Call it Love

by Kress, Alyssa

  "We heard she was on the bridge," Kate said, coming up to give Chess an unthinking hug.

  He accepted her embrace with the same lack of forethought.

  "It was on the car radio," Alex said, also giving Chess a rough, man-style clap around the shoulders.

  "How is she?" Kate wanted to know, her gaze going down the hall toward the ward.

  With one hand, Chess made a helpless gesture in the same direction. "I'd thought once I'd got Cookie off that damned bridge everything would be all right. But they aren't telling me anything. It's been nearly an hour."

  "Calm down," Kate advised, serene. "I'm sure the baby complicates things."

  Chess's head snapped up like a whip. "The baby?"

  "Uh-oh," Alex muttered. "Now you've done it, Mom."

  Kate's brows contracted at Chess. "Surely you know about the baby?"

  Just then, and luckily for Kate, a blue-gowned doctor emerged from the hall. "Mr. Bradshaw?"

  Chess stepped forward, his heart racing and his brain whirling. "That's me." The baby?

  "You'll be able to see your wife in a few minutes," the doctor said. He gave Chess a reassuring smile. "We wanted to take her upstairs for some sonogram work. That's what took so long. I'd like to see her on bed rest for at least a week."

  "Bed rest," Chess repeated, staring at the doctor. "Something's wrong." Something was wrong with his baby, the one he'd only just discovered existed.

  "It's just a tiny cut in the placenta," the doctor assured him. "Probably from your wife's exertions during her scuffle. The baby looks fine. Everything should be fine."

  At this moment, Ruth came hurrying in, unbuttoning her raincoat. "Oh, my God, Chess. Is Cookie all right? I heard about it on the news. And how's the baby?"

  Chess felt the question like a slap. "You knew about this baby?"

  Ruth looked affronted. "Cookie and I are best friends."

  "And I'm only her husband," Chess growled.

  "To answer your question," Kate smoothly interrupted. "Cookie is fine. And the baby needs a week's bed rest."

  "Thank God."

  "Oh, no," Alex groaned. He grabbed his mother's shoulder. "I don't believe this. What's he doing here?"

  "Bernard!" Kate exclaimed. Moving out from Alex's hand, she flew to meet the man who'd come half-stumbling off the elevator.

  He took her in his arms most tenderly. "I'm so sorry, Kate. So sorry," he murmured. Then he looked over her shoulder to meet Chess's eyes. "I had no idea. Diana Lorimar. She worked at Korman Cosmetics two years ago. I knew she admired me, but— How's Cookie?"

  Chess felt a surprising wave of affection for the man. "She'll be all right."

  Bernard nodded, obviously relieved. "And the baby?"

  Chess's teeth came together. "The baby will be fine."

  Alex meanwhile was staring open-mouthed at his mother in Bernard Korman's arms.

