The Marine's Baby, Maybe

by Rogenna Brewer

  The man on the other end of the phone chuckled. “You mean Lucky. That’s what you Calhouns get for having more than one Luke in the family.” He cleared his throat, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Their mail gets mixed up all the time. Or at least it used to. We sure do miss Luke around here, Mrs. Calhoun. Is everything all right with you?”

  Lucky?

  She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she lied. Did everyone except her know her husband had a brother?

  “Just send the mail along to the command and I’ll see that it gets forwarded.”

  Bingo. She stumbled on before he hung up. “I’d…really like to forward it myself. See if I could put a stop to it. If you wouldn’t mind, could you just give me his information?”

  “Yeoman!” he called to someone on his end of the line. “There should be an emergency contact sheet on that desk somewhere for Bruce Calhoun. What unit is his brother with?”

  Bruce again? Did Luke have more than one brother she didn’t know about? Caitlin held her breath while she heard someone shuffling papers on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah, here it is….That’s Master Sergeant Luke Calhoun Jr., USMC. Marine Expeditionary Unit One…” He rattled off the entire mailing address, e-mail address and cell-phone number while she scrambled for a pen to write it all down.

  A Marine. Her brother-in-law was a Marine.

  “Thank you,” she managed as she hung up the phone. She’d forgotten to ask for the other brother, Bruce’s information.

  Pacing the living area of her apartment, which was only slightly bigger than the overstuffed storage unit she rented, Caitlin nixed the idea of calling back the Red Cross. Not when she had all of his information at her fingertips.

  A “daddygram” might come as a shock. It certainly had been for her. But she was past shock to anger.

  So, should she write, call or e-mail the alleged father of her baby? Her brother-in-law. A complete stranger, no matter what his relationship to her husband.

  The phone rang again.

  “What?” she snapped into the receiver, fully expecting Pam to be on the other end of the line.

  “Caitlin Calhoun?” That testosterone-laced voice did not belong to Pam. But it could very well belong to a guy shooting with one hand while talking with the other. There was a hint of something familiar that made her weak in the knees.

  “Yes,” she said, bracing herself. It could be just another bill collector. Why hadn’t she checked the caller ID?

  “You don’t know me. Name’s Lucky…Lucky Calhoun. I just heard from CryoBank and was wondering if we could talk—”

  Caitlin hung up the phone.

  Chapter Five

  “SMOOTH, LUCKY. REAL SMOOTH.” He couldn’t just punch Redial because he hadn’t used his cell phone. It would have been too unreliable for this call. So he’d found a land line, one of the less used ones, and here he was punching in all those extra phone card numbers again. “Don’t hang up,” he said when she picked up this time.

  “I won’t.” He could hear the raw emotion crackling over the line. Then silence. He could guess why she might be a little emotional.

  He had twenty minutes left on his phone card, at best. He didn’t know what to say, so he counted to ten, hoping it would come to him. Or that she’d feel compelled to fill the void. She didn’t.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  Two F-18s roared overhead, one right after the other. He put a finger to his ear to hear her soft-spoken response in the other. “Yes.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She hesitated. “No,” she said through a broken sob.

  Then the crying started in earnest. He’d never been very good with women who were criers. But as he looked around the airfield he didn’t worry about what he was going to say next. He didn’t have to ask if she was pregnant. Or if it was his. Those sobs told him everything he needed to know. “So I guess you have heard of CryoBank.”

  He heard her choke back a laugh. “Luke never even told me he had a brother.”

  “Half brother,” he corrected. “We weren’t that close.” Now, that was an understatement. Which made him feel as if he had to say something more. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He hadn’t taken emergency leave for the funeral—and not because the Marine Corps wouldn’t let him. No, it ran much deeper than that.

