That would have been the day Jake returned to Savannah. She remembered how thin he looked, but… "You're not— Oh, never mind."
All sorts of arguments about the right to privacy flew through her mind, but she discarded them. She was afraid they wouldn't apply in this situation. "All right. I'll be ready."
* * *
Natalie sat in the passenger seat of Jake's car and watched his profile. The sunlight streaming in through the windshield poured over them. She didn't know exactly when it had happened, but sometime during the course of the morning he had withdrawn into a place where she couldn't follow.
They'd stuffed themselves on buttermilk pancakes and maple syrup. At the pier he'd made her don a hard hat and had given her the "complete hands-on tour," as he'd called it, of his vast waterfront domain. She'd been curiously exhilarated by the sight of the operation, the huge containers that could hold hundreds of tons and the huge cranes to lift them.
Goods from all over the world arrived through the port of Savannah, and American goods departed from here to ports in Europe, the Far East, South America. Docked this morning, but idle except for the presence of security guards, was a large ship bearing automobiles from Germany and Great Britain.
In his conservatively decorated offices, which were a sharp contrast to the rough dockside, Jake had shown her the plans for expanded warehouse space. It all seemed unbelievably complicated.
"How on earth do you know which containers go where?" she'd asked. "Do you ever send anything to the wrong place?"
He'd laughed—his deep, husky laugh that she'd not heard since Lisa died. "Come with me," he'd said leading her to a large room. There he had explained the computer-driven program of accounts, inventory lists, bills of lading, time schedules, locations of ships and trucks and trains—until she begged him to stop, for her head was spinning. Later they'd walked over the property he wanted to purchase.
But sometime during those hours he had retreated, and she tried to recall exactly when it had happened. Surprisingly his retreat had not made conversation uncomfortable. He seemed able to function on two levels. Clearly he had become distracted by something he wouldn't discuss with her, but it hadn't affected his good manners. Not this time, at any rate.
"Thanks for the tour. I enjoyed it." Suddenly she realized what had caused the withdrawal. "Hands-on," he'd said; hands-on it was. He'd taken her hand as they stepped over waist-thick coils of rope. He'd laid his arm across her shoulders to turn her toward a scene he wanted her to see. He'd had to touch her, and it bothered him.
She felt the heat rise to her face and reached forward to direct the air-conditioning vent toward her.
"Are you still warm?" he asked, unaware of where her thoughts had taken her. After the tour they'd returned to the car to be hit by an oven-hot blast when they'd opened the doors. Now he'd adjusted it to a comfortable low breeze.
"A little bit," she answered.
* * *
Occasionally over the next couple of weeks, Natalie arrived home from work to find Jake waiting for her. She smiled to herself when she remembered thinking that if she stayed in Savannah she wouldn't have to see much of him. She suspected that he often timed his homecoming to coincide with hers.
Sometimes he took her out to eat; sometimes they had food delivered and once or twice she cooked. One evening he came for her at the shop and they walked down the cobblestone street to look at the statue of the Waving Girl. Jake added a few comments to what John had told her about the statue. Natalie was captivated by the expression on the girl's face, part sorrow, part hope.
It was all very platonic. As soon as they had eaten, Jake always left and she headed for the computer. There was no repeat of the physical contact that had occurred the day of the tour.
She was managing nicely. She'd finished two short articles for Southern Life and expected a check for them soon. She'd even gotten in some work on her novel, though not as much as she would have liked.
When she and Jake were together, they were both careful to avoid sensitive subjects, like her pregnancy—with one exception.
She happened to mention that Dr. MacGregor insisted that she walk every day for exercise. From then on, Jake seemed to think it was his responsibility to see that she complied.
However unnecessarily, he had taken her on as an assignment, and she couldn't fathom his motives. He didn't want to become involved, he'd made that clear.
She couldn't come up with an answer that satisfied her.
