You're My Baby (6 page)

She returned bearing a tray of filled champagne flutes, which she distributed, then indicated they should all stand up. With a bemused smile, she raised her glass.
“To our friends Pam and Grant. May their love grow with each day they spend together and may their home be filled with joy and peace.”

“Hear, hear,” Jim said, as the four touched their glasses and drank.

Grant noticed that Pam took only a token sip.

“Okay, then,” Connie said, settling back into the rocker. “Start at the beginning. Tell us everything.”

Pam leaned forward. “First let me apologize, Connie, for not telling you sooner. But Grant and I only decided last week to go ahead and get married before school started.”

“But how did you get together? Why didn't I know about it?”

Facing her friend, Pam undertook the carefully rehearsed explanation. “We were both at the university this summer. And, somehow, being away from our daily lives—” she put her arm around Grant's shoulder in a loving caress “—we suddenly saw each other in a new light. Isn't that right, honey?”

Lord, she was feeding him lines like a pro. “I'll say. For whatever reasons, we just…connected.”

“Then,” Pam continued, “you were on your trip so I couldn't tell you. Anyway, we decided we'd test the relationship back here in Fort Worth before we made any decisions.”

“But when we got back home, everything seemed right.” Grant nearly choked on another swig of champagne.

“So it seemed silly to wait. When you know, you know,” Pam said, snuggling closer to him. So close he could smell her wonderfully arousing fragrance.

Jim, who had been surveying the situation, managed to get a word in. “Of course, Connie and I are happy
for you. You're two fine people, and you make a great couple.” Then, with a grin playing over his face, he added, “This bombshell will create quite a stir on campus.”

“There's one favor we'd like to ask, Jim,” Grant said.

“Name it.”

“As you know, my son Andy will be a new student at Keystone. He arrives tomorrow. Pam and I have decided he needs to be told and have a chance to get used to the idea before we make any kind of public announcement, so could you keep our news quiet for a little while?”

“Naturally. Just tell me when you're ready.”

An awkward silence followed. Pam looked at Grant. He looked at her.
These are our friends,
she seemed to be saying. The unspoken communication helped him make up his mind.

“There's one more thing. Something we don't plan to share with anyone else yet.”

Pam gripped his fingers. “But you two are our dear friends and…”

Before she could go on, Grant made the announcement for her. “Pam is pregnant.”

No one moved. Then Connie, her eyes filled with tears, knelt beside Pam. “Oh, honey, it's what you've always wanted.”

Grant stood, awkwardly awaiting Jim's reaction. “I hope this won't make you think less of us.”

Jim rose and clapped an arm around Grant's shoulder. “These things happen,” he said. Then slowly a smile broke across his face. “Looking at how happy you both are, I can see it was hardly a shotgun wedding.”

Later when the Campbells walked them to the door,
Grant tried to focus on what Jim was saying, but off to the side he heard Connie whisper urgently to Pam. “I'm surprised, of course, but I'm sure you must know your own heart.”

Grant managed a perfunctory “uh-huh” to whatever Jim was saying, all the time straining to hear Pam's response. It floated to him on the gentle summer breeze. “I knew exactly what I was doing. You'll see.”

Pam's words caused his throat to tighten. Yes, all of them would see. Come September.

 

G
RANT GRITTED HIS TEETH
and pounded the steering wheel, but the traffic ahead of him only inched along before feeding into a single lane. He checked his watch and swore under his breath. No way would he get to the airport in time unless Andy's plane was late.

He didn't need this aggravation. As if he wasn't already as nervous as a rookie playing in his NBA season opener. He wanted Andy to like it here, but being stood up at the airport would be a lousy welcome.

He found himself wishing Pam were with him. But they'd agreed Andy would have enough of an adjustment without immediately being introduced to his—jeez, it sounded odd—stepmother. Yet he'd have to tell his son about Pam as soon as he found an opening. Today if possible. Once Andy learned about the marriage, he'd think it was weird if Pam lived somewhere else.

