by Nora Roberts
Tonight his mind was too cluttered, and he knew he was stalling. He glanced over his worktable and across his cramped and cluttered two-room apartment. Natasha was curled in the overstuffed, badly sprung chair he’d salvaged off the street the previous summer. She had a book in her hands, but Mikhail didn’t think she’d turned a page in more than twenty minutes. She, too, was stalling.
As annoyed with himself as with her, he pulled off the headphones. He only had to turn to be in the kitchen. Saying nothing, he put a pot onto one of the two temperamental gas burners and brewed tea. Natasha made no comment. When he brought over two cups, setting hers on the scarred surface of a nearby table, she glanced up blankly.
“Oh. Dyakuyu.”
“It’s time to tell me what’s going on.”
“Mikhail—”
“I mean it.” He dropped onto the mismatched hassock at her feet. “You’ve been here nearly a week, Tash.”
She managed a small smile. “Ready to kick me out?”
“Maybe.” But he put a hand over hers, rubbing lightly. “I haven’t asked any questions, because that was what you wanted. I haven’t told Mama and Papa that you arrived at my door one evening, looking pale and frightened, because you asked me to say nothing.”
“And I appreciate it.”
“Well, stop appreciating it.” He made one of his characteristically abrupt gestures. “Talk to me.”
“I told you I needed to get away for a little while, and I didn’t want Mama and Papa to fuss over me.” She moved her shoulders, then reached for her tea. “You don’t fuss.”
“I’m about to. Tell me what’s wrong.” He leaned over and cupped her chin in one hand. “Tash, tell me.”
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, then shakily set the tea down again.
He opened his mouth, but when the words didn’t come, he simply wrapped his arms around her. Taking a long, labored breath, she held on.
“You’re all right? You’re well?”
“Yes. I went to the doctor a couple days ago. He says I’m fine. We’re fine.”
He drew back to study her face. “The college professor?”
“Yes. There hasn’t been anyone but Spence.”
Mikhail’s dark eyes kindled. “If the bastard’s treated you badly—”
“No.” She found it odd that she was able to smile and caught Mikhail’s fisted hands in hers. “No, he’s never treated me badly.”
“So he doesn’t want the child.” When Natasha merely looked down at their joined hands, Mikhail narrowed his eyes. “Natasha?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled away to stand and pace through Mikhail’s collection of beat-up furniture and blocks of wood and stone.
“You haven’t told him?”
“Of course I told him.” As she moved, her hands clasped and unclasped. To calm herself, she stopped by Mikhail’s Christmas tree—a one-foot evergreen in a pot that she’d decorated with bits of colored paper. “I just didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything when I did. I was too upset.”
“You don’t want the child.”
She turned at that, her eyes wide. “How can you say that? How could you think that?”
“Because you’re here, instead of working things out with the college professor.”
“I needed time to think.”
“You think too much.”
It wasn’t anything he hadn’t said before. Natasha’s jaw set. “This isn’t a matter of deciding between a blue dress and a red one. I’m having a child.”
“Tak. Why don’t you sit down and relax before you give it wrinkles.”
“I don’t want to sit down.” She began to prowl again, shoving a box out of her way with one foot. “I didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place. Even when I did, when he made it impossible for me to do otherwise, I knew it was important to keep some distance. I wanted to make sure I didn’t make the same mistakes again. And now…” She made a helpless gesture.
“He isn’t Anthony. This baby isn’t Lily.” When she turned around, her eyes were so drenched with emotion that he rose to go to her. “I loved her, too.”
“I know.”
“You can’t judge by what’s gone, Tash.” Gently he kissed her cheeks. “It isn’t fair to you, your professor or the child.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes, I love him.”
“Does he love you?”
“He says—”
He caught her restless hands in his own. “Don’t tell me what he says, tell me what you know.”
“Yes, he loves me.”
“Then stop hiding and go home. You should be having this conversation with him, not with your brother.”
He was slowly going out of his mind. Every day Spence went by Natasha’s apartment, certain that this time she would answer the door. When she didn’t, he stalked over to harass Annie in the shop. He barely noticed the Christmas decorations in shop windows, the fat, cheerful Santas, the glittery angels, the colored lights strung around the houses. When he did, it was to scowl at them.
It had taken all of his efforts to make a show of holiday spirit for Freddie. He’d taken her to pick out a tree, spent hours decorating it with her and complimenting her crumbling popcorn strings. Dutifully he’d listened to her ever-growing Christmas list, and had taken her to the mall to sit in Santa’s lap. But his heart wasn’t in it.
It had to stop, he told himself and he stared out the window at the first snowfall. Whatever crisis he was facing, whatever chaos his life was in, he wouldn’t see Freddie’s Christmas spoiled.
She asked about Natasha every day. It only made it more difficult because he had no answers. He’d watched Freddie play an angel in her school’s Christmas pageant and wished Natasha had been with him.
And what of their child? He could hardly think of anything else. Even now Natasha might be carrying the baby sister Freddie so coveted. The baby, Spence had already realized, that he desperately wanted. Unless… He didn’t want to think of where she had gone, what she had done. How could he think of anything else?
