Mother To Be

by Cheryl Reavis

  "I'll be your spokesperson. I'll do what I can about shuffling your assets and making your will. But I won't lie to J.B."

  He looked as if he was about to protest. "I mean it," she said.

  "There's such a thing as lawyer-client privilege," he said.

  "I won't lie to her."

  "You don't have to lie to her. I'll do that."

  "Stuart – "

  "Please, Lillian," he said. "Please! I'm not going to put her through this!"

  He does love her, she thought. Enough to marry her. And enough not to.

  She also thought he was about to cry, and she sighed heavily. She had loved him once – a long time ago, it now seemed. But she still cared about him enough to help him with most of what he asked.

  "When...can I get your financial information?" she asked.

  "Monday morning. I'll messenger it to you. My darling Lily, I can't tell you how grateful I am – "

  "Don't be grateful yet, Stuart. I haven't done anything."

  He stood, and she stood with him.

  "Yes, you have. You don't know how much I've needed your good sense and your strength. It's such a relief knowing you're going to handle the bad stuff for me. I feel like I can concentrate now – on the other thing." He abruptly reached for her and hugged her tightly for a moment before he turned to go.

  "Are you sure you can drive?"

  "Yes, I'm sure. If I pace myself, I'm okay. Oh, I almost forgot," he said when he was about to open the front door. He took a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. Her name was written on it.

  "What is this?"

  "A note from your guest, I think. It was propped against the ringmaster bank – there on the coffee table. I stuck it in my pocket while you were in the kitchen – in case you hadn't read it yet. I'm a selfish and desperate man. I didn't want you distracted while I was trying to present my case."

  She took the piece of paper. "Stuart! Did you read this?"

  "Of course not. It's not mine. Unscrupulous land deals are my thing – not reading other people's correspondence. I’m a little jealous of him, though. You thought he was coming back just now. You have no idea how disappointed you looked when you realized it was only me." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and opened the door. "Monday," he said.

  She stood and watched him go, finally closing the door just ahead of another of Fred's attempted jailbreaks. "There are coyotes out there, and snow on the ground, and you've been neutered. Why do you insist on going outside!"

  "Rrrahl" he said.

  "Oh, I get it. It's a guy thing."

  Unfortunately, "guy things" had never been her forte. She didn't understand Stuart at all. It was wrong of him not to tell J.B. Totally, completely wrong. She had never believed in protecting people from the truth. It never turned out to be for their own good, because it never worked. The only thing that worked for the J.B.'s of the world was to be tossed into the sea of life and to have to sink or swim like everyone else.

  But whether Stuart was seriously ill or not, his asking Lillian Singer for help had to be the epitome of unfathomable male logic – to come to the woman he'd just scorned and expect her to help him pick up the pieces of his bad judgment. Of course, he was right. She was going to do it. As hurt and angry as she had been about his careless treatment of her, she wouldn't have wished this illness on him. He'd done a stupid thing, but he was sick, and the latter seemed to cancel out the former. He'd been right about the other thing, as well. She had been disappointed when she'd realized that it was he and not Becenti who had returned.

  She sighed again, still holding the piece of paper Stuart had given her. She wasn't quite sure if she believed his assertion that he hadn't read it. She didn't immediately open it, and she knew exactly why. She was afraid Johnny Becenti had come to his senses after all.

  I wont call you, he'd said, and what he'd only hinted at in front of Toomey, he may well have written plainly here.

  She was so tired suddenly, and she wasn't quite ready to absorb any more jarring news at the moment. Between Becenti's abrupt departure and Stuart's upsetting visit, she had no harmony left, whether she believed in the concept or not.

  She picked up the coffee cups and carried them back into the kitchen, careful of the note as she went. Regardless of Fred's comings and goings, the house seemed so empty, and she knew without a doubt that it was Johnny Becenti's absence that made it so and not Stuart's. There had been more than just passion between her and Becenti, although that was certainly a significant part of it. There had been conversation and laughter as well, and a kind of teasing banter that she had never shared with anyone else, not even Stuart.

  She straightened up the kitchen, put the dirty cups into the dishwasher, stared at the note she'd left lying on the counter.

  When there was nothing left to do, she picked it up and took it into the living room. Then she sat down in one corner of the couch and pulled her feet up under her as she began to read.

  Lillian,

  I can't really say anything to you now with Toomey here. I don't want to leave, but I guess you probably know that. I want you to call me – if you want to – at home or at the law-enforcement building. If you can't reach me, ask Mary Skeets. She always knows where I am – well, almost always.

  Lillian smiled at the oblique reference to that afternoon the two of them had gone to the Window Rock house – purposely not informing Mary Skeets of his whereabouts.

  Take care of yourself.

  Johnny

  He had written both phone numbers at the bottom. She reread the note, and then read it again. It was not what she expected at all. She had expected "Thanks for the one-night stand, Lillian, but I have other things to do now." This note was in keeping with what he'd said about not intruding on her life here.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind filled with images of him – of him and her – together.

