful memory—one she'd never considered sharing. Until now. “I knew he was married. That he had two daughters, ten and twelve. He'd told me all about Julie, his wife.” Why couldn't she catch her breath? “But what he said didn't register until I saw her for myself.”

So vivid and distressing was the memory she was hardly aware of her surroundings or of the man sitting across from her. She struggled to go on. “He was being honored by the university. His family had flown in for the occasion. I hadn't intended to go, but at the last minute, I couldn't help myself. That's when I saw her. That's when I truly realized why he could never see me again. Never have anything further to do with me.”

“If this is too difficult, Pam—”

“No. I need to tell you.” She drew a deep breath, then went on. “He loves his wife. Dearly, devotedly. I saw that when he pushed her wheelchair onto the platform. When he leaned down to kiss her so very tenderly.” Tears filled her eyes. “Grant, she's paralyzed from the shoulders down. A skiing accident.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her cheeks. “Now do you see? I was lonely. He was a kind man with needs. I guess you could say nature took its course, and here I am—pregnant. Even so there's no decision to be made. What do you suppose knowing about the baby would do to her? To him?” She let the question hang in the air before continuing. “I've given this considerable thought, and I know the time may come when, either for personal or medical reasons, my child will need the truth. But I'll wait until that day arrives.”

He ran his hands up and down the arms of the recliner
before speaking. “Thank you. I know it wasn't easy for you to talk about this. After tonight, I won't ask you any more questions about him. It's just that, well, for the baby's sake, I didn't want there to be, you know, complications down the road.”

His earnest, troubled face swam before her. She was missing something implied by the faltering nature of his explanation. Was he prepared to care for this baby? To want to claim more than merely the title of “father”? Could he be thinking beyond the one year limit of their agreement?

 

S
UNDAY AFTERNOON
of Labor Day weekend Pam stood in her living room knee-deep in boxes. It was difficult to know what to take with her and what to put in storage. As if sensing an impending shift in their tranquility, Viola and Sebastian scampered from chair to table to windowsill, unsettled by the disruption of their space. Pam could empathize.

She studied the solid gold band on her left hand as if it were an encoded alien object. Though small, it served as the exclamation mark on her life-changing circumstances.

The wedding had gone off flawlessly, if you could call a three-minute ceremony in a farmhouse living room with two elderly ladies as witnesses—one playing a dirgelike rendition of “Oh, Promise Me” on a wheezing pump organ—a wedding. But it would do, Pam rationalized. She was beyond virginal wedding dresses, a flower-bedecked church and multiple chiffon-clad bridesmaids. At least she would be able to tell her son or daughter about the ceremony. About the champagne-hued tea dress she'd worn, about Grant standing tall and resolute in his navy suit and about the chaste kiss he'd
dropped on her cheek at the urging of the beaming justice of the peace.

But the wedding night was a different story. Non-traditional in every sense of the word. After an awkward dinner at one of Dallas's finest restaurants, Grant had delivered her to the condo and gone home to begin sorting his things to make room for hers. Since no one knew yet about their marriage, they'd decided to postpone her move until Tuesday evening to allow Andy to settle in and Grant to break their news to him in person. Meanwhile, Pam would see about leasing her condo.

Sun streamed through the picture window, illuminating the dust motes stirred by the packing. What next? The chore seemed suddenly overwhelming. Nor could she continue to ignore the difficult task she'd been putting off—telling her father about her marriage. Even though hers hadn't been a normal wedding day, not having him by her side had hurt.

She picked up the phone, settled in her cozy chair and summoned the kitties to her lap for moral support. She uttered a silent prayer, then dialed, waiting patiently for several rings. Her father's knees weren't what they once were and he moved slowly. Finally he answered.

“Daddy, it's Pam.”

As it always did when she called, his monotone voice brightened. “I've been wondering when I was going to hear from you, since I couldn't get hold of you yesterday.”

Oh, yes. The ritual Saturday night call.
“I was out.”

“On a date?” he asked hopefully.

She gathered her courage. “Not exactly. But something like that.” She hesitated, then, before she lost her nerve, rushed on. “Daddy, I have some news. Are you sitting down?”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“It's not bad. Just something that may surprise you.”

“Girl, the cows'll come home before you get around to telling me. What in tarnation is it?”

“There's no easy way to say this, so here goes. I got married yesterday.” No response. Darn, she should've cushioned the shock somehow. “Dad, are you all right?”

“A Texas tornado gives more warning to a fella than you do. Gimme a minute.” There was a long pause, then he said, “Did you say ‘married'?”

“I did.”

“Who the hell to?” His voice betrayed the bafflement and hurt she'd been worried about.

“A good man, Daddy. His name is Grant Gilbert and he teaches with me at Keystone.”

“Why haven't I heard anything about him before?”

“Well, this has been kind of a whirlwind relationship.”

Her father snorted. “That's putting it mildly.” He was quiet for a time. Then he said, “I would have come, you know. If you'd invited me.”

Pam bit her lip. She'd disappointed her father, and the sadness in his voice spoke volumes. “I know you would have. But we…eloped. It was a brief ceremony, just the two of us, and now we're getting packed so I can move in with him, so it just seemed—”

“Better to take the biggest step in your life without your old dad?”

