BABY MAGIC

by Marion Smith Collins

  Numbly he rose to his feet and, without a word, headed for the door. He felt as if he were a hundred years old. He finally made it outside, pausing to breathe deeply of the clear, cool air.

  Slowly he climbed the steps, pulling himself up by gripping the cold rail, and went into his dark house. He didn't turn on any lights, but made his way, stumbling once, through the darkened kitchen and dining room.

  In the living room, there was a faint reflection from the street lamps. He found the sofa and sat down. He felt that if he moved too abruptly he would break into a thousand pieces.

  Over the past month and a half, he had achieved a certain fragile calm, and, he thought, acceptance of his wife's death. Only now did he realize how wrong he'd been.

  His head fell back on the cushions and he stared at the ceiling. A car's headlights illuminated the moving shadow of a tree branch outside the window, making an eerie pattern across the ceiling.

  He looked to the bare spot over the mantel where the portrait had hung. "Lisa, Lisa," he whispered harshly, when what he wanted to do was scream. "Damn you, Lisa. Why the hell did you leave me?"

  * * *

  Downstairs, Natalie fought off nausea by taking deep breaths. When she was able to stand she circled the apartment, turning off lights, until she reached the bedroom. She lay down on top of the bedspread, staring at the ceiling, her emotions swirling in a black fog, her heart knocking painfully against the wall of her chest. Finally she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  * * *

  Natalie stayed away from the kitchen window until she heard the car and knew Jake had left for work. What was she going to do? Jake didn't want this child, didn't want any reminders of Lisa. It followed, logically, that he wouldn't want her here, either.

  For Natalie, the most difficult part of this arrangement was having to forgo her independence and her established life-style for the duration of the pregnancy. She had known it wouldn't be easy.

  She had been on her own for many years, since the death of her parents when she was eighteen. Even before that, really. Her parents were older than those of her friends. They'd never quite reconciled themselves to this young person who had surprised them with her appearance about the same time her father was ready to retire. Somehow she'd sensed their ambivalent feelings toward having her so late in life.

  Even as a very young child she'd always been quiet and careful not to disturb. Some of her contemporaries took her reserve for snobbery. As she grew older, others, including her teachers, thought she was quiet because she was brainy. Even though she was now an adult, only those who knew her best realized that the quiet dignity she had established around herself stemmed from that childhood feeling of vulnerability.

  Joseph had known. Being married to him had been wonderful. He had stripped some of the reserve from her; he made her laugh and feel deeply.

  After he died she'd been more alone than ever before. She'd had to start all over to shape her autonomous life-style. And when she came to Savannah, Lisa had understood, without discussion, her need to maintain a certain independence during this interval.

  So Lisa had arranged the apartment, which served mainly as guest quarters, to be separate from the rest of the house. She had installed a door at the head of the stairs, and she had locked it, giving Natalie the key. "Well come and go through the outside doors just like neighbors." Lisa had smiled. "It would be too easy for me to pop in anytime I felt the urge. And I don't intend to distract you from your writing."

  The financial arrangements had been made through the lawyers. A living allowance was deposited into her account on the first of every month.

  At first, Natalie had been uncomfortable about taking money from her friends for something she'd decided she wanted to do. But when practical considerations were taken into account, she'd acquiesced. If she were to quit her job, give up her apartment and move to Savannah, she would have to take the money. Her savings wouldn't be sufficient for her to live on for seven or eight months. So she had agreed to move as soon as her pregnancy was confirmed, to be near the doctors.

  Now that conditions had been so drastically altered, she would have to make some more difficult decisions—about where to go from here. And she would have to make them quickly. She hated that. She liked to think things through very carefully, very completely.

  * * *

  Jake parked his sedan in the garage next to Natalie's coupe. Seeing her car there, in Lisa's spot, always gave him a jolt.

  It had been a hell of a day, he thought as he turned off the engine and reached in the back seat for his coat. Every day he'd been back had been a hell of a day.