  "Alex, why don't you go meet N.J. Williams?" Chess suggested. "I'm going to see my wife."

  ~~~

  Cookie was sitting up in the hospital bed, wondering if she were going to have to get back into Theodora Scampi's dirty gown in order to leave the building when Chess came through the door.

  His expression was ominous. But he came up to the bed and took her hand gently. "The doctor told me you were all right. But how do you feel?"

  Cookie's voice was small. "Okay." She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were as mysterious as ever. But she knew. "He told you about the baby, didn't he?"

  "Oh, no," Chess's denial was mild. "He didn't tell me. Kate did."

  "Oh." Cookie bit her lip.

  "And then Alex mentioned it," Chess went on. "Ruth brought it up. Even Bernard Korman."

  "Oh, my." Even Cookie was surprised by this last name on the list.

  "Tell me, Rebecca. Was there anyone who didn't know about this baby? Besides myself, of course."

  "I'd have to think," Cookie murmured, unhappily noting that he'd called her Rebecca. "Let's see. The people I've told besides Diana? Well, there's Luther, Peter and the rest of the theater gang. Also the man who came to wash the windows and, of course, the mailman."

  "The mailman!" Chess exploded.

  "Chess, please. You're yelling. Someone's going to come in."

  With an obvious effort, he pulled himself under control. "You told the mailman," he asked softly, "but kept me in the dark?"

  "It was easy to tell strangers," Cookie shot back. "They wouldn't get mad!"

  "I'm not mad!"

  "Then why are you yelling?"

  He didn't say anything, then, yelling or otherwise. But his eyes expressed a thorough displeasure.

  "Please, Chess." Cookie felt absolutely miserable. "I was going to tell you tonight. But as you know, something else came up."

  His steely regard softened then. "Yes, tonight. That discussion we were going to have. This changes things, Rebecca." His hand tightened on hers. "The marriage is permanent now."

  Cookie closed her eyes. It was exactly what she'd feared. An honorable response to duty. And total escape from any deeper confessions—assuming there were any.

  "We talked about that," he reminded her, determined.

  She nodded, her eyes still closed. "Yes," she sighed. "I remember."

  "Come on," Chess said, stepping back. "Let's go home."

  Under other circumstances, Cookie would have enjoyed the wheelchair ride out of the hospital. Friends and relatives surrounded her on all sides, eager with professions of relief, praise, and delayed horror. It was an exit worthy of any actress. But Cookie was too preoccupied with the conversation she'd just had with her husband to enjoy all the attention.

  They'd agreed to stay married. He'd accepted his impending fatherhood with stoic resignation. Most significant, he had not thought either fact justified lifting the ban on love. She'd gotten nowhere with the man.

  The sky was lightening with the first gray hint of dawn by the time Chess pulled the car into the drive before his house. "Don't get out," he ordered, his first words since they'd left the hospital. "I'm carrying you upstairs."

  "Oh, Chess, I really don't think the doctor meant—"

  "I'm carrying you," he repeated, in a voice Cookie didn't care to hear twice.

  She did not attempt getting out of the car on her own.

  Chess's face was set as stone as he lifted her out of the car and carried her into the house. His arms were firm around the robe the hospital had lent Cookie as he took her up the stairs.

  Cookie's heart sank as he pushed open the door to the guest bedroom. "Why are we in here?"

  "The doctor said you were supposed to rest," Chess grunted.

  It was not, Cookie thought, a very good excuse for throwing her out of his bed.

  He set her on top of the counterpane with a gentleness that was more determined than genuine. Through the white curtains, a grayish light started to filter.

  "Now." Chess frowned down at her. He was still dressed in his suit trousers and white dress shirt from the day before. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost his tie and his jacket. The shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and buttoned down from his neck. It was most disheveled Cookie had ever seen the man. "Where's that damn envelope?" he demanded.

  Cookie blinked up at him in confusion. "The envelope?"

  Chess's jaw set. "The one from your father."

  Cookie's mouth formed a wide O. She'd put that dangerous envelope right out of her mind. It was full of too many terrifying possibilities. But now Chess seemed to want confirmation that she recognized the marriage was for keeps. She was only supposed to open the envelope after she'd officially wed.

  "Look, Chess, I don't think that's necessary. I understand about—"

  "Where is it?"

  Cookie was too exhausted and had battled too much danger in the past twelve hours to argue with the expression on his face. "Top drawer of the bureau." She'd stashed it there the day they'd come home from the lawyer's office. Three days before the wedding, she'd still been living in this bed
room.

  "Thank you." Chess went over to the top drawer, opened it up, and with only a minimum of rummaging, found the thick envelope. With his face set in hard lines, he handed it to her. "Open it."

  Cookie accepted the weighty thing. "Now?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Do it."

  Cookie tore open the seal and drew out...another envelope. She stared at the front of this second envelope. In her father's large, scrawling script was written:

  Chess Bradshaw

  Chess Bradshaw? Why would her father enclose a missive to Chess inside of an envelope addressed to her?

  "It's for you." Cookie handed him the inner envelope with his name on it. She felt a surprising quantity of disappointment. Much as she'd dreaded the criticisms her father meant to lob at her from the grave, she'd also longed to hear his voice again.

  A corner of Chess's straight mouth lifted. "I guess he wasn't so all-fired sure his schemes would work out."

  "His schemes?" But Cookie's query went unanswered as Chess boldly ripped the top of his envelope.

  "Just as I thought," he muttered, drawing out yet a third envelope. "This one's for you."

  "For me?" Cookie accepted this with even more confusion.

  "Read it," Chess suggested. He sank into an armchair with his own short note from David Thibideaux.

  Cookie turned to her envelope. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal. Inside were two handwritten sheets. She recognized more of her father's script.

  Dear Cookie,

  If you are reading this, then I know that my plans have succeeded. I'm sorry to have to do it this way, but I'm leaving affairs in a sorry mess, and you're the only person I know who can straighten them out. This family of mine has a hole a mile wide. In twenty years I still haven't been able to fill it up, but you can. So I'm leaving it up to you.

