by Sandra Paul
It hadn’t been easy to leave. Especially since in the past few years Liz had begun to rely on her as something of an unpaid “social secretary,” always available to handle whatever “crisis” should arise-and crises were always occurring around Liz, who thrived on the drama of emotional chaos.
But Libby didn’t. And eight months ago, when once again a manufactured “emergency” of her mother’s forced Libby to drop another class in order to find time to deal with the problem, she’d packed up and left immediately afterward, ignoring her mother’s tirade about her daughter’s “selfishness.”
Libby had transferred her credits to Southern Oregon State University, choosing the college for two reasons: First, because it was close enough to get home quickly if Liz should ever really need her; and second, because the campus was close to Lone Oak, the small town Libby had once driven through on a trip with her father and had never forgotten.
Her knitting dropped into her lap and she rocked a couple of moments, staring unseeingly out the window. Yet, once again, in spite of her efforts, she’d gotten offtrack. “Maybe I can finish up my degree when the baby is born.”
“Plenty of time to worry about that later,” Christine said, a comforting refrain she’d used often during the past several months whenever Libby fretted about the future. Chris fiddled with one of Teddy’s stubby arms as she gave a considering glance around the small room. “One thing you should do before the baby comes, though, is to move to a room downstairs—or at least to the second floor. Del said he thought you looked worn-out, and the climb all the way up here has to be hard on you. There’s a large bedroom next to his that’s nice.”
“I’m fine up here,” Libby said firmly. So she looked worn-out to him, did she? How flattering. Well, she had no intention of moving closer to Del—or his bedroom with all its memories of that night. “I’m not tired at all,” she added for good measure.
Christine gave her a skeptical glance and Libby amended the statement, saying, “Okay, maybe I am a little bit but that’s normal for a woman in my condition. Besides, I love it up here,” she added truthfully.
The third floor—her “flat” she considered it-had been the maid’s quarters once upon a time. Smaller than the first two floors, it consisted of three cramped rooms tucked under a sloping ceiling, a closet-sized bathroom and a narrow angled passageway. The room they were now in was the smallest of the three, but feminine and bright. The ceiling pressed down, but a west-facing dormer window boxed in the afternoon sun, while even on the cloudiest of days the morning light flooded in through the two knee-high windows opposite to dance among the tiny pink roses scattered on the cream-colored wallpaper. “I’m going to paint the little room next door blue for the baby and use the back room for a sitting room,” Libby told her friend.
Chris smiled. “Sounds great. If you need more furniture, check the loft in the garage. I think there’s a bassinet up there.”
“Thanks.” Libby looked fondly at the worn antiques around her—a tarnished brass bed, a mahogany dressing table with a clouded mirror, the broad rocking chair in which she was sitting. She loved the aura of timelessness surrounding the old furniture. Her mother’s taste had run to brash, modern pieces that looked “artistic” but never felt comfortable when you sat in them.
Rocking absently, she gazed out the window at the oak leaves fluttering in the light morning breeze. The thought of the way the building had sheltered family after family charmed her. “This is such a wonderful old house,” she said softly.
Christine made a face. “You think so? Personally, I’d rather have an apartment in a big city where there’s a chance of some excitement—and I will as soon as I snag another couple of promotions.”
“Really?” Libby said in surprise. “You’d prefer an apartment to this?”
Chris nodded. “Yep, give me a modern, low-care condo any day.” She wrinkled her small nose. “No matter what you do, old houses always smell like musty books and lemon polish. I think Del feels the same but this house has been in our family for generations, so he’s hesitated to—omigosh!”
She bolted up so suddenly that Libby squeaked in alarm, drawing her feet up beneath her off the wooden floor. “What is it! A mouse?”
Chris looked at her in surprise and then laughed merrily. “Good gracious, no. I just remembered Del’s waiting for us in the parlor. He piled all your presents in there.”
