Becca's Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I do love my desk there,” she said now. “But we might have to move it out of this room.”

  He frowned. “Why? Where would you put it?”

  Shrugging, Becca looked at him. “That’s my problem. I don’t know.”

  “Then why—”

  “We need a nursery, Will,” she interrupted, tired of all the games they were playing. Tired of their being nice to each other on the surface when they were tearing each other up inside. “Can you think of any other room we could use as a nursery?”

  “My office?” But he didn’t sound particularly enamored of the idea.

  “Your office is bigger. This room is more practical,” she said, only because it was true. “Besides, it’s closer to our bedroom.”

  He thought for a moment. Walked around the room, as though contemplating. “The crib would look nice over there,” he said, pointing to the alcove across from the window.

  Becca nodded. “That’s what I thought. And the changing table over there.” She pointed to the adjacent wall.

  “Right.” He went over to the spot and stood there.

  “It can’t be by the window. I don’t want him throwing something through it or kicking the glass.”

  “Or rolling off,” she agreed, her stomach tightening as she envisioned all kinds of possible mishaps.

  “Todd resigned today,” he announced suddenly.

  “What?” Becca asked, moving over to stand beside him, as though his nearness could make the blow easier to bear. Or her nearness could somehow give him the comfort she knew he must need. “What happened?”

  “The private investigator came up with the goods,” he said. His eyes were clouded, his face contorted with grief.

  Becca ached for her husband. Todd had been his best friend for as long as she’d known him.

  “What did Todd say?”

  As Becca listened to the story, her heart turned slowly to ice. If Todd could fall so completely out of love, couldn’t Will? Was this where they were heading?

  Love really wasn’t strong enough to conquer all, was it.

  “Has he told Martha?” she whispered when he finally fell silent.

  “He’s going to do it tonight.”

  “How soon will he leave?”

  “Almost immediately,” Will told her, drawing a finger down the side of her face. “With the semester ending, there’s no reason for either of them to stay.”

  “No reason, except for his wife and four kids.”

  Pulling Becca into his arms, Will held her against him. “I know, baby, I know,” he said, the pain in his voice undisguised.

  He held her for several minutes and Becca gradually sank into him. She hadn’t realized how completely starved she was for the contact. Not just sexually, though there was definitely that, but for the security and comfort of Will’s arms around her.

  Too soon, just as she felt his body responding to her nearness, he pulled away. Circling her desk, he stood behind it. “We could move this into my office,” he said, completely ignoring what had just happened. “Like you said, it’s a much bigger room. We could both work in there.”

  Trying to understand, to give him time, trying not to feel hurt by his withdrawal, Becca thought about his suggestion. Was thrilled that he’d even offered. “It might work,” she said.

  If they were both still living in the house by then.

  She’d always been a little lonely working back here in her office—had felt cut off from the rest of the house. From him.

  “We probably won’t be using the office at the same time in the beginning, anyway,” he said, looking around the room again.

  Becca chuckled. “I have a feeling neither one of us will be using it a lot in the beginning. Ever try concentrating on three hours of sleep?”

  His brown eyes warm, concerned, he asked, “You really think it’ll be that bad?”

  “At first, yes.” She hoped that was all the bad it would be, that the reality wouldn’t be worse than that. She could pull all-nighters when she was twenty; at forty-two her brain stopped working without at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep every night.

  And yet, as she cradled the tiny life inside her, a joyful glow spread throughout Becca’s body, invigorating her. If she could carry this baby to term, deliver him and bring him home, she knew she would find the energy to care for him.

  “Becca, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Will said, returning her thoughts to the present—to him. He was leaning against her desk, his feet crossed in front of him.

  Becca turned cold. “Is this something I need to sit down for?”

  Running a finger thoughtfully along his lower lip, he shook his head.

  Somehow that didn’t reassure her.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he began. Becca sat in the armchair she usually used for reading. She’d unbuttoned her skirt when she’d come home, and as she sat, the zipper slid down, as well.

  “Thinking I should have done weeks ago,” he continued.

  Dry-mouthed, Becca nodded.

  “I couldn’t understand, still can’t, actually, how—medical considerations aside—you wouldn’t want this baby.”

  “I know.” She was having a hard time believing it herself. Except when the panic hit.

  But they’d already been through this. Did they have to do it again? Was he never going to get over it?

  “Because of that,” Will began again, speaking slowly, “I don’t think I gave proper consideration to the physical concerns.”

  “What physical concerns?” she asked, frowning. He didn’t want her getting fat? Didn’t want to give up his office? None of that sounded like Will at all.

  “Medical ones.”

  Becca’s heart began to pound. He and Dr. Anderson had been alone when they’d wheeled Becca down for that MRI. Did he know something she didn’t?

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  God, don’t take this baby from me. Please don’t take this baby from me now.

  “Nothing,” Will said. He stood up, came over to crouch beside her chair. “But yesterday scared the hell out of me, Bec,” he admitted. “It showed me quite clearly what you’d been talking about—the dangers of taking on something this momentous at your age.”

