by Carly Carson
"Isn't that sweet," Mrs. M. cooed. She plucked a business card out of the box and held it up. Amanda recognized Logan's black scrawl.
Found this in Hong Kong. It's baby safe.
Their eyes met over the card. "A bit unexpected," Amanda said wryly.
"Yes," Mrs. MacDonald said, "and no. People see his toughness, but never the soft side because he keeps hidden."
"Hmmm." Amanda didn't want to argue, especially because she couldn't resist reaching for the little bear. She could so easily picture a baby grabbing onto the plush, big-eyed panda and curling up to sleep.
Emotion washed over her. This was the first present she'd received for her child. She'd never admit it to anyone, but it felt special. Mentally, she winged a message of thanks out to Logan, sad to think he was so far away, but accepting that it was best for both of them to move on with their lives. It couldn't matter to her where he was.
She set the panda on the rocking chair in her room.
The following Friday, rain was drenching the Cape, and the two women were drinking tea in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Mrs. MacDonald asked.
Amanda laughed. "Have I had any visitors yet? I don't think today is my lucky day."
Mrs. M. carried in the white FedEx box which was addressed to her. "Another surprise," she said comfortably. "The man has style."
"You don't know what it is," Amanda pointed out. She didn't want to acknowledge that her own heart had sped up a little in anticipation.
As soon as the package was open, she recognized the distinctive, almost-turquoise Tiffany blue of the box. A thick white satin ribbon was tied around the box with a perfect bow.
"You go ahead and open it," Mrs. M. said. "I'm sure it's for the baby."
"It was addressed to you," Amanda pointed out.
With a smile and a shake of her head, the housekeeper folded her hands on the table.
Amanda slowly pulled off the white ribbon and took the cover off the box. Nestled inside was a silver picture frame. A Tiffany bow was engraved on the upper left corner. Wavy, engraved streamers ran along the top and left side of the frame. The spot for the picture was blank, just waiting for a photo of her baby.
The ribbons seemed to reach out and curl around her heart. Anticipation rose within her as she thought about the baby picture she'd place in the frame. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have her light colored hair, or Logan's raven-dark hair? His gray eyes or her own brown eyes? If it was a boy, she couldn't help hoping he'd look at least a bit like Logan.
Sighing, she placed the frame on the table. It was a reminder of the fact that she'd have to send photos to Logan. Regardless of her wishes, he was not going to disappear from her life. Or, at least not from his child's.
She couldn't be sure why he was sending these presents. Was it pure generosity? Or was he subtly reminding her each time of his claim?
Whether she liked it or not, it would be his baby as well.
The next Friday, both women were waiting with anticipation for the FedEx delivery. They were not disappointed.
He sent a darling baby mobile, with pastel-colored jungle animals hanging from a carousel top.
The wrapping paper rustled as Mrs. M. touched a blue elephant. "Hand-knit," she said.
"So soft." Amanda stroked the tawny lion.
Logan's note said: Our child will need strength, courage, and the ability to reach for the stars. Tell me, what does the zebra represent?
Amanda passed the note over to her companion. "Clever, isn't he?"
"Okay, the elephant is for strength, the lion for courage. The giraffe is the star-reacher." Mrs. M. tapped the brightly contrasting black and white stripes. "What about the zebra?"
Amanda pondered the little animal, trying to ignore the mushy feeling in her heart. "A zebra is nothing if not a herd animal," she said. "Could it represent community?"
Mrs. M. nodded. "Nothing more important when you're bringing a baby into the world than a community of people to love her."
Amanda pressed her lips together. She knew exactly what Logan meant. Family. The communal unit that would provide the ideal environment for her baby.
She dropped the mobile back in the box. Wonderful, happy people were raised in less than ideal environments, as well. She'd have to remember that.
Mrs. MacDonald reached for the tote bag she used for her crochet. She pulled out a partially finished pale blue and green baby blanket. The colors had been cleverly shaded together so the blanket looked like a calmly rolling sea.
"This little zebra reminds me of something I've been meaning to say," Mrs. M. commented.
"Please don't," Amanda begged. "Especially not if you're planning to talk about Logan."
Mrs. M. aimed a crochet hook at her. "Your baby needs a father. So I can't help talking about Logan since, if I don't miss my guess, he's the one who can most likely claim that title."
"My baby doesn't need an absentee father." Amanda's hands moved protectively to cover her stomach.
The crochet hook stabbed the air again. "I have never known Logan Winter to shirk a responsibility. He would not be an absentee father."
Amanda wished she could snuggle up to the baby blanket and hide from the world. "I'm sure he would adhere to his idea of responsibility," she said. "I don't choose to let my life be manipulated by what he thinks is best."
"He has an excellent track record of knowing what's best," Mrs. M. responded sharply.
"I don't doubt it," Amanda said stiffly. "I still prefer to lead my own life."
"You're depriving him of the right to be involved in his child's life. Is that fair?"
Amanda blew out a sharp sigh. "Life isn't fair."
"No one knows that better than Logan." Mrs. M stabbed the baby blanket like it was a demon she needed to slay.