Bouncing to her feet, Christine headed for the door carrying Teddy with her, only to pause as a thought struck her. She looked back at Libby, who hadn’t moved from the rocker. “Why, have you seen a mouse lately?” she demanded.
Libby nodded reluctantly. Chris declared, “I’d better tell Del,” and bounded down the stairs before Libby could protest that she didn’t mind a little mouse running around. Well, she did, but she certainly didn’t want Del to kill it.
“Libby!” Christine called from the stairwell. “Are you coming?”
“Be right there.”
Setting her knitting aside, Libby forced herself to get up and went to the dressing table. Picking up her brush she ran it through her hair. She wasn’t anxious to see Del again. Already her stomach was twisting and turning and for once it wasn’t because of the baby’s antics. Thank goodness he was only staying a day or two. She didn’t have the energy for any more.
She leaned forward, eyeing herself in the foggy glass. She did look a little peaked; she’d have to ask the doctor for a stronger iron pill or something. But for now—She picked up some cover-up and daubed the makeup on the mauve circles beneath her eyes. There! Surely Del wouldn’t notice them now.
Del noticed as soon as she came in the parlor. He glanced away, pretending to examine a couple of gift boxes to hide his frown. He’d hoped a good night’s sleep would erase her air of fragility, but obviously it hadn’t done the trick. Libby moved slowly, without energy, settling into an armchair with an unconscious sigh.
His lips straightened into a firm line. No doubt about it—he needed to accompany her to the doctor and find out if her tiredness was normal or not. She wouldn’t like his decision, he knew, so he didn’t comment on his plans, saying instead, “Chris says you saw a mouse.”
“Only a small one,” Libby replied, as if the size of the rodent made a difference. “And just a few times.”
“Or maybe you’ve seen several different mice one time each,” he countered dryly. “I’ll set some traps.”
Ignoring the small sound of protest Libby made, he turned to his sister. “Better give me a list of everything else that needs to be done around this place and I’ll get on it while I’m here. I know the gutters need cleaning, and the batteries changed in the smoke detectors—”
“I just did that,” Libby said.
Both Delaneys turned to look at her. Christine looked startled, while Del’s brows drew over his eyes in a frown. “You changed the batteries in the smoke detectors?” he asked.
Libby nodded. “And I cleaned out the gutters, too. I noticed during the last rainstorm that they were getting clogged with leaves. You can see them from my room.”
Christine’s eyes widened and Del’s voice grew dangerously quiet as he demanded, “Are you telling me you climbed a thirty-foot ladder to clear the gutters?”
“Of course not. I climbed out on the roof through my window and just swept them out.” Slightly perplexed at their reaction, she added, “It’s just something I used to do when I stayed at my father’s as a kid. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Mind! Of course we don’t mind!” Christine exclaimed while Del stood there with his mouth pressed in a tight line. “It’s just that it’s so dangerous in your condition. You have to be more careful, Libby.”
“Damn right she has to be more careful,” Del said. “If that isn’t the—”
“You know he’s right, Lib,” Chris interrupted. “What if something happened to the baby?”
Prepared to expand—in detail—on this point, Del was blocked as Chris added hastily, “Anyway, le
t’s not talk anymore about it. There are presents to open.” She put one in Libby’s lap saying, “This one’s from Brooke.”
Still smoldering with anger that Libby had taken such a risk, Del watched from across the room as she accepted the gift, her face filling with such unconscious anticipation that his temper cooled in reluctant enjoyment of her pleasure.
Her brown eyes softened as she carefully unwrapped a box to reveal tiny blue jeans and a diminutive shirt. “How darling,” she breathed. Her lips curved gently upward and Del realized suddenly it was the first he’d seen her smile since his return. She certainly hadn’t smiled at him.
But this morning the expression came readily, lighting her face with subdued excitement as Christine handed her gift after gift. Soon a pile of miniature pastel garments grew beside her chair. Her slim fingers traced the delicate embroidery on the little outfits, stroking the soft terry and brushed flannel from which they were made. Del’s eyes half shut in remembered pleasure. She’d touched him with that same hesitant enjoyment the night they’d made love.
