Right now the sun’s rays seemed hell-bent on piercing little needles straight into her brain, but the aspirin and caffeine were kicking in, so maybe she would postpone burying her tortured head in the sand, attractive as the idea seemed. Farther down the shore a lone figure had propped a fishing pole in at the edge of a dune, and periodically he reeled in the line.
She focused on the figure as she thought about Joe riding across the bridge to his mom and dad’s house right now. Perhaps she’d been unfair in not letting him speak his piece, but she was terrified to think that he might really care about her. Maybe she should have expected him to declare his feelings. He’d given her hints all along, saying things to let her know how much he liked her almost from the very beginning. She liked him, too. But was this thing with Joe a fling, or was it something more?
Maybe it was nothing more than overload. Rachel hadn’t been with a man in so long that all her senses were bound to be more susceptible than normal. No wonder she grew weak at the thought of Joe, ached for his touch. She was already anticipating the next time she’d see him, and she still felt guilty about the hurt and disappointment that had clouded his features in the moments before she’d jumped out of the car. What he didn’t know was that it had taken every last shred of her self-control to leave him.
This was weird. It was complicated. It was confusing. But what if she was in love with Joe Marzinski?
No, she couldn’t be.
Yes, she could.
Her thoughts were so contradictory, so confusing, that she actually laughed out loud at herself, sending a flock of scavenging gulls winging skyward, the wind from their wings rushing cool upon her cheeks. Her own laughter hurt her ears. And then tears filled her eyes so that she couldn’t see where she was walking.
She was happy. She was sad.
No, she wasn’t.
If this was love, she didn’t like it. Abruptly she forced herself to think about something else, something that she thought would be more neutral territory. She thought about Chrissy, her rosebud mouth and the way she puckered it just before she let out one of those incomparable wails. She thought about round baby cheeks and tiny wisps of eyebrows. Maybe she could bring Chrissy to the beach early some morning before the sun got too hot, introduce her to the sound of the ocean, show her how the sand crabs skittered and danced around the patches of dead, dry seaweed.
If she could keep Chrissy. She shouldn’t allow herself to make plans. Chrissy might have to go—maybe even today.
But in that moment Rachel couldn’t imagine not keeping the baby. She had almost, but not quite, forgotten that half the fun of motherhood revolved around introducing a child to the world and seeing things through her own adult eyes as if she had never seen before.
She’d be a good foster mother to Chrissy. But what if that social worker, that Ewing woman, decided that it wasn’t in the baby’s best interest to stay with Rachel? A lump rose in Rachel’s throat at the thought of giving Chrissy up. Of ever giving her up.
She wanted a baby of her own. That was the truth of it. Not that she could have admitted this even to herself before she’d found Chrissy in the manger. It would have seemed as if she were betraying her own children and Derek, who would have soon been her adopted son, and even Nick and the puppy. She’d somehow thought that keeping all of them safe in her heart meant that she would have to put everyone else out of her life lest they distract from her task of memorializing her lost family.
But here was a chance to be a mom again, and she wanted to grab it and never let it go. To never let the baby go, to keep her for her very own.
Nonsense, Rachel, she told herself sternly. You can’t keep a baby that isn’t yours. But she wanted to. Chrissy had filled up that lonely space inside her, and Rachel didn’t want to go back to being alone. The chief problem was that she didn’t deserve to be anyone’s parent, not even an abandoned child’s.
“Rachel?”
She recognized the crusty voice before she even turned around. It belonged to Ivan O’Toole, who was ambling toward her wearing a jaunty canvas hat and ancient gray sweatpants. A T-shirt covered his bony chest, and he walked with the aid of a gnarled piece of driftwood. He was rapidly gaining on her.
“Good morning, Ivan,” she said, greeting him graciously and hoping that she didn’t still look like death warmed over. Truth be told, of the Theatrical Threesome she had always liked this man the best. So did a lot of other people. Rachel knew that Ivan was in great demand among the single women at the Elysian Towers. Rachel suspected that he was something of a heartbreaker. In his younger days, he might have been a Mel Gibson look-alike.
