Surprise Baby, Second Chance

by Therese Beharrie

  They made the trip back to the house silently and when they pulled into the garage Rosa held her breath. She didn’t know what to expect from him. Didn’t know what he expected. And holding her breath seemed to help still the sudden drastic beating of her heart. And the sudden trembling anxiety in her stomach.

  ‘We should go in.’

  She forced herself to breathe. ‘Yes.’

  Silence pulsed between them for another few moments, and then he turned to her. ‘How does a movie night sound?’

  * * *

  It was like old times. Which was probably a thought he should steer away from, especially since old times hadn’t involved Rosa pressed against one side of the couch with him at the other.

  Old times would have her curled up against him. Old times would have meant they wouldn’t be resisting the electricity sparking between them. If it had been old times, Aaron would have pulled Rosa into his lap ages ago and done something constructive—something enjoyable—with the restless energy flowing through his veins.

  But it wasn’t old times. Though there was something between them now that hadn’t been there before. He couldn’t put his finger on what. Couldn’t place how he felt about it. Or how the divorce discussion they’d had earlier had contributed to it.

  How it had shifted something inside him. As though that something was desperately shunning even the thought of ending their marriage.

  So he sat there, ignoring it all, pretending to watch the movie.

  An explosion went off onscreen—the final one, thankfully—and the movie ended with a close-up of the hero and heroine kissing.

  He rolled his eyes.

  ‘You didn’t like it?’ Rosa asked with a slanted smile.

  ‘I’ve seen better.’

  ‘Yeah?’ That smile was still in place. ‘Like... City Blue?’

  ‘Movies,’ he clarified. ‘City Blue is a series.’

  ‘And it doesn’t compare?’

  ‘It’s much better than this.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her smile widened now, and his heart rate slowly increased.

  ‘You’re teasing me.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  His lips curved. ‘I’ve missed this.’

  He cursed mentally when the easiness of their banter dissipated and her smile faded.

  ‘Me too,’ she replied softly after a few moments, and when their eyes met he swore he felt fire ignite between them.

  Suddenly, he was reminded of that kiss they’d shared earlier. How it had been comfortable but had displaced something inside him. How it had soothed him just as it had spurred him on.

  His fingers curled into his palms as he remembered how soft her skin had felt under them. As he remembered the way her curves felt. Slopes and indents and bumps unique to her that made his body ache and his heart race.

  ‘Maybe...’ she said hoarsely, before standing up slowly. She cleared her throat. ‘Maybe I should make some tea.’

  ‘The only kitchen that’s stocked is the one on the top floor.’ His voice was surprisingly steady.

  ‘Okay. Just don’t let the door shut behind us.’

  She left him without checking that he was following and, a little helplessly, he did. He worried when a voice in his head questioned whether he’d follow her anywhere. Felt alarm when his heart told him he would.

  Run, he told himself. It would be best to run, to get away from the temptation of her. But his feet kept following. And his eyes ran over the curves his hands had only just remembered touching.

  She had swapped her jeans for pyjama pants he’d found in his cupboard, though she’d kept the top she’d worn earlier. The pants were baggy, ill-fitting, and yet he could picture the lower half of her body so clearly she might as well have been naked.

  He shook his head and stayed at the door when they reached the top floor. He leaned against the wall. Watched her go through the motions of making tea.

  ‘I didn’t mean you have to stand there like a stalker,’ she told him after putting on the kettle.

  ‘I’m keeping the door from shutting.’

  ‘Which I’d appreciate more if you didn’t look like a creep doing it.’

  He shifted his body. ‘Better?’

  Her lips curved. ‘Was that your attempt at making yourself less creep-like?’

  He smiled. ‘It didn’t work?’

  She laughed. ‘Not as well as I think you think it did.’

  They smiled at each other, and then she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and turned away.

  ‘Rosa?’ he asked softly.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she replied. And then the click of the kettle went off and she sighed. ‘I just... I keep thinking about what Doreen said about your mother. About how she did good things sometimes.’

  He stiffened. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, don’t you think that maybe this is one of those things?’ She poured the water into two mugs, avoiding his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You do.’ Now she did meet his eyes, but she looked away just as quickly and replaced the kettle on its stand. ‘But, since you’re probably going to keep pretending you don’t, I’ll tell you.’ She stirred the contents of the mugs before removing the teabags and adding milk. ‘Bringing us together this weekend. Forcing us to talk.’

  ‘She might have brought us here together, but she didn’t force us to talk.’

  ‘We both know it would have happened.’

  ‘Not in the way it has.’

  She walked to him with the two mugs, handed him his before switching off the lights. Everything went dark except for the stars in the sky, clear now that the rain had stopped.

  ‘It really is beautiful up here,’ she said after a moment. He looked around the room his mother had designed with an architect and grudgingly agreed.

