by Holly Jacobs
She stared out the window. It was dark now, but the snow that still sat on the grass, and the moonlight shining down through the leafless mulberry branches, allowed her to catch the now-empty bird feeder. They’d even cleaned out the suet holder.
She wondered where the birds slept. She wondered if there’d been enough food to satisfy their hunger. She wondered . . .
She stood there, staring out the window at the dark backyard and wondering all kinds of nonsense.
The doorbell rang and forced her to pull herself away from her thoughts.
Time to face Malcolm.
The advantage to standing at the window was she didn’t have to heave herself out of the chair in order to answer the door.
Her hands rested on the baby, who obliged her and kicked. “I love you,” she whispered.
She’d do whatever it took to protect this baby. To see her child safe and happy.
“Pizza,” Malcolm said, holding out a pizza box that had a bag resting on top of it. “Are you going to invite me in?”
She opened the door wider and tried not to sigh as she said, “Yes. Please come in.”
Obviously she hadn’t done a good enough job covering her lackluster invitation, because Malcolm said, “That was not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever had, but I’ll take it.”
She ignored his comment. “Come on back to the kitchen.”
He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, where he set the bag and box on the table. He opened them while she got plates, napkins, and silverware out.
“Would you like something to drink? I have milk, ice tea, and water.”
“Ice tea?” he asked. “It’s got to be thirty degrees out today.”
She shrugged. She refused to defend the fact that she liked ice tea year-round. It was none of Malcolm’s business. She’d switched to decaf because of the baby, but that was as far as she’d compromise. When she didn’t say anything, he finally said, “Water would be great.”
She got them each a glass and took the seat across from Malcolm, who’d helped himself to pizza and some of the salad that had been in the bag.
She did as well but didn’t take a bite.
“About the Center—” she started.
Malcolm interrupted. “Haven’t you ever heard that business during a meal gives you heartburn?”
“No. You’re the one who pointed out I had a business meeting today at lunch. I like to multitask. So, about the Center . . . you said you couldn’t run it from Pittsburgh, and I know Pap is done working. He wants to re-retire. So selling the business to me makes sense. I’ll pay a fair market value. I’ve already had the loan preapproved. It has a big advantage for you. You won’t have to go through the headache of listing the property. You can go back to Pittsburgh—”
Malcolm interrupted her again, and said, “About that . . .”
“Yes?” Kennedy had a sinking feeling that whatever he was about to say next was not going to make her happy.
“I’m not going back.”
Yes, she was right, she was not happy in the least. She thought these awkward interactions with Malcolm had a time limit because he’d have to get back to work. Finding out that they were going to continue was awful.
She didn’t say anything because the only thing that came to mind was a groan, and she was pretty sure he’d find that insulting.
“I’m not going back to Pittsburgh until you and I work things out. So there’s no urgency deciding what to do about the Center. I’m taking an indefinite leave of absence.”
“You’re staying here, in Cupid Falls?” She knew that’s what he’d said in his roundabout explanation, but she needed to hear him say the actual words.
“I’m staying,” he repeated. “I’m staying here in Cupid Falls until we work out a few things like custody and—”
She realized she was holding a slice of uneaten pizza. She let it fall to the plate. “What do you mean, work out custody?”
“Kennedy, this is my baby. I’ve asked you to marry me. You said no. I’d like to think you’ll change your mind, because as the child of divorce I can speak with experience, feeling pulled between two parents sucks. But if not, we’ll have to work out something.”
“Why? You can go back to Pittsburgh and I’ll stay here with the baby. You can visit whenever you want.”
Work out custody? That sounded as if he planned to take her to court. She remembered hearing that his father took his mother to court on a regular basis. They were in high school when she’d moved to Cupid Falls, but she remembered Val having to go to court at least once even then.
Val was one of the most reasonable women Kennedy had ever met. Kennedy couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t have worked with Mr. Carter.
She didn’t want to go through that with Mal. She didn’t want to be forced to give up time with her child.
“Look how many months it took me to get home and see Pap,” Malcolm said. “I won’t let that amount of time go between visits with my child.”
Mal watched as the blood drained from Kennedy’s face. She gripped the edge of the table as if she were holding on to it like some lifeline. He felt concerned but knew that she wouldn’t welcome him rushing to her. “Kennedy? Hey, are you okay?”
“You can’t have my baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her hands moved from the table to her stomach, covering it protectively as if he might reach over at any second and grab the baby from her.
She looked scared as hell as she repeated, “You can’t take the baby from me.”
“Kennedy, I’m not taking the baby from you. Calm down.” Mal was pretty sure that pregnant women shouldn’t be upset like this.
“I won’t lose this baby,” she said as she squinted her eyes and grimaced, as if she were in physical pain. It took him a moment to realize she was.
This time he didn’t care if she minded; he rushed around the table and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”
She shrugged off his touch. “Braxton Hicks. It’s nothing.”
