by Lisa Plumley
“No,” Nick interrupted, “that wasn’t precisely what I was thinking, but—”
“—but not even four secretaries would have that effect on him. He’s a regular guy, really.”
“Four. Four secretaries?” And the guy still couldn’t find the time to handwrite a note to his only daughter, a month before his first grandchild was due?
“No, he only has three secretaries,” Chloe said. “Sheesh, Nick, you’re not listening. And all I’m saying is, my dad’s just an ordinary Joe who happens to be in big business.”
She stared expectantly at him for a minute, then prodded his shin with her sneakered foot. “Keep reading!”
Nick looked at the note card, and seriously considered shredding the thing. That was about the nicest treatment it deserved. But Chloe seemed thrilled to have it, so he only raised it higher and went on reading.
Tabitha and I, it said, are delighted with your news. We’ll be thinking of you during our annual Christmas cruise next month! Give the newest Carmichal a kiss for grandpa, and call me if you need anything. Love, your father, Newton Carmichal.
At least the signature was handwritten.
Beside him, Chloe sighed. “Isn’t that sweet?” she said. Then she nudged him in the side. “Did you see how he put ‘grandpa’ in there? How he said to call him if I needed anything?” She hugged herself and beamed up at him. “Thank God for Lucinda.”
“Lucinda?”
“Secretary number two.”
“Of course.”
“If not for her, my letter might never have reached him.”
“Right.”
How had he never noticed how outrageously … absent her father was? How thoughtless?
“And you know, this really gives me hope, Nick. I think this might be a new beginning for us,” she went on.
“You and Lucinda?”
“Me and my dad, silly.” Chloe poked him again and gazed fondly at the card. “Sweet, huh?” she asked.
Nick gazed down at her smiling, sunlit expression, and realized there was nothing else to do. He didn’t have the heart to tell Chloe a truth she so obviously didn’t want to hear. So he smiled right back and lifted the bubble-wrapped package still waiting to be opened.
“It’s really nice, Chloe,” he murmured. And you’re really a liar, Steadman.
He rattled the package in his hand, then winked. “And what’s this, do you think? Gold-plated mutual funds? Baby bootie bonds?”
“He’s not a stockbroker.” She took away the note card and hugged it close while Nick unwrapped the bubble-wrap. “Just look, will you? I can’t wait for you to see!”
The last of the clear cushioned coating came away. Nick looked inside. Nestled inside the wrap, nestled inside a fancy white box, nestled inside a pillow of tissue paper, was a shiny silver thing wrapped with a white ribbon. Monogrammed with a set of three script letters too fancy to make out on the curved surface and polished to a high-gloss, it looked kind of like a miniature silver dumbbell.
For a newborn baby? The fitness craze was getting way out of hand.
Never mind, he told himself. Say something nice.
“Umm, I can see my teeth in it,” Nick said, making a face at his reflection. “What do you know about that?”
“I know!” Chloe burbled, dancing up on tiptoes. “Isn’t it great?”
“It’s—it’s—” He turned it over, experimentally hefted it like a tiny barbell. “What the hell is it, Chloe?”
She quit dancing. “It’s a baby rattle. From one of those exclusive department stores back east.”
“A baby rattle?” he repeated. Nick looked at the cold, hard thing in his hands. Even wrapped in a bow and soft paper it looked bleak, somehow. He clapped the lid back on. “Not for your baby, it’s not.”
“Nick!”
He raised the box overhead, trailing bubble wrap and ribbon like pastel tears. “He’ll knock his teeth out with it.”
Chloe put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Babies are born without teeth.”
“He’ll knock himself unconscious the first time he lifts that thing. It’s not safe.”
“Babies have hard heads,” she said, reaching for the box. “It’s a built-in safety mechanism to reassure overprotective fathers.” Struggling on tiptoes, she bumped her belly into him and all-but climbed his feet to get higher. “Give it to me!”
