“Mmmhmm. Healthy too. Although we don’t know what the sex is. We won’t be able to tell that until around your twenty-week ultrasound. I’m going to measure the length and determine how far along you are.”
My mama kisses my cheek, keeping her face near mine. “Look at that heartbeat. Fluttering away like a butterfly. Just perfect, child.”
I lift my hand and hold her face to mine. “Mama…” I barely whisper, the awe and emotion too much.
She kisses my cheek again and then my temple, whispering only to me, “We’re gonna have a baby.”
“Everything looks great, Dara. Based on the size, you’re measuring seven weeks and three days. Your due date will be slated for…” She smiles widely and laughs.
“What? When am I due?”
“February fourteenth, Valentine’s Day. Dad, that should make you happy!” She gestures to Ricky.
“Oh, it does!” He gushes, his hands clasped together at his chest, his face beaming.
I chuckle. “Fitting,” I say, thinking that my baby is due on the national holiday dedicated to lovers, and I got pregnant from a one-night stand with a man who can’t bear to be around me. “And he’s not the father.”
His excitement dwindles, and he narrows his eyes. “I’m better than nothing!” he counters.
“Best friend, best uncle status, remember?” I remind him softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Ricardo shrugs. “Whatever. This is awesome!” he practically squeals.
“All right, Dara, here’s a set of pictures of your baby.” She hands me a set of four photos.
They all look like a bean-shaped blob, but it’s still the prettiest blob I’ve ever seen. I clutch the photos to my chest and sigh. Physical proof of my baby bean.
“I’ll leave you to your privacy. Schedule an appointment for five weeks from now. We need to do another ultrasound at the twelve-week mark. Once you’ve hit that, the chances of any problems occurring are significantly reduced. For now, you can follow the dos and don’ts on this sheet.” She hands me a piece of paper detailing harmful things to my baby. Smoking. Drinking. Shellfish and a host of others I’ll review later.
“Take your prenatal vitamin every day, drink lots of water, and get as much rest as possible. Otherwise, you can do everything you normally do. Have you experienced any sickness?” She marks something on my chart.
I shake my head. “No. Though I’m pretty tired.”
She nods. “That happens in the first trimester. You’ll get back that spring in your step in your second trimester but then lose it again in the third.” She grins. “It’s different for everyone, though.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hathaway.”
Ricardo follows her out and leaves me with my mother. I pull off the blanket and rip the paper gown off before throwing it all in the trash. My mother hands me my undies, which I put on, and then my bra. I toss on the flowy maxi dress I wore and slip into a beaded pair of multi-colored flip-flops. When I’m dressed, my mother holds out her arms. Without missing a beat, I fly into them, resting my face on her chest. Her warmth and love feed my soul, and we stand there, hugging and sharing in this moment.
“My baby is gonna be a mama.” There’s a beautiful sense of awe floating around her form, and I revel in it.
I nod against her chest. “I’m still scared,” I admit. I can tell this woman anything, and she’ll always be there for me, never judging, just accepting.
She runs her hands through my hair. “I know you are. One day at a time, remember. Have you told Silas about the baby yet?”
I cringe and push away. “I didn’t tell you his name.”
“No, baby, but the second you brought that boy into our bakery a month ago and looked at him as though he walked on water, I knew he was the man who had my daughter’s heart. I am not blind.”
I push away and frown. “He doesn’t have my heart. I barely know him.”
“Child, you think I was born yesterday?”
“No,” I mutter petulantly.
“Baby, when you brought Silas into the bakery, you glowed like the sun cresting over the horizon on a new day. No man has ever made you glow like that except your daddy the day we brought you home. I hadn’t seen the shiny new glimmer with anyone else until he walked in. And let me tell you something.” She turns me around and cups both of my cheeks. “That boy looked at you the same way. ’Cept he has shadows in his eyes. Something he’s battling.”
I nod. “He was married. She died.”
“That would do it,” she says before pulling me back into her arms and leading me out the door.
We schedule my next appointment, and my mother leads me out. I’m dumfounded, staring at my ultrasound pictures and tracing the edge of my baby bean.
“I’m going to love you so much,” I promise the bean.
The sun hits my face when we exit, and I stop to let it soak into my being before I start walking and bump right into a hard form. Strong arms hold both of my biceps.
A deep voice I recognize grabs my heart and squeezes. “Dara?”
I open my eyes and come face-to-face with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. The face that appears in all of my recent dreams. My baby daddy.
“Silas?” I shake my head and back away from his hold.
He squints, confusion marring his features. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I repeat his question, fear rushing through my limbs and causing the hair on my arms to stand.
My mother comes up. “Oh, hello again, friend. Silas, is it?”
He nods. “Mrs. Jackson, hello. What brings you to this side of the Bay?” He’s referring to downtown Oakland.
I glance around and look for a sign, a reason, anything I can say to avoid answering the real question. My mother, on the other hand, has different ideas. And where the hell is Ricky? It just dawned on me he isn’t with us.
“Doctor’s appointment.” She points behind her at the large building we just exited.
