And Baby Makes Four

by And Baby Makes Four (v5. 0) (lit)

  But how? When she told him who she was…It would be over. She wouldn’t need to end it, he’d do it for her. In a heartbeat.

  Lifting the receiver, she punched Kat’s number. Her sister would know what to do, and so would Addie, except she and Skip had plans tonight. It was Friday, after all.

  “What’s up, Lee?” Kat asked the instant she picked up. “Everything okay?”

  Her sister sensing Lee’s turmoil hit a nerve. She burst into tears. “Oh, Kat…I don’t know what to dooo…”

  “Hey, hey,” Kat consoled. “I’m here, honey. Take in a deep breath.”

  Lee tried, and instead gulped and sobbed harder.

  “What is it?” Kat asked, genuine concern in her tone. “Is it the baby?”

  “No,” Lee choked. “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “No, no,” Lee said quickly. “The baby’s fine. It’s—It’s everything on top of the baby. Rogan, Oliver, Sky Dash.” She swiped at her tears, pulled the afghan over her and curled into a fetal position on the couch. God, she was a mess. “And once I start showing, the whispers will start. Oh, Kat, my life’s a photocopy of Mom’s. Ex-husband, illicit affair, and onto guy number three.”

  “Okay, let’s deal with the Mom thing first. Will you keep Oliver’s name a secret from the baby?”

  The way Charmaine had with Kat. To this day, Lee’s sister didn’t know the name of her biological father. Mom’s closet secret, as the sisters referred to Charmaine’s refusal to speak of the man, had elicited myriad arguments over the years.

  Lee sniffed and wiped her tears. “The second this child is born it’ll know who Oliver Duvall was, and that I loved him.” In a good and decent way, and as a true friend.

  “There you go,” Kat said. “You’re not Mom. I love her and all, but this thing between her and me…But never mind that. Let’s talk about Oliver.”

  “I’m so ashamed.” Lee sniffed.

  “Why?”

  “Because people mourning their lover’s death shouldn’t feel all hormonal about another man a couple months later.”

  “Okay, slow down. You said you loved Oliver. We know that. He was your closest childhood friend. But were you in love with him?”

  Thumbing away her tears, Lee sighed. “Truth? I’m not sure. We were two lonely adults who’d known each other forever and simply took that relationship to the next level one night. Sure, we talked marriage afterward, but it was more a comfort idea. But with Rogan…Oh, Kat, I’ve never felt like this. He’s…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “God, I can’t stop thinking about him. And I…I shouldn’t. He’s got so many issues, never mind that his wife and daughter were passengers on that plane Stuart lost three years ago.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I wish I weren’t.”

  “Does he know?”

  “That I’m Stuart’s ex-wife, and flew for Abner Air? No. But it won’t be long before he finds out. He’s been assembling a case against Stuart for three years.”

  “Are you saying you and Stuart were still married when—”

  “No. I’m saying I used to fly that plane, Kat. When it went down, I called his office to convey my condolences and the secretary told me then which plane they’d lost. It was one I’d always flown.” The one Stuart let Bill Norton fly.

  “Oh, Lee…”

  “A mess, huh? And don’t forget, my Sky Dash was once part of Stuart’s fleet.”

  Several beats of silence hovered. Kat said, “You weren’t to blame, Lee. There were dozens of rumors back then about why the crash happened. I don’t remember them all, but I do remember talk of a faulty fuel gage, a storm, even pilot error.”

  “Bill Norton,” Lee said, zeroing on the man in the cockpit that day. “He took my place. If I hadn’t—”

  “Hadn’t what? Divorced Stuart? He cheated on you, Lee. Have you forgotten that?”

  A vision of Stuart in their bed with that cocktail waitress could still make Lee’s stomach churn. “No,” she whispered.

  “Listen,” Kat went on. “You are an excellent pilot. But you need to tell Rogan. If you want a relationship with this man, you need to be up front about this part of your past. And don’t leave anything out.”

  “He’ll never speak to me again.”

  “Then he isn’t the one.”