“It damn well isn’t nothing. That was something.” He’d known about this baby less than twenty-four hours, but he already felt scared to the bone that something was wrong with the baby or with Kennedy. “Let’s get you into the car. We’ll drive you to the hospital and have you checked out.”
What if he’d caused Kennedy to lose the baby? “Kennedy, please?”
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “The doctor’s office is closed, and I’m not driving all the way into Erie to have the doctors there tell me what I already know. It’s a Braxton Hicks contraction. I’ve had a few. This was a bad one.”
What did he know about babies? Maybe he was just being nervous, but it didn’t seem right. “Why are you having them? It’s too early for the baby.”
“I don’t know. This is my first baby. Women have them. My doctor says they’re like practice contractions.” She thrust one hand into the small of her back as if trying to push away some pain, and the other lay protectively on her stomach.
Mal could see her hand give a little jump, and he wondered if that meant the baby was kicking. He’d seen shows of men with their hands on a woman’s pregnant stomach, feeling the baby move.
He’d like to ask Kennedy if he could feel the baby kick, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome his touch.
“I’m fine, Malcolm.”
“I can’t imagine stress helps.” Here he was, pushing her, scaring her, and she was carrying his child. She’d been carrying it all this time by herself. With no help.
“I didn’t have a contraction as some sympathy ploy in our argument,” she said suddenly. She looked defiant, as if daring him to say otherwise.
“Kennedy, I didn’t think you did,” he assured her.
“I don’t need the courts to do what’s right. You’ll always be welcome to see the
baby, but you’re not taking my child away from me. I don’t care if you sue me for custody. I’ll fight you with every penny I have. The baby belongs here, with me. I saw how it was with your father. It would have been kinder if he’d just backed out of your life altogether. But he didn’t. He kept dragging your mom into court over everything. He stayed around but let you know that you weren’t his priority. I saw you at games, you know. You’d scan the stands, hoping he’d be there. But he wasn’t. If he’d simply let you go and got on with his life, you wouldn’t have been looking.”
For a moment, Mal was back at school. He was that kid on the court, looking for his father, knowing no matter what he said, he wouldn’t be on the bleachers. He’d tell himself his father wouldn’t make it and try to steel himself for the inevitability, but every time, he still looked . . . he still hoped. And he was still hurt when his dad didn’t come.
He was surprised that Kennedy had noticed. He’d worked so hard to hide his disappointment from his mom and never thought anyone else had seen it. But Kennedy had.
Knowing that she had made him feel off-centered. Like when he was in court and the other counsel sprang something on him.
He couldn’t argue her points, except one. “So you think it would be better if my father had deserted me?”
“Maybe,” she said slowly.
He knew his father had made things difficult on his mom. According to his dad, he was making sure everything was legal and aboveboard. But Mal knew how much his mother had hated having to deal with the court rather than working it out with his father on a one-on-one basis.
“Kennedy, when your parents left you, was it easier?” he countered.
“They didn’t leave me . . . they died.” That was all she said, but he could see the pain on her face.
What was with him tonight? He was trained to think first, speak second, but sitting here with the mother of his future child, he was continually sticking his foot in his mouth. “I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”
“I suppose in your job you’ve learned to fight with whatever ammunition you have,” she said.
“I don’t want to fight with you.” That much was honest. Mal hadn’t even begun to sort through his emotions and his wants, but fighting with the mother of his child wasn’t part of it.
Kennedy didn’t say anything.
“Listen, you’re right. When Mom and Dad divorced, my world shifted. Mom and I moved here to Cupid Falls. I could blame my father’s absences on the two hours’ distance, but the truth is, he was absent even when we still lived in Pittsburgh.” He paused. “I don’t want that with this baby. I don’t know how we’re going to resolve things, and frankly this is all happening so suddenly, I don’t know much right now, but I know that much.”
“You can’t take him,” Kennedy said. “I know that much.”
He ignored her comment and focused simply on the pronoun. “Is it a boy then?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t want to know until it’s here. But he sounds better than it.”
“Oh.” He was disappointed. He liked the idea of having a son. But as he had the thought, he realized he liked the idea of having a daughter, too.
Kennedy paused a moment. He could see her thinking, though what she was thinking about he didn’t have a clue.
She took a deep breath and then gave the slightest hint of a nod, as if whatever she’d been thinking about, she’d made some decision. “Did you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“The baby’s gender. I could ask my OB to tell you, but you’d have to keep it a secret from me. The way I look at it, finding out what gender the baby is will be my ultimate Christmas present to you.”
Mal was touched that Kennedy had offered. Actually, he was more than touched. She didn’t want to know the baby’s gender but was willing to allow him to find out. She was basically offering him the chance to know before anyone else. It was beyond generous.
“No,” he assured her. “We’ll find out together.”