  ‘Better now that we’re not trapped.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, turning back to him. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to see her half-smile. His heart shuddered as their eyes held, and then she looked away. ‘We should get back down before our tea gets cold.’

  ‘You don’t want to have it up here?’

  ‘And have you stalk me while I drink it?’ She smiled. ‘No, thank you.’

  His lips curved as he followed her down the stairs, careful not to spill the tea. She led them to the living area on the first floor. It was pretty here too, he thought, taking in the tasteful décor, the view of the beach through the windows.

  His family had owned this house for decades, though his mother had made a lot of changes over the years. Some—like the top floor and the décor on the current floor—he’d agreed with. Others—like the incredibly excessive water feature she’d installed in the garden—she should have let go.

  ‘I get that the talking is us,’ she told him. Her expression was careful, and he wondered what she saw in his face when he hadn’t realised she’d been watching him. ‘But would we have talked if your mother hadn’t tricked us into being here?’

  He didn’t reply immediately. ‘I know that sometimes she means well.’ It was almost painful to admit. ‘But this—you and I—and Doreen... Those cases are few out of many.’

  ‘Don’t they count?’

  He gripped the mug between his hands. ‘My mother hopes for the best when she does things. She doesn’t think them through.’ He stilled. ‘Those people she invited to live here could have been criminals. They could have taken everything in here. Or worse.’

  He tried to relax his jaw, and then continued carefully. ‘You have to think about the consequences of your actions. That’s how life works.’

  ‘Speaking as someone who can act without thinking about consequences,’ she said slowly, ‘I think you need to give her a break.’

  ‘You might act impulsively sometimes, R
osa, but you don’t expect other people to bear the brunt of those decisions.’

  ‘Sometimes I do,’ she said quietly. ‘I have. With you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN?’ There was an urgency in the question that had the answer spilling from her lips.

  ‘Things would have been different for us if I’d had that test done.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have worried as much about the lump. I wouldn’t have felt as though I had to leave to protect you from it. From me.’ She rubbed her arms. ‘I wouldn’t have doubted my decisions. Every one of them, since my mother died.’ She laughed breathlessly. ‘Since long before it, actually. But then it was for different reasons.’ She shook her head, hoping her words made sense to him. She took a breath. ‘We wouldn’t be here if I’d had that test done.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we?’

  It was the only comment he made. She’d ripped her heart out to tell him that—and that was all he said.

  Not that she could blame him. He was right. Their relationship would have taken this turn eventually. There’d been too many things left unsaid between them. Too many cracks in their foundation. Neither of them had noticed it before. But it would have come out eventually. And their relationship would have crumbled down around them, just as it had now.

  ‘I’m tired of hoping with my mother.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It started when I was so young I can’t remember anything other than the hope.’ Something unreadable crossed his face. ‘But, as I got older, I realised that I’d keep hoping, even when she’d prove to me that it wasn’t worth the pain. Like when she got sick. I hoped she’d change.’

  Understanding he was offering her something with this, she nodded. ‘But she didn’t.’

  He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t that I was hoping for too much. I just wanted her to change her behaviour so I wouldn’t have to keep fixing things for her. And—’ he hesitated ‘—I wanted her to be there for me like I’d been there for her.’ He paused. ‘I put my life on hold when she found out she had cancer. It made me realise how much the fact that she was my mother meant to me, however complicated our relationship was. But even a life-changing event like cancer couldn’t make her change.’ Another pause. ‘She used her birthday to manipulate us, knowing how important it would be to you.’ He shook his head again. ‘It’s not as easy to forgive her as you’ve made it seem.’

  She wondered what he would say if she told him that this was part of why she’d left. He’d never told her this before, but it had clarified things for her. Because she’d sensed some of how he felt. Enough to understand that Aaron would have put his life on hold for her too, if she’d had cancer.

  And if she’d had cancer she would have become the person she’d been running from her entire life. Anxious, bitter. Terrified of death. She would have become her mother.

  The lump had catapulted her in that direction anyway. Had awoken the seed of fear she hadn’t known had been buried inside her. But it had grown so quickly Rosa had known she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t let him see her become her mother. She couldn’t let him go through that pain. Because now, hearing him say this... It made her fully appreciate how painful it would have been for him to be at her side.

  ‘Aaron—’

  ‘We should get to bed,’ he said, not meeting her eyes. He set his mug down, his tea untouched.

  ‘You don’t want to—’ She broke off when he sent her a beseeching look, and she nodded. He’d given her enough. He didn’t want to talk about it any more. And, if she were honest with herself, neither did she.

  ‘It’s probably for the best to get to bed. To finally get a decent night’s sleep.’

  ‘You didn’t sleep well last night?’ he asked in a wry tone that sounded forced.

  ‘It’ll go better tonight, I’m sure.’ After the briefest hesitation, she leaned over and brushed a kiss on his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. For all of it.’ She left before he could reply.