Seizing an opening in traffic, Grant edged into the line of moving vehicles. Sure enough. Up ahead he saw it. A truck jackknifed on an overpass. Cops everywhere. He hated the thought of Andy having to wait—and wonder.

Poor kid. He'd have a lot to get used to in a short
time. Grant had a sudden image of his own bedroom overrun with lingerie, lava lamps and cats. And one warm, gorgeous woman.

Andy wouldn't be the only one doing some adapting.

 

T
HE MINUTE
the aircraft rolled to a stop at the gate, Andy jumped to his feet, relieved to escape the old lady in the window seat, who'd asked him dumb questions all the way from Atlanta. Like his life was any of her business.

As the line of passengers moved toward the exit, he maneuvered to the overhead bin and extracted his backpack and tennis racket, then joined the crowd inching toward freedom.

It hadn't been too bad a flight. The worst part had been his mother making a big scene in the Orlando airport. Which was kinda funny when you thought about it. It was her idea to go to Dubai, not his. But you'd have thought he was shipping out for World War III the way she carried on.

Well, screw it.

He shouldered his backpack and walked into the jet-way. That's where the blast furnace hit him. Great, it must be a hundred ten degrees. He'd been to Fort Worth a coupla times before. It might be okay if you were a cowboy, but he missed the ocean and the palm trees.

When he stepped into the concourse, he scanned the crowd for his father. All around him were these freakin' family reunions, and several freckle-faced, snot-nosed kids were hugging the old lady who'd driven him crazy. Like seeing her was a big deal.

As groups of people moved off toward the baggage claim area, the crowd thinned. Still no Dad. He usually drove Andy wild with his Mr. Punctuality routine. Not
today. It figured. Andy tossed his backpack onto an empty chair and slumped into the adjacent one. Prob'ly his father was all tied up with important matters at that candy-assed school. How hard could it be teaching math and coaching basketball? It wasn't like it was a real job or anything.

The tennis racket had been a great idea. He'd tell Dad he was going out for tennis in the spring. That'd get the guy off his case about playin' basketball. No way was he going to consider that. About the last friggin' thing he needed was to be the coach's son and play on his team. It was gonna be bad enough to go to the same school. At least he wouldn't have his father for a teacher. He'd already taken geometry and wasn't ready for calculus.

Maybe Dad'd let him have a dog. That would be kinda cool. And when he turned sixteen next spring, he'd get Dad to buy him a car. Wheels. Freedom. He couldn't wait.

“Son?”

Andy looked up. There was Dad, with this big dopey grin on his face. Taking his time, Andy rose to his feet and was engulfed in a bear hug. “Where ya been?” he muttered into his father's shoulder.

“Sorry. There was a wreck on the freeway. Say, looks like you've grown another six inches since Christmas.”

His dad stood back, studying him. Andy shrugged, then picked up his backpack and tennis racket.

“C'mon, then. We'll get the rest of your bags.”

As they made their way to the baggage claim area, Dad kept up this running monologue about how glad he was to see him and how he had everything arranged at Keystone about enrollment and all.

Once they were in the car and Dad was weaving through the traffic, he didn't say much. But when they turned into the neighborhood, ol' Coach G. dropped the bomb. “With that additional height, I can really use you on the basketball team.”

Might as well get it over with, and Dad'd never know the difference, since he hadn't made it to a single one of his games last year. “About the basketball… Dad, I'm gonna play tennis instead. I know you were a high school hoops hotshot and all, but I'm no good. Last year I mostly sat on the bench.” Which wasn't true, but how would his father know?

Then his dad gave him one of these you've-let-me-down looks that was supposed to make him feel guilty. “Son, I'm really disappointed. You can play both basketball and tennis, you know.”

“I hate basketball!” The words just slipped out, but they sure as hell got a reaction from the old man.

“That's no way to—” Then his dad seemed to catch himself. “I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping it was something we'd have in common.”

“No chance,” Andy mumbled.

The rest of the way to the house, neither one of them said anything.

Crap. It was gonna be one long year.

