The Marine's Baby, Maybe

by Rogenna Brewer

  Finding a quiet place, or as quiet as a military base could be operating 24/7 in a war zone, he pulled out his cell phone. This call was going to cost him an arm and a leg. It was worth every appendage just to know she was all right.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said when she picked up, even though for him Christmas had come and gone. “Were you asleep?”

  “Yes,” she answered groggily.

  He should have realized she would be asleep. Baghdad was ten hours ahead of San Diego. He could hear her sitting up in bed, or maybe he was just imagining it.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Early or late. Depending on how you look at it.”

  “Well, by my clock it’s late, 11:59 p.m. Do you leave all your Christmas calls for the last minute, Calhoun? I’ve been worried sick about you. You were supposed to e-mail me. Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t about to tell a young widow that he wasn’t okay. He’d lost a man today. A boy barely nineteen whose parents would always remember Christmas Day as the day their son had died. Or that he’d needed to call her, to hear her, to be reassured by her that a part of him would go on even though he might not make it.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Just be okay.”

  How many days ago had it been since his life had changed?

  Three? Four? But he—hell, she, knew better than most that life could change in an instant. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “The baby…”

  “We’re fine. I could send you the ultrasound if you’d like to see for yourself.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Ohmigod—”

  “What?” he demanded, ready to leap through the phone line to her rescue.

  “I just felt a flutter.”

  “A flutter?” He barely disguised his awe as he tried to imagine what a flutter felt like. “Isn’t it a little soon?” he asked, thinking of the book under his bed. Quickening could occur between weeks fourteen and twenty-six. Earlier for smaller women.

  “The doctor said I’d start to feel movement anytime. If you hadn’t called…I’d have slept right through it. Calhoun, you just gave me the best Christmas present ever.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He chuckled at the excitement in her voice. “What else did the doc say? Boy or girl?”

  “I don’t know the sex.”

  He’d kind of like to know. Not that it mattered. “Ten fingers. Ten toes. As long as he’s healthy, right?” He gave the stock answer he’d heard from other expectant fathers.

  “He?” She laughed at his slip up. “I’d kind of like a boy, too.”

  The amazing thing was that he wanted this baby at all. She was the one who had given him a gift. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked behind a yawn.

  He’d almost forgotten she was in bed. And probably had to get up. Maybe go to work in a few hours. Was she working?

  He was amazed by how little he actually knew about her.

  Keeping her on the line was selfish. He just couldn’t bring himself to hang up yet. “Just thank you.”

  “You haven’t even gotten the cookies yet.”

  “You sent me cookies?”

  “Well, not yet. But I baked them and as soon as the post office opens I’m there. I hope you like chocolate chip because I ate all the oatmeal-raisin cookie dough.”

  “I love chocolate chip.”

  He loved the idea that she’d baked for him.

  “They were Luke’s favorite, too.”

  He’d almost made it through the entire conversation believing it was just the two of them. That would be a futile fantasy at best.

  Cait wasn’t his wife. She was Luke’s widow.

  Her phone demeanor changed after she mentioned Luke. “Do you think it unforgivable to keep a secret, even if keeping that secret makes someone happy?”

  “That depends,” he answered carefully.

  “I told Nora Jean about the baby,” she said, her voice quiet. “I didn’t tell her about your part in this.”

  “I see.” It’s what he’d agreed to. And when the child was born he’d look like a Calhoun. Because he’d be a Calhoun. If he was going to do right by Cait, he had to stop thinking of this baby as his.

  “It seems unforgivable now. But she was so happy, I just couldn’t…”

  “Cait, you don’t owe Nora Jean an explanation. You don’t owe anyone anything.” Least of all him.

  “Maybe not,” she agreed, but changed the subject just the same. “When will you be home? We can’t wait to meet you.”

  His heart almost stopped beating right then and there. “A couple of months. Before the baby’s due.”

  If his luck held.

  “Promise?”

  “I can’t promise.”

  “Luke would never make me that promise. Maybe if he had—”

  “Cait, it doesn’t work that way.”

  “What if I need to hear it?”

  Then he needed to say it. As if wanting something that bad made it so. “I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  THREE MONTHS LATER he kept his word.

  The unit boarded a chartered commercial flight out of Baghdad. The atmosphere on the Boeing 747 was jubilant, despite the number of flag-draped caskets in the cargo hold.

  The plane wasn’t on the ground long. The added threat of RPGs—rocket-propelled grenades—made landings and take-offs especially dangerous.

  Lucky held his breath during takeoff and didn’t let it out again until they were in the air.

  Butterflies. That’s what a flutter kick felt like. A stomach full of butterflies. As of their latest phone call, the baby was trying out for in utero soccer.

  Lucky had just settled into his coach seat next to Randall when a female flight attendant, carrying a flute of champagne, approached him. “The captain would like to seat you in first class.”

  “Oh,” he started to protest, “I’m not—”

  “Go on.” Randall gave him a shove.

  The flight attendant handed him the champagne, and Lucky grabbed his carry-on and followed the best pair of legs he’d seen in ten months as cheers and jeers followed him up the aisle.