“Didn’t think you’d be out so early, Rachel. I mean with the baby and all.” He fell into step beside her.
“I have a good baby-sitter,” she told him. They walked on together, Rachel clutching the bag that held her dress from the night before and hoping that her companion wouldn’t guess what was in it.
“Oh, you mean Gladys? Yep, she seems to know what she’s doing with kids, all right. Trouble is, we were supposed to go out last night. Instead we stayed in her apart-ment playing with the baby. Hey, I thought you were going to pick Chrissy up and take her back to your place early this morning.”
“I decided to indulge myself with a walk on the beach first,” Rachel said, feeling guilty. However, her guilt feelings were overridden by the amazing news that Gladys Rink and Ivan O’Toole had ever been anything but adversaries.
“You look kind of surprised, Rachel,” Ivan prodded with a sly grin. “At the idea of Gladys and me, I mean.”
“Well, you and Gladys—let’s just say that you have never seemed compatible.”
This elicited a hearty guffaw. “Can’t say that I thought so, either. We were going to pass some time together last night, you know, maybe go to a movie. Both our families live far away, and at this time of the year it’s only natural that we would miss them, so we agreed to keep each other company this holiday season. Then I saw Gladys last night with that baby, and she seemed so much gentler than I’d ever noticed. And it’s like I’ve never seen Gladys before. She’s new to me, if you see what I’m saying.”
Rachel turned to look at her companion in amazement and was further surprised at the utterly besotted look on his face. “I think maybe I do,” she said slowly. “That’s nice for both of you, Ivan.”
Ivan nodded in agreement. “About last night. I didn’t want to go home after the baby was put to bed, but Gladys made me leave, and I couldn’t sleep all night, to tell you the truth. I’m going to ask her if she wants to go out to lunch. Only the two of us. That is, once you’ve taken Chrissy back to your place.”
This reminded Rachel that it was time to head back. A glance at her watch told her that Sherman would be on duty in a few minutes, and she didn’t want to run into him.
“Thanks for the reminder, Ivan,” she said. “I’d better go get the baby right away. Enjoy the rest of your walk. And the lunch.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Ivan called after her.
An hour ago, the sand crunching underfoot would have made Rachel’s head throb. Whether her hangover had gone for good was debatable, but as she hurried homeward, she couldn’t help smiling to herself at the thought of the two septuagenarians getting romantic. Riding up in the elevator, she wondered what Gladys would say about the whole situation with Ivan O’Toole, and she didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“He likes children,” Gladys said excitedly as Rachel stuffed things into Chrissy’s diaper bag. “I never knew that about Ivan. That’s pretty important, you know, when you have lots of grandchildren like I do. Well, they live clear across the country, that’s true, but I always spend summers with them.”
Rachel was holding Chrissy, rocking her back and forth, taking in the baby’s face as if she’d never seen it before. Never mind that she’d had a good time last night, never mind that she’d rediscovered how healthy and exciting making love could be, she had missed Chrissy. It suddenly struck her that
she might not be sure that she was in love with Joe, but she certainly was in love with this baby.
“Rachel?”
She looked up, realizing that she’d lost track of what Gladys was saying. “Hmm?”
Gladys was standing with her hands on her hips. “I was telling you that Ivan O’Toole is one really hot guy, and what do I get? No reaction.”
Rachel couldn’t help it; she started to giggle at the idea of Ivan’s being “hot.” Lukewarm would have been her assessment, but then, what did she know?
“Well, he is, and that is the truth. Rachel, for heaven’s sake, you’re not supporting Chrissy’s head very well. Your eyes look all veiny and red. What’s gotten into you, anyway?”