  “Did Dr. Anderson tell you something she didn’t tell me?” Becca barely got the words past the fear that was choking her.

  “No!” He brushed her hair back gently. “It’s nothing like that. You’re fine. The doctor still believes you can deliver this baby without a hitch.”

  Head aching, she tried to read in his eyes what he wasn’t telling her. “Then why—”

  “I just want you to know that if you still want to terminate this pregnancy, I’ll support your decision.”

  She stared at him, trying desperately to remain calm, but her face felt numb, her skin chilled. Had he deserted her so completely now that he didn’t even want her baby?

  “It’s too late,” she whispered, devastated and afraid that the words referred to far more than the fate of her pregnancy.

  “Too late?” he asked, frowning, seeming completely unaware of the effect his words were having. Did he actually think she cared so little? Perhaps he was right; perhaps he really didn’t know her.

  “I’m going on seventeen weeks,” she stated conversationally. “Unless the mother’s life is in imminent danger, they won’t terminate after twelve.”

  Becca wasn’t sure whether the brief burst of feeling that crossed his expression was relief, joy or disappointment. It came and went so quickly.

  She sat there looking at him, trying to understand him—and failing hopelessly. It occurred to her again that perhaps he didn’t know her anymore. But perhaps she didn’t know him, either.

  It was a frightening thought. One she wasn’t prepared to deal with. She had no idea where that left them. Or their baby.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTER LUNCH with their sisters and mother on Wed
nesday, Becca and Sari went shopping for the maternity clothes Becca and Will had missed buying on Monday. After adding the salad to the baby already taking up residence beneath her waistband, Becca couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Mom was in rare form today,” Sari said as the two women perused the racks in an upscale maternity shop in Phoenix. “I didn’t think she was ever going to stop laughing when she told that stupid chicken-crossing-the-road joke.”

  Becca grinned, adding a jumper she didn’t think she’d buy to the other things she was carrying over one arm. “She’s happy about the baby.”

  “Yeah,” Sari said, her face softening. “She’s happiest because she knows you’ve wanted one for so long.”

  “I was surprised she hadn’t heard about Todd and Martha yet,” Becca said, handing her growing pile to the salesclerk waiting to assist her. She’d told her sister about their friends on the way into Phoenix.

  “For Martha’s sake, I’m glad,” Sari said. “I’d die if anything happened between Bob and me, especially if the whole world found out.”

  Becca refused to discuss this; it was too dark. Too frightening.

  “What do you think?” she asked, instead, holding up another dress for inspection. It had quickly become apparent when they’d entered the shop that she’d have to give up suits for the duration of her pregnancy. Maternity clothes didn’t seem to come in suits.

  Sari wrinkled her nose. “A little young. Maybe you’d better get someone else to write Samuel’s script,” Sari said, apparently not distracted from the subject of Martha.

  “No.” Becca shook her head. “I’m not going to take anything else away from Martha.” She’d already given the matter some thought. “I’ll keep a close watch, and if she shows any signs of being overwhelmed or not wanting to do it, I can always get one of the theater people at the university to write something. But Martha was really looking forward to doing this, and it may be a diversion for her.”

  Sari pulled out a denim jumper, saw the embroidered butterflies on the front pocket and put it back. “Will there be enough time for someone from Theater to do it? This is the tenth of May—less than two months till the Fourth of July.”

  “There’ll be time,” Becca said, wondering if she’d have to go with slacks for the duration. None of these dresses seemed right for a woman in her forties. But with temperatures reaching 120, a summer pregnancy was going to be bad enough—but wearing slacks would be suicide. “The kids aren’t out of school until the first week of June. They’re only going to have three weeks to put this thing together, so it’ll have to be basic, anyway. Besides, the scriptwriter can be there with the kids—like a work in progress. Betty’s write-up for the paper will be pretty comprehensive.”

  Drifting over to another rack, Sari found a nondescript black dress that might do. “We should have all our research wrapped up by next week,” she said.

  Becca nodded. She’d been thinking a lot about Samuel Montford these past few days. The first—and the fourth. Cassie, ex-wife of the current Sam, had been back in town for several years. Had made quite a name for herself in veterinary science…

  “Mrs. Parsons! How are you?” Turning, Becca saw little Kaylee Holmes, the daughter of Karen and Dick Holmes, yet another couple Becca had graduated from high school with. The family had moved to Phoenix several years before.

  Kaylee wasn’t so little anymore. “Kaylee!” she said, shocked to see the girl’s very distended stomach. “I don’t have to ask how you’ve been! I didn’t even know you were married.”

  Kaylee grinned. “I’m not.”

  “Oh.” Becca was a little nonplussed by Kaylee’s cheer. In her day an unwed pregnant woman would have been embarrassed by her condition, saddened by it—shamed, even. She wasn’t entirely sure which of the two worlds was better.

  “So what are you doing here?” Kaylee rushed into the awkward silence. “Shopping for a gift for someone?”

  “Yes,” Becca said in unison with Sari’s “No.”

  Kaylee frowned in confusion. “You are or you aren’t?”

