Joy

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “I'm fine here. Alaister's in jail.”

  “Anya, it doesn't matter what you say—”

  She sighed when she heard the dial tone. Braxton was on his way, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Before Anya hung up the telephone, Braxton was in his car. He floored the engine, then screeched into the street.

  This nightmare was growing like weeds. What he wanted to do was run to the police station and beat that man until he begged for his life. But what he had to do was more important. He had to take care of Anya.

  Just as he turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, the light turned red. He closed his eyes as he waited. Alaister. Although he had a name, Braxton didn't have a face. He tried to force the memory of Alaister to his mind, but the picture was blank. One thing was for sure—this guy wasn't a brother. Not with that name. This was a white guy.

  The blaring car horn startled him, and Braxton moved through the intersection, heading toward the freeway.

  There was no way she could have the baby now. Anya would have to be convinced. But he had to be careful. He couldn't be demanding … he needed a kinder, gentler approach.

  On the freeway, he breathed deeply, pushing his emotions beneath the surface. All he could let Anya see was his love. Anything else, would blow all that he had to do.

  Anya tied her bathrobe tighter as she heard Braxton drive up. She massaged her eyes. There was no way she wanted to deal with this, but she opened the door before he could ring the bell.

  “Hey.” She smiled, hoping that helped to ward off any explosion.

  He pulled her close and held her, softly rubbing her arms and kissing her head. She felt her shoulders soften as relief filled her.

  Minutes passed before Braxton took her hand and led her to the couch. She curled into him, comfortable in the silence. Wrapped in his arms, her breathing became even and not too long after, her eyes, heavy with emotion, closed.

  Braxton knew she'd fallen asleep, but he held her for hours, until the clock ticked to midnight. He laid her down softly, got a blanket from the linen closet and covered her.

  He brushed his hands through her hair. “I love you, Anya.”

  Then he closed the door gently behind him.

  He sighed when he got into his car. He had made it past the first hurdle. Now he had to put his plan into action.

  Chapter 48

  Anya, I want you to know that no matter what is going on over there, I still have confidence that you will be able to take care of my business,” Jon Greene said.

  Anya clutched the receiver tighter. Alaister's arrest was all over the news. Not that it was a front-page item, but there was enough coverage to keep the phones ringing. The only redeeming factor was that while the article had stated Alaister's name, her name was never mentioned.

  Anya never suspected the challenges that would come with knowing her attacker. Yesterday shed made the announcement to her office and then had to handle the gamut of emotions. Most were in shock. Geena had been downright hysterical, demanding to know where Alaister was being held.

  Then clients began calling, although she'd been blessed: Not one account had left. She was holding things together, if only by a string.

  The biggest challenge was Braxton. She hadn't heard from him since he'd left her sleeping on the couch.

  Anya stood and went to the window. It seemed odd. The way Braxton had held her the other night, she was sure they'd work this out. But now, she wondered.

  “He's just giving me some space,” she whispered.

  She returned to her desk, when she heard the knock on her door. Braxton walked in and closed the door behind him.

  “You look surprised,” he said, as he kissed her. “I just wanted to see the woman I love.”

  She released a silent breath of air. “I was worried. You left the other night and then I didn't hear from you. But I'm glad to see you now.”

  “Then you're going to love why I'm here.” He perched himself on her desk. “I'm here to take you away … and we're leaving right now.” He snapped his fingers and called, “Dianna!”

  Dianna came into the office holding a small bag over her head. “Sasha brought this by and filled me in. You have clothes to change into and I cleared your calendar.”

  “Dianna … I didn't tell you …”

  “I told her to do it,” David interrupted, as he stepped into the room. “I'm going to cover you, so there's no excuse for you not to leave with your fiancé.” He grinned, making Anya wonder what was really behind his smile.

  David picked up the bag and handed it to Braxton, who passed it to Anya.

  “You might as well surrender; you're outnumbered.” Braxton smiled. When she still hesitated, Braxton leaned forward and said, “I really want to do this.” He dropped his eyes. “I have to apologize to you and we need to talk.”

  Anya smiled. She'd known it all along. From the way Braxton had held her the other night, she was sure he'd found a way to handle this. There would be no abortion.

  David coughed. “Well, Dianna, I don't think they need us anymore.”

  When they were alone, Anya put her arms around Braxton's neck “So, if I agree to do this, where are we going?”

  “It's a surprise.” He took her hand. “Come on.”

  Braxton held her as they rode in the elevator, and just as they stepped into the garage, Anya felt a flutter. She put her hand on her stomach. No way, she thought. She looked over at Braxton and he smiled.

  As they pulled out of the parking lot, Anya rolled down the window, welcoming the warmth. Braxton took her hand and she knew it was going to be a great day.

  The sky was the color of serenity, and as brush-stroked clouds glided aimlessly across the blue canvas, Anya sighed. They had driven almost an hour, along the Pacific Coast Highway, high into Topanga Canyon. The park was a green oasis, miles away from the bustling of the city.

