BABY MAGIC

by Marion Smith Collins

  Like most other newlyweds, he and Lisa had dreamed big dreams eight years ago. Some of the unimportant dreams fell by the wayside; some were fulfilled. And finally their biggest dream—of having a child of their own—was coming true.

  Most of the dreams had died with Lisa. A few days ago, he would have said all of them had.

  This was the reason for his hesitation, he realized. With the possibility of this child, a piece of the dream remained. And that tortured him.

  * * *

  Natalie decided to change into comfortable clothes before she did the dishes. She donned a faded pink exercise suit, comfortably stretched, and an old pair of sneakers. As she pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall, she told herself again that she was going to have to do something about clothes. Nothing fit comfortably. A barrette secured the thick mane at her nape. She also needed a haircut.

  One aspect of pregnancy that she'd found difficult was adjusting to the changes in her body, which no longer belonged only to herself. Though her waist was thick, she hadn't developed much of a bulge in front. But each morning, it seemed, there was something new and mysterious to discover about her own body.

  She cleaned the kitchen, lingering over the task, polishing copper-lined pans that already shone. She straightened the living room. Then she stood looking around for something else to do.

  The silence was oppressive and amplified her loneliness. She went to her office and sat in her swivel chair, staring at the black computer screen. But she couldn't bring herself to turn it on. Nothing she'd written since the funeral seemed right. She'd used the delete button more often than the one to print.

  At last she returned to the living room and flipped on the television, more for the comforting sound of another human voice than because of any interest in a particular program.

  She curled up on the sofa and pulled a warm rose-pink afghan over her legs, finally acknowledging the private war that was going on inside her. This indefinite situation piled on top of the pregnancy, her move and Lisa's death had set her emotions into conflict with her normal, rational thought.

  What on earth was she going to do if Jake said she could not adopt this child?

  For that matter, what on earth would she do if he said yes? Along with the responsibility for a child, she was inviting monumental disorder into her ordered life.

  Frustrated, Natalie wrapped her arms around a soft sofa pillow and rubbed her cheek against the smooth nap. With determination she called forth the practical side of her nature. She wouldn't be able to decide what to do until he gave her an answer. So there was no point in dwelling on it.

  She put the subject out of her mind. The soft, hypnotic tones of a golf announcer was making her sleepy. Her eyes slowly closed.

  She had no idea how long she slept, but the daylight had dimmed when she was awakened by a knock at the front door, the one that opened directly onto the sidewalk. She tossed the afghan aside and got to her feet, still groggy from the aftereffects of a dream she couldn't even remember.

  "Jake?" Her surprise was disturbing, as was her accelerated heartbeat.

  He'd also changed from the clothes he'd worn at dinner. Despite the weight he'd lost, he was a big man and very strong. His black running shorts and red tank top revealed his broad chest, his flat-as-a-board belly, the long powerful muscles in his legs and arms. And when he gripped the ends of the towel that was slung around his neck, his biceps flexed.

  The unexpected sight of so much hard muscle and tanned skin unsettled her. "Sorry. I fell asleep." She shook her head in an attempt to clear the lethargy from her brain. "Come in." She stepped aside to let him pass.

  Jake took in her heavy-lidded gaze, slightly out of focus, her tousled hair. He felt a smile relax his lips, ease the tension around his eyes. In the old warm-up suit she looked very languid, very approachable, very … sexy.

  Instantly he stiffened, blasting himself. Where the hell had such an inappropriate thought come from, anyway?

  He could see past her into the room. The bright afghan on the sofa had been tossed aside. "I'm sorry I woke you."

  She waved aside his apology and swallowed a yawn. "Don't be. I shouldn't sleep now, anyway. I'll have a hard time falling asleep at bedtime. Won't you sit down?"

  He closed the door but remained standing beside it. "No, thanks. I just want to say this and get it over with." The next few minutes were going to be bitter ones, but he really had no choice.

  He took a deep breath and faced Natalie, letting his hands fall loosely at his sides. When he spoke, his voice sounded forced even to his own ears. "I've come to tell you that I think your offer to adopt the baby is probably the best thing for everyone."

  His statement wiped the languor from her soft blue eyes. She straightened. "You do?" she asked, a slow smile spreading across her features.

  He clutched the ends of the towel again and looked at her steadily. He could see the relief rising within her, and begrudged it, when all he felt was desolation, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "I have every confidence in you, Natalie. I know you'll be a good mother to this child." That, at least, was the truth.

  "I will try my very best, I swear it, Jake. Thank you." He watched her blue eyes grow dark with emotion, until they were almost purple. He looked away, unable to bear her exhilaration.

  "I'm not sure what sort of legal arrangements will be necessary, but I can find out. I know this is best. And I would never shut you out of the child's life. In a few years you may decide you want to be involved—"

  "No," he said harshly. "This child will always be mine in some ways, I can't escape that. But I want you to know that I'll consider it your child from now on. I don't want to have anything to do with it."

  Or you, he might have added aloud. Natalie's loneliness suddenly seemed even more vast than before. The silence stretched between them while she searched for comfort in his consent to let her adopt the baby. "I'll make plans to move back to Charleston immediately."