When she opened Christine’s gift, Libby’s mouth formed a soundless “O.” “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, lifting from the box a pure white blanket, knitted in soft angora yarn. She held it against her cheek, and Del thought the blanket looked no softer than her creamy skin as she gazed mistily up at Christine. “You made it, didn’t you?” she said. “Oh, how I wish I could knit as well as you.”
“You’ll get there,” Chris said, bending down to give her a quick, impulsive hug. “I’ve had years of practice, growing up in a small town where there’s not much to do. You’ll be churning out all kinds of blankets in no time.”
Libby carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box, saying ruefully, “I can’t even finish one booty.”
“Even if you don’t, it doesn’t look like the kid will miss it,” Del pointed out, eying all the baby items scattered around the room.
“Are you kidding?” Christine exclaimed, wadding up an armful of tissue paper. “This isn’t half the stuff she’ll need. Susan says her kids went through three or four outfits a day.”
Del was dumbstruck. “For one little kid?”
Chris nodded. “And she still needs a swing, a high chair, a crib, a car seat—Oh, wait—that carrier Brooke gave you doubles as a car seat for the first few months, doesn’t it? Which reminds me—” she turned to her brother “—’t forget to gas up the truck before you drive Libby to the doctor’s. It’s running on empty.”
“So what else is new?” he asked, pretending not to notice the small start Libby gave at Christine’s statement. He continued thumbing through the baby book he was holding, saying to his sister, “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re going to burn out the engine if you keep trying to run on fumes.”
Christine made a face. “Nag, nag, nag. Oh, don’t glare at me. You’ve made your point. I’m sorry, and to prove it I’ll make breakfast—or would it be considered brunch now? Anyway, prepare yourselves for a culinary delight of scrambled eggs and toast.”
“Mushy eggs and burnt bread, more likely,” Del said dryly as she strode out of the room. He glanced over at Libby, adding wryly, “She sounds like she’s doing us a favor but she’s probably trying to avoid helping pick up. That sister of mine is a spoiled one.”
Libby smiled perfunctorily, but brought up the subject that concerned her more. “Del…” she said, slowly. “What did Chris mean about you driving me to the doctor’s?”
He glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he prepared for another argument. “She meant exactly that. I told her I’d take you since I had to go into Vicksville, anyway.”
“I can drive myself—”
“Christine said you’ve been having dizzy spells.”
She bit her lip. “Christine certainly talks a lot.”
He nodded. “She sure does, but maybe in this instance that’s a good thing. Do you think it’s wise to try and drive in your condition?”
Libby didn’t, but she didn’t want him to drive her, either. “But my visit isn’t for a couple of days,” she protested.
He shrugged. “I told you I can manage the time off.” He picked up a mint green T-shirt and eyed it dubiously. “Are these things big enough?”
“Of course they are. That’s a size one. Newborn sizes are even smaller. As I was saying last night, there’s no need for you to stay—”
“And I said there was.”
Libby clenched her hands on top of the box in her lap, holding on to her temper. “But I thought you were in the middle of an important project. Aren’t you worried they’ll replace you?”
“No,” he answered absently, still busy picking through the pile of gifts next to her chair. “When you’ve put in as much time as I have and covered as many positions on the way up, there aren’t too many people they can replace you with—not too quickly, anyway. Besides, I can handle the preliminaries from here. What the hell is this?” He lifted a clear plastic tube, which contained another inside.
Libby could feel a blush rising in her cheeks. “Nothing.”
He must have caught the constricted note in her voice because he glanced at her curiously, then looked back down at the object in his hands. “Obviously it’s something or why would someone have given it to you?” He pulled on the inner tube, sliding it back and forth in the outer. The movement caused a slight sucking sound. “Is it a—?”
“It’s a breast pump, for goodness’ sake. Will you just give it to me?” Libby reached up and snatched it out of his hands, her fury growing as she noticed the grin on his face. “These aren’t all toys, you know. Having a baby is serious.”
