The Pregnant Mistress

by Sandra Marton

  He smiled at the pilot. Women were unpredictable creatures, he said, and clapped the man on the back. Then he returned to the house, dug out the address book he had not looked at since the night he’d first set eyes on Samantha, and placed a call to a brunette in London. He woke her—it was very early in the morning—but she squealed with delight when she heard his voice.

  They made plans for what was surely going to be a memorable weekend.

  Hours later, as Demetrios was en route to England, a worried housekeeper in Texas awoke Marta Brewster Baron with a soft knock on the bedroom door and then a whisper.

  “Thank you, Carmen,” Marta said. She threw on a robe and hurried down to the big kitchen of the Texas mansion known as Espada. “Sam?” she said to the trembling young woman seated at the kitchen table.

  Sam looked up. “Mom,” she said shakily. “I should have phoned first, but—”

  “No, no, darling, don’t be silly.” Marta sat down next to her daughter and gently clasped her hand. “What’s happened, sweetie? Are you all right? I thought you were supposed to be in Greece until—”

  Sam shot to her feet. “Oh God,” she said, and raced to the powder room down the hall.

  Marta rose and hurried after her. “Make some tea,” she called back to Carmen.

  Sam was bent over the toilet. Marta held her shoulders while she retched. When the spasms ended, she sat Sam down on the closed commode and sponged her face with cool water while she took in what had just happened, combined it with the subtle changes she saw in her daughter’s face and body and with the experience that came with years of living.

  Marta knelt down and took Sam’s icy hands in hers.

  “Sam, darling,” she said, very gently, “when were you going to let us know that you were pregnant?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “PREGNANT?” Sam said. “Me?”

  “You,” Marta said gently.

  Sam came as close as she could to laughing. “No. Don’t be silly. I have the flu. Half the population of Athens had it. I haven’t felt well for days…” She caught herself, heard what she saying and felt as if she were suddenly standing on the top of a cliff. “I’m not,” she said emphatically. “It’s the flu. And the long flight. And—and—”

  She began to weep. Marta put an arm around her. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

  Sam shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Not even the name of your baby’s father?”

  “I told you, I’m not pregnant. And even if I were—which I’m not—I wouldn’t want him to know. I hate him, Mom. I despise him. I—”

  Sam put her face in her hands and begin to cry in earnest. Marta murmured words of comfort, took her upstairs and put her to bed. Then she returned to the kitchen and sipped the tea Carmen had brewed while she tried to decide what troubled her most, that her daughter was unmarried and pregnant or that the determinedly independent child who’d grown into an impossibly independent woman, had come home.

  Marta would be forever grateful that she had, but that didn’t change the facts. That Sam should have felt desperate enough to come home wasn’t just upsetting, it was frightening.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sam borrowed Marta’s car, drove into town and bought a home pregnancy test kit.

  A waste of time, she kept telling herself. There wasn’t a way in the world she could be pregnant. She took the pill. Besides, wouldn’t she know? A woman would certainly know something like that.

  A little while later, she stood at the bathroom sink, clutching it for support while she stared at the little stick that said her life was about to turn upside down.

  The stick must be wrong. She couldn’t be pregnant.

  “Sam?”

  She spun towards the closed door. “I’ll—I’ll be right out, Mother.”

  Quickly, she scooped up the stick, the instructions, the box and dumped everything in the trash basket. She was trembling when she opened the door.

  “Are you all right, Sam?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Flushed face. Trembling hands. And, sticking up out of the trash, the edge of a box with the word “Pregnancy” printed across it.

  “Well,” Marta said brightly, “that’s good to know. Sam. I was thinking…Why don’t I call my GYN and ask him to take a look at you? I know, it’s only the flu. You’re probably right. You can glare at me afterwards and say you told me so.”

  It was ridiculous. The whole thing. The test. Her mother. There was only one way to sort this out. “Go ahead,” Sam said. “Make the appointment.”

  The doctor had a cancelation in an hour. Sam almost balked. She hadn’t been prepared to get up on the examining table so soon. On the other hand, the sooner she did, the sooner she’d know how stupid all this was.

  “I can’t be pregnant,” she said as she climbed onto the examining table.

  The doctor poked and prodded. “Well,” he said with professional good cheer, “I hate to argue with you, young lady, but you are.”

  Sam sat up. “I’m not,” she said sharply.

  “About three months, I’d say, but we’ll do an ultrasound to make sure. I can have the technician see you right now.”

  “It would be a waste of time. I absolutely cannot be—”

  “Have the ultrasound,” Marta said softly. “Then you’ll know.”

  What was there to know? Sam thought stubbornly. But there was no way out; the doctor was already on the phone. Sam went down the hall to another examining room, climbed on the table and stared straight ahead while the technician rubbed gel over her skin, then skimmed a small transducer over her belly.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s just take a look…There we are. See? Right there, down towards the lower right corner of the screen.”

  Sam reached for her mother’s hand and held it in a white-knuckled death grip.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Darling?” Marta squeezed her hand. “Look at the screen.”