  I realize this is no small undertaking. Any effort of such magnitude deserves adequate compensation.

  So I'm giving you Chess.

  Oh, I suspect you won't find him much of a bargain at first. He's not open or warm or kind. Not on the surface, anyway. But I promise you, Cookie, if you give him your love, he'll accept it as the precious gift it is. He knows the value of such things. And he'll pay you back. Even coin with interest. And love's the only kind of coin you're really interested in, isn't it? You see, I have figured that out.

  And if the two of you should have some kids, take a page of advice from your father. Let them be who they want to be, whether it's to become an astronaut, a poet, or a bum. If you're reading this letter, and if you've done what I think you will, then I'll believe that you've forgiven me. As I write these lines know that I'm so proud of you and that I love you so very much.

  Your father, David.

  The last lines merged into a nearly illegible blur due to the tears that were coursing from Cookie's eyes.

  "Are you all right?" Chess regarded her with some concern from over his own sheet of handwritten-covered notepaper.

  "Oh, Chess. He would be so disappointed."

  Chess's brows lowered. "Your father?"

  "Yes." A sob emerged from the tight pain in her chest. "He thought I'd be good at this, but I'm not."

  The paper in his hands slowly lowered. Cookie had a lot of moisture in her eyes, but she could still see the color drain from his face. "What are you talking about?"

  Another sob escaped her. "Everything." She gestured around the room. "I haven't even managed to be honest with you."

  He stared at her with a frighteningly blank expression.

  Cookie gulped in a breath. "For example, this baby? I wanted it. I wanted it when you first proposed marriage. You see, I—I didn't think I was ever going to get married the normal way, so when you proposed, I thought—I thought maybe somehow I could get a baby out of this." She halted, gulped. "Out of you, actually."

  Chess spoke in slow, careful words. "You married me, wanting my baby?"

  Cookie nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "Although, to be perfectly honest, by the time we said our vows, I knew I couldn't sneak something like that out of you even if I could manage the sex. You would mind. And then—and then—" She hesitated, sniffling, but knew she had to confess all her sins. "Okay, I'm sorry if this is annoying or threatens you, but I have to say it—I love you. I really, truly love you with every dramatic, sentimental, romantic, and forever meaning of the word. I just love you so much. And, I'm sorry, so terribly sorry, but I couldn't be more thrilled that I'm going to have your baby!"

  Chess listened to this confession in awestruck silence.

  How Daddy could have imagined she wouldn't mess this up, too— Cookie covered her face with her hands and burst into a fresh burst of tears. Even so, she felt Chess glide from his chair by the window.

  He hesitated, and then the bed sagged as he took a seat on its edge.

  "Rebecca." His voice was unsteady. "Rebecca, take your hands away and look at me."

  Something in his tone made her do as he said. Sniffling, she lowered her hands and reluctantly raised her eyes.

  The muscles around his eyes pulled, narrowing them. "Now, Rebecca, let me get this straight. You...love me?"

  She sniffed. "Yes." Too late to worry about how he might react to the claim.

  "And—let me see if I have this right. You are happy to be pregnant with my baby?"

  It was with an effort that she prevented another crying jag. "Yes."

  "You love me and you're happy to be pregnant," Chess repeated, slowly, deliberately. He pulled back and stared at her. It was the Look. The look that said she really was one fluffball featherbrain, wasn't she? "And somehow, you think either one of these facts is going to make me angry?"

  "I— Well—" She shut up as she looked into his stormy eyes.

  "Cookie." His big hands closed around her shoulders. Those hands were trembling. "You love me?" he asked in a rough whisper.

  Cookie felt the universe tilt. Had he wanted to hear that? "Oh, Chess." She really was a featherbrained fluffball. Framing his face with her hands, she declared, "You're everything to me."

  "Cookie." Her name came out as a hoarse sound, and then he was kissing her. She barely had a chance to draw a breath before his mouth was devouring hers. "I thought you were going to leave me," he murmured against her jaw. "I didn't know how to keep you, how to convince you to stay."

  "Sweetheart!" She put her arms around him. "I would never leave you!"

  He gave a small cry and embraced her. "I need you so badly. Don't ever leave me. Please. Promise me. I need you, I need you," Chess kept murmuring this as though it were a dreadful confession.

  "Oh, darling." Cookie soothed her hands over his back. "I need you, too!"

  "Last night." He let out an unsteady breath, still holding her close. "I didn't think I would ever see you again. I felt so helpless. Then, with you on that bridge—"

  "Let's forget the bridge," Cookie advised with a shudder.

  The shudder passed into Chess. "I can't forget it. Darling, sweetheart." He passed a hand over her hair and then suddenly leaned back to look into her face. "You really want my baby?"

  Cookie gave a short laugh at the abrupt change of subject. "Yes, I already said that." She bit her lip, knowing she wouldn't be able to skate past the biggest sin she'd committed against Chess, the irresponsibility that her father, in writing that letter, could not have anticipated. "But we've yet to hear how you feel about it."

  The expression on Chess's face was something Cookie would not easily forget. "Whose idea do you think this baby was?"

  Cookie's mouth opened. "But you— I mean, I thought all those times we didn't...that those were accidents."

  "Accidents?" She could see she'd truly insulted him. "My dear Cookie, since when do I ever do anything without a reason?"

  She simply stared at him. Finally, she closed her opened mouth and narrowed her eyes. "Are you telling me you planned on making me pregnant?"

  "Um..." He must have seen a spark of fire in her eyes, for he gathered her very swe
etly in his arms. "Perhaps I'd better plead the fifth, after all."

  "Wait a minute, wait a minute." Cookie evaded his suddenly ardent mouth. "You planned all those so-called accidents?"

  "Let's call it opportunistic hedging," Chess suggested, nipping her ear. "Come on, Cookie, let's stop talking and start necking."

  "No. You're not going to—" The rest of Cookie's scold got lost as Chess proved that in point of fact, he was going to.