  “Becca’s pregnant,” Sari chanted, her voice filled with all the pride and joy Becca should have been expressing. “She’s in the middle of her fourth month.”

  “Ohhh.” Kaylee drew out the word, then began to move off toward another part of the store. “Well, I hope everything goes okay for you.”

  “Yeah,” Becca called, turning back to her shopping, “you, too.” She hadn’t missed the fact that Kaylee hadn’t offered her congratulations. Only a doubtful wish that everything would be all right.

  She tried to concentrate on the clothes in front of her, tried to find something appropriate for her age—but spent the next few minutes forcing herself not to cry.

  “You okay?” Sari finally ventured to ask.

  “No, I’m not okay,” Becca snapped, then burst into tears. “I’m a freak, Sari,” she said, hiding behind a tall rack of dresses while she made an effort to compose herself. “Look at these clothes. None of them are right for me, and you know why?” She didn’t wait for Sari to respond before continuing.

  “Because I’m too old for this. These clothes are fashioned for kids Kaylee’s age. What in hell do I think I’m doing, pretending I belong here?”

  “It—”

  “Did you see the way she looked at me?” Becca interrupted her sister. “Like I was something gross?”

  “She did not. She was just surprised,” Sari said.

  “I changed Kaylee’s diapers at the day care!”

  “Aunt Beth was pregnant with Joe when she was changing Suzie’s diapers.” Suzie was their second cousin on their mother’s side. Their aunt’s first grandchild.

  “When it comes to pregnancy, my peers are kids, Sari. I have no business doing this. It’s like I’m an old lady trying to recapture my youth.” Becca just couldn’t get over the feeling that she was gatecrashing a party where she didn’t belong. And the fear that as soon as the fates spotted her, they’d kick her out. The fear that something would happen to her baby, that she’d miscarry, that the baby was never meant to be.

  “You have every reason to do this, Rebecca Parsons,” Sari said, only lowering her voice when she noticed another shopper glancing in their direction.

  “God gave you this baby, this little soul, to nurture and bring into the world. If He thinks you’re the right woman for the task, then that’s just how it is and you’d better straighten up and do your job.”

  Becca wasn’t as certain of that as Sari. Her sister had turned to religion as a way to deal with her grief after Tanya was killed by the drunk driver two summers before. She saw God’s hand in everything as a result.

  And yet, as Becca stood there fiddling with a hanger in an attempt not to look at her sister, she had to admit there was some truth to Sari’s words.

  “You do think I belong here?” she asked softly, daring a peek over at Sari. “In this world of mothers and babies?”

  Sari’s eyes were filled with tears—and love and happiness, too. “I’m sure of it,” she said, giving Becca’s hand a squeeze. “Now let’s go find you some decent clothes so Junior isn’t humiliated by an old hag of a mother who’s running around naked.”

  WILL LIKED her new clothes.

  “You don’t think I’ll look ridiculous in them?” Becca asked after dinner that night. They’d just finished the dishes and she’d asked Will to wait a minute before he disappeared into his office for the evening. She needed his opinion. After all, they made a lot of public appearances together.

  “I think you’ll look beautiful.”

  The air in the kitchen was charged as their eyes met, held, spoke things they wouldn’t allow themselves to say.

  Becca swallowed. “You don’t think they’re too young? I haven’t worn jumpers in years.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  Not sure what he meant by that remark—was it a compliment or a dig at the way she’d changed? Becca gathered up the maternity clothes and started fold
ing and returning them to the bag. But she couldn’t erase the brief glimpse she’d had of Will’s desire for her. Or the answering inferno she felt in herself. They’d been making love since they were seventeen years old. In all that time, they’d never gone more than a week without it, and usually they reached for each other several times a week. They were now going on four months.

  Becca was deathly afraid of the way that fact changed their future.

  “I had lunch with my mom and sisters today,” she said as she folded. He was still standing there. And she wanted to keep him with her as long as she could.

  “It’s Wednesday. Right,” he said as though only just remembering. “How are they?”

  “Good.” Sari was great. Her sister had a new strength, a strength she’d never had, even before Tanya’s death. “We’re wrapping up the Samuel Montford biography.”

  Will came over to the table and sat down. “Tell me about him.”

  Becca looked at him silently for a moment, wondering why he’d stayed with her when almost every night for the past few months he’d escaped to his office as soon as the dishes were done. She was afraid to hope that he missed her as much as she missed him. Desperately. Afraid to trust that somehow they’d find a way back to each other.

  “I really feel a kinship with him.” She started slowly, speaking of a subject that meant a lot to her and was without pitfalls. Leaving the rest of the clothes piled on one end of the table, she sat down across from Will. “Samuel Montford suffered and survived emotionally painful things, but his spirit remained intact, and that gives me strength.”

  “How so?” He leaned forward, his interest plainly visible.

  She told him about Samuel’s early hardships, his broken dreams, lost family, broken heart. The way he’d responded by giving years of his life to helping Indian tribes, whose lands, whose very way of life, were being stolen from them. She described what Samuel had learned from the tribes, lessons about family, community, responsibility. Finally she told Will how Samuel had met the missionary woman, fallen in love again.