  Braxton tossed the last of their lunch into the basket, though he kept out the two crystal flutes and bottle of cider. He brought the glasses and bottle to the blanket where Anya was stretched out staring at the sky.

  He joined her, lying on his back and staring into the heavens.

  “I wish our life was like one of those clouds, where we could wander through without a care,” Anya sighed.

  “God has bigger plans for us.” Braxton rolled onto his stomach and faced her. “I wish that you had married me a year ago, sold your business, and had not been in the office that night. I wish I had been able to protect you.” He paused. “I love you so much.”

  She smiled. “I've never doubted that.”

  He dropped his eyes. “I am so sorry for the things I said the other day. I shouldn't have asked you to have an abortion.” He closed his eyes, and Anya wondered if he was praying. He took a deep breath and continued, “So I will support you with this baby. Whatever you want to do—keep it or give it up for adoption, I'm behind you.” His face twisted as if the words were painful to say.

  It took every effort to hold back her tears. She hugged him. “Thank you.” Her words came from deep inside. “I knew you would feel this way.”

  “You're thinking about keeping the baby, aren't you?”

  She bit her lip. “I don't know.” Then, she nodded.

  Braxton opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.

  “What?” Anya asked, noticing that his face was creased in concern.

  “Since we're going to do that, I'm going to withdraw my suit for Junior,” he said mournfully.

  Anya frowned. Inside, she knew to end the conversation here. She didn't need to know any more. It was his son, his choice. But she asked him why anyway.

  “I'm worried about how this baby will affect Junior, and since I don't know what kind of person this child will grow up to be, I think it will be safer …” He didn't finish the sentence.

  Anya shook her head in confusion. Only moments had passed, yet Anya felt as if an entire conversation had happened without her. Braxton was talking as i
f she would birth a monster. “This child will have my genes, and if we keep the baby, it will be raised by both of us—we won't have any problems.”

  “It won't matter. Roxanne will use this to keep Junior away from me.”

  “She won't do that.” Anya paused. “We don't have to tell her,” she whispered.

  Braxton shook his head. “I would never keep a secret like that from her. Junior is her son too, and if I'm putting him in danger—”

  “What are you talking about?” Anya backed away from him. Her heart was beating faster.

  He moved toward her and laid his hands in her lap. “We don't know how this child will turn out.”

  “Braxton, you're making it sound as if this child will be a bad seed. No one knows how any child will turn out. You just do the best with what God gives you.”

  “But most children aren't born with all these strikes against them.” He sighed and looked away from her. “It's sad because I really wanted to have Junior with me and now I don't know if Roxanne will even let him visit.”

  “If it comes to that, I'll talk to her. She's a mother, she'll understand. Junior will still be a part of your life.”

  “I'm not sure I want that anymore,” Braxton began. “I don't know if I want him around this baby. We'll have to see how the child develops …”

  “This is crazy.”

  “No, it's not, Anya. I've read things about the genetic factors. I've read about children of criminals. We have to be careful. I want to keep Junior away until we know. I don't think I even want him to come to our wedding.”

  “The baby won't even be born when we get married, Braxton. We're talking about a baby.”

  Sadness washed over his face. Anya took his hand, desperate to make this right. His son wouldn't be in danger, but if that was what he thought, he'd have no choice but to keep Junior away. “You're so wrong about this, believe me.”

  He looked down at her hands and rubbed his finger across her ring. “There is another thing …” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “You have to tell me what you're thinking.”

  He pulled her hands to his lips. “Anya, I don't want you to think that I don't want the baby. I want whatever you want, but …” He dropped her hands, and his shoulders slumped. “I read so many things that worry me. I keep thinking about those children killing other children in the schools—”

  “Braxton!” Her hands covered her stomach. “My baby won't be like that.”

  “I hope you're right.” He took her hands. “But Anya, I'm scared for all of us. Maybe I've read too much, paid too much attention to the news.” He looked away. “But I will stand by whatever decision you make.”

  She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging her arms around them.

  “And there's this too …”

  Anya closed her eyes and pulled her legs closer to her body.

  Braxton said, “Alaister could file for custody.”

  She twisted her face. “No judge would even consider such a case!”

  “Don't be fooled, Anya. I saw this on 60 Minutes or 20/20 or one of those programs. Even from prison, he could file papers forcing you to bring the baby to visit him.”

  She covered her face. “Oh, God.”

  “And, even if he doesn't try it from prison—even with the maximum sentence, he'll be out in eight years, tops. He could come looking for you and the baby.”

  “He won't even know about my baby.”

  “You never know what will happen … or who will be checking into records.”

  The tears began to stream down her face. Braxton fell to his knees and used his thumb to gently wipe her cheeks. “I want this baby as much as you do,” he said gently. “But I'm looking at the whole picture, taking our entire future into account. We can still have our children, and the family we've dreamed about, but we need a clean beginning, without a child that we just don't know about.”

  “So you're saying that I should have an abortion.” She couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. Without looking up, she could feel him nodding.

