The Baby Gift

by Bethany Campbell

She moved past him to go to the linen closet in the hall. “I suppose I should take some extra towels,” she said. “They’re both covered with smoke. Oh, this is awful.” She began to stack towels and washcloths on the sink. “Harve has hardly any clothes,” she said almost to herself. “I guess he can wear some of Daddy’s for now.”

  Great, seethed Josh. Harve’s going to be in Daddy’s house, wearing Daddy’s clothes and chasing Daddy’s girl.

  “Can Harve eat by himself?” Josh asked sarcastically. “Or will you sit by his bedside and spoon peeled grapes into his mouth?”

  She threw down the last towel and glared at him. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Are you so devoid of human compassion that you’d deny a neighbor shelter for the night?”

  “I’m sorry they had a fire,” Josh said without emotion.

  “That’s big of you.”

  “But when you phoned me, you said it was a little fire.”

  “I said it was a little fire that might spread. That’s what Glenda told me when Larry got the call. And it did spread.”

  Josh sighed harshly. His first hint that something was wrong had been when he heard Larry squealing out of his drive as if all the devils in hell were chasing him. His second hint was the wail of sirens in the night.

  Then Briana had phoned him from Leo’s, breathless, saying the volunteer fire department had been called, that there was a fire at the Oldmans’. She’d said it was an outbuilding and hoped it wouldn’t be more. Nealie had awakened, frightened by the keening fire trucks so nearby, and Josh had to go to her. He had told her there was only a small fire and the volunteers had gone to put it out.

  He’d convinced himself it was the truth. He wished neither Harve nor his aunt harm. He didn’t want them hurt, he didn’t want the house to burn down, he did not wish so much as one scrap of their possessions to be scorched by a spark.

  But he’d been flabbergasted when Larry’s van had returned, followed by Harve’s truck. Then Briana had phoned again, saying Harve and his aunt would be staying with Leo, and she didn’t know for how long.

  Now, Briana was in her own home like a delivering angel, but it wasn’t Josh she had come to deliver. No, instead she was madly securing supplies to comfort his rival.

  “Let me get this straight,” Josh said from between his teeth. “You’re staying with your father, and so are Inga and Harve. I am exiled down here, like I’m back in Siberia.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “Inga and I will stay with Poppa tonight. Harve’s coming down to stay with you.”

  “What?” Josh practically howled.

  She put both hands on her hips. “You’re a logical man. Poppa is sick. He has three bedrooms and a lumpy old couch. Inga will stay in the guest room, and I’ll stay in the room nobody ever uses. Harve can come down here to sleep on the couch. Mine is comfortable.”

  “But I sleep on your couch.”

  She gave him a long, quizzical stare. “Why?”

  He gestured toward the bedroom. “Because I can’t stand to sleep in our bed—your bed alone.”

  “If you don’t want it, then let Harve use it,” she retorted.

  “No. He might get to like it,” Josh said.

  She made a sound of displeasure. “Sleep in it or let him. The poor man’s exhausted.”

  “Why can’t you come home?” he asked. “Let him stay with your father? Your father’s crazy about him. I’m not.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “You and I can’t sleep under the same roof. How would that look?”

  “You and I are going to have a baby together. How’s that going to look? Am I never going to see you alone again except in a laboratory?”

  Nealie’s door swung open with a creak. She appeared in the hallway, struggling to get her glasses on straight. Her hair was mussed, and one pajama leg was hiked up to her knee.

  She looked at them sleepily. “What’s going on?”

  Josh watched as Briana’s face changed. All trace of frustration and anger drained away. Her expression grew tender. She said, “Honey, I’m sorry. Did we wake you?”

  “No,” said Nealie. “I had to go potty. Then I heard you talking. Is something wrong?”

  Briana licked her lips. “There was a fire over at the Oldman farm.”

  Nealie used her bare foot to push down her scrunched pajama leg. She yawned. “That’s what Daddy said. Is everything okay?”