  The men around him acted as if they were scared to walk or talk too loudly. But at the same time he could feel their probing stares. They watched him carefully, waiting.

  His company had been on the verge of a very large expansion when Lisa had died. When he left after the funeral, all plans had come to an abrupt halt. Now he had to make some decisions.

  Andrew had advised him to go ahead with the expansion. "It will be good for you to have work to focus on," he'd said. And Andrew had reminded him that, in anticipation of receiving a bank loan, he'd already hired a number of men. If he abandoned the expansion plans they would have to be laid off; their families would suffer. As if he needed Andrew to remind him. His damn sense of responsibility did a bang-up job of that.

  But what about him? Dammit! What about what he wanted? He left the garage, pushed through the gate and crossed the garden.

  Suddenly Natalie's voice came out of the darkness. "Jake."

  Startled, Jake spun around to see her wraithlike figure sitting on the circular garden bench around the oak tree. If she hadn't been wearing a light color, he wouldn't have been able to make her out on this moonless night. "Natalie."

  She didn't move. Damn, a confrontation with her was all he needed. He cast his coat over his shoulder, hooked on two fingers. The night was warm and clear. He stood very still for a moment, looking up into the starlit heavens. Lisa, help me.

  "Were you waiting for me?" he asked at last, resigned to the necessity of this meeting. He came over to sit beside her, laying his coat across his knee.

  "Yes. You've been avoiding me," she accused, not unkindly. She wore light slacks and a loose, gauzy top. Her legs were drawn up to her chest and her arms were wrapped around them. She was barefoot.

  "Yeah," he admitted, frowning. "Aren't your feet cold?"

  She ignored his question; folding her arms across her knees, she rested her chin there. "And now I've caught you unprepared," she said, staring straight ahead.

  He sighed, wearily. "Natalie, I'm not sure I will ever be prepared."

  "I realize we need time to get used to—" Her voice broke. Abandoning her position she set her feet on the ground and gripped the edge of the bench. She struggled with the rest of the sentence. "Not having Lisa with us." Then she took an audible breath and let it out, and her voice was stronger when she continued. "But we can't put this discussion off much longer."

  He leaned back against the tree trunk behind them. The leaves rustled in an unfelt breeze. "You're right. I apologize for avoiding you." The words had to be dragged out of him.

  She shrugged dismissively. "I understand. And I'll give you time to think about what you're going to say. Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll cook Sunday dinner and afterward we can talk."

  "I can't … oh, the hell with it." He broke off the automatic response.

  Natalie surged to her feet and planted her hands on her hips as she glared down at him. "Look, Jake. I don't mean to nag you, but I think you're being pretty damned selfish. There are decisions to be made and other people involved here. Me, for one, and this baby." Natalie held her breath. It was a calculated gamble.

  His head snapped up; his eyes narrowed.

  "This may sound cruel, but life doesn't stop, Jake. And the problems that go along with it don't just disappear."

  "I know. God, I wish—" He paused. "Okay," he said, finally resigned.
"What time do you want me to be there?"

  "How about one o'clock?"

  "Fine. I'll see you at one." He got to his feet and brushed past her. When he reached the steps he took them two at a time.

  Natalie remained in the garden for a while longer. The traffic sounds were muted, the night was pleasant. She spoke silently to the stars. Lisa, I need you to help me out tomorrow. Help me find the right words to comfort Jake, as well as convince him.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Natalie put on large silver earrings and took a last look in the mirror. Her sapphire-blue silk dress had a soft easy waist—thank heavens—and a full skirt. She had put her hair up into a no-nonsense chignon. She was probably overdressed for a casual lunch, but she decided that she looked very capable, very efficient, ready to justify her case. That was important to her today.