  “I told you, I don’t…” But she did. A tiny blob of protoplasm. A fetus. And she remembered what she’d fought against remembering, the weekend she and Demetrios had become lovers, when she’d skipped a pill and tried to make up for it by taking an extra the next day.

  One missed pill. One little slip. Could your entire life really be changed by something so inconsequential?

  Marta chattered nervously until they were halfway back to Espada, then fell silent. Jonas Baron came sauntering down the steps as they pulled up to the house. He was trying his best to look unconcerned but not succeeding.

  “How you doin’, missy?” he asked gruffly.

  Sam looked at her stepfather. “I’m doing fine,” she said, and went past him into the house.

  Left alone, Jonas and Marta looked at each other.

  “Well?” he said.

  Marta sighed. “She’s three months pregnant.”

  “I hope you told her she can stay with us as long as she wants.”

  Mara smiled at her husband. “Thank you.”

  “Nothin’ to thank me for. Girl’s like one of my own.” His jaw knotted and Marta thought how remarkable it was that her husband could still look so strong, so resolute, so young. “She tell you who did this?”

  “No.”

  “It’s that Greek, ain’t it? The one she was workin’ for.”

  “She didn’t tell me, Jonas.”

  “Yeah, well, who else could it be? I think what this son of a bitch needs is a talkin’ to.”

  “Darling, I know you mean well—”

  “What I mean is business.”

  “It takes two people to make a baby.”

  “I only see one of ’em on this ranch.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know.” Jonas gave a snort of disbelief. Marta put her hand on his arm. “It’s possible. Sam’s in denial. How would she have told him she’s carrying his child if she didn’t know it herself?”

  “That stuff only happens in b
ooks,” he said, “not—”

  “Not what?”

  Not in real life, he’d been going to say, but a long-buried memory was struggling to the surface, a memory he wasn’t willing to stir up just yet.

  “Not very often. Sam’s not stupid. She must have known.”

  “Well, she didn’t. Or didn’t want to, I’m not sure which.” Marta looped her arm through her husband’s. Together, they climbed the steps and entered the house. “And she doesn’t want him to know. That much is clear.”

  “That’s crazy. The man has to stand up to his responsibilities.”

  “It’s Sam’s decision, Jonas.”

  “But if she loves him—”

  “If,” Marta said gently, “if, darling. This is a new world, remember? There’s love. There’s sex. And the two don’t always go together.”

  Jonas sighed. “So, you’re tellin’ me it ain’t his fault he’s not here. Okay. There’s always that possibility. But now she knows. We know. Hell, the world’s gonna know. It’s time he knew, too. A man ought to take responsibility if he has a child.”

  Marta lay her head on her husband’s shoulder. Considering his own past, the son he’d refused to acknowledge for more than thirty years and now loved with all his heart, she wasn’t surprised he’d think that. Actually, she agreed with him. Whoever had made her little girl pregnant should know it. And if he already did and he’d turned his back, then he deserved the whipping Jonas was so ready to deliver.

  But there was Sam to consider. Her daughter was a grown woman, entitled to make her own choices even if they were poor ones. She’d yet to say she even wanted her baby.

  “Let’s give this some time. We’ll let Sam think about her situation and we won’t do anything impetuous while she does.”

  “Some time,” Jonas cautioned. “Not too much.”

  “No,” Marta said, “not too much.”

  She kissed her husband. He went into his study; she continued up the stairs to the second floor and paused at Sam’s door.

  “Sam?” Marta knocked gently. “Darling, may I come in?” She waited, then opened the door. The blinds were closed, casting the room in artificial twilight. She could see Sam sitting in a rocker, her legs drawn up under her. “Darling? Are you okay?”

  “That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” Sam said. “‘Are you okay?’ the doctor said to the woman, and she said, ‘Well, Doc, that depends on your definition of okay.”’

  “Wouldn’t some sun be nice?” Marta said briskly. She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she walked from window to window, opening the blinds and letting in the light. “There now. Sweetie, I know this is a shock, but—”

  “I never even thought of it,” Sam said in a small voice. “Isn’t that stupid? When I think back on the last few weeks, I don’t know how I missed all the signs. I’d stopped getting my period but I just figured it was the pill. I mean, my periods are light as it is…”

  “Darling. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

  “And I was nauseous,” Sam said, as if her mother hadn’t spoken. “I felt like I was riding an elevator that kept making sudden stops. You know?”

  “I know,” Marta said, sighing. “I still remember, even after all these years.”

  “I was moody, too, and tired all the time…” Sam shook her head. “Just like Amanda, when she was pregnant, but I didn’t put two and two together.” She swallowed. “I guess I didn’t want to.”

  “No. Of course you didn’t.” Marta hesitated. “Still, you must have known. In the back of your mind, I mean, or you wouldn’t have…” She hesitated again. “I’m assuming that’s why you left—whoever it is that made you pregnant.”

  “Maybe, subconsciously. The truth is, I left him because—because…” Because he was tired of me and my heart was breaking, knowing he didn’t really want me anymore.

  “Because?” Marta prompted.

  “Because our relationship had run its course,” Sam said carefully, “the way relationships always do. Why else would I have left him?”