She had to admit to herself, however, that she hadn't probed her own motives too deeply, either. She told herself that she still didn't know many people in town, and she would be lonesome if it weren't for him. In fact, she enjoyed being with him.
One rainy evening she drove into the garage, parked and hurried to her back door. Something, some movement above, caught her attention. She looked up to find him standing silhouetted in his doorway, the light from the kitchen beyond illuminating his large form. Obviously he had been waiting for her.
"Hi," she called, shaking the moisture from her umbrella as she unlocked the apartment door.
"Hi, yourself. You drove to work today."
It was an accusation, but an amused one. She laughed. "Jake it was raining this morning. It still is, if you haven't noticed. Even though I drove the car, I still got soaked getting to the car." She indicated her wet shirt with a sweeping hand.
"Change your clothes, then, and we'll go over to the mall for your walk. We can get something to eat while we're there."
"Okay."
The mall, she thought, as she pulled on a pair of slacks. If she could get rid of Jake maybe she could do some shopping at the maternity store. No, she shut off that thought. To flaunt this pregnancy in front of him would be to deliberately inflict hurt.
But she was going to have to do something about clothes.
* * *
When they got home from the mall, Jake said goodnight and waited while Natalie closed and locked her door. Back upstairs, he paused on the landing. The quarter moon cast a weak light on the garden below.
Fall had arrived. The blooms were fading on the roses, he noticed. Today's steady rain had drummed off some of the other flowers. The garden was a mess.
Lisa will have a fit. The garden is her pride and joy.
Then he remembered. The familiar pain hit and he gripped the rail with both hands, closing his eyes tightly against its power. God, he hated these flashes of memory that caught him unawares like this. He had an idea that tonight his conscience was reminding him—with a forceful nudge—that his wife had only recently died.
His conscience probably thought he needed the reminder. He thought about the day he had taken Natalie out to the docks. He was working diligently on his expansion and, spurred on by her interest, he found that he liked to talk to her about it. He also found that she was quicker than Lisa to grasp both the substance and the excitement of his plans for the business.
He chided himself for that disloyal thought. His enthusiasm had bored Lisa, and his wife seldom feigned interest in things that bored her. She hadn't been a hypocrite.
He had simply thought Natalie might enjoy a tour. The sensations had crept up on him slowly, when he'd taken her hand to help her over a rough spot. A few minutes later he realized that he still held a woman's hand in his. The dissimilarity between his large rough palm and her soft, slender one left him shaken.
And then he'd noticed her perfume, something light and floral, clean smelling and delicate in contrast to the heavy, masculine odors of the riverfront. Her laughter was musical; her wide eyes, as blue as the sky on that warm October day, were expressive; her gestures were expansive but very, very feminine.
Since then, the realization had grown stronger each time they were together. Tonight at the mall he'd again taken her hand without thinking. And as they'd waited for a table in the restaurant, they'd been squeezed together for a heart-stopping moment. He'd felt her breasts brush against him, his nostrils had been drowned in he
r scent.
She had felt it, too. Her eyes had darted to his, then she had hurriedly looked away.
Not that his response was to Natalie, per se, he persuaded himself. He'd responded because she was a woman, a very beautiful, very feminine woman. He and Lisa had shared an active sex life. It was only natural for him to begin to notice soft, womanly things.
The pain and his conscience began to ease. He went inside the house, locking up behind himself.
As he lay on his back an hour later, his fingers linked under his head, he recalled another occasion, years ago, when he'd told himself that something was "only natural." But there had been no danger then.
He felt a jab of conscience again. That incident at the hospital, when Joseph was so ill… Damn. Muttering obscenities, he switched on the light beside his bed. He reached for a manual he'd been planning to read.
Tomorrow he would call the man who had sometimes helped Lisa with the garden.
* * *
Halloween arrived and Natalie had found a terracotta jack-o'-lantern stored in one of the kitchen cabinets. She bought a warming candle to set inside and placed the grinning pumpkin face in one of the front windows. Sure enough, it attracted dozens of trick-or-treaters to her door.