There had to be a way to find her. When he did, he would beg, plead, browbeat and threaten until she came back to him.
She’d had a child. The fact left him dazed. A child she had lost, Spence remembered. But how, and when? Questions that needed answering crowded his mind. She had said she loved him, and he knew that saying it had been difficult for her. Even so, she had yet to trust him.
“Daddy.” Freddie bounced into the room, her mind full of the Christmas that was only six days away. “We’re making cookies.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Freddie grinning, her mouth smeared with red and green sugar. Spence swooped her up to hold her close. “I love you, Freddie.”
She giggled, then kissed him. “I love you, too. Can you come make cookies with us?”
“In a little while. I have to go out first.” He was going to go to the shop, corner Annie and find out where Natasha had gone. No matter what the redhead said, Spence didn’t believe that Natasha would have left her assistant without a number where she could be reached.
Freddie’s lip poked out while she fiddled with Spence’s top button. “When will you come back?”
“Soon.” He kissed her again before he set her down. “When I come back, I’ll help you bake cookies. I promise.”
Content, Freddie rushed back to Vera. She knew her father always kept his promises.
Natasha stood outside the front door as the snow fell. There were lights strung along the roof and around the posts. She wondered how they would look when they were lighted. There was a full-size Santa on the door, his load of presents making him bend from the waist. She remembered the witch that had stood there on Halloween. On that first night she and Spence had made love. On that night, she was certain, their child had been conceived.
For a moment she almost turned back, telling herself she should go to her apartment, unpac
k, catch her breath. But that would only be hiding again. She’d hidden long enough. Gathering her courage, she knocked.
The moment Freddie opened the door, the little girl’s eyes shone. She let out a squeal and all but jumped into Natasha’s arms. “You’re back, you’re back! I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
Natasha held her close, swaying back and forth. This was what she wanted, needed, she realized as she buried her face in Freddie’s hair. How could she have been such a fool? “It’s only been a little while.”
“It’s been days and days. We got a tree and lights, and I already wrapped your present. I bought it myself at the mall. Don’t go away again.”
“No,” Natasha murmured. “I won’t.” She set Freddie down to step inside and close out the cold and snow.
“You missed my play. I was an angel.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We made the halos in school and got to keep them, so I can show you how I looked.”
“I’d like that.”
Certain everything was back to normal, Freddie took her hand. “I tripped once, but I remembered all my lines. Mikey forgot his. I said ‘A child is born in Bethlehem,’ and ‘Peace on Earth,’ and sang ‘Gloria in selfish Deo.’”
Natasha laughed for the first time in days. “I wish I had heard that. You will sing it for me later?”
“Okay. We’re baking cookies.” Still holding Natasha’s hand, she began to drag her toward the kitchen.
“Is your daddy helping you?”
“No, he had to go out. He said he’d come back soon and bake some. He promised.”
Torn between relief and disappointment, Natasha followed Freddie into the kitchen.
“Vera, Tash is back.”
“I see.” Vera pursed her lips. Just when she’d thought Natasha might be good enough for the señor and her baby, the woman had gone off without a word. Still, she knew her duty. “Would you like some coffee or tea, miss?”
“No, thank you. I don’t want to be in your way.”
“You have to stay.” Freddie tugged at Natasha’s hand again. “Look, I’ve made snowmen and reindeers and Santas.” She plucked what she considered one of her best creations from the counter. “You can have one.”
“It’s beautiful.” Natasha looked down at the snowman with red sugar clumped on his face and the brim of his hat broken off.
“Are you going to cry?” Freddie asked.
“No.” She managed to blink back the mist of tears. “I’m just glad to be home.”
As she spoke, the kitchen door opened. Natasha held her breath when Spence stepped into the room. He didn’t speak. His hand still on the door, he stopped to stare. It was as if he’d conjured her up out of his own chaotic thoughts. There was snow melting in her hair and on the shoulders of her coat. Her eyes were bright, teary.
“Daddy, Tash is home,” Freddie announced, running to him. “She’s going to bake cookies with us.”
Vera briskly untied her apron. Whatever doubts she’d had about Natasha were eclipsed by the look on her face. Vera knew a woman in love when she saw her. “We need more flour. Come, Freddie, we will go buy some.”
“But I want to—”
“You want to bake, we need flour to bake. Come, we’ll get your coat.” Businesslike, Vera bustled Freddie out of the room.
Alone, Spence and Natasha stood where they were; the moment stretched out. The heat in the kitchen was making her dizzy. Natasha stripped off her coat and laid it over the back of a chair. She wanted to talk to him, reasonably. That couldn’t be done if she fainted at his feet.
“Spence.” The word seemed to echo off the walls, and she took a deep breath. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“I see. Now you’ve decided talking’s a good idea.”
She started to speak, then changed her mind. When the oven timer went off behind her, she turned automatically to take up the hot mitt and remove the latest batch of cookies from the oven. She took her time setting them on the cooling rack.
“You’re right to be angry with me. I behaved very badly toward you. Now I have to ask you to listen to me, and hope you can forgive me.”
He studied her for one long, silent moment. “You certainly know how to defuse an argument.”