A really hot guy, Rachel wanted to say. The sexiest man in all creation. But she didn’t say such thing. What she did was smile sweetly and thank Gladys Rink for baby-sitting. And then she backed out the door, wondering when it was that Gladys Rink had started wearing Opium perfume. What was next—slinky black underwear under her tennis sweats? Judging from Rachel’s earlier conversation with him, Ivan might just rise to the bait.
Back in Mimi’s apartment, Rachel doctored her eyes with Mimi’s eyedrops and pinched her cheeks to bring back their color. She bathed Chrissy, fed her and settled her in the crib. Then she drank another cup of coffee as she sat watching until the baby was sound asleep. I hope I won’t have to give you up, she thought to herself.
But of course, she thought as she rinsed out her cup, she would have to give the baby up. Maybe she could serve as Chrissy’s foster parent for a while, but the birth parents were out there somewhere in the world and might want their child back. If that didn’t happen, there were more likely and more deserving parents than Rachel, parents who would adopt her.
But none who would love this baby more.
Stop it! she told herself. Nothing good could come of wanting this baby. With great effort Rachel forced herself to stop thinking about what was going to happen to Chrissy and went into her office where she surveyed the, mess on her desk. She still wasn’t feeling up to par, but she had so much work to do that she decided to tackle it then and there, surprising herself by finishing a typing job and sorting through a pile of bills by the time it started to get dark outside.
Then Chrissy woke up and reminded Rachel that it was time for another feeding, and afterward, as she was changing the baby’s diaper, she thought wistfully that she had never really appreciated doing this for her own babies. This notion, coming at her out of the blue as it did, made her sad. But then she thought Chrissy smiled at her, and even though she knew that this baby was too young to produce a real smile, that Chrissy couldn’t really be counted on to smile spontaneously until she was around six weeks old, it seemed like a real smile, and for today that was enough.
The buzz of the intercom from the downstairs reception desk startled her out of her thoughts. Rachel, with Chrissy in her arms, went to press the button that would let Sherman speak.
“Joe Marzinski is on his way up,” Sherman said, sounding even more nasal than ever.
“What?”
“Joe Marzinski—”
“I heard that part. Sherman, this is the second time he’s come in without an invitation. Since when do you let unauthorized people in this building?”
“Since he’s got a pass from the condo committee. Mrs. Rink gave it to him so he can check periodically on repairs to that apartment that was flooding the other night. Joe mentioned coming to see you, so I thought I’d let you know. Out of the goodness of my heart,” Sherman added, sounding wounded.
“Sherman,” she began, but the doorman interrupted her and said wasn’t the young lady with him a friend of hers, and Rachel said she didn’t think so because she couldn’t think of what young lady he was talking about.
It occurred to Rachel during this quick conversation to ask Sherman if he’d also given a pass to a Santa Claus with a crescent-shaped birthmark, but she never got to voice the question because she heard a peremptory knock at the door.
“I’ll take this up with you later,” she said to Sherman.
“Ms. Hirsch? You know anyone who wants a kitten? My cat had kittens a few weeks ago. In the washing machine.”
“No, Sherman. I do not know anyone who wants a kitten. Goodbye, Sherman.” Rachel managed to contain her annoyance, but it wasn’t easy.
Besides, it definitely wasn’t Sherman who was the main problem here.
“HOWD YOU GET GïNA to agree to baby-sit?” Rachel wanted to know. She bulldozed ahead of Joe on the beach, ignoring the pieces of driftwood and mounds of dried seaweed, walking as if she were trying to outrun him. Dusk had turned into a clear night, and the beach was deserted except for them.
Joe was already congratulating himself on his stroke of genius in getting Rachel to himself. He wouldn’t apologize for his maneuvering; in his mind it was necessary.
“Gina dropped by my parents’ this afternoon while I was there,” he said.
Rachel skewered him with another over-the-shoulder glance. “Did you manage that heart-to-heart that you wanted to have with her? To find out what’s bugging her?”
“No, there were too many people around. Mom was baby-sitting Gracie’s kids, and they were chasing each other all over the house.”
“It was awfully high-handed of you to bring a babysitter over here without asking first if I was free.”