  As she climbed into bed she heard Aaron’s footsteps pass her door. When the sound stopped, she held her breath, anticipation fluttering through her. But then the footsteps continued, and she blew out the air she’d been holding in her lungs.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d reacted that way. Or what she would have done if Aaron had entered her room.

  No, she thought, shutting her eyes. She knew exactly what she would have done.

  And that was part of the problem.

  * * *

  When the sun woke Rosa the next morning, she wasn’t surprised. Cape Town was famous for its unpredictable weather. And, since Mariner’s Island was only thirty kilometres from Cape Town, the weather was pretty much the same there too.

  Which was great, she mused, since the restlessness she’d felt the night before—when she’d thought Aaron might be coming into her room to seduce her—was still with her. But sunshine meant escape. And, right now, escape meant going for a run on the beach.

  It wasn’t ideal running gear, she mused as she looked at herself in the mirror. Most of what she was wearing had come from Liana’s closet and, since her mother-in-law was smaller than her, the outfit wasn’t quite appropriate for a run.

  But the tank top would keep her boobs in place, and she’d replaced her ridiculous lace underwear with Liana’s yoga tights. Again, not ideal, but it would have to do. Though she breathed a sigh of relief when she found a long, loose T-shirt of her own that would cover most of it.

  When she’d tied her running shoes—Liana’s—she stepped out of the room and made her way to the front door.

  ‘Rosa?’

  She spun around, her heart racing when she saw Aaron on the couch in the front room. His shirt was only half buttoned, revealing smooth muscular skin. It stopped just below his crotch, which she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps because, before, he’d been wearing pants.

  She cleared her throat. ‘You slept here last night?’

  He lifted a hand to his hair and she fought to keep her eyes on his face. ‘Yeah. None of the bedrooms were...comfortable.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m...er...going for a run.’

  ‘A run?’ He arched a brow. ‘That bad, huh?’

  She managed a smile. ‘Just some restless energy.’

  ‘Up for some company?’

  She shook her head. ‘It won’t be for long.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Though his expression was unreadable, something in his tone gave her pause. And then it hit her. He hadn’t been uncomfortable. He’d been watching out for her. He’d slept in the front room because he’d thought that she might leave.

  Guilt knocked the breath from her and she forced herself out of the door before she did something about it.

  * * *

  He kept himself busy. Which was exactly what he’d done when she’d left the last time—so he wouldn’t go crazy.

  Now, though, it seemed ridiculous. He’d seen what she was wearing. And she’d left without any of her things. She wasn’t leaving, leaving. Besides, where would she go? It was Sunday; the airport was still closed. She couldn’t escape Mariner’s Island even if she wanted to.

  He clenched his jaw and continued preparing their breakfast. Ignored the voice that mocked him for being so desperate about not letting his wife leave him that he’d slept on the couch.

  When he heard the front door open, the air began to move more easily in and out of his lungs. He made coffee and, by the time she came upstairs after a shower, had a cup ready for her.

  ‘Did it work?’ he asked as he handed her the cup. Her mouth curved. So, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘You were gone a while.’

  ‘I was coming back.’

  ‘I know.’

  But something pulsed
between them that confirmed she knew he hadn’t been sure of it.

  ‘How is it outside?’

  She quirked a brow. ‘Are we talking about the weather now?’

  A faint smile claimed his lips as he nodded. ‘Unless you have something else you want to talk about?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said dryly. ‘The weather’s fine. It’s cool, with a south-easterly wind. Not quite swimming weather, folks.’

  His smile widened. ‘You sound exactly like her.’

  ‘Cherry du Pont,’ she said with a smile. ‘The weather woman we listened to every morning for years.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘I should hope I know what she sounds like.’

  ‘Have you been listening to her by yourself?’

  He wasn’t sure what had made him ask it. And when she tilted her head, studied him, he was sure she didn’t want to answer it. Surprise fluttered through him when she did.

  ‘Some days. When I felt—’ her eyes swept away from him ‘—when I felt lonely, or missed you.’ She shifted away from the table, went to the glass door overlooking the beach. ‘Most days, actually,’ she continued. ‘But then I’d force myself out of it, and start working. I managed to do an entire line that way.’

  She gave him a cheeky smile over her shoulder and looked back at the beach before he could smile back. Good thing, as he wasn’t going to smile back. No, he felt as if he could barely move, could barely think over her words echoing in his head.

  When I...missed you... Most days...

  He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t come back then. Didn’t she think they could be saved? Didn’t she think that whatever she was going through they could go through together?

  ‘It was because of you that I did it,’ she said, breaking through his thoughts.

  He cleared his throat. ‘What was because of me?’

  ‘The line.’ She turned back now and walked to the stack of French toast he’d made earlier. She put two slices on a plate and squeezed honey over it.

  ‘What does the line have to do with me?’

  She looked at him and he saw understanding flood her eyes. She knew what her words had done to him. Perhaps that was why she kept talking.