  The finality of Kat’s words haunted Lee into the weekend.

  Chapter Nine

  E arly Saturday, she flew three family members to a Whidbey Island reunion before returning to jog the shoreline trail alone. Kat couldn’t come because her son had an earache, and Addie was following Skip’s wishes to walk her miles on the treadmill at home.

  Exhilarated and sweaty from her run, Lee opened the door of her apartment to a ringing phone. Her next flight—a pair of newlyweds wanting a tour of the island and Admiralty Inlet—wouldn’t be until 3:00 p.m.

  “How’d your run go?” Addie asked without preamble.

  “Great. Yours?”

  “Not as good as breathing the sea wind, but it makes Skip more comfortable to have me at home.”

  Lee understood Skip’s concern and envied his devotion to Addie. The man displayed attributes Lee had not experienced in her own marriage. And although her relationship with Oliver had been lovely and strong, she realized now that she hadn’t loved him with that all-out passion she saw between Addie and Skip. While some might call it coveting, Lee wanted what they had—and she wanted it with Rogan.

  Pushing the thought aside, she said, “You exercising at home makes me happier, too, Ads. You shouldn’t be somewhere in the woods at this stage of the game.”

  “Yeah,” her sister conceded. “I know. Listen, have you told Mom about the baby?”

  “Not yet.” That was another added worry. Her mother’s reaction. Lee didn’t look forward to Charmaine Wilson’s I-expected-more-of-you remarks.

  “Don’t leave it till later,” Addie went on. “All things considered, she does have a right to know, never mind that she’d be really hurt if you waited until you show.”

  “I don’t need her condescending attitude right now.”

  “She’s changed.”

  “Maybe for you.”

  Addie was silent. Then she asked the clincher. “What if you didn’t tell her and something were to happen?”

  Lee thought of Darby’s plane, of Oliver in Iraq. “Fine. Soon as I shower I’ll give her a call.”

  “Not call. Go over to the house.”

  The one with a million childhood memories—some not so good. Lee winced. “All right, I’ll go,” she said.

  Thirty minutes later, she turned her SUV into Charmaine Wilson’s dirt lane on the outskirts of town. The tiny six-room Cape Cod-style home, surrounded by evergreens, oaks and maples, put a lump into Lee’s throat. She’d always loved this house. And yes, she loved her mother. She just wished they got along better.

  At her first knock, Charmaine swung open the door. “Lee. What a nice surprise.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Come on in.” Her mother stepped back as Lee entered. The scent of butter and sugar hung on the air. On days Charmaine didn’t cut hair at the Looks Good salon, she baked for her daughters’ families.

  “Which kind did you make today?” Lee wanted to know. She’d never been able to refuse her mother’s treats.

  “Your favorite,” Charmaine said.

  Lee went through the house to the kitchen. “Carrot cake?”

  “You want a piece?” Her mother got the kettle to make tea.

  “A small slice. Mom—” Lee walked to the window that looked out on the backyard. Purple crocuses decorated the dark flowerbeds. “I’m pregnant.”

  Charmaine set the kettle down. “You’re…?”

  “The baby is Oliver Duvall’s and it’s due late October.”

  Her mother sat down at the kitchen table. “But before…you weren’t able to…”

  Lee shrugged. “Guess Stuart was useless in more ways than one.”
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  “Oh, Lee.” Elbows on the table, Charmaine cupped her cheeks. “How on Earth did you get in this position?”

  She laughed without humor. “Position?”

  Her mother sat back, eyes penetrating. “I meant how did you allow yourself—”

  Lee held up her hands and walked to the kitchen doorway. “Do not go there, Mother. The last thing I need is your judgment.” Why had she come? She shouldn’t have come. Or she should have brought Addie to act as a buffer.

  Charmaine rushed after Lee to the front door. “I’m not judgmental, I’m worried. How will you run Sky Dash?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Peyton Sawyer will buy it. He’s always wanted full-time work.” If it meant he wouldn’t have to move his family off the island.

  “The retired bush pilot? You don’t want that.”