  There was no dining room in the apartment, just a lovely old maple drop-leaf table against one wall in the kitchen. Natalie set out place mats, napkins and silverware there. They would serve themselves from the counter, where she had arranged a platter of smoked ham slices and asparagus salad. A warming tray kept both a casserole of candied sweet potatoes and a loaf of crusty French bread at the right temperature. She wanted everything to be ready when Jake arrived. She didn't want to be bustling around the kitchen and trying to talk at the same time.

  When she heard his footsteps on the back stairs she poured iced tea into the glasses at each place. She had raided the garden for sprigs of mint. She left the pitcher on the table for refills and smoothed the skirt of her dress. She made herself wait until he knocked to let him in.

  She realized her mistake as soon as he walked in the door. All her careful preparations left her with nothing to do to fill the uncomfortable gap of silence that followed their initial greetings. "Would you like a glass of wine before we eat?" she asked.

  Jake noted Natalie's nervousness with a certain wry amusement. It was so unlike her that he smiled. The movement of his lips felt stiff, strange. He realized that it was probably the first time he'd smiled since … since… "No, thanks."

  He looked at the food on the counter, arranged attractively and emitting delicious aromas. He was distracted for a minute, wondering when he'd last eaten a well-balanced, well-prepared meal. "I hope you didn't go to a lot of trouble," he mumbled absently.

  Natalie snapped her jaws shut on a comeback. There was no sense in antagonizing him again, not when she was about to ask for a considerable concession. "No, no trouble at all," she lied. The truth was she didn't particularly like to cook and, before this pregnancy, was content to grab a bite of whatever was handy without thought of the nourishment within. But now, for the baby's sake, she made an effort to eat the right things.

  "It looks good," said Jake.

  "Please, help yourself," she answered, handing him a plate.

  They served themselves. The only sound in the room was the clink made by serving spoons and forks, which sounded unnaturally loud in the heavy silence. Jake waited politely while she filled her own plate, then held the chair for her.

  The silence continued for a few minutes longer as they applied themselves to the food, but at last he laid down his fork, took a swallow of tea and spoke. "I haven't been hungry lately, but this is really good, Natalie."

  "I'm glad." She hesitated, but they couldn't skirt subjects related to Lisa's death forever. "I noticed you've lost weight." She caught her breath, waiting for the shutters to fall back over his eyes.

  "As I said, I haven't been hungry."

  Natalie breathed again, in relief. Maybe it would be all right. "I wish I could say that. Nowadays I always seem to be hungry."

  They continued to eat, but the atmosphere had eased a bit. The tension was less charged; the silence, if not companionable, was tolerable.

  When they had finished eating, Natalie picked up both plates and went to the sink to rinse them. Jake followed with their glasses. "Thank you. Everything was delicious, Natalie."

  "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Why don't you go sit in the living room? Just let me put some things in the refrigerator, and I'll be right there."

  He frowned and looked around the kitchen. "I forgot there wasn't a dishwasher down here. Can I help you with the dishes?"

  "I'm going to leave them for now. I'd rather we talk." Again she held her breath, waiting for a reaction, but again he surprised her.

  She entered the living room a few minutes later to find him browsing through her books. At the sound of her footsteps on the brick floor, he glanced back over his shoulder.

  "Your tastes in reading are certainly eclectic," he observed, replacing the book he held and joining her near the fireplace.

  She smiled to herself. "I probably didn't have to bring all my books, but somehow I couldn't stand to leave them in storage. They smell so musty when they've been packed up."

  She chose a straight-backed chair; Jake settled on one end of the sofa. He stretched his arm along the back of the cushions and crossed one ankle on the opposite knee. It was a position designed to project a casual attitude. But it didn't quite work.

  He seemed to be waiting for her to speak first. She decided to plunge right in, using the truth and assuming that the issue of abortion was now moot, though he hadn't exactly said so. "I've always believed that when there was something unpleasant to be gotten through, it was best to get it behind you." She laid her hands in her lap and studied them for a minute. "I feel that I owe it to you to try to explain my feelings. Some of the things I have to say, you've heard before, but maybe not from my point of view. So I have to define my thoughts in sequence. If you'll indulge me…?" She raised her gaze to meet his gray-eyed stare.