“Oh. I hope everything’s okay.” He frowns.
“Right as rain,” she says, not giving anything away or leading on to the fact that it was my doctor’s appointment and not hers.
I couldn’t love the woman any more than I do right now. Keeping my secret, knowing I need to tell Silas in my own time.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light.
He nods to the building next door. “Knight & Day Productions.” He smirks, and that small twist of his lips sends thrills straight through my body, down to my lady business.
I grit my teeth and nod. “Cool. Well, we gotta go…”
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to come to class again. I wanted to apologize for the way I left things, and I…” He stops and takes a deep breath, but before he can continue saying what I’m dying to hear him say…
That he misses me.
He wants to see me.
He thinks we have left something unfinished between us.
None of those things can leave his lips because at that exact moment, Ricky comes barreling out of the doctor’s office holding two streams of black and white ultrasound photos.
“Look, baby girl…I got copies of the baby’s first photos for me and your mom! Totally schmoozed the nurse who brought us into the exam room…and…oh fuck!” His gaze has reached the tall man standing before me.
My heart drops, and I cover my belly protectively. Silas’s gaze clocks the photos and then goes to me and down to where I placed my hand. His voice sounds like a box of shaken rocks when he speaks. “You’re…p-pregnant.”
“Um…” I’m unable to get anything else out for a full thirty seconds as we have a stare-off. “Yeah, about that…I gotta go.” I turn around on a heel and get maybe four feet forward before an arm is hooked around my upper body and my back is flattened against a hard, muscular chest.
His breath is at my ear, sending tingles all through me. “How far along are you…” he grates into my ear, and I lock my
body, preparing for anything. Fight. Flight. I’m not sure.
“Look, it’s none of your business,” I start, feeling the need to protect myself and my baby from whatever may happen. Not that I think he’d hurt me.
“I asked you a question, Dara.” His voice is shaking, emotion pouring out of every word.
Closing my eyes, I take a slow breath.
“Just over seven weeks.”
“My God.” He lets me go as if he’s been shot and the force of the hit has knocked him back.
I turn around to find him stumbling a few paces backward, his hands coming up to his face.
“Silas…I, meant to tell you. I just, the way you left. And, what you told me. I needed to know…” I’m fumbling for the right words and failing miserably.
He stands still, his hands forming fists at his sides.
My mother sidles up to me and hooks me around the waist. Ricky takes up my other side, a united front. Two people I love, protecting me from what they think might be the big bad wolf. I know different. He would never hurt me. But he, on the other hand, is hurting. A lot. His aura is screaming pain and confusion. Sadness and fear.
“It’s…it’s…mine.” He runs a hand over his head and closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Digging in my purse, I find a business card for Sunflower Bakery. It has my cell phone number on it. I walk over to him and hold out the card. “When you’re ready to talk…”
He snatches the card out of my hand and surprises me by pulling me into his arms, hugging me, tightly. “I don’t know…” He burrows his face into my neck. “I don’t know what to say. What to feel.” His body trembles against mine. “I’m dead inside, Dara.”
His words ripple through me like a physical blow, an ache he holds inside of him I need to assuage. “You’re not dead inside. You’re sad. You need help.”
He nods into my neck. One of his hands holds the back of my head; the other locks around my waist. “You’re not going to keep my baby from me, are you?” His voice is filled with dread and loss.
Grabbing his head with both of my hands, I pull his face away from my neck so I can see his beautiful pale-green eyes. Everything around us is gone, disappeared the moment he brought me into his arms. The busy street. My mother. Ricardo. All a whisper in the wind as I make a deep connection with the man who is plagued with loss.
“Silas, I’d never keep your child from you. You can have as much or as little participation in his or her life as you want.”
His expression contorts into one of agony, his body bucking as though he’s received a physical blow. I hold him through it.
“The man who took my wife’s life took my unborn daughter’s with it. You can’t take away my second chance…” He gulps, tears filling his eyes and falling down his face, wetting my fingers where I’m holding him.
I hear my mother’s voice from not far behind me. “Sweet Jesus.”
I don’t address her. All my attention is on this one tortured, beautiful man.
My worst nightmare was true. He lost his wife and daughter on the same day. Going on instinct, I tilt Silas’s head forward and lay my lips on his forehead. “You beautiful, beautiful prince.”
“Don’t take my chance away,” he repeats, agony coating every syllable.
With my heart in my throat, my forehead to his, I grab the hand he has curled around my hip and ease it to my belly. “He or she is seven weeks and three days. The heartbeat was perfect. I have another appointment in five weeks. At that point, we’ll have passed the twelve-week mark,” I tell him, trying to reach the place in him that needs this information to break out of his past misery. Give him something beautiful to focus on.
His hand cups my belly warmly and then—shocking me, my mother, and my best friend, based on the triple gasps—Silas drops to his knees. He plants his face to my belly and holds my hips. I wrap my hands around his head, rubbing his scalp while he nuzzles my abdomen.
My mother is a mess of tears when I glance over. She’s got a handkerchief held to her face. Ricky is the opposite. He’s been taking photos. I don’t care. It’s a moment in my child’s life, and I’ll be thankful for his efforts later.