Goblins and witches, princesses and green turtles screamed, "Trick or treat," and giggled as they held out decorated bags. She contributed wrapped fruit candies and packages of sugarless gum.
The main house above remained dark and quiet. She found out the next morning that Jake had been to dinner with friends, Billie and Matt Turner. And that he was not happy about it.
Evidently Billie had invited a number of people for dinner and she'd seated Jake next to a divorcée. "Can you believe the nerve of that woman? Trying to fix me up with a date? She was supposed to be Lisa's friend."
"I don't know Billie, but I'm sure she didn't mean it in an inappropriate way," Natalie soothed, but she couldn't completely suppress a smile at his outrage. Lisa would have loved it; she was a notorious matchmaker herself.
When he saw her lips twitch, he scowled and stalked off to work.
* * *
One Saturday evening in early November Natalie arrived at the house, her arms loaded with packages. She had spent the entire day at the mall, but she'd bought only enough to get by. Pregnancy wasn't an experience she would ever repeat. But at last she had some clothes that would fit comfortably.
Jake had just parked his car in the garage. He saw her and came to help. "I'd say you cleaned out the store," he accused with a good-natured grin as he took two of the shopping bags she carried.
She hesitated briefly, but it was long enough to draw his gaze. "I was forced to buy some maternity clothes," she said. She'd also had her hair trimmed. Not cut short, as she had planned, but trimmed the slightest bit.
His grin disappeared like a puff of smoke. He nodded, his gray eyes clouded, his expression unreadable. "I see."
Jake deposited Natalie's packages on the kitchen table and left immediately. He knew he was going to have to get over this dislike of any mention of her pregnancy. It was a fact of both of their lives.
When she had wanted to move, he had been the one to convince her to remain, to point out all the reasons why she should stay in the apartment. And he was the one who initiated their contacts now.
It was almost as though he couldn't keep away from her.
He told himself it was because she was pregnant. And while he didn't want to spend all his free hours with her, he felt a responsibility to show his concern, to keep her from feeling abandoned and lonely. He couldn't forget that she was in Savannah because of him and Lisa.
* * *
The next night Jake was back. Natalie had just unlocked the door to the apartment when he drove in.
"Natalie?" he called out.
She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. "Hi," she said, turning at the door to face him. He looked tired, she noticed as he reached her side. His tie was pulled free of his collar, his top shirt button open and the bulging briefcase he carried seemed to weigh him down.
In his free hand he tossed his keys and caught them in a fist. "I'm sorry about last night."
She nodded. "Please don't be concerned. I understand," she said.
"It's just that sometimes things like that hit without any warning."
And they always left him reeling. She didn't need to hear him say the words to know how he felt. She took a step forward to join him on the stoop. "I remember the feeling very well. It still happens periodically."
Her comment drew his sharp gaze. "You mean … after three years?"
She looked up at him, wishing for his sake that she could deny the truth, that she could give him a specific date in the future when he would be free of pain. But she couldn't. "Joseph was a vital part of my life. I'll never forget him. The sadness becomes a kind of nostalgia … like a deep regret for unfulfilled promises, but it still exists." She laughed lightly. "Listen to me. Joseph would say I was being wildly poetic."
He touched her shoulder in a gesture of support. "Have you made plans for dinner?"
She was surprised into answering honestly. "Not really."
"I thought we could walk over to Tibernio's," he said casually.
They'd eaten there several times; the food was always delicious. "Thank you, Jake, but not tonight. I'm really bushed. And—"
"And you want to write," he finished for her. He hefted his briefcase. "I have some work to do tonight, too. But we both have to eat," he urged.
He was sincere. And he was right; they had to eat. Mentally she reviewed the contents of her refrigerator. "Okay. I'd like that."
"Ten minutes?"