  He held up his hand. "I've thought about that, too." He paused as though choosing his words carefully. "It would be senseless to lie, Natalie. I'm very tempted to let you go, to try to get on with my life without any painful reminders. But your leaving isn't the answer. Even if you left, I'd still feel responsible for you as long as you're pregnant. You'll have to stay here until the child is born."

  Her eyes flashed her annoyance. Then he remembered her independent streak.

  "That sounded very much like a rehearsed speech," she said, irony strong in her tone. She also wondered why, if he was anxious to sever all ties with the baby, he was insisting so strongly that she stay. Responsibility aside, it didn't quite make sense.

  She dismissed his puzzling logic and returned the focus to her own objections. "I don't want you to feel responsible for me, Jake." She folded her arms against her chest. "I don't want anyone to feel responsible."

  "Nonetheless, I do. You've given up your apartment and your job. You are over four months pregnant, and you've uprooted your life for this child. Your doctors are here in Savannah. I think we should stick to the original agreement."

  "No matter how averse you are to the idea?" she persisted. She shook her head decisively. "It won't work, Jake. The pregnancy is already becoming evident. In a short time I'll have to wear maternity clothes. You were right. You'll think about Lisa and the baby every time you see me."

  Inadvertently his gaze went to her belly, then away. He raked his hand through his hair. She was so different from his Lisa. He hardened his expression. "Our personal feelings aren't the issue. The point is you have no choice."

  He knew as soon as the words were out that he shouldn't have made it sound like a challenge. Hell! He wasn't handling this well.

  Clearly provoked, she planted her hands on her hips. "I certainly do have a choice."

  The militant reaction was so unlike her natural ladylike demeanor that he almost smiled. But he caught himself in time. That would have added the proverbial fuel to her fire.

/>   "I always have a choice," she repeated.

  He crossed his arms and looked down at her. "Oh, and what is that?" he asked mildly.

  "I can move back to Charleston, find another apartment, another job, another doctor."

  "It took a long time to find a doctor who would even take our case originally. It wouldn't be that easy to find another doctor now. Yours is not exactly a normal pregnancy."

  He could see that he was only adding to her irritation by tearing down her arguments as soon as she put them forth. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. How the hell had this discussion deteriorated so quickly into a two-way power struggle?

  "As I said, you have no choice," he told her flatly, hoping to bring the argument to a close.

  To his horror, he saw the tears well in her eyes. But then his gaze narrowed. These were not tears of grief. They were tears of frustration and resentment. "Look, Natalie," he continued calmly, trying to calm her. "We're adults. We can work through any problems that might come up. The only practical answer is for you to stay here. You have a home, an allowance, a good doctor who cares about you. You'd be a fool to chuck all the arrangements we've made just because of false pride."

  "A fool?" Another mistake. She glared at him. She started to go on, then stopped. Taking a long, deep breath, she made a clear effort to regain her composure. Finally she said, "Maybe you're right about some things." She pronounced the words as though they left a bad taste in her mouth, and he almost smiled again.

  Natalie raked him with her angry gaze and struggled to control herself. He didn't move a muscle. She tried to think. He had made some important points. She liked Dr. MacGregor very much. She would hate to change. Also, she had to admit that to move again m her condition would be a problem.

  Perhaps she could live here without seeing much of Jake. If she were really alert she might be able to avoid him completely. He had many friends; they would keep him occupied and out of her way.

  She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "All right. Maybe I should stay here where the doctors are, and where I have a comfortable home. But you can call off the allowance, Jake. Under the circumstances I wouldn't feel right taking money from you."

  He gave her a disgusted look. "That's no argument. The money is in a trust. You know that. I couldn't stop the allowance if I wanted to—which I don't. How do you think you're going to live without money?"

  I'll manage. Somehow I'll manage. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I'll get a job."

  "I can't argue with you, can I?" When she didn't answer, Jake sighed heavily and reached for the doorknob. After this he was ready for a good hard run. He opened the door and stepped outside.

  She followed and stood in the doorway. "I'll try to stay out of your way."

  He threw up his hands in mock disgust and chuckled. "You drive a hard bargain, Natalie Armstrong. Get a job if you have to. I'll see you later." He headed out the door into the twilight and moved off at a slow jog. Despite his show of impatience, he felt fairly good about the outcome of this confrontation. He'd won most of the disputed points. She was going to stay here where he could keep an eye on her.

  Natalie felt a grin spread across her face as she watched him go. She felt okay about their shaky truce. She'd won on the most important item.

  * * *

  Even if she couldn't stop the money in the trust from accumulating, Natalie was determined not to use it. She wanted to support herself. But finding a job was not as easy as she had thought it would be. The newspaper, while impressed with her credentials, was not hiring. The major advertising firms in town had all the copywriters they needed at the moment. She searched the want ads for a week before she found one that looked promising.

  A gift shop on River Street was looking for a salesclerk. She had wanted to visit the quaint area as soon as she'd arrived. But Lisa, self-appointed tour guide, insisted that Natalie first had to see the fabulous homes. So—they'd toured homes, and cottages, and a plantation. They'd had such fun. She smiled at the memory.