“Hey, you gotta get up.” I try to lift his head, but he shakes it.
“Need to connect with my child.” His voice is muffled by my dress where he’s kissing my belly over and over, speaking in a hushed tone, saying words that aren’t for me but for our baby.
I gesture to Ricky. “Give me a set of those pics.”
He frowns. “But…”
“Ricky!” I warn and snap my fingers.
He grumbles but hands me one of the strips of four images. “I’ve got a better idea, Silas. Stand up.”
Silas does what I say as if on autopilot. His aura is a jumble of happiness, sadness, excitement, grief, and every possible feeling in between. It’s changing so manically it reminds me of a strobe light.
“This is our baby bean. Take these photos and give yourself some time to let it soak in. When you have, call me. I’ll be waiting.” I run my hand down the side of his face, lean up on my tiptoes, and kiss him softly on the lips.
As I’m backing away, he locks his hand around my head and smashes our lips together once more. Only this isn’t the goodbye, sweet, sentimental kiss I planned to give him.
No, his kiss is filled with desperation, desire, and longing. He holds my face, turns it from side to side, delving deeper with each plunge of his tongue.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t stop.
I can’t pull away.
It’s too good. My mind spins with need while emotions battle for attention reminding me that, a month ago this man left me. He’s lost so much in his life he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s clinging on to the one thing that’s real. Me. And our baby.
Finally, the need for air wins out, and I pull back. He chases my lips, starved for more. I am too, but I have to be smart. He needs time to process what he’s learned today. What’s about to change in his life, forever. I turn my cheek, so he kisses me there and runs his lips down my neck to my hairline.
A million prickles run rampant through my nerve endings. I’m enjoying every press of his lips, every nip of his teeth, but I can’t lose myself in him, in this. It’s everything I want, but it’s not real. He’s a desperate man holding on to anything he can right now. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he’s implying with each brush of his lips.
Finding strength deep down, I nudge his head away from my neck and step back from his grasp. On instinct, he comes after me, as though I’m a life preserver and he’s floundering in open water.
I put a hand up in front of him. “Stop.”
He does, his eyes wild, hungry. For me. For our baby. For a new life. I know better than anyone it’s not that easy. I’m not a substitute for his loss.
“You need to work through your pain, Silas. I can help. Our baby can help. But you have to take the steps toward healing. Dealing with your grief.”
He firms his jaw and nods.
“Okay. You’ve got my number,” I remind him softly, as though I’m speaking to a child.
He pulls the card out of his pocket, shows it to me, and then puts it back.
“Take some time. Think about this. And we’ll talk.” I hold out the strip of photos once more.
Silas claims them like he would a priceless, porcelain Fabergé egg. I smile, loving that he’s being so tender with something so important. Shows how much he cares already.
I walk over to my mother and grab her hand but keep my gaze on his. “Call me.”
Ricky jets over to his car at the curb and opens the door. My mother enters the front seat. I move to enter the back.
“Dara!” Silas calls out, still standing in the same place I left him moments ago.
I turn back to look at him before getting in the car.
“I want this baby,” he says, tossing his heart and emotions out in the open for me to c
atch them.
“I’m glad. I want this baby too.” I smile and get into the car.
Ricky speeds off toward home.
He wants our baby.
Chapter Ten
Red and Orange Aura Colors and Meanings: When an aura is a deep red, the individual is likely grounded, strong, and survival-oriented. A darkening color could be anger, but if the hue turns into a bright cherry red, that suggests energetic, competitive, sexual, and passionate feelings. Going to the next color in the rainbow, orange hues connect with vitality, creativity, stamina, courage, and excitement.
SILAS
When the door to Dr. Monet Hart’s office opens and she calls my name, I’m stunned stupid in my seat in her comfortable waiting room. Greeting me is an attractive Asian woman with long ebony waves that fall down around her shoulders. She’s wearing a pink, silk blouse and tan dress slacks. A pair of matching Louis Vuitton stilettos grace her feet. I know this because my sister Whitney owns a pair of the exact same shoes, which I know because I bought them for her birthday six months ago.
All of that is not why I’m sitting stock-still in the middle of her waiting room. That’s because not only is the woman attractive and well dressed, she’s also very heavily pregnant. She looks like the goddess of fertility with a serene smile and warm, knowing black eyes.
“Mr. McKnight?” She gestures to her office with a sweep of her hand.
I get up on shaky legs, as though I’m a newborn deer just learning to walk, and enter her inner sanctum. The room is aesthetically pleasing, with a comfortable-looking couch in the center divided by a table opposite a single arm chair. I’m guessing the chair is where the doctor sits.
She walks to her desk, picks up a yellow pad and pen, and then gracefully takes her place in the single chair, which leaves the couch for me.
I make my way over to it, open my suit jacket, and sit down, crossing one ankle over my knee.
“Now, Mr. McKnight, you told my receptionist when you made your appointment that you are a friend of Atlas Powers?”
“Uh, yeah, we’re buds and we work together.”
Intimate Intuition Page 11