  Why, indeed? A woman who left a man for such a logical reason didn’t turn up on her mother’s doorstep looking hollow-eyed with despair, but Marta knew better than to say that.

  “And now it turns out I’m pregnant.” Sam took a breath. “I just can’t believe it. I never intended—”

  “Lots of pregnancies begin that way, darling.”

  “This isn’t lots of pregnancies, Mother. This is my pregnancy.” She took a shaky breath. “I never thought about having children.”

  Marta sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know, baby. As I said, lots of—”

  “No.” Sam uncurled her legs and leaned forward. “You don’t know. Maybe I’m not saying it right. I really didn’t intend to have kids. Not ever.”

  “Sam,” Marta said carefully, “I’ve watched you with your nieces and nephews. You’re wonderful with children.”

  “Only because I knew they belonged to someone else,” Sam said bluntly. “It’s lovely to coo to a baby and cuddle it, even to wipe up after it, when you know you can give it a kiss at the end of the day, hand it over to its mother and go back to your own life.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  Marta nodded. “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “And I’ll support whatever decision you feel you must make, darling.”

  “Decision?”

  “About what—what’s happening.”

  Sam gave a harsh laugh. “I’m pregnant, Mom. You might as well say the word.”

  “No. I mean, I’d rather not, if you’ve decided to—to—”

  “Decided to…?” Sam stared at her mother. “You think I’m not going through with it,” she said softly.

  “Samantha, you’re my child. I know, I know. You’re an adult, you make your own choices but you’ll always be my little girl. I’ll be there for you, whatever you do. I’d never turn away from you, even if—”

  “Mom.” Sam reached for her mother’s hands and clasped them tightly. “I’m going to have my baby.”

  Relief shuddered through Marta’s heart. “I thought you were saying—”

  “What I was saying,” Sam said, with a little catch in her voice, “is that I really believed I never wanted kids or any of the rest of it, for that matter. You know. The house—puppy—kitten—babies thing. It didn’t interest me.”

  “And now it does?”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” She gave a choked laugh. “That I’d suddenly want to trade a—a trip to Morocco for a trip to the maternity ward?”

  Marta smiled. “Not so amazing, sweetie. We’re like that, we women. All it takes is the right man and…Samantha? Sam, what is it?”

  Sam pulled her hands free of her mother’s. “But he wasn’t the right man. Don’t you see? I left him because he’s not for me.”

  “He was, though, or you wouldn’t have become involved in the first place.”

  “Mom.” Sam gave a little laugh. “I became involved because he’s incredibly sexy. He’s one of those men who—who just steal your breath away.” She knotted her hands together. “He wanted me. I wanted him. It was basic stuff. But he’s not the kind of man who’d ever settle down with one woman.”

  “Really,” Marta said, while a cold knot formed in her stomach.

  “He’s the kind of man a woman wants to go to bed with, not the kind she’d bring home.”

  The cold knot was becoming a fist. “Charming.”

  “But he was honest. He—he told me how it would be, that we had no future, and I—I didn’t care.” Sam got to her feet. “Sex is just sex,” she said blithely. “That’s what I’ve always believed. However long our relationship lasted would be enough.”

  “And now you feel differently?”

  Sam spun towards her mother. “Did I say that?” she demanded. “Why would I feel differently? It was sex. And it’s over.” Her voice broke. “And I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes. That changes things.”
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  “It doesn’t.”

  “Samantha, for goodness’ sake, of course it does!”

  “He doesn’t know. And I’m not going to tell him.”

  “Oh, Sam. You have to!”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Sam. Darling, this baby is half his.”

  “This baby is entirely mine,” Sam said savagely.

  Marta watched the transformation in her daughter’s face. Her skin went from pale to pink, her eyes from flat to glittering. All good signs, indications Sam was herself again. Too much so, perhaps. That independent streak didn’t make sense in this situation.

  “Sam,” she said, trying to sound reasonable, “no matter what you think this man said about the—the impermanence of your relationship, it’s different now.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “But it is! This man—dammit, what’s his name? I can’t see myself calling the father of my daughter’s child ‘this man’ forever.”

  “You’re not going to call him anything because you’re not going to meet him.” Sam lowered her voice. “His name is Demetrios. Demetrios Karas. And that’s to stay between us, Mother. I don’t want anyone else to know about him.”

  “Sweetie, honestly, you can’t keep a thing like that a secret. Your sisters will—”

  “I’ll take care of my sisters.”

  This was not the time to argue, Marta told herself. “Have you considered the difficulties of raising a child alone?”

  “If you’re saying I’ll need money…”

  “Yes. You will. We’ll be more than happy to help but knowing you—”

  “Knowing me, you figure I’d turn you down. And you’re right.”

  “But you don’t have a real job.” Marta winced as she said it. This was an old sore point between them. “You can’t bounce around the globe if you have a child to raise.”

  “There are lots of good-paying jobs for translators in New York. I just never wanted one before.”

  “Then think about the baby. Isn’t he or she entitled to a father?”

  “Carin, Amanda and I did fine without one.”

  Marta chose to ignore the tossed gauntlet. “Surely, you’ll admit Mr. Karas has the right to know he’s fathered a child.”