“No. He’ll put his eye out with it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She reached higher, grabbing his upraised arm to steady herself. “You don’t know anything about babies.”
“I know more than you do.”
Her body went rigid. Chloe shoved on his elbow to push herself away. Far away.
“That’s a low blow, Nick.”
“It’s the truth,” he said. Pretty irrefutable logic, as far as he was concerned. Obviously, she disagreed, if her fire-breathing expression was anything to go by. “Nobody’s born knowing this stuff, you know,” he added, reaching to pull her close again.
She stepped back before he could touch her. Threading her fingers through her hair, she looked out the window, at the floor … anywhere but at him.
“It’s not the truth,” she said in a voice like ice. Clipped. Precise. Totally Un-Chloe-like. “I’ve been taking classes, reading books … .”
Practicing on Danny, grilling my sisters for baby tips, he thought, but couldn’t say it.
“I know,” Nick said. “Inexperience isn’t a crime. I only meant that I’m already an uncle and you’re—”
“Leaving,” she interrupted. Stiffly, she held out her hand for the box. “What I am is leaving, before this gets ugly. You’re the king of botched explanations, Nick. Good intentions with disastrous results. So why don’t you just quit, okay? This time at least, quit while you’re ahead.”
This time? What was she talking about? And anyway, he couldn’t. Not without one last stab at making her see reason.
“This isn’t a baby gift, it’s a—a—” He shook the box, trying to think up something suitably pretentious, and then flung his arms wide. “—it’s a damned paperweight, Chloe! What’s the matter with you?”
Her hand fisted, then dropped to her side. Carefully, coldly, she stuffed the note from her father back into the envelope, then bent to snatch up the few scraps of wrapping they’d scattered.
“This is an implement of baby destruction,” Nick protested. “If you want a rattle, I’ll get you a rattle. A nice, safe, well-padded one with something friendly on it like bunnies, instead of a designer logo.”
“It’s a family monogram.”
“Whatever.”
Biting her lip, she raised her hand toward him, palm upward, and tried again. “Give it to me, please.”
Maybe a small concession was called for. “Okay,” Nick said, trying to smile, “so what do I know, right? I’m just an uncle. I—”
“Please, Nick,” she whispered, blinking hard. A suspicious sheen brightened her eyes, and her lower lip wobbled with the beginnings of what he could tell was a giant, stifled sob.
This, from a woman who never cried.
“Awww, hell.” How had he done it to her again? The tears in her eyes had him pressing the stupid box into her hand even before he realized he’d decided to do it.
“Thanks.” Sniffling, Chloe pushed the box back into the envelope again, then went to the door. “Talk to you later,” she mumbled in a choked voice.
“Wait.”
Somehow, he’d botched things big-time. How had it all gone from jumpy-jivey happiness to tears so fast? Judging by the way she clutched her damned envelope, he suspected it had as much to do with his reaction to her father’s gift as it did with what he’d said to her. But why?
A few steps took him to the door, close enough to smell the coconut shampoo in her hair. Frowning, Nick slapped his hand onto the thick wood to keep the door closed a little longer.
To keep her with him a little longer.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “W
hat’s so special about this, Chloe?”
She swiped her hand across her eyes, then sniffed and squared her shoulders. “You can’t tell, genius?” she asked.
Her voice was softer than he’d expected, but the anguish behind it wasn’t. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder. “Nah. Maybe your feminine mystique has got me all confused.”
Her mood swings sure as hell did. So did the way her father treated her. How, in three years, had he not noticed it?
Chloe smiled faintly. “It’s simple. I’m having a baby in a few weeks, and the idea of screwing up has got me scared to death.”
Good going, Steadman, his conscience poked at him. Jump right on her big fears, tough guy. But how could he have known? She always seemed so … certain about everything.
“Chloe, I didn’t mean—”
Her choked little laugh cut him off. “Awww, don’t worry, Nick. My mom’s been giving me lots of advice over the phone. I’ll be ready.”
“And there’s always Bruno,” he added, hoping to reassure her. “That package could just as easily have been from him.”
