by Joan Kilby
Emma smiled and swallowed and blew her nose. It was okay to feel a little weepy. She was hormonal, after all. Her sudden attack of the blues had nothing to do with the fact that the only person missing of the people she cared about—besides her parents—was Darcy.
* * *
TONY SLID ONTO ONE of the empty stools at the bar. “That new wine bar’s going off like a frog in a sock.”
“So I noticed.” Darcy would have to be blind and deaf not to notice the happy wine-quaffing revelers across the street. He reached for a beer mug and filled it at the draft spigot with Tony’s usual drink, Tasmanian Tiger lager.
“They’re making a bloody mess,” Tony said. “The little paper plates they’re serving food on are all over the place.” He reached for his draft, took a long sip then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m surprised you’re not complaining.”
“Things will settle down after tonight.” But it was annoying. Litter from the wine bar was being blown onto his side of the street and collecting against the brick wall of the pub. Twice now he’d gone out to clean it up.
Half of his parking lot was taken up by wine bar customers. He’d noticed it when someone had complained about being blocked in. What was he going to do, call the cops and get everyone pissed at him? It was the wine bar’s opening night and he was making allowances, but this better not continue.
Even Emma had parked there. He knew her turquoise Barina by the dainty metal chimes dangling from the rearview mirror. That she’d chosen to go to the wine bar on her birthday instead of the pub didn’t exactly shock, but it stung a little. She hadn’t even stopped in to say hello.
The pub, normally packed on a Friday evening, was only half-full. Business was so slow that Kirsty, Elise and his weekend bartender, Brad, were able to handle the drinks by themselves. Just as well. For once Darcy wasn’t in the mood to chat or make jokes or entertain his customers with his cocktail-making skills.
Instead he sat at a table with his laptop and opened up his online banking account. He’d accepted that it was too soon to pay child support. After all, the baby wasn’t even born yet. So he’d started a college fund and was making regular payments into that. He’d never set up a college fund for Holly. Why was he doing it for this baby? Out of guilt, to make up for not being a husband to Emma and a proper father to the baby? Or was he simply trying to have a connection with Emma?
He couldn’t stop thinking about her and about the night they spent together on the cruise ship. Before he’d run into her, he’d hoped and expected that the cruise would ease his way back into the dating scene. Instead it had the opposite effect. He hadn’t been with anyone else since that night. He’d lost interest in flirting. If a woman he met in the bar or at a friend’s house got too interested, he politely moved away. It was driving him crazy. The last thing he wanted was to be hung up on his ex-wife.
Emma walked into the pub around eleven o’clock. Even knowing she was seven months pregnant, Darcy wasn’t prepared for the sight of her round swollen belly, clearly defined by her blue dress. Her face had rounded, too, softened by the few extra pounds she’d gained in pregnancy. Nor was he prepared for the way she made him feel protective and resentful at the same time.
“Hey, Emma.” He closed his laptop. “It’s nice of you to patronize my establishment, especially tonight when I’m competing with the wine bar opening.”
A pink flush crept up her neck into her cheeks. “I, uh, I’ve just come from there. Um...someone’s blocking my car in your parking lot. A black Hilux with lights across the roof.”
“You parked in my lot and went to the wine bar.”
“Darcy, I’m sorry. I know it was shabby of me.” She pushed back the red hair curling loosely about her shoulders. “The venue was Alana’s choice. She organized the party. I shouldn’t have parked in your lot. I just...” She waved a hand, looking beautiful and tired, as if at any moment she would be on her knees with fatigue.
Darcy pulled out a chair at his table. “Sit down. The Hilux is Tony’s. I’ll get him to move it. If you give me your keys, I’ll bring your car around. I see a parking spot has opened up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He dragged another chair over. “Put up your feet.”
Emma sank onto the chair and slipped off her shoes before settling them on the other seat with a sigh. She handed him her keys. “Thanks, Darcy.”
Darcy found Tony at his usual corner table in the back of the room with his girlfriend. “Tony, can you move your truck? You’re blocking Emma.”
“Sure thing.” The tattooed brickie dug in his jeans pocket for his keys. “Emma doesn’t usually come in here. Are you two back together?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate. Many of his regulars knew Emma and knew about the divorce. But this new development—her having his baby and them not being together—didn’t reflect well on either of them, in his opinion. He didn’t like to think of her as the subject of gossip, even though she, not he, would undoubtedly get the sympathy.
Not that she needed anyone’s sympathy. Emma was the most confident, organized person he knew and if anyone could successfully raise a child by herself, it would be her. But some people might not see being a single mother as something to celebrate. Frankly, despite his respect for Emma’s parenting skills, he was one of those people who thought kids should have two parents.
On the other hand he didn’t agree with continuing a relationship for the sake of a child, either. His brother Mike had stuck out an unhappy marriage for ten years before finally splitting up with his wife. Before that, the tension hadn’t been good for him, his wife or for their kids.