  Braxton said, “I tried to figure out ways to keep this baby because I knew that's what you wanted. I wanted to make it a part of our lives, but now that we've had a chance to talk, I think abortion is the only answer. And I'll go one step further. I think that God wants you to do that too.”

  The sound of laughter made them turn their heads, and they watched as children ran toward them. They were dressed in purple-plaid uniforms and from their size, Anya knew they were second or third graders. Three adults followed behind, huffing as if they were having difficulty keeping up.

  “Yeah! I win!” one of the little girls shouted.

  Anya's watery eyes followed them, as they played tag and circled around the teachers.

  “God gives life,” she whispered. “He doesn't take it away.”

  Braxton silently sighed in disgust. What were children doing here? He watched them for a moment. “Look at these children, Anya. They're happy, well-adjusted, that's the way we want our children to be. It's not fair to the child you're carrying to bring him into a world where he would never be happy. This baby will always be the child of a rapist.”

  She looked at him with soft eyes, pleading with him to stop. “I would never tell this baby that.”

  “Someone would. That happens with adoptions all the time. We would have to tell the child because it would be worse if it came from someone else.”

  He took her hands again and spoke. “You have to look at this from all sides. When you do, you'll know what to do … I'll be by your side no matter what.”

  He watched as her eyes roamed back to the children, sitting in a semi-circle now, around the adults who were reading aloud.

  “This would be a great park to bring Junior to,” he said.

  Her eyes followed as Braxton stood and began to pack the remnants of their picnic.

  They held hands as they walked to the car, but once inside, Anya stared silently out the window, her eyes never leaving the children.

  “Is there any place else you want to go?” he asked as gently as he could.

  She shook her head.

  “We can stop somewhere for dessert.”

  “I want to go home.”

  He patted her hands and started the ignition.

  Braxton stopped the car, then put his hand on the door.

  “There's no need for you to come in,” Anya said quickly. Her eyes still wouldn't meet his.

  “Anya, if you still want to talk …”

  “We've said enough.”

  “We have to decide.”

  She grabbed her bag, and jumped from the car. “I'll call you later.” She ran to her door.

  Braxton sat for a few moments, wanting to go after her, wanting to hold and comfort her. But after a while, he slowly pulled from the curb.

  As he turned onto Stocker, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. He held his own stare for a few short seconds, then turned away.

  “I'm protecting her,” he said to himself, as their conversation played through his mind. He knew his words had been rough, striking all that was close to her heart. The key was Junior. It would kill her if she believed she was the cause of him not having a relationship with his son. That had been a stretch, but from the look in her eyes, it had been effective.

  He shook his head and sighed, thinking about how much he'd hurt her. But it was all to prevent a life-long mistake.

  He only had to wait for her call. He'd won, he knew that. But it wasn't winner's relief that filled him. Instead, his body was stiff with the pain in her eyes and the sound of those children in the park.

  As he turned onto the freeway, he prayed for the relief he expected, but it never came.

  Dry sobs heaved from her chest as Anya leaned against the door. Finally, she moved onto the patio where she rolled the steel grill aside, and pulled one of the green floral chaises into the sun. She stretched out and closed her eyes, wanting to clear her mind of the chaos that
choked her.

  When this day began, there was no way she would have even considered an abortion. And now … how did it happen? She rubbed her arms as the early evening breeze waltzed across the terrace.

  Maybe Braxton was right. Obviously, he'd thought this through. He could see things that were hidden from her. Like the impact of her baby on others. She hadn't considered Braxton. And she had never considered his child. Was she being selfish?

  Anya laid her hand across her stomach. “You're just a baby,” she whispered.

  She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she forced them back. There was no room for emotion. This had to be a logical decision.

  As the sun began to fade, she moved inside. The house was dim in the early evening light, but she didn't touch a lamp.

  In her mind, she could see Braxton sitting, waiting for this call. Her legs weakened, and she slumped onto the couch. She'd give herself five minutes and then she'd call him. Her eyelids were closed, shut against tears that were fighting to release themselves, but in the end she lost the battle, and she cried until she drifted to sleep.

  Darkness completely enveloped the house and she squinted to see the clock. It was after nine. Anya scurried up the stairs, glad that Sasha hadn't found her in her distressed state.

  In her bedroom, she stared at the phone, before she picked it up, pushed the speed-dial, then hung up before it rang. A few minutes passed before she picked up the phone again and willed herself to allow the call to go through. It rang once … barely.

  “Anya.” His voice sounded as tight as a stretched rubber band. When she said nothing, he said, “Anya, sweetheart.”

  She wanted to hang up. “Make the appointment,” she said softly. “Good night.”

  “Anya, honey, wait. Are you all right?”

  She looked at her cold reflection in the mirror. “I'm fine.”

  “Sweetheart, this is the right thing. Let me come over.”

  “No.”

  “We're in this together. I want to hold you, and let you know that I love you.”

  She was still staring at her reflection—an empty face, devoid of emotion. “I don't want you to come over.” Her voice was flat.

  “Is there anything you need?”