She pinched her forehead and searched for the right words. “There wasn't time. School starts Tuesday, Grant's son is coming to live with him and—”

“Son? What son? Slow down and start over.”

So she did, telling him about Andy, about Grant, about everything except the baby.

When she finished, in a low voice he said, “Do you love him?”

She had never lied to her father. Could she start now? “He's a wonderful, caring man, Daddy. You'll love him as much as I do.” That was close to the truth, wasn't it?

“Well, then.” He sighed heavily. “That's all that matters. When do I get to meet my son-in-law?”

“Soon. Let us get school underway and my move completed. Then we'll all come visit you.”

“Honey—”

She sensed he was about to ask a question, perhaps the dreaded “Are you pregnant?” But he must've reconsidered, because all he added was “Be happy.”

After she hung up, she sat for several minutes, absentmindedly stroking Viola and Sebastian. Eventually she'd have to tell Barbara. But not right now.

Her father's acceptance had reinforced her obligation to commit to this marriage, in appearance if not in fact.

 

S
UNDAY EVENING
Grant called Jim Campbell to ask if he and Pam could drop by on a matter of school business. The Campbells needed to be told first, not only because Jim, as headmaster, needed to know, but because Connie and Jim were their friends. But now, approaching their attractive ranch-style home near the campus, Grant had a walloping case of stage fright. This would be his and Pam's first attempt to pull off their fabricated story. Could they possibly convince anyone they were in love?

He glanced at Pam, who was giving undue attention to the passing scenery. His eye caught the gleam of her
wedding band and, with his left thumb, he fingered his. “Nervous?” he asked.

“Try terrified. Connie has a radar capability metropolitan police would envy.”

“Things'll go smoother after we get the telling over with.”

“I hope so. Dad wasn't easy, and when I called my sister, she wasn't very understanding, much less congratulatory. She'll freak out when she learns I'm pregnant.”

“My folks didn't have much reaction when I told them, but after thirty years in the military, little fazes them. They couldn't have come to a wedding on short notice anyway.” Time enough later to reveal “strained” accurately described his relationship with his hard-nosed father.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Her question stopped him short. How little they really knew about each other despite working together for several years. “I had an older brother.” He swallowed, the memory still painful. “He died of brain cancer when he was twenty-nine.”

She laid a comforting hand on his thigh. “I'm so sorry. How devastating for you and your family.”

“Yeah, it was. Brian and I were eighteen months apart. We shared a room, played together on the high school team, fought over the same girls. I guess you could say he was my best friend.” He didn't add that Brian had also served as a buffer between him and his father. From the time his dad had returned from Vietnam, he'd been difficult, distant. Brian had been the golden boy who could do no wrong. But Grant? In his father's eyes, he'd never been anything but a disap
pointment. And the hell of it was, he'd never understood why.

“Your family's had a lot to deal with in recent years.”

He smiled ruefully. “So maybe a baby'll help, huh?”

She looked thoughtful. “Maybe,” she said quietly, removing her hand from his leg.

Why had he gone and said a fool thing like that? As if he had any claim to the baby beyond next September. He couldn't start thinking of the child as his in any way except name.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling to a stop in front of the rambling brick home. On the porch was a white deacon's bench illuminated by an antique lamppost. He turned off the ignition and sought her eyes, which reflected the same uncertainty he was feeling.

Neither of them moved. Finally she drew a deep breath and jabbed him on the shoulder. “Show time!”

“Is this where I say, ‘Break a leg'?”

“This is where,” she answered just before he left the car to come around and escort her up the walkway.

After greeting them, Jim ushered them into the inviting family room, displaying many of the primitive American pieces he and Connie collected. When Jim had first filled the interim headmaster position, before accepting the job permanently, the faculty had been stunned to find out he and Connie had known each other in their distant past. It hadn't taken long for them to renew their friendship, culminating in a marriage much approved by Connie's mother, daughter and the entire Keystone community.

Jim settled in a wing chair, and Grant and Pam sat together on the sofa. “I gather there's some urgency to the matter you want to discuss,” Jim began.

Grant found his voice—and Pam's hand. “There is.”

Pam looked around. “Connie needs to hear this, too.”

“I'll get her.” Jim stepped down the hall and summoned Connie, who took a seat in the antique rocker by the hearth.

“Pam, Grant? You're sure this isn't confidential?” she asked uncertainly.

“We're sure. In fact, we imagine everyone at school will know in a matter of days,” Pam said.

“Well, don't keep us in suspense.” Connie eyed Pam curiously, as if unsure whether concern or elation was the expected response.

Grant seized the initiative. “Although this may come as a shock, yesterday, happily, Pam and I were married.”

Connie's eyes widened in bafflement. “Wait. I'm having trouble taking this in.”

“It's true.” Pam cast Grant an adoring look—a convincing, adoring look.

Jim glanced from one to the other. “Married?”

Connie studied Pam as if searching for a key to the mystery, before facing her husband. “That's what they said.”

“It's understandable,” Grant managed, “that our news is a surprise.”

“You can say that again, but surprise or not,” Connie said over her shoulder as she moved toward the kitchen, “this definitely calls for champagne. And then—” she paused for emphasis “—we want to hear the whole story.”