"I'll be ready."
Natalie had to redo her chignon. The slight trim had been just enough to make it difficult to keep all the ends tucked in. She had worn one of her new dresses to work. It was holiday red, a lightweight wool challis. And it was huge on her, falling straight from her shoulders to her knees. According to the saleswoman, though, during the last few weeks of her pregnancy she would be lucky if she could get into it. A broad white collar framed her face. She wore a new pair of comfortable black flats with it.
November had brought a change in the weather. Tonight it was cool, chilly almost, as it had been for the past week. The dress had long sleeves, but she put a sweater over her shoulder.
Jake was waiting when she joined him on the front sidewalk a few minutes later. He'd exchanged his sport coat for a leather jacket. "Are you going to be warm enough?"
"I'm fine."
The street lamps came on as they walked along the sidewalks toward the restaurant. They seemed to be directing their steps from one pool of light to the next, as though seeking warmth.
Unexpectedly Natalie flinched and put her hand to her stomach.
"Are you all right?" he asked quickly, reaching for her arm.
"I'm fine. It's nothing."
But it happened again and she couldn't control her start of response or miss his urgent look. She decided to explain before he could ask. "I think it's hiccups," she said.
"Hold your breath and count to ten," he advised.
"Not me. The baby."
"Oh," he said. "I didn't know that happened."
"I didn't, either, but that's what it feels like."
They didn't speak again until they were at the restaurant.
* * *
The weeks crept by. Nothing happened to mar the fragile harmony, and gradually Natalie and Jake began to relax around each other. Natalie's natural sense of humor began to reassert itself.
Early one morning, however, when that attribute would have served her well, it deserted her completely.
She had only been awake a few minutes when the doorbell rang. She hastily pulled on her robe, drew it across her ever-expanding middle and tied the sash. She opened the door a crack to find a deliveryman there.
"Clyde" was embroidered in white on the breast pocket of his lavender coverall, and beneath that the name of
a pricey furniture store in the suburbs. The stub end of a cigar protruded from a corner of Clyde's mouth. It smelled like burning rubber.
"Mrs. Armstrong?"
"Yes."
He waved to another man who was unloading a large flat box from a truck, made a note on his clipboard and held it out to her along with a chewed-on pencil. "Sign here, please." The other man trundled his dolly up onto the sidewalk, unloaded the box and returned to the truck for another.
She opened the door, took the clipboard and scanned it quickly, but the items were listed by number, not name. "I haven't ordered anything," she protested, trying to give the clipboard back to him.
"You said you were Mrs. Armstrong."
"Well, yes, but—"
"This is baby furniture, a special order, placed…" He finally took the clipboard from her and ran a grimy finger across the top. "Last July."
Natalie closed her eyes. Oh, God. Now she remembered. As soon as Natalie's pregnancy had been confirmed, Lisa had placed the special order for the nursery she'd planned to decorate.
Natalie opened her eyes and stared at the man. "I'm not that Mrs. Armstrong."
He checked his clipboard again and rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Let's see … 14057 East Harris." He checked the brass number embedded into the brick on the side of the house. "Nobody answered the door up there," he said, indicating the main entrance. "This is that address, too, ain't it?"
"Yes, but you can't bring it in here," she informed the man.
Jake must be in the shower. Or he might have gone to work. She hadn't heard him leave, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe this was a lucky break; she could get rid of these people and call the store to explain. She could just imagine the scene if he came out to find these men unloading a van full of baby furniture.
"Look, the stuff's already paid for, lady," the man said impatiently. "And I'm in a hurry. I've got a whole tractor trailer load to deliver today."
"But I didn't pay for it. It isn't mine. You'll just have to take it back to the store. Someone will be in touch."
He took a step toward her. "Look, lady, I ain't movin' this damn stuff again," he growled. A puff of noxious smoke hit her in the face. "This is the address on the order, and this is where I'm leavin' it."
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