by Amy Brent
“I'm...I'm good,” I said, nervously picking at the threads on my shirt. “Listen, baby, you and I need to talk.”
“That's good,” he said. “Talking is good. We've got a lot to talk about.”
“Honey, you don't know the half of it.”
He was quiet at that, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke. “Camille, is everything all right? Listen, I know this was a crazy situation...”
“We'll talk in person,” I said. “This ain't something to discuss over the phone.”
“All right,” he said. “How about dinner? Something quiet. Intimate.”
“That sounds good.” We worked out the details and I hung up the phone, trying to ignore the churning in my gut. I wasn't sure if it was nausea from the pregnancy or from my nervousness, but either way I felt like I was going to throw up.
Jack picked me up later that night. He brought flowers, though I refused to give him any brownie points for that. We went to a restaurant with a private dining hall. There wasn't another soul there besides the staff. I wondered if Jack had bought out every table in the place in order to give us more privacy.
Once we were settled in and we'd decided on what to eat, Jack uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured us each a glass. “I'm glad for the chance to see you again, Camille,” he said, raising his glass. I raised mine and tapped it gently against his, then set it down without taking a sip.
“So, how have you been?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. He still looked like the same old Jack. He was dressed simply, in slacks and a black t-shirt, and to look at him you never would have guessed that he was a billionaire.
Billionaire. I couldn't get my head around how much money a billion dollars really was. I'd grown up poor and worked my way through college to earn my archaeology degree. I was still paying off my student loans.
“I'm fine,” I said, my voice tight. I'd planned out everything I had to say, but it was getting all jumbled now that I was here. “Listen, Jack, we need to sort this out. About us. If there is an us, I mean.”
“I'd like there to be,” he said. “I know you must still be mad at me, but can you at least understand why I did what I did? I mean, it's not like I can travel under my own identity. You saw what happened...those men somehow figured out who I was, and they came after me.”
I hadn't thought about that before. It's likely the terrorists didn't just want to stop us from violating their holy grounds. Jack Tremaine would have been a valuable hostage. Even if they didn't care about money (most extremists didn't), they could have made a public example of him. Killing a rich American industrialist would raise them up in the eyes of those that supported their cause.
“I understand,” I said. I took a sip of my water, wishing I could try the champagne so I could calm my nerves. “But what happens now? It ain't like we can have a normal relationship.”
“Why can't we?” he asked. “I don't live a high society life. I prefer to travel. You can come with me. There's got to be plenty of places around the world you'd like to see. We can scout locations for future expeditions, and see the world while we're at it.”
“That isn't going to work,” I said. I couldn't see hauling a baby around the world, jetting from one country to another. I couldn't set up a crib at the edge of an excavation site while I was on a dig. “I need to settle down for a while. I'm thinking about teaching.”
“Teaching?” He arched an eyebrow. “That works too. I have some contacts at quite a few universities. I can help set you up with something.”
“I don't need your help.” I shook my head. “I can get by on my own merits.”
“Of course.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I didn't mean to imply otherwise.”
We were quiet for a while as we ate. I couldn't figure out how to say the things that needed to be said, or ask the things that needed to be asked. I couldn't just come right out and tell him I was pregnant. He'd want to get married and take care of the baby, just because it was the right thing to do. But then I'd spend the rest of my life not knowing whether he actually wanted me, whether he loved me, or whether he was just saddled with me because he'd knocked me up.
Damn, I wished I hadn't gone and gotten myself into this mess.
“So what about the future?” I asked him.
“Our future?” he asked. “I hope it will be a bright one.”
“But have you actually thought about it?” I put down my fork and peered at him from across the table. “We had a fun few weeks out there, sure. But did you ever stop to think about whether it was going anywhere?”
“Actually,” he said, “I haven't been able to think about much of anything else.” He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, then set it on the table. “Listen, Camille. I'm not going to make any promises. This is just the beginning, right? We've got time to figure things out. I just want to get to know you more, to become a part of your life. And we can figure out the rest as we go along, can't we?”
“No,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “We can't.”
“Why not?” He looked so distraught, half rising from his chair as if he thought I was about to run out the door and he'd need to catch me.
“Because I'm pregnant.”
He stared at me for a long moment. He settled back into his chair. He cleared his throat, then took a sip of his champagne.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh?” I stared at him, leaning forward with my palms on the table. “Oh? Is that all you have to say? God damn it, Jack, I'm having a baby. Your baby. Don'tcha have anything more to say about that?”
“Have you been to a doctor yet?” he asked. “I can find you the best OBGYN in the state. And don't worry about the cost, I'll take care of everything.”
I sat there and stared at him. “That...that's it?” I grabbed my napkin and threw it at him. “You want to know about the damn doctor?”
He caught the napkin and set it aside. “I'm not sure what else to say. I'm a practical person, Camille. Your health, the baby's health, that's the most important thing. The first thing I thought of.”
I let the tension release from my shoulders. It was actually sweet, when I thought about it. He heard that I was pregnant, and his first instinct was to take care of me.
