His Baby Dilemma

by Catherine Lanigan

  And it was all about Grace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT WAS AFTER four o’clock when Grace taped a piece of paper on the ice-cream shop door that read Sold Out. She turned the lock.

  “Has this ever happened before, Aunt Louise?” she asked. “Selling everything in the shop?”

  Louise finished cleaning the mixer, wiped her hands and sat down at the table, where Mica held a sleeping Jules in his lap. Grace joined them.

  “Never,” Louise said, massaging the back of her neck. “I can’t say I’d be able to handle this kind of crowd on a daily basis.”

  “It was too much excitement for Jules,” Mica said, smoothing a lock of dark hair from Jules’s forehead. “He’s been out for a half hour. That was nice of Sarah to watch him while we worked the counter.”

  Grace watched Mica’s adoring eyes roam Jules’s face as he spoke. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of his baby son. She was pleased and surprised that Mica would take so quickly to Jules. “Sarah was busy with Charlotte most of the time. It was Annie who played with Jules. She’s such a special little girl. If I ever have a daughter, I hope she’ll be like Annie.” The words spilled out of her mouth and it took her a second to realize what she’d said.

  She and Mica locked eyes. He remained silent.

  For so long, she’d defined her future by her career, climbing the rungs of the fashion ladder. She didn’t for a second regret having Jules, but he’d been unplanned, and more children were not part of the life Grace was building.

  But as Mica held her gaze, his deep blue eyes delving into her psyche, Grace feared the unthinkable—that she didn’t know her own heart at all.

  Though Jules was the biggest surprise in her life, he was also the grandest blessing. She had loved him from the moment she’d realized she was pregnant until this second, watching his little chest contract and expand, his eyelids flutter as he dreamed. And the situation with Mica had nothing to do with that. Even if she and Mica had been married and had waited to get pregnant, she couldn’t possibly love her baby any more than she did now.

  “I hope she’ll look like you,” Mica said softly. “Blonde and blue-eyed.”

  The breath caught in Grace’s lungs as she realized that the only children she wanted were Mica’s babies. She didn’t care if her daughter looked like her or not. She hoped she would look like Mica, actually. There was nothing more striking than the contrast of rich raven-black hair and midnight blue eyes...

  Louise coughed.

  Grace’s thoughts fell from her head. “Sorry. I just meant that Annie is an exceptional girl.”

  “She sure is.” Louise slapped her knee and rose. “She filled the dishwasher for me twice today. I think it’s finished running.”

  “I’ll help you unload it,” Grace offered.

  As she stood, Mica took her hand. “Grace, we need to get some stuff for Jules. After you help Louise clean up, I thought we could go to the Tractor Supply.”

  “You want to buy Jules his first tractor?” She laughed.

  “No.” He shook his head and chuckled. “They have a lot of baby equipment and we still need a bigger carrier for him. I want to check out the cribs, too. Even though Mom has one for Zeke, if Liz and Gabe come over, then I’m still going to need one for Jules.”

  “You’re right. We should go to the Indian Lake Grocery as well. Now that the town appears to be back to normal and the roads are clear, maybe you should take Jules to your house so you both can get used to different surroundings. His schedule. You know?”

  “Yeah,” Mica replied. “I should do that.”

  He released Grace’s hand just as her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. “I better take this,” she said and walked to the back of the shop.

  “Hi, Rene. It’s getting late there. Is everything okay?”

  “We’re fine. Working like mad, as you know. We heard about your snowstorm.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Chicago airports were shut down. International flights were canceled. That always makes the news here,” he said and paused. “How’s Jules?”

  “Fine. He made it through the storm and power outage like a trooper.”

  “No power? That’s disastrous.”

  “Mica handled everything perfectly. We were all huddled by the fireplace until the power came back early this morning.”

  “We?”

