You're My Baby

by Laura Abbot

  Now his mother was gallivanting all over the Middle East with a guy practically old enough to be her father. Sure, she called once a week. But so what? All she could talk about was Harry this, Harry that.

  And his dad? It was like he didn’t even know how to talk to his own son. He’d asked Andy again about trying out for the basketball team. Why couldn’t the guy understand? It wasn’t brain surgery. If you couldn’t get along with the man as a father, why would you give him power over you as a coach? No way.

  Crazy as it sounded, Pam was about the only thing keeping him from walking out. She didn’t give him a hard time the way everybody else did. But she didn’t let him off the hook either. She’d asked him a hard question tonight.

  Was he being a dork by treating the kids at Keystone like pond scum? He hadn’t liked moving to Florida, either. But guys like Brady Showalter had been kinda fun to goof off with. Every day at school Chip Kennedy, the question guy, kept hanging around. He wasn’t so bad, really. Andy flopped over on his stomach. The truth was, he wasn’t giving Keystone a chance. He didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction. After all, he’d be gone in a year. Out of Texas, back to…wherever. And then what?

  A cold lump, like mucilage, rose in his throat. Crap. He hadn’t cried in years. He sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

  PAM PUNCHED HER PILLOW, then cradled the extra one against her abdomen. It was as if the thirty minutes’ sleep she’d managed before Grant had awakened her had been it for the night. She’d been exhausted even before the party, but the surprises of the evening had left her feeling edgy, wired.

  The house held a taut silence, as if its occupants were breathlessly awaiting certain doom. She tossed restlessly. Poor Andy. He was one of the unhappiest kids she’d ever seen. And Grant, so full of love for his son, so hopeful that things could be worked out with him, had overreacted.

  Somehow she needed to find a way to help Andy spit out the source of his resentment. Nothing could be solved until father and son opened up and shared their emotions honestly. In the dark, she managed a wry smile. Right, like males were so good at expressing feelings.

  If Andy was hurting, so was Grant. The fear and anguish in his eyes tonight, when Andy had gone missing, had been heartbreaking. The man loved his son. It had taken guts for him to lay the gardening chore on Andy, knowing he’d resent the exercise of paternal authority.

  Would she have such courage when it came to her own child? Right now, it was hard to imagine anything other than a helpless infant cooing in her arms. But one day would that lovable baby be replaced by a teenager arching his or her brows and uttering a scathing “Mo-ther, you’re so old-fashioned”? Grant must be in a world of pain.

  She stilled her breathing and strained her ears. No sound. Was Grant lying awake rehashing their handling of Andy, too?

  On an impulse too sudden and potent to ignore, she left her bed and tiptoed into the den. She had the strongest urge to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right. Grant lay on his back, one arm flung off the cushion, a tangled sheet covering the lower half of his body. In the faint moonlight, she sucked in her breath. His broad naked chest, lightly dusted with tight dark curls, tapered to his trim waist. Although the sheet prevented further examination, her imagination wasn’t so hampered. A wave of desire crested inside her. Pregnant women weren’t supposed to…or were they? This was a bad idea. She needed to go back to bed.

  “Pam?”

  The whisper caught her off guard. She’d thought he was asleep. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?” He took hold of her hand and drew her down to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “I—I couldn’t sleep.” Her bare arms prickled with gooseflesh.

  “There’s a lot of that going around.” Tentatively he reached out and touched her shoulder. “Cold?”

  “A little.” She should move, leave. Why was she still here, lost in the sensation of his fingers lightly tracing her skin?

  “Here.” He settled an arm around her and nestled her against his warm body.

  She was tinglingly aware of the feel of his flesh, of his fingers still stroking her arm.

  “We don’t want you catching cold,” he said, but the tone of his voice was more sultry than therapeutic.

  She shivered. “Grant, I—”

  He tilted her chin and his eyes were dusky in the moonlight. She held her breath, fascinated by the planes of his cheeks, the light stubble of his beard, the nearness of his lips. “Shh. I know,” he murmured. “It’s been a heck of an evening, but we need to get you back to bed.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. She was acutely aware of his powerful body, sheathed only in boxer shorts. “C’mon. I’ll tuck you in.”

  And he did. Gently. Thoroughly. As if she were precious.

  When he left the room, she experienced a stabbing sense of loss. What would it be like if he were her husband—really?