  “There was some damage,” Briana said vaguely. “They can’t sleep in their house tonight. So Harve is coming here to stay with you and Daddy, and his aunt’s coming to stay with Grandpa and me.”

  Nealie seemed too sleepy to question the arrangement. But she showed concern. “Is Harve all right?”

  Briana nodded. “Yes. A little shaken up, but not hurt. Not a bit.”

  “How’s his aunt?”

  “Exactly the same,” said Briana. “Not hurt at all.”

  “Uncle Larry? He went with the firemen? He’s okay?”

  “He’s fine, too.”

  “That’s good,” said Nealie and yawned again. She hobbled down the hall to the bathroom and went inside.

  Briana threw Josh an accusing glance. “Did you see that? She’s only six, but she asked how everyone is. She, at least, shows some concern.”

  Josh looked away, disgusted by the situation, disgusted by himself. He supposed he was a selfish bastard.

  But he loved Briana. He wanted her. And it seemed not only her family, but the whole community was closing around her like a possessive fist he could never pry open.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She looked at the towels. “I’ll set these aside for Harve. You know where more are.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know where everything is. I remember.”

  They heard Nealie flush the toilet. The child opened the door and lurched to her bedroom, seeming already half-asleep again. “Night, everybody,” she called.

  “Good night,” they said, almost together.

  “I’ll go kiss her,” Briana said.

  “She’ll be asleep by the time her head hits the pillow,” said Josh.

  “I don’t care, I want to kiss her anyway.”

  He watched as she went down the hall.

  Tonight he would share the house with Harve. He hated the idea, but he would do it with no more complaint.

  But by all that was holy, he was going to sleep in Briana’s bed. Even if it killed him.

  INGA SAT, DAZED, on the edge of the bed in the guest room. She wore one of Leo’s old bathrobes.

  Briana had made her take the guest room because the other bedroom was neglected, used mostly for storage. Inga had been through too much to sleep in the worst bed in the house, surrounded by boxes and cobwebs.

  Briana gave her the clean towels and the night case. “I brought you a nightgown in case you need one,” she said to the older woman.

  Inga nodded and stared at the floor. “Harve’s going to your place?”

  “Yes,” Briana said. She had already sent him on his way. He seemed in shock, not yet fully comprehending what had happened.

  “Poor Harve,” Inga said, shaking her head. Her hair was wet from the shower, she wore no makeup, and her shoulders slumped. Tonight she looked all of her years and no longer in control of her fate or anyone else’s.

  “That farm has memories for me,” Inga murmured. “I grew up there. But I left when I was eighteen. I’ve had other homes. It’s the only place Harve’s ever known.”

  Briana searched for words of comfort. “Larry—my brother—says maybe there’s less damage than it seems.”

  Inga was not consoled. “More than a building makes a home. There are possessions, too. Most of mine are safe. I put them in storage until I could decide where I’m going to settle down. But so many of Harve’s things—his mother’s furniture, the pictures she hung on the wall, her china—the things he’s known from childhood.”

  “Maybe some will be all right,” Briana offered. B
ut she did not know, she could only hope.

  “You probably think I’m a silly old woman,” said Inga, twisting her fingers. “And that I’m feeling sorry for myself. I admit it, I am. It was frightening.”

  “It must have been,” Briana said. “I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

  “Ah,” Inga said with a sigh, “I’ll bounce back. I always do. It’s just I feel so bad for Harve. If you could have seen the look on his face when your brother held him back from going in that house again—”

  Briana was glad she hadn’t.

  A tear spilled down Inga’s cheek, and she wiped it away as if angry at herself for shedding it. “No. I’m not the one suffering tonight,” she said. “It’s Harve. Home is everything to him. I never in my life met a man that loved home so much.”

  Briana nodded stiffly. She said good-night and went to the spare room. It smelled of must and dust, but she put on her nightshirt and crawled between the sheets. She lay in the darkness and wished Josh, whom she loved, was a man who knew how to love a home.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Briana threw on her clothes and made her way downstairs, anxious to get to her house and Nealie. She was not nearly as eager to see how Josh and Harve had gotten on as housemates.