“Yeah,” Chloe said thoughtfully, squeezing the package in question. “Actually, you know, it’s funny—I figured the odds of hearing from my dad were about on par with the odds of hearing from Bruno.”
“Looks like the odds are on your side, then.”
She gave him a funny look. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
Taking a deep breath, she twisted the knob and opened the door. Sunlight and flower-scented air rushed inside, but all that sweetness and shine held no warmth. Nick rubbed his arms, fighting the urge to drag her against him and do whatever he could to make up for the stupid insensitivity of her family. The proud tilt of her head warned him to stay where he was.
So did her voice, falsely cheerful enough to make his heart ache.
“Anyway, I told my mom not to mess up her schedule, but she said she might even be able to drop by the hospital, when the baby’s born,” Chloe said, pausing on the threshold. “If there’s time between beauty shop appointments and husband-hunting down at the bingo parlor.”
“At least there she’s guaranteed a man who can count.”
She smiled at his joke—quite possibly the lamest he’d made all year—and touched his face. “I knew you’d understand.”
Her fingers stroked across his temple, warm and feather-light, then whisked away. “See ya’.”
Nick captured her wrist before she could leave. Briefly, he pressed his cheek into her cupped hand and closed his eyes.
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
She made a garbled sound and pulled her hand away. “At the hospital?”
“Sure.”
He opened his eyes to see her shaking her head.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not that mad at you, Nick. I’m not about to inflict that kind of obligation on you. No way.”
He leaned closer, raised her chin with his fingertips, and stopped her protest with a kiss. Just a small kiss … fast, soft, and sweet enough to widen her eyes when it was over. Nick put his hands around her waist and tugged her a little closer.
“What if I insist?” he asked.
Her eyes darkened with something only a blind man would mistake for passion. Chloe shoved at his chest and stepped out of his arms.
“Thanks for the pity party,” she said. “But no thanks. You’ll have to find another gal to play knight in shining armor with.”
“Dammit, Chloe! That’s not what this is, and you know it. You—”
“And anyway,” she interrupted, stepping onto the porch, “It’s not as though I’ll be all alone. Now that it’s certain my dad and Tabitha won’t be there, my mom probably will be.”
She smiled thinly over her shoulder as she headed for the porch steps, hugging her package as closely as he wished she’d hold him. “I think the beauty parlor bingo-rama was just an excuse to avoid running into them.”
Nick couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to that. A bitter divorce he could understand. But not neglecting their own daughter because of it. No wonder Chloe was so hung up on having two happily-ever-after, crazy in love parents for her baby.
No wonder.
It would’ve been hell growing up with that bunch of marital miscreants around.
“Listen, I’d better run, Sir Galahad,” she said, clomping down the steps in her sneakers. “I’ve got childbirth class in an hour or so. I’ve got to start getting ready.”
So do I, Nick thought, waving goodbye as he watched her cross from his yard to her flower-bordered one. Ready for big, important, things.
Big, important, surprising things.
And this time, he had more in mind than inventing beef and tuna flavored Gatorade for Chloe’s pets.
Chapter Ten
Chloe spent the ninth month of her pregnancy in a constant state of red-alert. Every kick, every contraction, sent her diving for the phone and the overnight bag she kept packed for the trip to the hospital. She’d stand there, clutching the birthday bag handle in both hands, gauging the chances that this time it might be the real thing, keeping one eye on the clock’s sweeping second hand … and the other eye on the view outside her bedroom window.
The window that faced Nick’s house.
And his bedroom.
She never saw him. Although light usually filtered between his mini-blinds, showing he was home, his shadow never darkened those tasteful beige slats. His big hand never reached up to nudge one down, letting him look past their adjoined yards and into her room. He never sneaked a glance from the edge of those blinds, wondering how she was doing.
But Chloe did.
She shouldn’t. It was stupid and pointless, and after all he’d said about her father’s gift—after all he’d said about her!—she should’ve been able to quit caring. I know more than you do.