“What else do we need to talk about?” he asked. “Living arrangements? We've got time until the baby is born, so maybe we—”
“I want to talk about us, Jack.” I clenched the edge of the tablecloth in my fists. “I wasn't ready for this. I don't know what's going to happen. And before you even think it, don't go popping the question on me now. I want to focus on doing what's right for this baby, first, before we consider whether we want to get married or something. But we need to figure 'us' out. Figure out where this is going, how we're going to manage things.”
He smiled and rose from his chair, then circled around the table and knelt beside me. He took my hands in his and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “Don't you worry at all, Camille. We're going to take this one day at a time. We've got months before the baby is due, and we can spend that time getting to know each other more. Growing closer to each other. I'll make sure the baby is provided for, you have my word on that. And we'll figure 'us' out. The important thing is moving forward, right? We'll make a great future together. And when the time is right, when we have all the pieces in place and we know we're doing it for us, and not for the wrong reasons, then we'll talk about marriage, and the future, and all of that. Okay?”
Tears welled in my eyes. All I could do was nod. I leaned over and kissed his lips, glad that he was here for me, that he wasn't going to try to push me into something before I was ready. It was going to be a strange life, raising a baby with a daddy who was a billionaire and an ex-Navy SEAL. And a white boy, on top of that. My mama wouldn't bat an eyelash at the rest of it, but when I brought a white boy home to meet her, she was going to blow her top.
I put my arms around him and cradled his head against my chest. I hadn't expected any of thi
s to happen, and I knew I wasn't ready for it. But was anyone ever really ready for a baby? The important thing was that our child would have two loving parents who would do anything to support and care for them. And I knew Jack would do whatever it took to provide for his child. Our baby wouldn't have to live through the kind of struggles my family had gone through while I was growing up. It wouldn't ever have to worry about whether there would be dinner on the table, or whether we could afford to take it to the doctor. It would grow up and go to college without ever having to worry about debt.
I cupped Jack's cheeks in my hands and raised his face towards mine. We kissed as tears of relief fell down my cheeks. After a few moments, our kiss became more urgent, filled with need. Jack stood up and took my hands, then led me out of the restaurant and to his car. We kissed more sitting in the parking lot, his hands roaming my body like we were a couple of teenagers. Then we went back to my apartment.
We headed back to the bedroom almost immediately. I worried about what Jack would think of my simple place, with my IKEA furniture and my dirty clothes strewn all over the floor. But he didn't show any signs of judgment for my middle-class lifestyle. He just focused on my needs, on my touch.
He lowered me onto the bed, gentle as can be. There was none of the urgent, athletic movement from our prior encounters. He was slow. He was tender. We savored every moment. He slowly pulled my clothes off, one piece at a time, his lips trailing kisses over the bare skin he exposed. Shivers ran up and down my body, and while part of me wanted to tell him to hurry and give me what I desperately needed, a bigger part of me wanted to cherish this experience.
We made love deep into the night, an elegant melding of our bodies into one. I lost track of time, of where Jack ended and I began, and of any worries beyond his touch, his kiss, his loving caress. Then, once it was over and our energy was spent, we lay there together as two lovers sharing each other's embrace.
Eventually Jack dozed off, and for a time I watched him sleep. My fingers traced tiny caresses along the lines of his face. I thought about the future and what it would bring. I thought about the life growing inside of me. I wondered whether it would be a boy or a girl. No matter what, this child would know love, support, and kindness in its life.
Our new life together would start the next day. I could already see it now. A new home, something simple, with no need for excessive luxuries. A big back yard our child could play in, unlike the row home I'd grown up in with barely more than a patch of scruffy grass out back. The best schools, the best care. And once our baby was grown, I knew we'd see the world together. I'd take my child to Africa, make sure it knew its roots. Recapture all of the history that my family had once lost. Laying there with Jack, dreaming of the future, I almost felt like I could actually see it all happening, like the folds of time were open to me and my baby's life was laid out there for me to explore.
In the morning I awoke with Jack still there in my arms. He opened his weary eyes and looked at me, a pleasant exhaustion etched across his features.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning, love,” I said, smiling at him.
We kissed, then we touched, then we made love again as streams of early dawn sunlight poured over us through the bedroom window. Eventually we got dressed, lost in the quiet comfort of two people who had shared the deepest parts of themselves. The gentle romance of the moment lasted until a grumbling in my stomach reminded me that we hadn't really finished dinner last night.
“Hungry?” Jack asked as he pulled on his shoes.
“Mm-hmm.” I sighed, remembering that I hadn't stocked up the fridge since I got back into the country. “Can we go out to eat?”
“Certainly.” Jack smirked, standing up and buckling on his belt. That swagger that had first drawn me to him was back in his every step. “As a matter of fact, I know a lovely little place.”
“Oh?” I could see by the mischievous light in his eyes that he was up to something.