 

T
HANKS TO THE SODA CRACKERS
she'd eaten before she got out of bed, Pam actually felt halfway decent this hot, sunny first day of classes. But no way could she go near the teachers' lounge before school. Even during the best of times the acrid pungency of stale coffee was a fixture there. No, any tummy flutters she had today would be a result of nerves. Grant had called her late last night with the discouraging report that Andy had
arrived not only with all his luggage, but with a capital
A
attitude. He'd made it known in no uncertain terms that he was not in the mood for a father-son chat. So their news remained to be told.

Walking toward the office, she nodded at Ralph Hagood, the principal, who stood in the intersection of two halls, greeting the students and giving bewildered freshmen directions. Pausing by the bank of faculty mailboxes, Pam pulled out her updated class rosters to scan before heading for her classroom. Then she saw the name. Just when she'd thought she had her stomach under control. Sixth period sophomore English. Andrew Paige Gilbert. Of all the luck. She had only one section of sophomores. What if she asked for him to be changed? But what reason could she possibly give Ralph?

Around her, the students' voices swirled in an upbeat symphony of sound, charged with the contagious energy and excitement of the first day of school. Although she hadn't met Andy yet, she empathized with him. If half of what Grant had told her was true, the poor kid's first day at Keystone would be just another in a long line of disruptive changes.

A round-faced, curly-headed young man caught up with her as she walked down the hall. “Ms. Carver, when are auditions for the fall production?”

Oh, Lord, the play. That was so far down on her list of priorities, she hadn't given it much thought. “I don't know yet.” She beamed at the eager youngster. “But I hope you'll try out.”

“Are we still doing
Our Town?
”

“You bet.”

“I'm your man, then.” He ducked into the French room. “See ya later.”

When she entered her classroom, most of the seniors, many of whom she'd had as students in the past, were already in their seats. They greeted her with familiarity. “You gonna be rough on us, Ms. Carver?” “Tell me this course isn't as hard as last year's seniors said.” “Let's just ease into this year, huh?”

With a knowing smile, she introduced her class guidelines, handed out the syllabi and then launched into a lecture on the origins of Anglo-Saxon literature. After class, Brittany Thibault stopped at Pam's desk. “I think I'm really gonna enjoy English lit.” Before Pam could respond, the girl hurtled on. “Could I ask you a huge favor, Ms. Carver?”

“Fire away.”

“Would you be willing to write my college recommendations?”

“I'd be happy to. Bring them to me when you're ready.”

Watching Brittany leave and the students in her second English lit class arrive, Pam had the urge to put her head down on her desk. Plays to direct, college recommendations to write, lectures to prepare, tests to administer, papers to grade, committee meetings to attend—it hadn't taken long for her airy, hopeful balloon to settle back to earth. And she hadn't even listed the most important job of all—a baby to nurture.

The first day of classes was always exhausting, and by noon her adrenaline supply had dwindled. But she still had to face her afternoon class of sophomores. And Andy Gilbert.

Looking around her classroom at the restless sea of sophomores, she identified several unfamiliar faces. Which one was Andy? The burly Scandinavian-looking boy by the window? The short, tense little guy with
wire-rimmed glasses? Then she spotted him. She'd have known Andy anywhere, with his rangy body, deep blue eyes and Grant's thick brown hair falling over his forehead. He sat on the back row, his long denim-clad legs sticking out into the aisle. With an air of detachment, he had his nose in a Stephen King paperback. His body language sent a clear signal—leave me alone.

Her heart went out to him. He must be a master of camouflage. Sure enough, none of the other students was paying him the slightest attention.

She allowed herself a glimmer of hope. If he was a Stephen King fan, maybe she could capture his interest with Edgar Allan Poe. She always started the sophomore year with Poe's classic short story “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

Only when she began speaking did he put aside the novel, but he never once looked at her, instead studying his fingernails with the intensity of one discovering the Rosetta stone.

When the class ended, she stopped him at the door. “Andy, you're new here, right?”

“Yeah.” He fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, as if he was late for a pressing appointment.