His smile disappeared. “I know it is—which reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He leveled an accusing stare at her. “What’s the real reason you didn’t get that ultrasound Mrs. P. was talking about? And don’t bother giving me that cock-and-bull story you told her about you and the doctor changing your minds. I could tell you weren’t telling the truth.”
“Yes, I was.”
He stared at her steadily. Silence filled the room. Libby couldn’t quite hold his gaze. “Ultrasounds are pretty expensive,” she admitted.
His mouth thinned in exasperation, and she added hastily, “It’s not a necessary procedure in my case anyway, Del, just precautionary. The doctor wasn’t concerned when I decided to pass on it.”
“Well, I’m concerned, which is precisely why I’m going with you to see that doctor and find out for myself what’s going on.”
She huffed in exasperation. “And once you find out, you’ll leave me alone? Go back to your job?”
“Of course I will.”
“Then fine. You can come with me.”
“Good.”
Libby breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a groan as he slowly added, “Just one more thing…”
“What now?” she almost wailed.
“I think we should let the doctor know I’m the father.”
Libby tensed in alarm. “No! I told you last night I don’t want anyone to know.”
“It’s not as if we’ll be telling the entire town,” he told her patiently. He picked up a yellow rubber duck someone had given her, tossing the squeaky toy from one hand to the other as he added, “But I think the doctor should know. Think about it, Libby,” he interrupted when she would have argued further. “What if something happens to you—or the baby. What if she—”
“He!”
“Needs blood or other medical help that only you or I—as the mother or father—can give? I need to be on record somewhere so I can be contacted. Have you thought about any of that?”
“Of course I have—I just.” She broke off. She’d just put it out of her mind. The endless possibilities had worried her so much she hadn’t known what else to do.
But everything he’d said was all too true. She had to let him be involved—at least this much. The baby’s life might depend on it.
She looke
d up. Del was watching her intently. Meeting her gaze, he said quietly, “You know I’m right. We have to tell the doctor. For the baby’s sake.”
Who could argue against that? “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “For the baby’s sake.”
6
Del shifted in his chair a few days later, glancing around at the doctor’s waiting room where he and Libby had been sitting for the past half hour. The walls were painted a bright yellow and decorated with huge animals—orange giraffes, blue lions, plump pink elephants—all lined up to enter a stout brown boat. Probably some kind of surreal Noah’s ark thing, he decided.
He shifted again, trying to find enough room between a miniature child’s table and chair set up in the middle of the small room to stretch his legs. He felt uncomfortable; not because he was the only man in the room because he wasn’t—the other woman waiting was accompanied by her husband—nor even because the pink elephants on the wall looked like a Pepto-Bismol nightmare. No, the major reason he felt a little awkward was because of Libby’s persistent coolness.
Del slanted a glance at her aloof profile. She’d braided her hair today in two long pigtails that made her look more like seventeen than twenty-six. Pink ribbons, the same color as the blouse she wore-and the elephants on the wall—were tied at the ends. One of the bows had come untied. Without thinking, Del lifted a hand to fix it and she reached up and flipped the braid over her shoulder, not even sparing him a glance.
Del grimaced. No doubt about it, she was making it abundantly clear that while she might have given in to his desire to accompany her, she certainly wasn’t pleased with him. She’d avoided him as much as possible the past two days and had barely said a word on the entire forty-minute trip to the doctor’s. Now she continued to ignore him, her gaze fixed steadily on the parenting magazine in her hands.
His lips tightened and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t used to Libby being so quiet. She hadn’t been a chatterer during the snowstorm but she had talked to him—quite a bit, in fact. About growing up with her famous mother, Liz; about Nicholas, the father she’d rarely seen. She’d shared her thoughts on life—even her misguided views on politics. He’d enjoyed listening to her, teasing her, watching her sweetly serious expression or the sudden laughter that would light her face at his occasional wry comment.