"What are you trying to say?"
"He deserves some happiness," the woman answered fiercely. "Can't you see that?"
"What makes you think I can give him that happiness? He told me that he was unable to love. Should I offer my child up to a man who says that?"
"Of course he can love! He's just afraid to do so."
"Afraid? Why? What happened to him? What is the big mystery no one can talk about?"
"I can't tell his story." Mrs. M. sighed, her burst of fierceness disappearing. "Can't you see? Nothing scares him more than the thought of loving someone he may lose."
"Loss is always a possibility," Amanda pointed out. "There are no guarantees in life." The words echoed in her head, reminding her of the loss she'd sustained. Had she ever moved beyond the death of her father? Was she still reacting to that pain in her determination never to be dependent again on someone who might, one way or another, leave her?
"You have a strange view of humanity," Mrs. M. said, "thinking you're all alone on this big old planet and can't accept help from anyone." She poked her crochet hook into the blanket and pulled the yarn fast. "None of us are totally independent."
"Who's going to take care of me if I don't?"
Mrs. M. snorted. "Take care of you? I'm taking care of you right now, on behalf of Logan."
"He forced me to accept this help! He threatened me with a custody battle!"
"Good for him. Who would be helping you otherwise? You're in a very dependent state right now. That doesn't make you less of a person, does it?"
Amanda shoved back her chair, wincing at the loud screech. Yes, she was an incomplete person. Ever since her father died, and left a big hole in her heart, and a sense of insecurity that she hadn't been able to banish yet. She had to depend on herself. That had been her mantra since she was ten years old. She couldn't alter it now.
Biting her lip, she carried her teacup over to the sink, accepting the painful reality of her current life. Carrying a teacup was about the extent of what she could do on her own. Yes, she was dependent on the kindness of others.
"That's enough plain speaking for today." Mrs. M. folded up the blanket.
"I've got to get lunch on. But you're hurting a person who doesn't deserve it and you need to think about that."
Amanda clenched her hands on the sink and stared out the window. "Logan is the least emotionally needy person I've ever known."
"Then you don't know him well."
The two women maintained an uneasy truce over the weekend. Mrs. M. would never shirk her duty, and Amanda knew a calm atmosphere was best for the baby. She certainly wasn't going to bring up the subject of Logan again.
Unfortunately, the next attack came from an unexpected source.
Rosie.
She called first thing Monday morning. In her usual way, she started off bluntly. "I don't know what you've been up to, girl, but he's giving up on you."
No need to wonder who 'he' was.
"I'm not responsible for whatever Logan chooses to do." She thought that sounded quite dignified.
"He's putting the Cape house on the market."
Amanda gasped as her dignity fled. "Where I'm living?"
Rosie snorted. "Don't worry. There's a clause that says you can remain in the guest house for as long as you like."
A whisper of relief blew through Amanda. She must have made a sound.
"Yeah," Rosie said sarcastically. "Isn't it nice that he's still able to show consideration for you, when you can't even be bothered to take his phone calls?"
"Have you been sending these baby gifts?" Amanda demanded. She wouldn't give Logan a glimmer of credit if Rosie had been doing all the work.
"What gifts?"
Amanda sighed. "Never mind. Why's he selling?"
"Something about a friend who needs money. You know, Logan is nothing if not loyal."
"When did you become president of his fan club?"
"You're a stubborn fool, Amanda."
"I need my independence. Why is that so hard for everyone to accept?"
"The man wants a connection to his child! Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"He's been whining to you?"
Rosie blew an exasperated sound through the phone. "We've been meeting after work about my clothing line. Logan's writin' a business plan for me."
"Hey, Rosie, that's great." Amanda's tone softened. "I don't blame you for feeling kindly toward him. With your talent and his connections, I know you'll do well."
"I'm gonna need your help, too, after you get this baby popped."
Amanda laughed. "It will be my pleasure."
She disconnected thoughtfully. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the other women in Logan's life thought so highly of him. He had plenty of charm when he wanted to use it. Maybe she should listen to what they were saying. Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face?
Chapter 29
One month later, Logan's gift was a big box of children's books. Amanda had grown used to getting the packages every Friday, even as she recognized that they were a masterful way of both softening her toward Logan, and also reminding her that he wasn't going to give up the request for some sort of custody.
She squealed with delight as Mrs. MacDonald opened the box. Nothing could have pleased her more. She began lifting out the crisp volumes. Big, colorful picture books. Illustrated children's classics. New stories she'd never heard of. She spread them out over the kitchen table. It was a wonderful collection.
"Now that's what I call excitement," Mrs. M. said with a smile.
"I love books." Although she wouldn't say so, she was thrilled to think that Logan might place the same importance on books for their child that she did. "Do you think I could add these to the library?"
"Sure." Mrs. M. cocked her head as the doorbell rang. "That must be the yard guy. I need to let him into the storage shed at the main house."
The library was a small room with French doors that opened toward the beach. Sunlight poured through the glass in thin streams of gold, and picked out the jeweled tones of books lining the walls. The Oriental carpet on the floor reflected the same rich colors. Comfortable maroon leather chairs with plump ottomans filled the corners, and a sliding rocker invited one to cuddle with a child. Everything gleamed with cleanliness and sunlight, but the space always seemed sad and empty.