  Inga was already up, looking fatigued but much closer to her usual self. Her pewter hair was sculpted, her blue slacks and sweater clean, if a bit wrinkled, and she was polishing the oven as if her life depended on it.

  “It’s work that makes life tolerable,” Inga said briskly. She yanked open a drawer that held a cluttered heap of pots and pans. “My goodness, it looks like your poppa hasn’t organized anything in here in years.”

  “He hasn’t let anybody touch it since my mother died,” Briana said.

  Inga whirled to face her, her cheeks flaring pink, apology in her eyes. “Oh, my dear—I’m sorry. I’m practically a stranger to you, and here I am, pawing through your family things.”

  Conflicting feelings surged through Briana, but she did not let them show. “No,” she said. “If Poppa will let you do it, that’s fine. It needs to be done.”

  That was true. The job needed doing. The kitchen was no longer the bright and orderly one her mother had run. It had fallen into such sad disarray it no longer seemed like the same room.

  Inga brightened and turned to the drawer. “I’m letting your poppa sleep after all that turmoil last night.”

  “That’s good, too,” Briana said.

  “I’m making salmon on toast for his breakfast. Won’t you and Nealie and Mr. Morris join us? I’ll call Harve, and he can bring them up.”

  “No, thanks,” Briana said, “I want to spend at least a little time at home with Nealie. Things have been so hectic lately.”

  Inga sighed philosophically. “I suppose you want to see Mr. Morris, too. After all, he doesn’t get here very often.”

  Briana went cold. She felt ambushed by the remark. “He gets here quite a bit, really,” she said. “Tell Poppa I’ll see him when I get back from St. Louis.”

  “Drive carefully, dear,” Inga said, rearranging pans. But Briana was already out the kitchen door and at the hall closet, pulling out her jacket. Inga, she fumed, could seem as sweet as a fairy godmother, but she could also slip a poisonous comment into a conversation with neatness and ease.

  She was still fuming when she reached her house, but Nealie met her at the door and flung herself at Briana, hugging her around the knees. “Mommy—you’re home. I don’t like it when you’re gone all night.”

  “I don’t like being gone, either, sugarplum,” Briana said, kissing her. “Whoa! Look at you. You’re still in your bathrobe. You need to get dressed for school. Better hurry. We’re running late.”

  “Daddy’s got my clothes all laid out. He helped me blow-dry my hair.”

  “Your hair looks lovely,” Briana said, smoothing it. “Where is Daddy?”

  “In the downstairs bathroom. I’ll call him. Daddy! Mommy’s home.”

  “Now scamper,” Briana said. “Get dressed. I’ll fix a quick breakfast.”

  Nealie ran up the stairs in her slippers shaped like bear’s feet, then disappeared into her room. Briana was hanging up her jacket when the bathroom door swung open.

  Josh strode into the living room wearing only a blue towel around his waist. He was barefoot, and his damp hair slanted across his forehead. He hadn’t shaved.

  He stopped and put his fists on his hips, looking her up and down with his head cocked at a derisive angle.

  She blinked in surprise. It had been years since she had seen him so nearly naked. He was pale from the long Russian winter, but his skin had a natural gold tone that kept it from whiteness.

  She’d forgotten the power of his legs, the leanness of his waist, the squareness and width of his shoulders. He had muscles he’d built in arduous work in jungle and tundra and mountains, not at any gym.

  She saw the familiar scars that had always frightened her because they signified the dangers of his past. She saw new ones that frightened her more because they symbolized his present and his future.

  “Ah,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “The lady of the house. You’ve decided to come home. Welcome.”

  “Where are your clothes?” she asked, unable to take her eyes from him.

  “Mostly in the dryer,” he said. “I had one clean set left. I loaned them to Harve.”

  For the first time, she noticed the familiar thump-thump of the clothes dryer running. “Don’t you have a robe?” she asked.

  “No. Do you want me to wear one of yours?”