“Really—”
He cut her off. “If you’re waiting, I’m waiting. We’re a team. And listen, I have no idea what we’re going to do, but I’m not taking the baby from you. I’m not taking you to court. By custody, I mean we’re going to have to figure out a way to share this baby.”
She didn’t look convinced, so he said it again. “Kennedy, I’m not taking the baby from you. We are two reasonable adults . . . well, at least I am,” he said with the slightest hint of humor in his tone.
Kennedy caught it, because she offered him the barest of smiles and seemed to relax, at least a little.
“We can work out something,” he continued. “I’m taking time off and staying here in Cupid Falls while I decide what to do with the Center, and what to do about you and the baby.”
That barest hint of a smile was gone, and Kennedy was serious as she looked at some point just over his shoulder. “I don’t know what there is to decide. It was a one-night stand, Malcolm. I won’t say that this baby was a mistake for either of us, but it wasn’t planned. We never said any vows. Our lives aren’t tied. You can go back to your life in Pittsburgh.”
“You’re right, we never said any vows, but you’re wrong saying we’re not tied. We are. And it’s not a bond that can be broken. We’re going to be parents. Intentionally or not, we’re bringing a baby into the world. And it’s best if we figure things out now, rather than have there be problems later.”
Kennedy sat there, looking anywhere but at him. She still had one hand behind her back and the other over the baby. She looked exhausted.
Mal said, “But we’re not going to figure out anything tonight, Kennedy. So eat your pizza and then show me what you’ve done with the baby’s room.”
He thought she’d argue, but instead she dutifully picked up her pizza and took a bite. “I don’t have a baby’s room, per se.”
“You don’t?” Wasn’t that what all new moms did? Decorated their babies’ nurseries, buying things no newborn would ever notice, much less need. It seemed to him that’s the sort of thing he’d seen them do on television.
She shrugged. “I’ve been busy, what with my business, the town, and the Center.”
“Will you show me what you have done after you eat?”
She looked as if she were going to say no, then her expression changed. It looked as if she were having an internal argument with herself. And apparently it was a quick one, because she nodded. “Fine.”
She dutifully ate the slice of pizza and a small bowl of salad, then said, “Come on. I’ll show you the room and then you can go.” She struggled out of the chair.
Mal wanted to offer her a hand but didn’t think she’d take it. Instead he joked, “Wow, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t like me.”
Kennedy sighed. “Malcolm, even though we’ve known each other for years, we hardly know each other.”
He started to protest, but she cut him off. “You are simply the son of a good friend. When your mom died, we were both grieving. What happened was more about missing her and looking for a connection than actually having a connection. What we did was stupid and now we’re going to have to deal with the consequences.” She started toward the stairs.
He followed, trying to think of something to say, but the truth was, she was right. He’d been aware of her back in school, but they didn’t hang in the same circles. Then he left for college and . . . he’d been gone ever since.
She was right, they didn’t know each other in any real sense, but they would. He’d see to that.
At the upstairs landing, she turned toward the back of the house, where her room had been when she was a kid. She must have made that over for the baby and taken her aunt’s master bedroom for herself. That made sense.
She flipped on the room’s light.
It wasn’t a nursery. “This is
your room?”
“Yes. And see, that bassinette is for the baby. Once he’s bigger, I’ll move him into his own room, but for now, this is practical and makes sense.”
“So, the baby’s got a bassinette?” There wasn’t anything else the least bit baby-ized about the room.
Kennedy looked as if she’d taken offense. “And he’s got a dresser full of clothes and diapers and . . .” She crossed her arms over the baby. “I’m not going to itemize the baby’s layette. Suffice it to say, he’s got more than ample supplies.”
“What about bottles and that sort of thing?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m going to breastfeed.” She blushed as she said the word and hurried on and added, “So I don’t need bottles. See, that’s another reason you can’t take the baby. He would starve.”
“How will you do that and work?” he asked.
“I’m taking the baby with me to work, and I’ve got a sign for the door that says ‘Back in a minute.’ I’ll be using it a lot more. That won’t be a solution for you.”
He could see all kinds of flaws in that argument. Even if she breastfed, the baby could take a bottle. Or he could wait to share custody until the baby was weaned. But she’d looked so worried before, and he didn’t want to start another contraction, so he didn’t say anything about it. He simply asked, “What’s in your aunt’s old room?”
Kennedy looked confused. “Her things,” she said, as his question was ridiculous because the answer was obvious.
Her aunt had been dead for years. He couldn’t imagine why she left Betty’s room untouched. This room was tiny, and looked even smaller from the slant of the roofline. “Why don’t you move there and turn this into the baby’s room?”
Kennedy paused a long moment, as if she were asking herself that question for the first time. “I don’t know. That’s her room. I feel funny about changing things.”
“She’s been gone . . . how long? Years. Maybe it’s time.”
Kennedy shrugged, then turned and walked back downstairs.