“But you were free and you did want to come with me. Didn’t you?” He caught up, aimed a grin in her direction, but she looked solemn and perturbed. “Well, I know I had to almost pry the baby out of your arms,” he amended, hoping to appease her.
When Rachel didn’t reply, he said, “Think of this as good therapy for Gina. Time seems to be hanging heavy on her hands until she has to head back to school, and she can use the money for books.”
Rachel raised her brows. Or maybe it was one brow, but the effect was the same—unbridled skepticism. “Good try, Marzinski. But don’t try to pretend that this is all about Gina.”
He decided to lay it on the line. “Rachel, the real reason I showed up is that I had to see you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“Why? Last night was one of the best—”
She wheeled to face him, walking backward. “Please, Joe. I’m still stuck in the same old mode.” She stumbled over a piece of driftwood, and he caught at her arm to keep her from falling. The wind tossed her blond curls across her face; he reached over to brush them away. Her chin tilted up a jot, the way it did when she was determined. What she didn’t realize, he’d bet, was that it also placed her lips in line for kissing.
He framed her face with his hands, unsure whether she would pull away. She didn’t. He kissed her then, the kind of kiss that packed a wallop calculated to make her feel it all over. He certainly did. She did, too, judging from the way she took it upon herself to deepen the kiss. He didn’t know how long he could last if she kept on like that.
Tonight wasn’t for passion. Tonight was for straight talk, for ironing out the angles. He deliberately put space between them.
“How about if I spread this blanket and we sit down?” he asked gently. She looked so voluptuous, so beguiling, and he wondered if she had any idea of her power to move him.
He shook the blanket out and settled it in the shelter of two dunes well above the high-tide line. They both sat down, and he took her hand. She folded it inside his, and they were quiet for a time, absorbing the gentle susurrus of the waves, the scent of the ocean, the peace of the night. He dared, in those few moments, to believe that everything was going to be okay, that she was going to give in and admit that they might have a future.
“So,” he said carefully, “what’s the problem? Christmas is supposed to be the happiest time of the year, a time for celebration, and what are we doing? We’re sitting on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world acting glum.”
“I didn’t ask you to come here tonight. There are some times when
a person would rather be alone.”
He stared at her in the darkness, thinking that the stars must have been created for Rachel, to illuminate her in silvery light. “How can you say you’d rather be alone after last night?” he asked her.
She made a little motion with her shoulders, not quite a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you about that,” she said.
“Rachel, look at me,” he commanded. Her head swung around, and he was utterly stunned by the fathomless pain in her eyes. This was a woman who had suffered and suffered deeply. He had sensed it, he had known it on some deep level, but he still hadn’t expected this terrible degree of pain. He didn’t know what it was about, but he was determined to get to the bottom of it, and before this night was over, he would. So help him, he would.
“I love you, Rachel,” he said quietly. “You must know it.”
She shook her head in denial of the emotion that he knew was written all over his face. Desperate emotion, he told himself. He had been looking for this woman all of his life, and he didn’t want to lose her.
“I do love you,” he assured her. “I have since the moment I first saw you. You’re the woman I want to lie beside every night, and I want to wake up with you every morning, and I want to live with you in the house I’m going to build, and I want to raise our children together.”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they were filled with tears. The tears welled up and spilled over, leaving silvery tracks on her cheek. He was alarmed. He hadn’t said anything that could upset her so much. In this season of hope and celebration, his love for her was one thing more to celebrate, wasn’t it? It wasn’t something that should make her unhappy.
Unless she cried when she was happy, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Much to his discomfort, Rachel buried her head in her hands and began to sob, great gulping sobs that made him feel totally inadequate.
“What have I said? What have I done?” he demanded.
Rachel didn’t answer. She only went on crying. Unsure of himself, he reached out and curved an arm around her. When she didn’t push it away, he slid the other one around her, too. The sobs shook her body, and he pulled her closer so that her face rested against his shoulder.
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