  "Go ahead," he answered curtly.

  "I loved Lisa, Jake. You know that. She was the sister I never had. When she first approached me with the idea of having this child I didn't want to do it. I'm sure she told you."

  His eyes met hers. He nodded.

  Suddenly Natalie couldn't sit still. She got to her feet and began to roam around the room, absently touching the back of her chair, a book, the edge of the mantel. On one of the shelves was a picture of Joseph. She picked it up. "At the time she brought the idea up, I'd recovered from—from the awful apathy I'd felt after Joseph's death." She replaced the picture and began to roam again. "I'd finally begun to care about life again, about my career at the paper and the free-lance work I'm doing. I didn't want to leave Charleston." She came to a stop before the cold fireplace, her back to him.

  "But after I'd thought about it for a while, the idea began to seem more and more … right.

  "So I changed my mind. I sincerely wanted to bring this life into the world. Partly as a tribute to Joseph's memory, I admit. Partly for me. Partly for you and Lisa." She laughed under her breath and shook her head. "If that isn't a mixed bag of motives, I don't know what is," she muttered.

  At last she did turn to look at Jake. He was watching her, his expression noncommittal. She could not read a reaction in his eyes or in the set of his mouth; his posture had not changed by so much as an inch.

  "Now, with the situation changed, I've discovered that I want this wholly for myself, Jake." She resumed her position on the chair facing him and leaned forward trying to communicate her sincerity. She laced her fingers and rested her elbows on her knees. "If you'll agree, I'd like to adopt this child."

  It was Jake's turn to move. He got to his feet. He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked a few steps. Then he halted. The silence was thick, absolute.

  Natalie could hear the echo of her heartbeat in her ears as she stared at his back. His broad shoulders were bowed under the weight of the decision he had to make. She waited, motionless, afraid to speak. She'd presented her proposition. Now it was up to him.

  "Can I let you know tomorrow?" His voice was a husky whisper.

  He was crying.

  Instantly Natalie's hand flew up, covering her mouth to keep a whimper from
escaping. Oh, God. Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. She wished she dared let them.

  She nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her. She breathed deeply through her nose and let her hand fall away from her mouth. "Of course," she said evenly. "I assumed you would need time to think."

  * * *

  Jake lay stretched out on the sofa in the living room, staring at the small portable television set, heedless of the golf game that was being broadcast.

  Why had he hesitated? Wasn't Natalie's proposal the best answer? Lisa's parents were too old to take on the responsibility of a child, and he was unwilling to.

  He'd thought he'd come to terms with Lisa's death. And, in a sense, he had accepted the reality of it, though the years stretched out before him bleak and empty when he thought of living the rest of his life without her. Yet when faced with a practical matter like this, a decision that needed to be made immediately, he was uncharacteristically indecisive. He couldn't seem to focus beyond tomorrow, and he didn't seem to know what was right anymore.

  He linked his fingers together behind his head and wondered if he would have been able to follow through on the idea of an abortion. That night when he'd returned to Savannah to be greeted by Natalie, he had felt a profound and primitive rage—he'd wanted to lash out at her. He'd wanted to wound her. As he was wounded.

  It wasn't fair to her, he knew that. But somewhere on the side of the highway between the North Carolina beach and Savannah, he'd lost his sense of perspective.

  Could he have gone through with it? He would never know. He'd realized that the presence of a baby in the house would do nothing except generate painful memories of Lisa, memories that would be a further threat to his tenuous hold on rationality.

  But since that night, he'd had time to think. They'd all gone through so much in order to have this baby, the weeks of lab work and blood tests, of interviews and counseling and lawyers. The months of waiting.

  How excited the three of them had been when, in July, they'd found out she was pregnant. He smiled sadly at the memory.