  First class was reserved for officers and new fathers. The new fathers would be allowed to deplane first.

  “Saved you a seat.” Captain George patted the one next to his. “About to become an uncle,” the captain explained to the flight attendant. “Baby’s daddy was killed in Iraq.”

  The attendant said something appropriately sympathetic, made sure he stowed his carry-on and buckled in, then left to see to the rest of her first-class passengers.

  His butterflies started up again. Lucky sipped from the flute in his hand, which did nothing to settle his stomach. He’d guarded Cait’s secret well. His entire unit believed he was his baby’s uncle.

  They refueled in Kuwait and again in Germany, where they picked up their walking wounded. Captain George kept up the conversation and encouraged the flow of wine and women. As the junior officer flirted with flight attendants and Navy nurses alike, Lucky’s thoughts were already a million miles closer to home.

  “Making up for lost time, I see,” said a Navy lieutenant-nurse from across the aisle. The lieutenant wasn’t speaking to Lucky, but the flight attendant propped on his aisle seat armrest remembered her duties and excused herself.

  “That depends,” answered Captain George, the man on Lucky’s right she was speaking to.

  After a few minutes of bickering between the captain and the lieutenant, Lucky realized exactly what that depended on. Captain George, or George of the Urban Jungle as they called him in combat, had met his match. Navy lieutenant and Marine Corps captain were even the same pay grade. Lucky had a feeling this wasn’t their first encounter. Or their last.

  Standing, Lucky offered his seat to the redheaded lieutenant and slid into hers next to another nurse. The older woman, a Navy captain, was three pay grades above a Marine
Corps captain and equal to a colonel. Which made her the senior female presence onboard and probably the head nurse for the entire medical unit that had deployed with them.

  Lucky felt a little uncomfortable at first, but she smiled at him over her romance novel and continued reading while he broke out his laptop computer.

  He had about a half a dozen e-mails from Cait. All asking for his flight information. Over the past three months they’d exchanged e-mails and Instant Messages. Not to mention, he’d spent a small fortune on phone calls, text messages and upgrades to the latest communications technology.

  “You do realize you’re obsessed with a woman you’ve never met.” Damned if Bruce hadn’t been right. There was a point when an obsession became unhealthy.

  He’d backed off in recent weeks.

  She hadn’t taken the hint.

  “Your wife?” the woman beside him asked as he toggled between a picture of a very pregnant Cait and a 3-D video ultrasound of “the peanut”—a nickname he’d given the baby after seeing that first ultrasound.

  “No.”

  The captain nodded politely and went back to her reading.

  Lucky continued to stare at that precious, pulsing video. His own heart beat double-time. Peanut was more defined these days. At least Lucky could tell the arms from the legs. But he still had to twist his head at odd angles to figure it all out in the greater scheme of things.

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” the woman asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Would you like to?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. He had no business knowing anything he didn’t hear firsthand from Cait.

  The nurse pointed out the obvious and the not so obvious. “And there’s his little smeckle.”

  Peanut had a penis.

  Lucky felt overwhelming pride in his discovery.

  “Who is she?” the woman asked, still curious about Cait’s picture.

  “My sister-in-law.” He felt the edges of his smile fade. It was easy to develop feelings for someone who sent you e-mails, baked you cookies and wished you home safe. But Cait had never treated him like anything other than a big brother.

  “Ah.” Her expression softened. But she didn’t make the usual small talk about his being the baby’s uncle. Instead she looked at him with pity.

  “I’m the donor,” he said defensively. And while his admission didn’t exactly fall under doctor–patient confidentiality, he felt his secret was safe.

  “Oh,” said his newfound confidant. And that oh was heavy with innuendo.

  “My brother was killed in Iraq.”

  “So I’ve heard.” It was as if she could also hear everything he’d left unsaid.

  An awkward silence followed. “Brothers are a close DNA match,” he blurted. “And a common sperm donor.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her mouth curved into a soft smile as she went back to her book.

  For the rest of the roughly thirty-six-hour flight, counting layovers, Lucky watched movies and napped. Fifteen minutes out of San Diego the pilot came over the speaker system. “It’s been an honor and a privilege to serve you, Marine Expeditionary Unit One…” He named all the subordinate commands and detachments. “It’s a sunny seventy-two degrees in San Diego on this first day of spring, March 2008. Let me be the first to welcome you home!”

  The cheer that erupted was deafening.

  The celebration lasted until they were on the ground. At the gate, nervous anticipation took over.

  “Please remain seated,” a flight attendant announced, “until our new fathers have deplaned.”

  Half the cabin was already standing and beginning to push forward. Lucky remained in his seat. The new fathers were handed individually wrapped yellow roses by another flight attendant at the cabin door.

  “Go on,” his seat mate urged. “You don’t want to keep a pregnant girl waiting. She’s probably been on her feet for hours.”

  He hesitated. Caitlin wasn’t waiting for him. She’d wanted to meet him at the airport, but he’d told her not to bother. Meeting her for the first time was going to be awkward enough.

  “Do I have to give you an order, Marine?”