  In the foyer, Lee turned. “First off, Mom, he’s an excellent pilot and second, it’s not a matter of wanting. It’s a matter of necessity.” She pushed out the door and strode to her vehicle. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Lee, darn it.” Charmaine hurried down the stoop. “Let’s talk this over.”

  “We have. You’re not happy with my behavior, but you know what? You’ll just have to deal with it somehow.” She yanked open the truck’s door, jumped behind the wheel. Why had she expected her mother’s support?

  “What about Lucien Duvall? Have you told him?”

  Lee’s hand stalled on the ignition. “I’ll go there now.” Might as well get it out now as later.

  Her mother stepped into the yawning door. “Would you like me to come along?” Her eyes were as serious as Lee had seen. “He’s…He’s not an easy man.”

  Lee laughed and the tension left her shoulders. “No kidding.”

  “I won’t say a word,” her mother persisted. “I’ll just be there. For you.”

  Lee struggled with the decision. Should she take the olive branch? “Thanks,” she said, offering a small smile. “But I need to do this on my own. He might think we’re ganging up on him.”

  Charmaine looked down the driveway. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she murmured.

  Lee frowned. “Meaning…?”

  The older woman stepped back. “Call me when you’re home.”

  “Sure.” She turned the engine, pressed the accelerator and drove from her childhood home. As always she wondered why she let her mother get to her.

  Lucien Duvall lived in a houseboat on the other side of Burnt Bend, along the only river that ran half the length of the island. When Mrs. Duvall had died of cancer the year Oliver graduated from Fire High, the old man sold their house in town, bought the houseboat, and Oliver left to make the military his career.

  His old pickup and Oliver’s black SUV were parked in the small graveled spot in front of the houseboat. Lee felt the sting of tears at the sight of Oliver’s truck. Lucien hadn’t sold it yet.

  As she got out of her vehicle, he glanced up from his task on the houseboat’s small, square deck. She recalled their last meeting at her apartment; a shiver ran up her spine. The Duvall was moored several hundred yards upstream from the cluster of other houseboats sharing this section of river beach.

  “Hello, Lucien,” she said.

  “Whaddya want?”

  “I’d like to talk to you for a minute. Do you mind if I come aboard?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She went across the short gangplank and stepped onto the deck. Dressed in jeans, boots and a thick winter vest against the cool April weather, the old man sat on a patio chair, carving wood. A breeze caught his silver hair, tufting it at the back of his head.

  Lee stood watching his big hands, the knife between them. On a deep breath, she said, “I’m pregnant with Oliver’s child, Lucien.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “I don’t care if you do or don’t. I’m telling you so there won’t be any surprises when the baby’s born.” After all, people around town had seen her holding Oliver’s hand.

  He grunted, continued to carve. “Nothing you or your mother does surprises me.”

  She stood for a moment longer, fascinated how he groomed the wood in the shape of a woman holding a cat.

  “Well,” Lee said, chilled by his indifference. “I’ll leave you to your carving.”

  She was almost at the Jeep when his gruff voice rang out. “You’ll call me when the baby’s born?” He stood at the deck railing, gazing down at her, hands at his sides clutching wood and knife. An imposing bear of a man, he looked vulnerable against the day’s sunshine.

  A slow smile crossed Lee’s lips. “I will. You take care, Lucien.”

  Her visits with Charmaine and Lucien intensified Lee’s thoughts of Rogan. There was obviously a history between her mother and Lucien. Both had made vague references to the other, and then both opted not to elaborate. And Lee’s instincts told her that history occurred decades before—and continued, unresolved.

  She would not repeat the same process with Rogan.

  Kat’s right, she thought Monday morning as she and Fitz loaded the seaplane. I should’ve informed him immediately about my association with Abner Air.

  The instant Rogan explained the basis for his anxiety as they flew back to Burnt Bend, she should have opened her mouth and told him of her past. If she had, she wouldn’t be in this state today, harboring knowledge akin to some sort of terrible secret.