“In Paris,” he said. A grin slowly spread across his face.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” I said. We didn't bother to pack. Jack promised to buy me new clothes once we got there. I couldn't wait to see what the most romantic city in the world had in store for us. And it would be nice to travel around the world for pleasure, for once, instead of digging up ancient ruins and getting shot at by terrorists.
Though I reminded myself that when you were dating a rich, powerful, charming Navy SEAL, just about anything could happen.
THE SEAL’S SURPRISE BABY
I knew I was going to have a tough night when the group of marines walked into the bar.
It was a Tuesday night, which was usually a pretty slow night. We had all the regulars here: the handful of lonely men who sat on the same bar stools every night, nursing their drinks; the couple who got a table near the window, splitting a bottle of wine; and the table full of rowdy college kids, who always insisted on getting the exact same table and always got separate checks. I was keeping myself busy stocking up behind the bar, taking advantage of the slow period to make sure we had plenty of napkins, straws, and sliced limes. But then half a dozen burly men with buzz cuts and boisterous attitudes strolled in and took over two tables near the center of the room.
One of them walked up to me and slapped his hands down on the bar, grinning wide. He wasn't in uniform, but I could tell he was a marine by the dog tags around his neck and the USMC t-shirt he wore. A couple of his friends were wearing fatigues, probably having just gotten off duty. They'd no doubt come from the base a few miles up the road, near the docks.
“Couple of pitchers of whatever you've got on tap, little lady,” he said.
I turned an annoyed look on him. I hated being called “little lady,” both because it was a sexist term meant to put a woman in her place, and because at my weight, no one called me “little” without meaning it ironically. But I kept it professional, and simply asked him, “You boys want to run a tab?”
He handed me a credit card to swipe. “You bet. And keep 'em coming, okay?”
I poured him the first two pitchers and added them to the tab. The marines worked up quite a ruckus as they started drinking, I kept an eye on them as I served the few other customers that came in. I usually didn't have any serious trouble when the boys from the base came down here. They were loud, they took up a lot of space, but they were good tippers and they didn't harass anyone. Mostly, they just gave me a headache.
That would have been all, if not for the second group that came in about half an hour later. There were four of them, and they were as muscular and hopped up on testosterone as the first bunch, though they were quieter about it. They had more of a deadly grace about them. They took a seat at a table near the back, and one of them walked up to place an order.
When I poured drinks for the man and his buddies, he looked me right in the eye and said, “Thank you, ma'am.” He had a slight southern accent, and held himself with more dignity than I would have expected. He wasn't too tall, but he was broad in the shoulders and had a solid build. He wore a navy blue t-shirt with a logo on the breast, depicting an eagle clutching an anchor and a trident in its talons. Above the logo were the words “U.S. Navy SEAL.”
He took the drinks back to his friends and they sat and shared a toast. I didn't expect any trouble from them at that point. But I was in for more than I'd bargained for.
I noticed the marines leaning close and whispering something to each other, right before one of them came over with their empty pitchers and ordered a refill.
I filled the pitchers and handed them to him. Then he leaned close and asked, “And can you do something for me, sweetheart? Send a round of drinks to our friends over there.” He nodded towards the SEALs.
I took a deep breath, knowing where this was going. “What do you want me to send them?”
He smirked. “Four Shirley Temples.”
I sighed and shook my head. I made the drinks—as long as they were paying customers, I'd give them
what they wanted—but I gave the marine a serious look and said, “I don't want any trouble from you boys, now, you hear? You keep this nice and friendly.”
“Don't worry, Miss,” he said with a wink. “We're just showing our navy buddies our appreciation.”
I delivered the four bright pink cocktails to the SEALs' table and nodded over to the marines. “Courtesy of your friends there, gentlemen.”
The SEALs frowned at the drinks and cast some scowls at the marines. But the man I'd spoken to earlier played it real cool. He picked up the drink and turned to the marines, raising his glass in a salute. The rest of the SEALs followed suite.
“Mighty kind of you ladies to buy us a round of your favorite drinks,” he said.
The marines scowled. A couple of them slapped each other on the arms and pointed at the SEALs, leaning close and whispering to each other. Both groups cast death glares across the room at each other.
“Don't go starting trouble, you understand?” I told the SEAL.
He nodded and took a sip of his Shirley Temple. “Nothing to worry about, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of letting anything inappropriate happen in your bar.”
“You'd better not.” I headed back to the bar to deal with a couple of other orders from my regulars. I kept watching the marines and the SEALs as much as I could. I knew their types, and I knew this little pissing contest wasn't over yet.
The next round started a little later, after both groups had a few more beers in them. A couple of them headed to the men's room. When they returned, one of the taller SEALs patted one of the marines on the shoulder and said loud enough for the whole bar to hear, “We need to get these boys out on a boat. This boy here clearly doesn't have his sea legs.”
The marine just glared at him, clearly not getting the joke.
The SEAL snickered and added, “I saw you swaying in there so bad it looked like you were about to fall in! And don't they teach you marine boys how to aim.”