It had taken Amanda a few days to figure out why the room seemed lost in the past, until she noticed there were no recently published books on the shelves. The collection had stopped breathing several years ago, and she wondered again what had happened to the family, presumably Logan's, that used to live here. The books stood on their multi-colored spines like sentinels that were never relieved of duty. No one took them down to pore over their treasures. No one escaped through them into another world of imagination and drama.
Today, though, she had a happier errand. Rubbing her aching back, she placed her box of new books on the console table by the doorway. The children's section was opposite her, to the left of the French doors, where natural light would be available to a browsing child. She could almost picture a small boy with Logan's dark hair sitting cross-legged on the floor, his gray eyes bent to a book as he was transported to another life.
Luckily, the shelves weren't completely full, although each shelf had only a small blank space. She would consolidate the existing collection so that she could place her new books all together. That would make it easier to remove them when she left the lighthouse.
She waddled over to the bookcase. Now that she was well into her eighth month, she understood the ungainly gait adopted by pregnant women. Her center of balance had shifted, and not in a good way.
Although she'd browsed in this library on many a long afternoon, she hadn't checked out the kids' books. She leaned over, delighted to see many old friends among the volumes. The best of children's literature. She saw Anne of Green Gables and The Secret Garden for a daughter. Tom Sawyer and Pendragon for a boy.
Classics. Poetry. Humor. Love. All spread out before her.
She had to bend over since the books were lower down on the shelves, where a small person could reach them. It wasn't easy to do with her stomach in the way. But she had a compulsion to get this chore done today.
She eased a book out of its spot.
The Giver, by Lois Lowry. Eerie. Unforgettable.
She grabbed the boxed set next to it. Little House on the Prairie, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. A tale of self-sufficiency. Just what she needed to remind herself that she could accomplish whatever she needed to do.
She grabbed a couple more and then had to walk the books across the room to the little table. Retrieving anything from the floor was impossible in her condition. On the way back, a glint of silver sparkled from the back of the shelf where she'd emptied the books.
She bent down to check it out. A silver picture frame? How had it fallen behind the books?
Well, she'd rescue it. The lighthouse could use some photos, even of people she didn't know.
She removed a few more books and another picture frame was revealed. What in the world? Had someone deliberately placed the frames back there?
Moving as quickly as she could, she cleared the shelf. For some reason, she was worried that Mrs. MacDonald would appear and demand that she stop re-arranging the library. Why, she couldn't say. But now that it was clear the frames had been deliberately hidden, her actions seemed sneaky, as if she were revealing something that was intended to be concealed.
She cleared the shelf, lugging the books back and forth to the table, and then carefully removed the first frame from the back of the shelf.
A young man, maybe a teen, stared up at her. He was standing on the beach, with the wind blowing his dark hair, and a grin creasing his face. One arm held up a bright red windsurfing board.
Logan Winter.
Her heart stopped.
He looked so happy.
What had changed him from this joyful teen into a solemn and unsmiling grown man?
Amanda stared at the picture. Could this be someone other than Logan? A brother? A cousin? Even though, as far as she knew, he didn't have any family.
>
With trembling fingers, she pulled out the next frame.
For a long moment, her eyes refused to focus as her mind grappled with a decision. Did she really want to see what would be revealed? Did she have any right to pry into the secrets someone had carefully hidden?
The baby kicked her, the jolt a reminder that the secrets might be a history of this child's family. Something he or she would want to know some day.
Amanda focused on the picture in her hand.
A family laughed at the camera.
A tall man in middle-age, with dark hair frosted with silver. He had one arm around his wife, a beautiful woman with lovely eyes and a strong smile.
On one side of the man stood the same teenaged boy, and yes, it was Logan. That was the exact same grin she'd seen on his face when—her memories faltered. She forced them into her mind. That was how he'd looked at her when he'd been laughing at her Christmas tree sweater—one of the few lighthearted moments she'd seen from him.
Next to the woman stood a younger girl with long, dark hair, probably a younger teen.
Logan's family.
Amanda's heart clenched around the realization. What had happened to them? Why did he never mention them?
"I'm not surprised you found them." Mrs. MacDonald spoke from the doorway, startling Amanda so that she almost dropped the frame.
"I—Who—" She waved toward the bookshelf.
"I put them there," Mrs. MacDonald said calmly. "He had ordered me to dispose of every photograph."
"Logan." Amanda didn't need to phrase it as a question.
"He's the only one left."
Amanda gasped, even as a twist of pain stabbed her abdomen. She reached out to grab the shelf to steady herself.
"What happened?"
"Are you all right?" Mrs. MacDonald frowned anxiously. "You look very pale."
"The shock," she whispered. "My baby." She flattened her hand against her stomach. "I need to sit down." She trundled over to the rocker, and lowered herself carefully.
She stared at Mrs. MacDonald. "I feel heartbroken," she whispered, "and I don't even know what happened."