  River Street was a narrow cobblestone road that ran parallel to the Savannah River and was a favorite spot for tourists and natives alike. The shops and restaurants there had an unobstructed view of the ships that traveled upriver from the Atlantic.

  Across the narrow road, beside the water, was a broad esplanade with trees and benches and colorful plantings. Outdoor concerts were often performed there. And the Riverwalk was not far from Jake's town house. If she could get the job, she could walk to work when the weather was nice. That would fulfill Dr. MacGregor's orders that she exercise every day. She had to get started on that, she reminded herself.

  The store's owner, John Barnard, was young and male. And very, very French. His accent was easily understandable. He was dressed in velvet trousers, white silk shirt with pirate sleeves and sported a gold earring. Though slightly built, he seemed to have enough energy for two men. As she discovered during the short interview, he was an entrepreneur who owned a number of small ventures around the city.

  He explained that he had come to the United States to study at Harvard and had simply decided to stay. That was ten years ago. He was often needed at the other locations, he told her with wide flamboyant gestures. She would mainly be left on her own.

  He wasn't completely satisfied when he found out she was pregnant. "But you're the best of the bunch who've applied for the job, m'dear," he told her. "At least you have enough sense to figure state sales tax. Can you start today?"

  Natalie hesitated a moment, then shrugged. Why not? She stored her purse beneath the counter and went to greet her first customer.

  She found she liked the work. John was candid and pleasant and, she soon discovered, a shrewd businessman. People were in and out of the shop all afternoon—tourists, mostly, but a few local people, too. She enjoyed watching the ships pass. The large window that faced the cobblestone street gave the shop an unrestricted view.

  "Why do the ships all blow their horns after they pass?" she asked during a break in the customer traffic.

  "Oh, m'dear, it's a wonderful story," John explained. "It's called the legend of Savannah's Waving Girl."

  Many years ago, a young girl had waited at the lighthouse downriver for her lover to return from the sea. When she received the news that he'd been lost, she was devastated. She began her custom of waving to every vessel that entered Savannah Harbor. The tugs and the bar pilots responded by blowing their ships' horns in reply as they passed the Elba Light. "Even today most of the captains honor the statue of her with a blast," John finished the tale. "You should visit there one day. You might get an idea for a story. Even if you don't, the statue is something to see. It was done by the sculptor who did the Iwo Jima Memorial in Washington."

  She had told John that she was a writer, but she hadn't mentioned her novel. Still, it was a romantic, interesting legend and very possibly something she might use. She promised herself she would walk down to see the statue at her first opportunity.

  When she dragged in that night at nine-thirty, Jake was waiting. He jogged lightly down the back steps to hold the gate open for her. "Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is?" he demanded testily.

  She proceeded through the gate and toward the back door of the apartment. "I found a job and—"

  Jake followed on her heels. "A job?" he asked, trying with a visible effort to maintain control of his temper. "Already?"

  "Jake, I told you I would be looking for a job," she explained patiently.

  "Where is this job? In Charleston?" he demanded gruffly.

  "What?" she asked blankly. Then she realized that he thought she would be leaving town. That he would even care surprised her. "I'll be working in a gift shop on River Street near the hotel. The owner, John Barnard…" She glanced up at him. "He said he knew you."

  "Yes, I know John."

  "I put you down as a reference."

  "You want to work in a gift shop? I thought you were a writer."

  She ignored that. "John
was in a kind of a bind today and needed me to begin right away, but I won't always be this late getting home." She took out her key, opened the back door and reached inside to flip the light switch. Then she turned back to him. "Did you want something else?"

  He looked as though the question astonished him. "No. It's just that…" He made an impatient gesture. "You don't know a lot of people here. I was … no, I didn't want anything."

  "I'll say good-night, then. I'm really beat." She smiled, her hand on the door.

  "Good night." He left.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Natalie's pattern was quickly established. "You're very trusting," she told John when he gave her a key to the shop. It was Wednesday; she'd started work on Monday.

  "I checked your references," he assured her. "I want you to open the shop at ten every morning. This will leave my days free to check in with my other businesses. I'll relieve you at six each night and do the book work before I close the shop."

  The schedule was ideal for Natalie. A clerk didn't make much over minimum wage, so she planned to supplement her income by writing short articles. She'd already been on the phone to the editors of several regional magazines for whom she'd written before. Putting her novel on hold for the time being worried her, but it couldn't be helped. She reminded herself to write a note to the agent who had been so kind and explain the delay. She hoped he hadn't forgotten her.

  She enjoyed working in the shop; she liked the routine and the merchandise, and she loved meeting the people who came in. Her spirits were boosted by the contacts. John had a playful side that was reflected in his buying, and the shop was filled with unique items.

  She rarely saw Jake that first week. She had no idea what time he left for work, but it was before she got up in the mornings. And she often heard him come in late. She knew he was working on an expansion plan for his business. The construction of new warehouse space and the purchase of new equipment had been started before Lisa died.

  On Friday morning she dressed for work but kept her nine o'clock appointment with Dr. MacGregor. It was the first time she'd seen him since Jake had returned and they'd agreed on the baby's future.