  PAM CRACKED OPEN her lids, simultaneously sensing the spinning bedroom and harsh sunlight spearing her through a slit in the drapes. Trying not to move more than necessary, she snagged the container of soda crackers on the nightstand and forced herself to eat one. Then another. Slowly her stomach settled enough so she could ease up and lounge against the pillows. When she turned her head, she was surprised to find a pot of tea and a mug on the nightstand. Gratefully she poured half a cup, then let the warm brew soothe her stomach.

  How had Grant known she’d need it? She squinted at the clock, then flopped her head back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late.

  But then, with alarming suddenness, she remembered. In the cold light of day, it seemed incomprehensible that she had gone to Grant, that she had let him hold her, that for one wild moment she had actually thought—hoped—he was going to kiss her. Surely that last part had been her imagination. While she appreciated his care of her, like the gesture of the tea, he hadn’t signed up for more than a housekeeper and she needed to remember that, however comfortable, theirs was a temporary arrangement. She had to be careful not to take advantage of his goodwill. Even if last night she’d experienced what could only be described as intense sexual desire.

  The hormones of a crazy pregnant woman. That had to be it.

  When she heard a knock on the door, she pushed her hair back and said, “Come in.”

  “Hi, sleepyhead.” Grant stood in the doorway, wearing a gray Keystone practice T-shirt and snug, worn jeans that did nothing to help her recover from her hormone-induced urgings. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Thanks to the room service, I think I’ll live.” She managed a smile.

  “It was the least I could do for you and Barney after your help last night.”

  “Is Andy up yet?”

  Grant leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah. Not only up, but at ’em.”

  “The flower beds?”

  “You got it. I wouldn’t describe him as a particularly happy camper, though.”

  “And how about you, Dad? Are you okay?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been better. I don’t think Shelley’s kept a very tight rein on Andy. I suppose it’s natural for him to resent me.”

  “Expectations are good for him,” Pam said.

  “In the long run, I know you’ve got a point, but—”

  “Right now it’s hard.”

  “It’s not going to get any easier. Preseason basketball practice starts in another couple of weeks. I won’t have as much time for him then.” Grant approached the bed and refilled her teacup. “Darn, I wish he’d come out for the team.”

  “What if he didn’t make it?”

  “You’ve got a point there, but I keep thinking it might be a way for us to bond.”

  “Don’t force it, Grant.”

  “Well, anyway, thanks for your support last night. I was glad you were here.” He paused near the bed as if waiting for her to say something else.

  Surely he didn’t expect her to comment on her nocturnal vis
it to his room. Feeling uncomfortably warm, she needed a change of subject. “I promised my father we’d come see him.” She ducked her head. “He wants to meet you and Andy. Do you suppose we could drive out over the Columbus Day break? It’ll be awkward, but—”

  “Of course. He must think it’s odd we haven’t been there already.”

  “I’ll call him today, then.”

  “Later, if you feel up to it, maybe you could go to the nursery for some bulbs.”

  “I’d like that, Grant.” After he left, she remained in bed a few minutes longer, trying to figure out what she’d done to deserve such an accommodating make-believe husband.

  ANDY SAT in old man Jeffers’s study hall staring at his reddened hands, raw from holding the damn spade. Thank God he was finished with the digging. Now all he had to do was pull a “hunchback of Notre Dame” routine planting the stupid bulbs. He didn’t know why his father had had to get all parental over his going to the park with the guys. The time had gotten away from him. But still, he’d never dreamed Dad and Pam would get home so early. In the future, he’d have to watch his butt.

  Yawning, he stared at the slow-moving minute hand of the wall clock, then idly scanned the assignment sheet again. Ms. Carver had given out a list of suggestions to help with journal writing. She’d yapped on and on about the value of free writing, about topics in which they could let their “imaginations soar,” about how these would be ungraded in the usual sense.

  All this touchy-feely stuff made him want to puke. “I am happiest when…” “My most embarrassing moment was when…” “The person I most admire is…”

  He supposed he’d have to do it. It was an easy way to help his grade, tons better than figuring out the difference between a gerund phrase and a noun clause.