  It had taken him all of two seconds to put one and one together and come up with three. First the letter from Aunt Dottie saying the widow-bride wouldn’t give up the flag or Little Luke’s semen. And they were afraid she was going to do something stupid. “They” meaning Nora Jean, because he was pretty sure the rest of the family didn’t give a damn what the widow did with her dead husband’s sperm.

  Then the letter from CryoBank. Or rather CryoBank’s attorneys. The words specimen and compromised jumped out at him, along with a check. It was pretty self-explanatory.

  Compromised. He snorted. In the military, compromised was a polite term for “screwed.”

  No, he didn’t care what the widow did with her dead husband’s sperm. But he did care what she did with his. “So, how pregnant are you?”

  “Pregnant!” she snapped as another jet engine whistled overhead. “Is someone shooting at you?” She sniffed back her tears. The change in her demeanor rattled him. Fear. For him?

  “No, I’m pretty safe right here,” he lied. Safe was a relative term when standing next to a blast wall. “Those are our guys. But I don’t have much time…. The pregnancy,” he prompted. “How far along are you?”

  He rephrased his question even though he didn’t think he was being all that insensitive. Pregnant women were just overly sensitive. Or so he’d heard from more than one guy in the unit who’d left a pregnant wife behind.

  “Three months.”

  That far. He dug at the ground with the toe of his boot. A little late to do anything about it now. Three whole months he’d been an expectant father and hadn’t even known it. Hell, he didn’t even know the mother. He might have imagined this conversation with one of any number of ex-girlfriends. But not with a total stranger.

  “The baby’s due in June.”

  The baby.

  That soon.

  “So what do we do about this?” he asked.

  “This?” He heard confusion in her voice.

  “Situation. CryoBank.”

  “I don’t know.”

  That made two of them. “Just don’t sign anything. I’m turning the whole matter over to JAG. Let the Navy and Marine Corps lawyers figure it out.”

  She didn’t say anything for about a minute. At least that’s what it felt like.

  “You signed something? A release? A check?”

  Another moment of silence.

  A frustrated sigh escaped him. “I hope they offered you more than the thirty-five hundred dollars they offered me.”

  “Thirty-five hundred?”

  “Should I feel insulted?” CryoBank was mistaken if they thought this a simple misappropriation of his semen.

  “This really isn’t your problem,” she said.

  “Then whose problem is it?” She was mistaken if she thought this wasn’t his problem.

  “I just meant I chose to have Luke’s baby.”

  “Wrong Luke.”

  “I know this wasn’t your choice. But if Luke and I had had trouble conceiving we might have asked you ourselves. A brother is a close DNA match and a brother-in-law a common sperm donor.”

  He doubted that. He really doubted that.

  He and Luke were half brothers. But the only thing they had in common was the same name and the same father. And neither by choice. But he didn’t bother correcting her.

  “So I guess I’m asking…” She hesitated. “Could you see yourself as the donor?”

  Donor. Scapegoat without the goat.

  “And uncle,” she added hastily. “It could be our little secret. No one else needs to know.”

  She didn’t know what she was aski
ng.

  “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out.”

  She’d given him an out, so why wasn’t he taking it? What were his intentions when he’d picked up the phone? To tell her he was a stand-up guy? That he’d be there for her and the baby? He was. And he would be.

  But he had hoped he was wrong about the whole sordid situation. He’d lived his entire life in Little Luke’s shadow. And now this…“I’ll think about it.”

  He heard a beep. The two-minute warning from his phone card. Twenty minutes up already?

  “Please, promise me you’ll keep this between us. Will you be back in the States anytime soon?” she asked. “Maybe it would be best if we discussed this in person.”

  Home. His tour of duty had been involuntarily extended, along with his enlistment in the Corps. So much for an all-volunteer force.

  Seems he was out of choices these days.

  A squadron of Black Hawk helicopters took off on the horizon. Search and destroy? Or search and rescue?

  Another beep. One minute left for such an enormous decision.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Still here.” Was it really fair to keep her hanging? As a Marine, war was his reality. Sometimes the question what if couldn’t be avoided.