  Grace knew where this was going and she wasn’t about to join Rene on his journey. “My landlady has a huge fireplace in her library. All four of us stayed there all night.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, did you find that gray silk I wanted?”

  “Yes. It’s on its way from Milan. Grace, you’re going to die. The manufacturer sent me a photo. I’ll forward it to you after we get off.”

  “Great. And get me the pricing for a heavy, winter-white satin or peau de soie—either one.”

  “How heavy?”

  “Antique-grade heavy. I’m sending you a sketch I did for a bridal hood that falls nearly to the floor. The hood comes down far enough to nearly cover the bride’s face. It will have fabric-covered buttons down the middle, with satin rosettes between them.”

  “Mon dieu, but that’s original. How did you come up with that?”

  “I saw it in a dream. Winter Bride theme and Red Riding Hood got jumbled up. I think it will work.”

  “Of course it will,” he said. “It came from you, didn’t it? All brilliance comes from you, Grace.”

  “Thanks, Rene.” She looked up and saw Mica staring at her from across the shop. His lips were pursed and his eyes hard.

  Was he...jealous?

  She’d thought Mica’s earlier accusations about Rene had just been about Jules, about what he saw as her selfish intentions. But if Mica was jealous...

  No. She had to be careful not to misread him. Not to pin hopes on illusions.

  She’d done that one too many times before with Mica. She couldn’t risk her heart again. She’d spent too much time and energy sewing and mending it, only to have it torn apart. She was a patchwork mess inside and for Jules’s sake, she had to keep her focus.

  “Bonsoir, Grace. I’ll send that photo,” Rene said.

  “Ciao.”

  She walked back toward Louise, who was still putting dishes away. “Aunt Louise, I’ll take over. You sit and rest.”

  “Don’t mind if I do, sweetie.”

  Grace could still feel Mica’s eyes on her as she bent to grab the last ice-cream scoops and tumblers from the dishwasher.

  * * *

  “I CAN’T GET over it,” Grace said, watching Jules fuss and squirm in his carrier. “It’s like he’s grown up and out in the short time we’ve been here. He’s all squished in there and his little parka is making him miserable.”

  “That is why,” Mica said as he lifted a larger carrier off the shelf at the Tractor Supply store, “we need something bigger and better.”

  It had been Mica’s idea to go shopping. His happy mood had been contagious and Jules had giggled during the drive to the store. Grace couldn’t deny it. She cherished every minute with Mica. And their time together was growing short.

  “Check it out,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Grace wrinkled her nose at the navy-and-orange design. “That’s a football on there.”

  “Footballs are good.” He grinned.

  “Mica, no,” she said. “Isn’t there something without an NFL logo? Put it back.”

  “Why? Look at all these features. Double seat belts. A padded head thingy here...” He lifted an orange velour pad. “This lining is waterproof but soft. And the handle is easy to grip.”

  “My friends in Paris will think I’ve been drinking the American Kool-Aid.”

 
“Well you are American, aren’t you? Come on!” He unbelted Jules from the old carrier. Jules stopped fussing and clapped his hands as Mica lifted him with his one strong arm. “Da.” Mica kissed Jules’s forehead and put him in the new seat.

  Grace’s chest filled with warmth and love for both her baby and Mica. It was the strangest thing, but arguing with Mica over which carrier to buy was an excuse for her to be with him. Tease him. And watch his eyes light up every time they rested on Jules.

  She was in the middle of a farm wholesale store and her happiness was overflowing. Jules wiggled against the headrest as if trying it out. He looked up at the large handle and then reached for it, letting his little hand rest on the side.

  “He looks like he’s in a sports car,” Mica said proudly.

  Grace looked down the aisle at all the baby equipment and clothing—winter jackets, sweatpants, sweaters, hats and little boots. Each item was stamped with a different football team logo. “Maybe we should try Baby Town. Find something more generic.”

  “Gabe says the stuff here is first-class. Rugged. And priced right,” Mica said, sounding like a commercial.

