Triangle

by Sara L Daigle

  Tamara shivered, wrapping her arms around her stomach protectively. “Nothing can happen to her,” she said, surprised by the sudden desire to protect this tiny, helpless being. She could almost sense the baby’s half-formed thoughts, the tiny tugs at her that insisted she be loved and protected.

  “All children have a certain amount of coercion to them,” Greg said, reading her efforts. “The psi goes dormant with birth, reemerging at Awakening. Good thing, otherwise, parents would constantly have to fend off childhood psi demands.”

  Tamara shivered again. “I can’t imagine being a non-psi giving birth to a psi child.”

  “That is one reason why we Azellian men have to be so careful around humans. When it does happen, it can be very damaging to the relationship between the mother and child. To say nothing of the sanity of the mother. She doesn’t understand what is happening and can’t get away from it.” After a momentary pause, he added, “I’m going to tell the hospital you’re ready to be released tomorrow. You seem to have recovered quickly.” He poked at her shielding, and she tightened it automatically.

  “I’m not ready to go,” she replied, suddenly afraid to leave the hospital. There was something so comfortable about being here, about being taken care of.

  “You have classes to return to,” Greg reminded her. “If you don’t want this to impact you negatively, you’re going to be too busy to do anything but study for the rest of the school term.”

  “What about my short-term memory?” she asked, again feeling that irrational panic. What was happening to her? Her body was again being an alien thing, with emotions she didn’t understand and urges that didn’t make any sense. “It sucks.”

  “I’ll teach you some techniques to fix your studies in your long-term memory.”

  “Are you back for good, then?”

  “You think I’d miss your first child’s birth? Like every good Healer, I go where I’m called, and you’ve been calling me quite loudly.”

  Tamara felt a mix of guilt and pleasure. “What about Ather?”

  “I’ve done what I can for Ather. The plague is as under control as it will ever be and they don’t need me anymore. You do. Now, take it easy, enjoy your last day in the hospital, and we’ll get you out of here in the morning.”

  Tamara lay back, completely aware that Greg knew exactly how she was feeling. Greg wasn’t going to let her sink into self-pity or despair, not without brow beating her out of it. That knowledge relaxed her enough that she could let the awareness of her baby spread through her mind. She allowed herself to brush across the tiny, unformed mind and was immediately deluged by the intensity of her need. The baby craved her love and her devotion, and soaked up as much of it as Tamara could give her.

  Late that afternoon, as she ate her second meal of the day—quite successfully and without any nausea, although she continued to do her focusing exercises just in case—Greg stuck his head in the room.

  Tamara looked up. “Hmmm?” she asked, sipping her cup of juice.

  “Visitor for you. You feel up to it?”

  Tamara shoved the tray to the side. “Who is it?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he replied, a look of amusement in his eyes as he pulled his head back out.

  The door opened wider to reveal Janille, her gray hair pulled back tight against her head, looking as inscrutable and calm as always.

  “Janille,” Tamara said, sitting up higher in bed and smoothing down the front of her hospital gown. “How did you know I was in the hospital? We’ve kept it pretty quiet.”

  Janille walked over to the bed and held out a card. “I know most everything that goes on in the embassy and with those close to it,” she replied, without any hint of pride, just a simple statement of truth. “You worked for me. I came to offer congratulations and wishes for you to get well soon.” She said the words as a means of explanation. The question was, how much did she know? Most people assumed it was Alarin’s—the doctors certainly had, and no one had disabused them of the notion. If the plan that Alarin would claim the baby as his was to work, it had to stay that way.

  “Thank you,” Tamara replied quietly, taking the card.

  Janille offered her a polite bow, turned as though she intended to leave, but then stopped in the middle of the move. She turned back to Tamara. “Forgive my curiosity,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “But dare I ask if he is the one who contributed to your condition?” There was the slightest emphasis on the “he.”

  Tamara flushed and spread her hands. “We can’t tell for sure until later, of course,” she said, not willing to reveal too much about the truth to anyone who was not in their inner circle. Even Rory didn’t know who the true father was. Just that it might not be Alarin. Janille gave her a long, steady look that made Tamara’s flush deepen. She kept forgetting that though Janille had never once asked any questions or offered any opinions, she knew quite well that Merran had had a physical relationship with Tamara. There had been some very embarrassing moments, which Janille had helped make less embarrassing by never mentioning or acknowledging them. But because of those moments, Janille, more than anyone, knew about the physical side to their relationship. “However,” she appended hastily, well aware that Janille would not reveal the information to anyone, and that if anyone deserved to know, it was Merran’s long-suffering secretarial assistant, “there is a strong chance.”

  “Good,” Janille said, a faint smile touching the edges of her mouth. “Maybe he’ll learn that there are more important things in the world than work. Children always shift your perspective about what’s important, and he needs to obsess less about his job. I have three grandchildren in the Denver area, and they keep me sane.”

  That one statement revealed a couple of things about Janille that Tamara had never realized before—first, that she was quite fond of Merran, and second, that she had children and grandchildren of her own. The older woman—Janille was almost old enough to be Merran’s grandmother—had never shown anything but a smooth, professional exterior to anyone at the embassy, and never discussed her personal life. Janille’s comment also made Tamara realize that there were more important things in the world than remaining focused on her own self-pity and selfish anger. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and fought not to start crying in front of Janille.