  To hell with what he wanted. “A very involved uncle,” he answered.

  “Absolutely!”

  “Look, I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to call again—”

  “E-mail me—”

  Click. Dial tone. Damn.

  He didn’t have her e-mail address.

  CAITLIN SET THE PHONE BACK in its cradle. This time she hadn’t been as eager for the connection to break. They’d left so much unsaid. She hadn’t asked about the other brother. Brothers? And he hadn’t told her when he’d be home.

  Was San Diego even his home?

  Camp Pendleton was a Marine base, wasn’t it?

  She shouldn’t get so hung up on all the questions. He’d accepted his role. She didn’t have it all figured out yet, but asking him to be her sperm donor was the solution.

  Really, how involved would he be? He was a military man.

  And he as much as admitted that they weren’t a close family. He seemed more concerned with taking legal action against CryoBank than he was about her and the baby.

  Caitlin put a comforting hand to her belly.

  There was no need for her to feel this disappointed.

  Their phone call had just reaffirmed what she’d known all along—that she was in this alone.

  The important thing was that half brothers shared DNA.

  This baby was Luke’s no matter what.

  And she’d keep telling herself that until she believed it. Because if she didn’t, if she let the reality sink in, it would be like losing him all over again.

  Caitlin was startled out of her reverie by pounding at the door.

  That was either the landlady with December’s bounced rent check, or it was Pam. A quick peek though the peephole and she could see, in keeping with the season, three wise women bearing gifts. Wiping her eyes, Caitlin answered the door.

  “Why didn’t you tell us what you were thinking so we could have talked you out of it?” Pam stepped past Caitlin, her arms full of what appeared to be maternity clothes.

  “Maybe I didn’t want to be talked out of it.”

  “Of course you did.” Pam dumped the clothes into Caitlin’s arms. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child alone?”

  “I’ll manage. You manage.” Caitlin tossed the bundle to the couch on top of her pillow and blanket. Her sleeping arrangements raised three pairs of eyebrows.

  “He’s not just gone, Caitlin. He’s gone for good.”

  Everyone needed that one friend who would tell it to them like it was—for Caitlin, Pam was that friend. But she could be a little abrasive at times.

  Caitlin prepared to square off with her now.

  “She’ll manage.” Jill stepped in, handing over a small bag from The Holiday Store. And then there was that friend who was your cheerleader, no matter what. “We decided we couldn’t wait for the wives’ club meeting and our annual ornament exchange.”

  Caitlin had attended half a dozen of their weekly get-togethers, but only one since Luke’s death because of how uncomfortable it made everyone. Including her.

  “A little help here.” Marilyn had wandered into the kitchenette to unpack two shopping bags full of carry-out containers from the Officer’s Club. “I’ll have you know I wouldn’t go off my diet for just anyone. But we thought you could use some comfort food.” She alternately waved and nibbled on a French fry. And then there was the friend who was so self-absorbed she made all your worries seem small.

  “Open the bag,” Jill encouraged.

  Inside, Caitlin found an ornament for the tree she hadn’t bothered to put up. The teddy bear had a rounded belly exposed under a T-shirt with the saying Baby On Board.

  “Do you believe Jill actually had that T-shirt,” Pam volunteered, plucking it from the pile of clothes to show it to her.

  Caitlin didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

  “Wow,” Jill said, “Luke’s baby!”

  “How does that whole frozen Popsicle thing work, anyway?” Marilyn, who didn’t have children, wanted to know.

  Pam cast the woman a warning glare, and Marilyn went back to stuffing her face with French fries. “We are happy for you, Caitlin,” Pam tried to reassure her. “And we want you to know we’re here for you.”

  An awkward silence followed. Caitlin’s husband had been a junior officer in a world where women socialized according to their husband’s rank.

  And now she was a widow. A pregnant widow at that. No wonder they didn’t know how to treat her anymore.