  “And as I remember from New Year’s Eve, Zeke wore a parka and a knit cap with a football logo on them.”

  “Yeah. So?” Mica rose from his crouch, lifting Jules in the carrier.

  “Mica, I don’t want my son—sorry, our son—indoctrinated with all this football mania. I understand Gabe going this route—he was all-state in high school.”

  “All-American in college,” Mica added. “He could have gone pro.”

  “Yes. Fine. But that’s not what I want for Jules.”

  Mica scowled. This time there was no fire in his eyes. Only ice. “Just what do you want, Grace? For our son?”

  “Choices. Lots of them. I want a good education. I want him to travel and learn about other cultures and their art and history. I want to show him the homes of great artists like Monet. In Paris there are free lectures and symposiums. The ballet, symphony, opera and theater. At the same time, I want him to climb a mountain if he wants, or scuba dive off the Great Barrier Reef. And if he decides he wants to play football, he can do that. The point is, I want him to decide. I want him to have long-lasting friendships and know real joy in his life...” She trailed off, suddenly emotional. “I want him to have everything.”

  Mica sighed. “I want those things for him, too,” he said slowly.

  Grace supposed she’d had a head start on thinking about Jules’s future because she’d been imagining it since the day she’d bought the pregnancy test. Soon, she’d have to think about a bigger apartment for them. The space she had now in the 16th Arrondissement was affordable, but tiny. Once she was back in Paris, she’d look for something that would give Jules room to play.

  Jules blew a raspberry and giggled. “Da.”

  Mica beamed back at Jules. He turned to Grace. “What I don’t get is why this baby seat is such a big deal.”

  Jules was cooing and stuffing his fists in his mouth. He was happy.

  Grace’s head was filled with Jules’s yet-to-be-lived adventures. Visiting the Taj Mahal. Versailles. Venice. She had hundreds of plans for him, but they all took money and nothing would happen if she didn’t become the success she knew she could be. And for that, she needed Mica on her side.

  Smiling, she replied, “It isn’t a big deal. We’ll get the carrier.”

  * * *

  AFTER THEY CHECKED out at the Tractor Supply, they went to the Indian Lake Grocery and stocked up on disposable diapers, baby food, zwieback toast and a new teething ring.

  Mica drove Grace back to Mrs. Beabots’s house. He was happy to have Jules all to himself for the night, but as prepared as he was, he was nervous.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Mica said. “Think of it as a boys’ night.” He chuckled, hoping to convince himself and her of a confidence he didn’t quite feel yet. “I’ve got all these supplies and you gave me his schedule. Bath at eight. Use plenty of baby lotion. Bottle at eight thirty. Then put him to bed. Should I read to him?”

  “I always do. I put a Winnie the Pooh book in the diaper bag.”

  “Too bad. I was thinking more along the lines of an old Robert B. Parker mystery.”

  She glared at him. “Mica...”

  “Just kidding. I’ll save the mystery for myself.”

  Grace got out of the truck and then leaned back in to kiss Jules on the cheek. “You’ll text me if you need me?”

  “I will,” he said in his most assuring tone. “We’ll be fine, Grace. This is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “Then stop worrying.”

  Grace shut the door and stood in the drive waving as Mica backed out, his headlights shining on her until he reached the street.

  “Well, here we are, buddy,” Mica said over his shoulder to Jules.

  Jules blew a raspberry, then clapped his hands.

  “You like this, too? So do I.”

  Mica headed south down Maple Boulevard. He felt pride coursing through him as he drove cautiously toward the family farm.

  He was alone with his son. The reality of it still rattled around in his head, banging up against the incongruity of his romanceless relationship with Grace.

  He tried to tell himself that he barely knew her, but he couldn’t ignore everything that had happened in the past few days. He was getting to know her better than he knew anyone.