  He was intruding, whether he intended to or not. And he didn't have to do anything at all. Just looking at his handwriting filled her with a sense of longing. Even now she wanted to get into her car and follow him to Window Rock. She wanted to stay with him tonight, make love with him, sleep with him, have breakfast with him in the morning – and she didn't even know which house he was living in. She wanted him, and she didn't care if the entire reservation found out about it.

  I never should have started this, she thought. Somebody was going to get hurt, and it wasn't hard to guess who that somebody was going to be. Becenti had loved his wife. She had known that, even without his saying so.

  Chapter Nine

  She didn't make any calls to Window Rock – no matter how much she wanted to. For one thing, she was overwhelmed by the monumental task of getting Stuart's financial affairs in order. But even when she had a moment, she still didn't call. She had to prove something to herself. She had to know that it wasn't too late, that she could still walk away from this thing with Johnny Becenti if she really wanted to.

  The only problem was that she missed him. She tried for days to attribute the empty feeling she carried around with her to something other than what it really was. She tried to convince herself that she hadn't been with Becenti long enough to feel this lonely without him and that her wanting to see him again would soon go away.

  But it didn't. Not in the first week after they'd spent the night together, or the next two. Suddenly, she was well into the fourth week, and in spite of all she could do, her mind kept cataloging bits and pieces of her days under a very large heading called Things She Wanted to Tell Becenti – the funny things and the poignant things, and the exasperating lawyer/police-officer things they would likely argue about but that she knew he would understand.

  During the lunch recess that Friday, she went to buy a very belated gift for Gracie's new grandchild, a little girl of singular elegance and beauty – according to her grandmother. The day was sunny and almost warm, so Lillian walked the distance to her favorite baby shop rather than driving he
r car and then having to find the ever-elusive Santa Fe parking space. With the recent births of Meggie's two children, she'd been in the store often enough for the salespeople to know her by name. There was no doubt that she belonged to a prolific circle of co-workers and family.

  "Welcome, Ms. Singer," the middle-aged woman who owned the shop called brightly as Lillian walked in. "I'll be with you in a moment. Something for Tad and Julia today?"

  "No," Lillian said, impressed that the woman actually remembered the names of Meggie's little ones. "A newborn – well, she's almost a month old. A baby girl."

  "Over there next to the far wall. I've just gotten some lovely things in."

  Lillian made her way through the relentlessly charming baby displays to the place the woman had indicated and began browsing. And the shop owner was right. There really were some lovely things for baby girls here. Lillian picked up a tiny white eyelet bonnet with pink satin roses and streamers, smiling as she did so. But the smile faded. She felt such a longing suddenly, when she knew that she had no reason to regret her choice not to marry and have children. She knew perfectly well that there was a lot more to motherhood than buying frilly bonnets, a lot more than she would ever have been willing to give. She was much more suited to being the aunt-by-marriage or the grandmother's boss. She reveled in it, in fact.

  She realized then that someone had approached and stood waiting. She turned around to ask about a tiny pink-and-white outfit that matched the bonnet, but it wasn't the shop owner. It was J. B. Greenleigh.

  "Hello, J.B.," Lillian said immediately. She was taken by surprise, but she didn't intend to show it. And if she had been wondering if Stuart actually meant to tell his fiancée that he and Lillian Singer were back "together," she had no doubt now when she saw the expression on the younger woman's face. J.B. looked...tragic and not nearly so sophisticated as she'd been the first and only time Lillian had seen her. She seemed about to say something, but her eyes filled with tears and her mouth trembled.

  "J.B – " Lillian began, but the girl abruptly turned away and rushed out of the shop, knocking over a small child mannequin and a stroller full of stuffed animals in the process.

  "What in the world?" the shop owner said.

  What indeed? Lillian thought. She moved to the window and looked down the street in the direction J.B. had gone, but she was nowhere in sight. Lillian had meant what she said about not lying to Stuart's apparently now ex-fiancée, but she had no time to chase the girl down.

  She bought the pink and white outfit and the matching bonnet and waited for them to be gift wrapped. Then she returned to the courthouse for the afternoon session, more than a little disquieted by this arrangement with Stuart. The legal part, she could handle. The weeping child-fiancée on the streets of Santa Fe was something else again.

  Thankfully, court adjourned early, and she drove home with a tension headache and a briefcase full of Stuart's financial reports. There was a Navajo Tribal Police vehicle parked in her driveway, and Johnny Becenti sat on the top step of her front porch. He stood and waited for her to get out of the car.

  "This is not working," he said without prelude.

  She didn't ask what he meant. She knew what he meant. She stood there, looking at him, appreciating everything about him. She was so glad to see him, even if he was clearly not happy to be here.

  "It's not working, Lillian," he said again. "That Sunday afternoon when I left here – by the time I got back to Window Rock I was sure I'd made a mistake getting involved with you. I was sure I didn't want to see you again. And I stayed sure all that week. By the next week, I suddenly realized you weren't going to call me, regardless of the invitation I put in that note – and I thought that was exactly what I wanted – to be off the hook. So I said it was for the best. I was still saying it yesterday. I even believed it. And then today – Today I – " He stopped and gave a heavy sigh.