Ha. Not anymore, she told herself, plunking the birthday bag onto the carpet for the thousandth time. She’d prepped and planned, grilled Naomi every time she brought over Danny, befriended all the women in her childbearing class. She was as ready as a woman could be to bring a new little person into the world.
“Except for providing the father,” she muttered.
“What?” asked Red on the other end of the phone.
Chloe had red-alerted her ten minutes earlier for a Braxton-Hicks contraction, and—between peeks at Nick’s window—they’d been talking since then. Not everyone had a boss, a surrogate mother, and a birth coach, all rolled into the same, big-hearted, redheaded pet shop owner.
“You’ve been provoking the father?” Red went on. “Well, hon, no wonder you need me to drive you to the hospital, if you’re badgering the fella.”
Make that, redheaded pet shop owner busybody, Chloe thought grumpily. If Red poked much deeper, she just might confess everything. Lying to herself was bad enough … lying to everyone she loved was even worse.
She re-balanced the phone against her shoulder and paced through the late-afternoon sunlight splashing onto her bedroom carpet. “That’s not why I need you, Red,” she said, crouching to pet Larry. “I’d drive myself, but—”
“But nothing. I’m driving and that’s that.” Her cigarette-roughened voice lowered. “If you’d tell me where to find that Bruno of yours, I’d bring him, too. He should be there, hon. Nothing makes a man a daddy like seeing his own child born.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. Chloe twisted her blinds shut and swiveled toward the hallway, trying not to think about Nick’s assurance that he’d be at the hospital, even if no one else was. If he did, would he realize the truth?
She’d never find out.
Because she, like a dummy, had told him not to come.
Anyway, at the rate he seemed to be working, her baby might be toddling over to pick petunias from Nick’s yard by the time he emerged from the invention-induced haze he was in. Their contact for the past month had been limited mostly to waving as they passed each other on the sidewalk, Chloe power-walking wi
th Larry and Moe and Shep, and Nick scribbling invention brainstorms on his mail as he carried it inside.
“Anything from Bruno?” he’d ask when he saw her carrying hers in.
“Not yet,” she’d always answer, just as though a letter might actually arrive someday. In truth, she was about as likely to hear from her make-believe marine as she was to fall in love with anyone other than Nick.
On the other end of the phone, Red made an exasperated sound. “Hon, it’s hard to raise a child alone. Ease up on that pride of yours and call the man,” she was saying.
Pride? Was that what it was?
No. It was not being really, truly loved that was the danger here, to her and her baby both. Chloe paced down the hallway toward the cordless phone stand in the kitchen, pausing to snatch a bottle of hot pink nail enamel from the bathroom vanity.
“I’m sorry about the false alarm, Red,” she broke in. I’m sorry to tell you only half the truth. She dragged in a breath to ease the ache in her chest. “Listen, I’ve got to run. See you at the shop tomorrow?”
“You bet, sweets.”
Red inhaled, and the faint crackling of her ever-present burning cigarette came over the line. I’ve got to get that loan, get Red retired, and get her a truckload of stop-smoking gum. Maybe Nick could invent something, some kind of non-smoking …
Stop it, Chloe ordered herself. She had to quit depending on Nick. Starting yesterday.
Red exhaled. “I’ll be there. You open up shop, though, okay?” she asked. “I’m meeting with another one of those buyers at the Downtown Grill. Nine o’clock. Maybe this one won’t be itching to tear down the place and build one of those godawful tourist traps with sooouvenirs and pink suede cowboy boots.”
Chloe grimaced. “Red … I’ve got a pair of those boots.”
“You would, darlin’. You would.”
Her friend’s raucous laughter crackled over the line even as they said their goodbyes and Chloe hung up the phone. The thought of bulldozers rumbling over her beloved pet shop made her fingers turn to ice. What if she never persuaded Griggs to give her the loan? What if Red got desperate and sold out to a developer before she could make any headway with her plans?