Cool winter air penetrated Darcy’s light pullover as he wove his way through the jammed-in cars. His lot had parking for twenty cars. There had to be thirty in here. He could imagine the double-parking offenders saying to themselves, Darcy’s so easygoing—he won’t mind. And they could be forgiven for thinking that. Every year at the annual Summerside Fete he opened his parking lot to all comers and even got one of his staff to act as a parking valet, purely out of community spirit. But making it easier for Wayne to take business away from the pub? There was a limit to his altruism.
Emma was sipping chamomile tea when he got back from retrieving her car. He sat and slid her keys across the scarred wood table. “How are you feeling?”
She slanted him a wry look over her mug. “As big as an elephant.” His sheepishness must have shown because she smiled. “I appreciate the thought behind the card.” She pressed a hand to her chest and stifled a burp. “I didn’t think you would mark the occasion.”
“You’re still my friend, Emma.” And the mother of his child. Children. “Have you been eating spicy food?”
“Buffalo wings.” She groaned. “I know they’re bad for me but I can’t help myself.”
“So the food wasn’t very good?” he asked hopefully.
“It was fantastic. They had all these different types of tapas, all free. Chorizo sausage—” she burped again “—frittata, shrimp fritters, patatas bravas, artichokes with jamon.”
“Naturally you had to try them all.”
“I am eating for two. Spicy tapas aside, the heartburn seems worse this time around. I never had this much trouble when I was pregnant with Holly.”
“Oh? Remember the time we drove up the coast highway to Byron Bay and we stopped for fish and chips?”
Her face lit at the memory of the trip they’d taken when Emma was four months pregnant with Holly. They’d been young and deliriously happy, eating their simple meal on the beach while the sun set. They’d talked till the stars came out, planning their baby’s future. Later, they’d made love in the tent to the soft shush of the waves lapping the sand.
Emma’s smile faded, as if she was now remembering all the bad stuff that had happened since then. “You’re right. I got indigestion pretty bad that night.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything
going okay with you and the baby?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You look tired.”
“I’m always tired these days. But honestly, I’m fine.” She grimaced again and pressed a hand to the top of her round belly.
“That heartburn must be bad.”
“It’s not that. She’s kicking. Ow. Right under the rib cage. Thanks Ivy.”
“You’ve named her Ivy. Do you know it’s a girl?” She’d named her without his input. That made him feel strange...and kind of uncomfortable to have that taken away from him. But he’d made his decision. He couldn’t have it both ways.
“Ow. Yup. I haven’t had any tests, but I’m pretty positive she’s a girl. And a feisty little thing.”
So Emma was going by intuition. Or was that wishful thinking, a desire to turn back time and have a little girl again? As Darcy watched the material over her baby bump rippled. What would it be like to press his palm against the hard curve of her belly and feel the baby moving beneath her skin? His baby.
“Do you want to feel?” Emma asked.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
“Nah, that’s okay.” He clenched his fist in his lap, resisting the urge to reach out. There was no point getting attached to this kid, since he wouldn’t be part of its life. Emma and the baby were a unit, the same way she and Holly had been. He was on the outside, as usual. This time, though, he had the sense to know that was for the best.
“I’ve been adding to the baby’s college fund. After it’s born I’ll pay a fortnightly sum straight into your bank account. You need to give me your account details soon.” He glanced over her stomach. “It’s not that far away, right?”
“A month and a half. But Darcy—”
“I’ll let my parents know, too. Birthday, Christmas, if anyone can’t think of a present for the baby—”
“Darcy! Slow down and listen for a change. Why are you doing this? Do you think you can let yourself off the daddy hook by throwing money at the baby?”
“According to you, I’m not on any hook.”
“You’re not. But I know you and your sense of responsibility. How can I convince you that the baby and I don’t need you?” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t mean that the way it sounded, ungrateful and harsh. But you don’t want another child. And I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way.”
“Emma, I know you. You have this need to prove you can be a supermum, able to do it all and then some. You think you have to be perfect. You don’t. Let me help. I can be like a...a silent partner.”
“I don’t want a silent partner. It’s all or nothing. And I know you can’t give me and the baby your all, so it has to be nothing.”
“Why? Why can’t I contribute so I know he or she is okay?”
“I love that you’re so responsible, but it’s not only about responsibility. It’s also about being present in my child’s life. What if one day you wake up and realize what you’re missing and decide you do want to be a father? Fine, I let you into our lives. But then maybe after a while you won’t be able to handle being a father anymore, or we can’t work out our problems, and then what? You don’t get to opt in and out when you feel like it. This is my child. I’m taking sole responsibility for it. I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m doing this because I want to protect my child’s emotional future.”
He stared at her. My child. How many times had she said those words in that little speech? Three, four? She was staking her claim. She hadn’t made the decision to raise the child by herself because he wasn’t stepping up. She was doing it because she really, truly wanted to raise the child without him.
The implications sank in. Even if he did want to be part of the baby’s life, she wouldn’t ever let him. He’d wanted it this way, so he had no right to feel hurt, or angry at her selfishness. But it was depressing, thinking she had to protect her child from him.
Grimly he nodded, acknowledging he had no choice but to accept her decree.
CHAPTER SIX
August, late winter
EMMA STEPPED OUT of her car in the hospital staff parking lot into the pouring rain. Damn. She’d forgotten her umbrella. Not only that, her shift started in five minutes and it took ten minutes to waddle to the back entrance and hike her swollen body up to Ward 5G North.