  This was why the People believed so earnestly in Coyote, the Mischief Maker, she thought. Her weeks of agonizing over the Becenti-Lillian situation – and his – had apparently caught Coyote's undivided attention, and now the Trickster presented them both with exactly what they thought they wanted – a chance to end it once and for all.

  But it was a very different matter to reject the Becenti who was standing right here, as opposed to the one out of sight and off doing his duty in Window Rock.

  "Say something, damn it!" he said, his exasperation beginning to show.

  "All right. How long can you stay?" she asked bluntly.

  The question took him completely by surprise – and perhaps her, as well. But then he smiled. She had always liked unsettling him, and it was clear to her that she also liked making him smile. She made a mental note to do both more often.

  "You mean now?" he asked when he recovered.

  "No, Becenti, I mean next month sometime – of course, now."

  "You are such a pain in the – "

  "Please!" she said. "If you keep saying that, one of these days I'm going to believe it. Are you staying or not?"

  "I...think I can manage to stay."

  "Oh, good. There's nothing I like better than forcing a man to be where he doesn't want to be."

  He reached out and took her briefcase so that there was no barrier between them. "You think I drove all this way because I don't want to be here? What have you got in this thing?" he asked abruptly, holding out the briefcase. "Dead bodies?"

  "Actually, yes," she said, smiling into his eyes. She boldly rested both her arms on his shoulders. "I want to tell you something – but I'm afraid you'll think I'm trying to get us engaged."

  "Maybe not," he said. "Tell me."

  "I...missed you."

  He frowned. "Is that the truth?"

  "I never lie, Johnny," she said, her mouth just brushing his.

  "Have you still got neighbors?"

  "I don't know," she murmured, leaning into him. "I haven't seen them since you left."

  He let the briefcase fall with a heavy thud, and he pulled her tightly against him as his mouth covered hers.

  "Lillian – open the – door," he said between kisses.

  "Don't you want to pick the lock?" she teased.

  "Open the door, Lillian – "

  But he took the key out of her hand and unlocked it himself. He didn't give her time to pick up her discarded briefcase or to put down her purse once they were inside. He all but carried her through the house into the bedroom.

  "Tell me again," he said as he tumbled her backward on the bed and lay on top of her. "Tell me you missed me."

  "I missed you, Johnny," she whispered against his ear.

  He pulled her to a half-sitting position to get her out of her clothes, slinging each freed piece over his shoulder as he went. She tried to help, and when they were both finally, finally undressed, she held out her arms to him.

  He came to her quickly, entered her quickly, thrusting deep. She moaned, reveling in the feel of him inside her. No one had ever given her this kind of pleasure before. No one.

  She needed this. No. She needed him. And she was going to have to be very careful not to ever let him know it. She closed her eyes, feeling, savoring. This feels so good –

  She loved everything about him. Her hands glided over the smoothness of his hard body.

  Song of Solomon, she thought, remembering the love poetry that had nothing to do with her upbringing, only with her desire. “My beloved is mine and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies...."

  Johnny.

  She clung to him, awash in the passion she had for this man. She cried out his name in the final moment, wrapping herself around him until he collapsed against her and lay still.

  Becenti held her close, his body sated, but his mind slowly returning to turmoil. He was like some lustful teenage boy. No matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't rid himself of his "must have" mind-set where Lillian Singer was concerned. He had never expected to be led around like this, to think about her night and day, to remember – every
thing.

  Everything.

  But even so, he wasn't blind to the truth of their situation.

  This is not working.

  "I left the rez because I was ashamed," Lillian said abruptly. She had been silent for so long, he had thought she was asleep. He held her closer, but he didn't say anything. He had asked her the question weeks ago. He hadn't pressed her for the answer then, and he wouldn't now. It was her story to tell in her own way and in her own time – if she chose to. His obligation was only to listen, and he would do that willingly.

  "My father used to train horses for one of the big ranches," she continued. "There wasn't a horse alive he couldn't tame. I was so proud of him. One time, when I was a little girl, my mother let me go with him – to the ranch where he worked. I'd never seen such a place. They had a huge house, and they had water where no water should be – stone pools of it, for swimming and for no reason at all that I could see.

  "It was so hot that day, and my father sent me to sit on the patio in the shade. There were all these wind chimes, made of bits of colored glass, tinkling in the breeze. And there was a pool with a fountain. The pool was filled with goldfish – I couldn't believe my eyes. Fish made of gold. And there was this latticework roof with vines climbing over it and pots and pots of flowers hanging everywhere – all colors and kinds I'd never seen before. One of the servants had been watering them and everything was still misty and wet – the way it is after a female rain. I thought it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. And I was so happy to sit there – cool from the water and dappled with sunshine and shade and smelling those wonderful flowers. I thought white people must truly have magic to know how to make a place like that out of nothing but barren ground.

  "But I realized after a few minutes that I wasn't alone. There were some people talking close by, people I couldn't see. They were talking about that dumb Indian who broke the horses. "Such a find," one of them said. Completely undependable, of course – and you couldn't stand downwind of him – but really good with horses, and ignorant enough to work for practically nothing.