“I didn’t come to argue with you. I’ve had time to think, and I realize that I chose a very poor way to tell you about the baby, then to leave as I did.” She looked down at her hands, her tightly laced fingers. “To just run away was inexcusable. I can only tell you that I was afraid and confused and too emotional to think clearly.”
“One question,” he interjected, then waited until she lifted her head. He needed to see her face. “Is there still a baby?”
“Yes.” The blank puzzlement in her eyes became awareness. Awareness became regret. “Oh, Spence, I’m sorry, so sorry to have caused you to think that I might have…” She blinked away tears, knowing her emotions were still too close to the surface. “I’m sorry. I went to Mikhail’s to stay with him a few days.” She let out a shaky breath. “May I sit?”
He only nodded, then moved to the window as she slid behind the table. Laying his palms upon the counter, he looked out at the snow. “I’ve been going out of my mind, wondering where you were, how you were. The state you were in when you left, I was terrified you’d do something rash before we could talk it through.”
“I could never do what you thought, Spence. This is our baby.”
“You said you didn’t want it.” He turned again. “You said you wouldn’t go through it again.”
“I was afraid,” Natasha admitted. “And it’s true I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant, not now. Not ever. I’d like to tell you everything.”
He wanted badly, much too badly, just to reach out to her, to hold her and tell her that nothing mattered. Because he knew it did matter, he busied himself at the stove. “Do you want some coffee?”
“No. It makes me sick now.” She smiled a little when he fumbled with the pot. “Please, would you sit down?”
“All right.” He sat down across from her, then spread his hands. “Go ahead.”
“I told you that I had been in love with Anthony while I was with the corps de ballet. I was just seventeen when we became lovers. He was the first for me. There’s been no one for me until you.”
“Why?”
The answer was much easier than she’d believed. “I’d never loved again until you. The love I feel for you is much different from the fantasies I had for Anthony. With you it isn’t dreams and knights and princes. With you it’s real and solid. Day-to-day. Ordinary—ordinary in the most beautiful way. Can you understand?”
He looked at her. The room was quiet, insulated by the snow. It smelled of warm cookies and cinnamon. “Yes.”
“I was afraid to feel this strongly for you, for anyone, because what happened between Anthony and me…” She waited a moment, surprised that there was no pain now, only sadness. “I had believed him, everything he said, everything he promised me. When I discovered he made many of the same promises to other women, I was crushed. We argued, and he sent me away like a child who had displeased him. A few weeks later I discovered I was pregnant. I was thrilled. I could only think that I was carrying Anthony’s child and that when I told him, he would see that we belonged together. Then I told him.”
Spence reached for her hand without a word.
“It was not as I had imagined. He was angry. The things he said…. It doesn’t matter,” she went on. “He didn’t want me, he didn’t want the child. In those few moments I grew up years. He wasn’t the man I had wanted him to be, but I had the child. I wanted that baby.” Her fingers tightened on his. “I so desperately wanted that baby.”
“What did you do?”
“The only thing I could. There could be no dancing now. I left the company and went home. I know it was a burden for my parents, but they stood by me. I got a job in a department store. Selling toys.” She smiled at that.
“It must have been
difficult for you.” He tried to imagine her, a teenager, pregnant, deserted by the father of her child, struggling to hold it all together.
“Yes, it was. It was also a wonderful time. My body changed. After the first month or two when I felt so fragile, I began to feel strong. So strong. I would sit in bed at night and read books on babies and birthing. I would ask Mama dozens of questions. I knit—badly,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Papa built a bassinet, and Mama sewed a white skirt with pink and blue ribbons. It was beautiful.” She felt the tears well up and shook her head. “Could I have some water?”
He rose, and filling a glass from the tap, set it beside her. “Take your time, Natasha.” Because he knew they both needed it, he stroked her hair. “You don’t have to tell me everything at once.”
“I need to.” She sipped slowly, waiting for him to sit down again. “I called her Lily,” she murmured. “She was so lovely, so tiny and soft. I had no idea it was possible to love anything, anyone, the way you love a child. I would watch her sleep for hours, so thrilled, so awed that she had come from me.”
The tears were falling now, soundlessly. One fell onto the back of her hand. “It was hot that summer, and I would take her out in this little carriage to get air and sunshine. People would stop to look at her. She hardly cried, and when I nursed her, she would put a hand on my breast and watch me with those big eyes. You know what it is. You have Freddie.”
“I know. There’s nothing like having a child.”
“Or losing one,” Natasha said softly. “It was so quick. She was only five weeks old. I woke up in the morning, surprised that she had slept through the night. My breasts were full of milk. The bassinet was by my bed. I reached down for her, picked her up. At first I didn’t understand, didn’t believe….” She broke off to press her hands to her eyes. “I remember screaming and screaming—Rachel rushing up out of the next bed, the rest of the family running in—Mama taking her from me.” The silent tears turned to weeping. Her face now covered by her hands, she let go in a way she usually only allowed herself in private.
There was nothing he could say, nothing to be said. Instead of searching for meaningless words, he rose to crouch beside her and gather her into his arms. The passion of her grief held sway. Then on a half sob, she turned and clung to him, accepting comfort.