  Secret. How she hated the word. Well, after returning from this morning’s flight, she would knock on his office door and tell him. Just walk in and spill it all.

  Since their confrontation Friday evening, he’d left voicemails for her to call him, the third message coming at nine last night. Each Lee saved—and listened to again and again.

  She’d needed time to think. Kat and Addie would call it picking the problem apart, and they’d be right. She’d always been one to analyze situations to death. Like the night she had dinner with Kat, questioning her sister about Rogan. And what about the other night over the phone? No, that night she’d fallen apart.

  She never cried. But that night…

  Something had snapped.

  “That’s it,” Fitz said, interrupting her worries as he slammed the cargo hold closed. “See ya at four, girl.”

  “Thanks, Fitz.” Lee watched him pull the trolley down the dock. In the two weeks he’d been loading her plane, he hadn’t once asked why she needed his help. He’d simply accepted her request—and her privacy. But that wasn’t why she’d gone to him. Fitz and his wife ran Coffee Sense, and Lee had known the couple from the time she was sixteen and worked her first after-school job in their shop. In those days Fitz became the surrogate father she’d needed.

  After climbing into the plane, she tugged the door shut. Time to concentrate on the flight….

  Two hours later, she taxied back to the dock and anchored the plane. Glancing toward the shops, she wondered if Rogan had heard her approach. Was he watching out the window?

  He hadn’t flown with her today, which meant he was probably at his desk. A knot seizing her stomach, Lee headed for the building.

  At the top of the staircase, she knocked on his door with its gold nameplate, Rogan B. Matteo, Attorney, bolted at eye level, a nameplate that hadn’t been there this morning.

  “Come in, Lee,” he called.

  So he had been watching for her.

  “Hey,” she said, entering.

  He was alone, but rose immediately to come around his desk. Eyes dark and serious, he said, “I thought you’d left the island. I tried to call several times.”

  “I’m sorry, it was a busy weekend.” Guilt seared her cheeks. “Rogan, I need to tell you about—”

  He reached for her hands. “When you didn’t answer your phone last night, I thought I’d really pissed you off.”

  “No. I was just…” Trying to figure out how to tell you about my marriage to Stuart and everything that involved. “Busy. And last night,” she added hurriedl
y because “busy” sounded arrogant, “I wasn’t up to talking, so I went to bed early.”

  He studied her for a moment, then touched her cheek. “You were exhausted.”

  “A little tired. Okay, more than a little.” She laughed softly. “Goes with the territory, I suppose.”

  “Are you free for a while?”

  “Actually, I need to do some paperwork, but first we need to—”

  “It can wait. Come.” He steered her toward the door, his hand warm and gentle on her waist. “I’ll brew a pot of your favorite tea while you rest on the sofa.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” But, Lord, it sounded wonderful. In her mind, a picture flashed: them together, her head in his lap while he stroked her hair, her falling into a deep and restful sleep.

  He locked his office while she unlocked her apartment.

  “Hang on,” she said, suddenly realizing her bladder was about to burst.

  Rogan nodded. “I’ll get the water boiling.”

  In the bathroom mirror, Lee stared at the dark circles under her eyes. He understands, she thought, touching skin the color of an eggplant. He knows what a pregnant woman goes through. And there they were again, the tears.

  Disgusted with herself, she ran the washcloth under cold water, patted her face. Pull yourself together. This is so not you.

  She finished her business and was walking into the kitchen when the cramp hit. “Oooh,” she cried softly, grasping the back of a chair and her stomach at the same time.

  Rogan’s head snapped around. Immediately, he set the kettle down and strode over. His pupils pinpointed. “What is it?” he asked, his arm warm and steady around her hunched shoulders.

  “Got a…pain…in my…stomach.”

  Pulling out the chair, he guided Lee onto it. Squatting in front of her, he coaxed, “Slow, deep breaths.”

  Sharp and keen, the pain lanced again across her abdomen. Lee doubled over. Her face nearly touched her knees. “Rogan…” she panted. “The baby…I won’t let it…” Go.

  He tore the cell phone off his belt. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”