  “No, ma’am.” He hopped to his feet and made his way forward. Mistaking him for one of the new fathers, a flight attendant forced a yellow rose on him. He was told to give it to the mother of his child. Technically, that would be Cait. But only technically.

  The senior nurse waved him off the plane. “Good luck to you, Master Sergeant, and your little family.”

  CAITLIN WAITED IN THE BAGGAGE claim area around a carousel designated for the unit. It would have been hard to miss with all the Welcome Home signs. She should have thought to make a poster, but then that seemed too obvious, and he’d asked her not to come.

  For the first time she realized he might have asked for a reason. He’d said he didn’t want her to go to the trouble, that he’d stop by her apartment after he shook off the jet lag. After flying halfway around the world? She couldn’t wait that long. He’d left Baghdad around one o’clock Sunday. It was now three o’clock Monday here in San Diego. Which meant it was one in the morning Tuesday in Baghdad. Thirty-six hours? He was going to be exhausted. Maybe it wasn’t just an excuse.

  But what if it was?

  What if he had someone here waiting for him?

  Curious, she looked around for any indication that she wasn’t the only one. Judging by the number of women waving Welcome Home, Jack banners, Jack was one popular guy. Or there were a lot of guys named Jack with the unit.

  Nothing for Luke or Lucky, though.

  They’d been corresponding for three months now, but she didn’t feel as if she knew him any better than she did during those first few phone calls. He rarely volunteered personal information. Bruce had described his brother as a lone wolf, a sniper who operated forward of his team. He’d tried to warn her not to get her hopes up. The fact that he wasn’t here to welcome home his own brother was telling.

  Caitlin took a hesitant step backward, trying to fade into the crowd. Which made her seem all the more conspicuous. Several sideways glances were cast her way. A group of Jack fans whispered behind their poster-board signs.

  There were a lot of new babies. Some only a month or two old. But no pregnant stragglers.

  These men had been gone too long for that.

  She stood out in her black dress with the tiny red rosebuds and her burgeoning belly. Tilting her chin, Caitlin held her ground. It wasn’t as if she was wearing some scarlet letter. And she’d removed the price tag from the dress before putting it on.

  As his sister-in-law she had just as much right to welcome him home as anyone else.

  How had he explained her to the important people in his life? Had he explained their situation to anyone? Had she tied his hands when she’d asked him to keep it between them?

  The first wave of men caused a stir of excitement. Before they were even in sight spontaneous applause erupted throughout the airport. The baggage carousel started to hum, then turn as the first bag dropped through the chute.

  Men carrying yellow roses were swallowed up by big and small groups of families and friends. They grabbed their bags and were out the door for home as the second wave hit.

  They all wore the same desert fatigue uniform. Would she recognize him from his pictures? Would he look more like her Luke in person? They shared so many common characteristics, but it was hard to tell from a few downloaded snapshots. As the carousel started to fill, someone pulled off gear, calling out names and stacking the unclaimed bags to the side.

  “Calhoun!” a Marine shouted as he lifted another bag.

  Caitlin’s pulse started to pound as a Marine picked up that seabag and hefted it over his shoulder. He carried a yellow rose in his free hand. And she knew the exact moment his green eyes spotted her. She hoped that quirky half smile meant he was happy to see her because in that instant he looked so much like her Luke she wanted to cry. It had been 274 days. If he h
ad been her Luke she would have been wrapped up in his arms by now.

  Calhoun closed the distance with long, measured strides.

  Her own feet may as well have been tacked to the tile floor. His smile had been replaced by a look of resignation.

  Luke Calhoun Jr. was older. More battle-hardened than her Luke had ever been. His brown hair, what there was of it, shades lighter. His tan darker. His green eyes sharp as they focused in on her.

  She knew he’d be tall. She didn’t know he’d look so solid, so imposing, with shoulders broad enough to carry a heavy seabag without hunching over. He stood out among a group of men all tan and fit and wearing the same uniform.

  He couldn’t be described as handsome, like Luke. Or Bruce. He was more rugged than that. More rough around the edges.

  He stopped. Close enough that they should be touching.

  He dropped his bag just as the baby kicked. She pressed both hands to her belly. “Peanut, meet your uncle Lucky.”

  “UNCLE LUCKY” FELT HIS CHEST tighten. “Peanut.” He cleared his throat. His gaze shifted back up to meet hers. “Hi.”

  “Hi back,” she said. “I know you said not to come….” She bit her full bottom lip.

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Her eyes and her smile were sadder than in her wedding photos. But the real Cait, the pregnant Cait, was even more beautiful up close.

  “Are you meeting someone?”

  He followed her gaze to the yellow rose in his hand. “No, this is for you.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She accepted it with a shrug, then leaned in for a sisterly hug. “Welcome home!”

  The exchange was awkward at best. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

  She smelled like apples and cinnamon. He had to tell himself not to bury his nose in her hair, or brush a kiss across her forehead. She felt good. Damn good.

  And round. He loosened her hold around his neck.

  “You’re not a hugger,” she said with a nervous laugh and pulled back.

  “Not really,” he admitted. He didn’t like being the center of attention. “What do you say we get out of here?”