  “No.” She tried not to stare at the ropy sinews of his arms, the hardness of his abs. With great willpower, she turned and moved toward the kitchen, but his image stayed burned into her mind. She said, “Where’s Harve?”

  He followed her. He smelled like minty soap, the way he used to smell when he climbed into bed with her. “Harve? He’s in the upstairs bathroom, using my shaving cream and shaving with my razor.”

  “Your generosity is astounding,” she said, plucking the pancake mix out of the cupboard. “Can’t you put on something? Nealie will see you.”

  “Nealie’s seen me in less than this. We went swimming together last summer. This towel covers more than my trunks, for God’s sake.”

  He leaned against the counter, standing too near her for comfort. She could see the mist of water droplets glistening in his chest hair.

  “Harve will see you, then,” she argued. With a clatter, she yanked a skillet from the oven drawer and smacked it on a stove burner.

  He crossed his arms, which made his biceps swell. “So Harve sees me? So what?”

  “It just isn’t—seemly, you walking around like that,” she retorted, swinging open the refrigerator door and snatching eggs, milk, the package of sausage. “It looks—too intimate.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Wear a blanket like I’m the disaster victim? He’s the one whose house burned down.”

  “How are you going to take Nealie to school if you have no clothes?”

  “My clothes will be dry by then. We’ve got half an hour.”

  He watched as she cracked the eggs, poured the milk, and began to stir furiously. “Ha,” he said. “I know what it is. The sight of my manly body fills you with lust. You can barely contain yourself. You want to throw me on the counter and have your way with me among the place mats.”

  “I’d like to throw you out the door and into a snow-drift,” she said between her teeth.

  “Your loss,” he said, almost idly.

  Upstairs the bathroom door creaked. “Hark,” Josh said, lifting an eyebrow. “Little Merry Sunshine approaches.”

  Briana looked up. Almost timidly Harve came out of the bathroom. He met no one’s eyes. He stared downward as he descended the stairs.

  He was clean-shaven but had a large nick on his chin. His wet hair was slicked to his head. He wore Josh’s jeans, which were too short and came halfway up his shins. He had on Josh’s sweater, which bulged
over his midsection and left his wrists dangling nakedly from the sleeves.

  He moved with funereal slowness, and Briana felt uncomfortable gazing on him in such a miserable state. She tried to turn her attention to fixing breakfast, but she kept stealing furtive looks.

  “Hi, Harve,” Josh said personably, still leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest. “Feeling better?”

  Harve gave him a look that clearly said, Do you always hang around half-naked like this?

  Harve’s eyes were bloodshot, whether from smoke or sorrow, Briana could not say. She turned and gave him a quick, stiff smile. “Good morning, Harve. I hope things look a little brighter by the light of day. Your aunt’s awake and making salmon on toast. She says to come on up—or you’re welcome to stay here and have breakfast with us, if you want.”

  Josh shot her a killing look. She tried to ignore him.

  Harve sat down heavily at the counter. “I hate salmon.”

  Briana worked to keep her smile in place. “We’re having pancakes and sausage. Want to join us? Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee might help,” Harve said without looking up. “I don’t eat big breakfasts. They make me burp.”

  Josh gave a small cough and covered his mouth.

  Briana tried again. “Is there something special I could make you?” she asked. “I’m probably not the cook your aunt is, but I’ll try—”

  “Cornflakes,” Harve said in a tone of dejection. “I just wish I had my cornflakes. In my own bowl. With my regular spoon. At my own table.”

  Josh coughed again. Briana’s mind spun with the irony of her situation. “I can’t do anything about your bowl or spoon or table, Harve, but cornflakes I can give you.”

  He nodded morosely. Briana poured the cornflakes, filled the bowl with milk, put out the sugar bowl, gave Harve a napkin and spoon, flipped a pancake, then poked the sausages with a fork.

  Nobody said anything. Briana listened to the sausages sizzle, the clothes dryer whir, and to Harve crunching relentlessly on his cornflakes. He nodded when she asked if she could fill his bowl a second time.

  She juggled all her tasks while Josh watched and Harve went crunch, crunch, crunch.