Head down, she set off between the rows of cars. She was always late these days. Late for class, late with her fifty-page term assignment and now late to work.
She was supposed to have gone on maternity leave a week ago but the geriatric ward was overflowing with an influx of pneumonia patients during these last days of winter. To top it off, Tracey was off work with a bad case of flu and another nurse was on annual leave, so Emma had volunteered to work a few extra days to cover the ward. The other nurses had made allowances for her through morning sickness and absences due to ultrasounds and other tests. She owed them.
But it had been hard getting up this morning. She’d spent a restless night, unable to get comfortable, plagued by Braxton Hicks contractions.
She tried to step over a puddle because it was too much trouble to go around it and missed. Cold water seeped into her shoe as she splashed down. Her stomach tightened so painfully she had to stop and pant through it. Damn Braxton Hicks. Three more weeks to her due date. The birth couldn’t come soon enough as far as she was concerned. She was a fat cow, and the baby had dropped and was pressing uncomfortably on her groin.
She’d barely started walking again when she had another contraction, sharper and tighter than before. She bent double, struggling to make sense of the spreading wet stain on her white stockings. Not blood. Rainwater? Oh, God. Amniotic fluid. This was it. It must be. Her water had just broken. Not Braxton Hicks but the real deal.
No! She couldn’t have the baby now. She still had that paper to write. She was supposed to be on duty.
“Stop it, Ivy. Don’t do this to me.” A hot flush sent heat into her chest and face. She stood there trembling, her legs spread wide for support.
What was she going to do? The parking lot was deserted, the hospital entrance still three hundred yards away. Another contraction hit. She bent over again and clasped her arms over her belly. Rain streamed down the back of her neck. Well, wasn’t this just bloody inconvenient? She had to stop it right now. She didn’t want to have this damn baby, after all.
“Excuse me, madam, do you need some help?”
Emma glanced up. A dark-skinned man with square black glasses touched her elbow. She recognized him. He was a urologist. “What does it look like? I’m having a fricking baby. But it’s not due yet and I’m not ready for it. If you could help me inside, I’m sure the doctors can stop it for me.” Why was he looking at her so strangely? Slowly and clearly she enunciated, “I’m. Not. Ready. To. Have. The. Baby. I want to put it off for a week, preferably two.”
Another contraction hit her. She moaned. “Maybe if I sit down, it’ll go away.”
The doctor whipped out his phone and punched in a number. “E.R.? Send an orderly out to the staff lot with a wheelchair immediately. I’m with a pregnant nurse who’s in labor. If I’m not mistaken, she’s already in transition.”
Emma sank to a crouch. A groan ripped out of her. “Tell them to hurry.”
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER Emma gazed into the dark unfocused eyes of her brand-new baby. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and temples with sweat, she felt as if she’d run a marathon and her peritoneum was so sore she couldn’t move.
None of that mattered. Her baby was here. Her beautiful baby. Her boy. He’d been checked over by the doctors, bathed by the nurses and swaddled tightly in a pale blue blanket.
“You’re not Ivy. But you’re perfect.” She tucked her little finger beneath his starfish hand. Her heart clutched as his tiny fingers curled around hers. “What am I going to call you? I wasn’t prepared for a boy. And I definitely wasn’t ready for you to come three weeks early.”
She wasn’t ready
in any sense of the word. Not with regard to her university courses, with her work—even the nursery wasn’t finished. “I was waiting for a pram to go on sale next week. It’s a beauty, with big silver wheels.”
“How’s mum and bub?” Sasha bustled into the room, beaming. “I’m so glad I was on duty when you came in. We’re getting a bed ready for you in a semiprivate room. It won’t be long now.” She strapped the blood pressure cuff around Emma’s arm and pressed a switch to inflate it. “Have you called Alana yet?”
“I will soon. She’ll be sorry she missed the birth.” As soon as Emma spread the word, she would be inundated with family and friends. Which would be wonderful—she couldn’t wait to show off her baby—but first she wanted a few precious moments alone with him.
Sasha made a note of the blood pressure on Emma’s chart and stuck a thermometer under her tongue. “What are you going to call him?”
“Don’t know,” Emma mumbled around the thermometer. “Got any suggestions?”
“I always think using a family name is nice. What’s your dad’s name?”
“Percy.” She made a face. “I’ve always liked the name William. If Holly had been a boy that’s what Darcy and I were going to name her.”
“That’s a good name. Does it have any significance?”
“It’s Darcy’s middle name.”
Sasha’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll hunt up a baby name book at the nurses’ station.” She rolled a bedside table with Emma’s purse on it within reach then left the room.
Emma pushed back her gown and put her baby to her breast. His mouth opened and closed and his tiny fist hit out blindly. “Come on, little guy.” She guided her nipple but although he mouthed it, he didn’t latch on. “Don’t worry. Not every baby can do that right away. We’ll figure it out.”
She reached for her purse and found her phone. Darcy answered on the fourth ring. She felt suddenly nervous and couldn’t speak.
“Emma? Are you there? I can see your caller ID.”