  “But…” Caitlin prompted.

  “No buts,” Pam said, pushing aside the mound of clothes and guiding Caitlin to sit beside her on the couch. “The team is coming home for Christmas.”

  A longer, more awkward silence followed as Caitlin digested the news.

  “We wanted to be the ones to tell you,” Jill said.

  “That’s great,” Caitlin stammered.

  “Go ahead and cry, honey,” Jill said sympathetically.

  “No.” Caitlin held back her tears. She really was happy for her friends. Their husbands were coming home. And in time for Christmas. “No, that’s great,” she repeated.

  “We just found out today.” Marilyn dusted the salt from her fingertips and deserted the fries with one last longing look.

  “When?”

  “Two days,” Pam said.

  Christmas Eve.

  “I’ll be there,” Caitlin said in an overly bright voice.

  Pam got that maternal look in her eye. The one Caitlin imagined she gave her youngest when she was bandaging his boo-boos after a fall from his skateboard. “You know you don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  Caitlin made it through lunch and an hour of polite conversation. She was a phony. She wasn’t even a friend anymore. Not really. Not when she couldn’t tell them the truth about her condition.

  As soon as she closed the door on the wives Caitlin ran to the bathroom. She dug through the hamper for Luke’s T-shirt. Pulling it over her head, over her clothes, she stuck her arms through the sleeves and sank to the tile floor.

  She was pregnant. It wasn’t her husband’s baby.

  And his team was coming home. Without him.

  The dam burst.

  AFTER WAITING IN THE INTERNET access lines for over an hour, Lucky checked his e-mail. Nothing from the widow-bride, not that he was expecting anything. He’d just spoken with her a few hours ago.

  When Bruce appeared on his buddy list, Lucky sent his brother an Instant Message.

  Lucky: what do you know about the widow-bride?

  Bruce: not much, y

  Lucky: do u have her sn?

  Bruce: had his

  Lucky: can you get hers?


  Bruce: so you can bully the widow?

  i know you had reason to hate him, but i was just getting to know him

  Lucky: no lecture i need her sn

  Bruce: just tell me y

  Lucky: i said so

  Bruce: lol-BULLY

  Lucky: I NEED IT!

  Bruce: what message? will find way to pass it along

  Lucky: FORGET IT!

  Bruce:

  What about Bruce’s allegiance to the brother he’d known all his life? It wasn’t as if Bruce and Luke were ever going to be buddies. Officers and enlisted men didn’t socialize. Hell, maybe SEALs did. But Bruce had been in Iraq while Luke was Stateside getting hitched. And as far as Lucky knew, he hadn’t even gotten an invite to the wedding. So why was he being so protective of the widow-bride? Lucky pushed away from the computer more frustrated than ever.

  “Internet dating’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Sergeant Jack Randall had been Lucky’s spotter for the past four years. He was a good guy to have covering your six. But you didn’t want him anywhere near your sweetheart or your sister. Not that Lucky had either. Which may have been why they got along so well.

  “Someday those five fiancées of yours are going to be chatting with each other.”

  “Never happen,” Randall said with the confidence of a man who had yet to be caught. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’m going to give each of them a different homecoming date. By the time I get bored with one I’ll be moving on to another.”

  Cait had asked Lucky when he’d be home. He didn’t have a definite date yet. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone waiting for him but couldn’t.

  “What if you don’t get bored?”

  Jack gave him a blank stare. “Guess I hadn’t thought of that contingency. You ever not get bored?”

  “No,” Lucky answered honestly. “But maybe it’s because we pick the wrong women.” Lucky had signed up with half a dozen different Internet dating services over his four tours in Iraq. He just didn’t find it as addictive as some of the guys in his unit did.

  He preferred picking up women the old-fashioned way, in bars. Better that than finding out your cyber squeeze was really some three-hundred-pound guy in a bathrobe with way too much time on his hands.