  The older woman bowed to Tamara and left. With her departure, Tamara let the tears flow down her face unobstructed, cupping her hands over her abdomen. Lost in faraway thoughts, for the first time she began to think about how they could include Merran rather than push him away.

  She didn’t call him until she got back to the apartment the following morning, having successfully eaten three times the previous day. Once home, it took a few hours to talk herself into contacting Merran before she got up the courage to actually place the call. What if he refuses to speak to me? What if he is still angry? Could he still want to take the child away? She worked herself into something of a panic, then firmly told herself to call anyway. It was better than wondering. Anything, even rejection, was better than wondering.

  Janille answered the video call on the second ring. “Ambassador Corina’s office, Janille speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Janille, is Merran available?” Tamara asked, as she looked at Janille’s calm face, trying not to allow her voice to tremble. Admittedly, it wasn’t easy.

  “Hold a moment, please,” Janille said, her tone and expression completely neutral. “I’ll see if he has a free moment.”

  Tamara was on hold for so long she had enough time to think she shouldn’t have called, convincing herself that Merran was going to refuse to talk to her. She bit at her nails as she waited. What would she do if he refused to talk to her? What would she do if he were too angry to do anything but hang up on her? What if … so what if? She was giving him what he said he wanted, wasn’t she?

  His face appeared on the screen, and she jumped. “Corina,” he said. Merran sounded short, almost irritated. His face was etched with
the lines of exhaustion, deep shadows visible under his eyes. He looked disheveled, with his odd-looking blond hair tousled, a stripe of his normal black showing at the roots, and his tie loosened, as though he’d tugged on it in frustration. Had he slept in that shirt? He’d shaved off the blond goatee, but a proto beard had begun to shade his cheeks and chin in a heavy, dark five o’clock shadow. It would be a beard in a few more days if he left it untended. In short, he looked terrible, and it shocked Tamara.

  “Merran? You look exhausted!” she exclaimed, unintentionally blurting out the comment.

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding almost as tired as he looked. “I haven’t been sleeping well for some reason.” There was a distinct edge to his voice as he spoke. He rubbed his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms and frowning into the camera. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

  “Is that why you’re in the conference room?” she asked, recognizing the walls behind him. She ignored his edginess, suddenly not sure how to broach the subject with him and trying to work up to what she wanted to say. She hadn’t expected him to be so … irritable.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Janille told me it was important. What’s wrong?”

  She looked down at her hands. “Um, I’d-uh, I’d like to know if you’d like … um … if you … I’d like you to come by to meet the newest member of our family,” she stammered, digging through her rehearsed speeches and discarding all of them.

  He stared down at the top of the table, remaining silent and absolutely still. His expression was indecipherable, his shields preventing her from reading anything at all. He could have been thinking about his meeting for all the expression he was showing. Her heart pounded in her throat. “Oh … does this mean you’ve decided to forgive me?” he asked, looking up after a moment. Though the question was innocuously worded, there was an undercurrent of bitterness to his voice that she’d never heard before. He sounded sarcastic. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

  “Fine,” she snapped, her temper igniting. “Don’t come. Excuse me for trying to offer you an apology for my behavior the other day.” His jaw tightened. “Never mind,” she said, waving a hand. “Forget I said that.” She took a deep breath. “Look, do you want to get to know the baby or not? If you do, come over tonight after work. I’m home.”

  He took a long, noisy inhale through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “I’ll see if I have time,” he said, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you.” He cut the connection abruptly, leaving her shaking. She glared at the phone and screamed, letting out all the rage that had suddenly built up. He was being such a jerk! She burst into tears.

  “What’s the matter?” Alarin asked, coming into the room and dropping his book bag on the bed. “Who’s got you this upset?”

  “A-a-asshole,” Tamara sobbed, trying to catch her breath. “He-he’s such an asshole.”

  Alarin didn’t quite smile. “Merran, I presume, since I think there aren’t many others you’re quite that angry with?” He sat on the edge of the bed.

  Tamara rubbed her eyes fiercely. “I-I-I tried to offer him an olive branch and h-he threw it back in my face,” she gasped, trying to calm her hysterics, but not having much luck. “I-I thought you t-told me that he w-wanted to get to know the baby. H-he certainly didn’t act it,” she managed to get out.

  Alarin reached out a hand to soothe her aura. “He does, akila. And he’ll take your olive branch, you’ll see.”

  “If he’s going to act like that, I don’t want him to,” Tamara said, as her breathing calmed enough under Alarin’s ministrations to allow her to speak without stammering. The feeling that she was going to throw up her breakfast faded too, much to her relief.

  Alarin shifted in his seat. “Shhh,” he said softly, stroking a hand down her aura again. “You don’t need to get yourself sick again.”

  Tamara closed her eyes, then put her head back. “Why is he being such a jerk? I said I was sorry.”