  “It’s gonna be a great night, just you and me. We could watch my recording of Sunday’s Bears’ game together. Crack a cold one. Uh, for me, at least. I make a tasty microwave pizza. Or we could order in. They charge an extra three bucks to deliver to the farm, but Rafe does it all the time. He says Olivia is too tired to cook after working at the deli all day. Though, now that I think about it, she often brings food home for him. Not pizza, though.”

  Mica drove a few more miles in silence.

  “My mother always made us great pizza. Maybe we could enlist her to whip one up for us. Does your mom like pizza? Funny. I never asked her.”

  Mica glanced in the rearview mirror as a truck passed him.

  He checked his speed. Ordinarily, this was about the spot where he’d hit the gas and tear up some asphalt.

  Not anymore. He had precious cargo on board.

  He had his son.

  Mica inhaled deeply. “I’m a father.

  “And fathers have serious obligations and responsibilities to their children. Grace was right about what she wants for you, buddy. She’s got it all together. Smart.”

  The night sky had cleared and this far from town, the stars glittered in clusters across the ebony dome above him.

  It was the kind of night that poets wrote about and sailors watched until dawn. It was the kind of night that should be shared.

  As Mica neared the gates to the farm, he realized that even though his baby son was in the truck with him, an emptiness had overtaken him ever since he’d left Grace at Mrs. Beabots’s house.

  For the first time in his life, Mica felt lonely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  STUBBORN FOOL. Mica could think of some other names to call himself, but for the moment, that would do, he thought as he wrestled with the folded crib. Sam had offered to help him get it up the stairs to his apartment above the garage, but no. He’d wanted to prove that he could do it himself.

  Jules was in the kitchen; Gina had insisted he stay with her while she made little shell pasta that he could pick up with his fingers.

  Mica refused to let himself backslide into the negative, self-defeating territory he’d occupied since his accident. The sides of the crib banged against the stone wall and hit the railing, but he didn’t care if the
thing was scraped and battered. He was going to do this.

  He opened the door and hauled the crib into his living room, then propped it against the empty wall. He spread the sides out, latched the bottom boards together and closed the rest of the latches.

  “Now for the mattress.”

  As Mica headed toward the door, the thermostat caught his eye. He liked to keep the apartment cool, but babies needed warmth. He turned up the heat and stepped back outside. And almost ran into Sam, who was climbing the stairs with the crib mattress. “Here, you take this,” Sam said. “I’ll go back and get the linens. Your mother washed everything in Ivory Snow. She called Grace to make sure Jules didn’t have any skin allergies.”

  “Allergies?” Mica replied. “I never thought to ask—I mean, I did ask about foods...” Mica grabbed the mattress by the side handle.

  Sam shrugged. “My son, Mark, had all kinds of skin allergies. It amazed me that he wanted to be a vintner. Everything bothered him. Sun, bugs, fertilizers.”

  “But it didn’t stop him. You both built that great vineyard.”

  “Nothing stopped Mark. He wanted things so passionately,” Sam mused.

  “I’m sorry you lost him,” Mica said, remembering Sam’s son and his wife—Liz’s parents—had died in a car accident. “I vaguely remember that funeral. Mom took me and my brothers.”

  “Yes. She did.” Sam looked at Mica. “You know, even that accident was a display of Mark’s passion.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They were coming back from a wine seminar. I’m sure their heads were full of plans and dreams...” Sam’s shoulders slumped.

  “You still miss him.”

  “Every day, son. Every day.” Sam turned. “Well, I’ll get those sheets for you.” He descended the stairs briskly, as if trying to escape their conversation and his memories.

  “Passion...” Mica repeated as he took the mattress inside and placed it in the crib.

  He stood back. Passion. That’s what he admired so much in Grace. She was more than merely ambitious; she was filled with passion to make her designs the best they could be. She wanted the best for Jules, too. Though Mica could tell she adored her life in Paris, she’d come to Indian Lake because she’d needed help. Not just anybody’s help. His help.