  ~~~

  Alex shifted in his seat on the wrong side of the heavy desk in Chess's study. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming. On top of Chess's otherwise empty desk lay the wrinkled piece of paper on which Alex had been scribbling the secret formula for Love. It was pressed out as flat as possible for better viewing.

  Chess had promised Alex he would be punished for his mistakes. He'd already created a payment plan for Alex to reimburse him for paying off his gambling debt. But for four weeks now, Chess had said nothing about what the punishment was to be. Until tonight, Christmas Eve. Through the closed door, Alex could smell the roast that was cooking in the oven. Chess had left Cookie temporarily in charge in the kitchen. That meant that, whatever this punishment was, it was going to be swift.

  On the other side of the leather-bound desk, Chess finally looked up from his scrutiny of the evidence. His eyes hit Alex with a dash of something startling. It was amusement.

  "Did you really intend to sell this? For money?" Chess indicated the sheet.

  "I did." Alex had promised himself he wasn't going to deny any of the truth.

  Chess leaned back in his seat. He folded his hands on the edge of the table. "What about the gambling, Alex? Is that through?"

  Alex forced himself to meet Chess's eyes. "I don't want to pick up another hand of cards so long as I live."

  Chess inclined his head, apparently satisfied. "Cookie told me you were hurting from David's death. I wasn't paying enough attention—or the right kind—to see that."

  Alex dropped one ankle down from the opposite knee. "Jesus, Chess, my gambling wasn't your fault."