  “Merran’s going through something very similar to you,” Alarin said. “He doesn’t want to be a father any more than you want to be a mother. But it’s done, and now he has to deal with the consequences.”

  “But he’s not dealing with them, Alari, that’s the point. We are. You and me. Why is he still acting as though I’m trying to force him into a shotgun marriage?” Tamara demanded, opening her eyes and sitting up.

  “A what? A shot … what? What’s a shotgun?”

  Tamara waved her hand and snorted, choking in half-laughter at the expression on Alarin’s face. “In the olden days, fathers would force men to marry their daughters when the men got them pregnant. They sometimes did it at the end of a shotgun, which is a type of weapon.”

  Alarin raised an eyebrow. “Ah. It makes quite a bit more sense. Colorful terms English has. We do not have that concept, of course. Azelle is quite a bit less complicated about these things. On Azelle, if the mother and father do not want the baby, another family will adopt it without question. Usually relatives of either parent. If a marriage occurs, it is because they want it to occur. Like we are doing.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I am so happy you said yes to marrying me, but I want to be sure you understand that when I asked you, it was not because of your pregnancy. We’re just moving up the timetable—I wanted to marry you anyway. You know that, right?”

  They’d discussed marriage shortly after the revelation of her pregnancy. Tamara was still not sure she was ready for it, but it wasn’t for lack of loving Alarin. It was more because she wasn’t sure she was ready to be a full-fledged adult. True, the baby took that option away from her anyway—and marriage seemed such a small step compared to caring for an infant and raising a child. “Why are you so much better about this than he is?” she asked, snuggling up under his arm.

  “Because I want a family, Tam-ala. Merran never thought about having children, never wanted them. He doesn’t want a wife, either. He struggled with being accepted growing up, and his childhood was rough, especially because there was no father as he grew up. Have you ever heard him talk about wanting a family?” Alarin asked.

  Tamara shook her head.

  “Well, trust me. This is not easy for him. He wants to contribute, to know the baby, but it scares him, and makes him question his life,” Alarin replied. “Not a comfortable position to be in, when you’ve dedicated your life to a position like he has.”

  “Did you see him?” she asked, feeling her temper and defensiveness begin to fade under Alarin’s calm.

  Alarin nodded. “He’s not sleeping at all, I’m told. Spending nights in the office. Ketiana’s running interference again. She’s about to force him to take more time off.”

  Tamara took a breath. “I didn’t realize,” she said softly. “He certainly looked like crap, though.”

  “Just don’t take his moods too seriously. He’s going to have them, and he’ll get over them. It disturbed him pretty badly to think you weren’t going to let him have access to the baby at all.”

  Tamara flushed. “I’m sorry, all right?”

  Alarin waved a hand. “Hey, I’m just explaining Merran’s behavior, not judging you. You asked him to come over tonight, didn’t you?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Tamara nodded.

  “He’ll be here, then. You’ll see. The aarya couldn’t keep him away. I’ll get dinner made. We’ll talk him into staying awhile,” Alarin said, getting to his feet. He leaned over and kissed her. “He should probably be offered the chance to communicate with her,” he commented, looking down at her belly. “If it doesn’t bother you too much.”

  “He’d better not be a jerk, or I’ll kick him in the ass.”

  Alarin grinned at her. “Hey, pregnancy has made you positively aggressive.”

  “Damn right,” she said. Tamara sniffed and Alarin handed her a tissue. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she complained. Alarin helped her off the bed—she wasn’t yet ungainly enough to need the help, but it was nice to have hi
m there being so supportive. Of course, the thought that she would eventually actually need help to get up was enough to make her grit her teeth in irritation, but she ignored it. She couldn’t spend the rest of her pregnancy irritable and angry—as attractive as that sounded, she knew it was nothing more than feeling sorry for herself, and Greg had shaken her out of that. Mostly, she thought ruefully. If Merran kept his head, then she’d keep hers, she told herself as she went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. But if he turned out to be a jerk, then she’d do exactly what she said she would. Kick his ass. Bracing herself for what she feared would be a difficult meeting with the father of her baby, she pulled herself together and went into the kitchen to help Alarin prep for dinner.

  Chapter 7

  Merran changed his mind three or four times that afternoon about going over to Tamara’s and Alarin’s after work. Then changed it again. He had honestly not expected Tamara to call and offer him the opportunity to meet the baby, and he hadn’t treated her very well when she did. He felt vaguely guilty about that, but his inner turmoil was too strong for him to worry about it. Alarin might be willing to act as the father, and Merran knew it was necessary, but it didn’t change the truth of the matter. He was a father, but how the hell had it happened? He had never wanted children, never wanted to continue the patterns that had produced him. He had not known his father for very long. As much as he loved his niece and sister, he hated the pattern of rejection and approval-seeking that went on between himself and his much older brother. What would Junian say about a half-human brat his non-Council half-brother accidentally sired with a human? He could hear Junian’s smug tones now—even despite extensive efforts to let it go, the sting of his brother’s continuing rejection of him still had the power to bite. No, Junian would have no time for Merran’s offspring either. The fact that Tamara was half-Azellian, and half High Council at that, would be irrelevant to Junian.