  He could write a damn volume about how it was the pits being a teenager. What it was like, all of a sudden, to have his dad acting like a real father. “Acting.” That said it. He could remember when he’d desperately wanted his dad to come to Florida for his twelfth birthday. He should’ve known better because it was basketball season. His mother hadn’t even put it tactfully. “Andy,” she’d said, “your father is never going to be there for you. That’s a fact. But you can always count on me.” Famous last words. The only person he could count on was himself.

  Across the aisle two girls started giggling, and when old man Jeffers fixed his evil eye on them, that made them laugh all the harder. “Quiet, you two. Respect the fact that others are trying to study.” Andy swallowed a grin. The guy in front of him was flipping through a Playboy concealed in the middle of a library book, and the kid across the aisle was drawing juvenile-looking rocket ships on a piece of notebook paper. Two freshmen, under the guise of working on a group project, were playing Hangman.

  For something to do, Andy opened his spiral notebook and started writing in his journal. Not one of the assigned topics, though. No way.

  Let me tell you about being a new kid at Keystone. You’re invisible, at least to the kids you might have a chance of liking. Some of the geeks are so desperate they look at me with these puppy-dog eyes hoping that maybe I’ll actually sit with them at lunch. The popular girls practically have ski slopes for noses, they’re so busy looking down them. And the jocks? Well, they think they’re hot stuff. I’ll bet none of them could bump and run with Andre or James.

  Crap! He crossed out that sentence. The last thing he needed was Pam getting nosy about his hoops buddies.

  You know what you said the other day about trying to make friends? It sounds good, but in the long run, what difference does it make? I’ll be gone in a year. You probably think I’m pretty negative. You know, one of those guys who sees the glass half-empty. But there are some okay things about being here. I like your class. I hope you don’t think I’m sucking up by saying that. And Viola is all right. Not to hurt your feelings, but I really like dogs better, though. Not that I’ve ever had one. Something I’m kinda curious about, if you don’t mind my asking. You’re a smart lady. How come you married my dad? If that’s none of my business, just say so. But, to tell you the truth, I was kinda blown away that Mr. Deliberate got married all of a sudden. I guess this is enough for one entry. Maybe more than you ever wanted to hear.

  He scrawled his name and class hour at the top, then stuffed the notebook into his backpack. When he glanced up, he was elated. Only five more minutes in this holding pen. Finally the bell rang. He took his time going to his locker. No need to rush to biology, where the odor of formaldehyde about made him gag.

  “Gilbert?”

  There he was again. Chip Kennedy. Andy slumped against his locker door, morbidly curious about the next inevitable question.

  “What’re you doin’ Friday night?”

  “Not much. Why?”

  “Since the football game’s in Houston, a bunch of guys are comin’ over to my house to play pool. Wanna come?”

  Andy thought about it. He didn’t plan to form any of those lifetime guy-friendships here, but what else did he have to do Friday night? It beat watching his Dad and Pam watch him. Besides, maybe the old man would get off his back if he hung around with some of the Keystone kids. He shrugged. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  “Great. Danny Martinez said he could pick you up about seven.”

  Danny Martinez? Oh yeah, the dark-haired, intense kid in his English class. “Okay, see ya.”

  Andy grabbed his biology book, slammed his locker and started down the hall. Maybe Chip wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  FOR ONE OF THE FEW TIMES in recent memory, Pam ventured into the teachers’ lounge the next week, waiting until after lunch when she was reasonably certain her stomach would cooperate. Connie sat at the corner table grading papers, Carolee Simmons huddled by the phone, obviously deflecting a parent complaint, and Jessie Flanders, true to form, was crocheting, as if school were the least of her worries. Which, sadly, it probably was.

  “What’s up?” Connie mouthed.

  Pam waved a sheet of paper before tacking it to the bulletin board. “The faculty pep skit cast.”

  “Pamela, re-ally. When will you outgrow this infantile nonsense?” Oblivious to Carolee’s frantic shushing motion, Jessie spoke in her normal trumpet blare.

  “The kids love it,” Pam whispered by way of justification. The irony was that Jessie would have been the first one to get in a snit if she wasn’t cast.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Piper, but this is a conversational French course.” Carolee held the phone at arm’s length in disbelief, before dropping it onto the receiver. “Lord help us. Jerry’s got enough trouble without a mother making excuses for him.”

  Jessie sniffed indignantly. “Children just aren’t like they used to be.”

  “Phooey,” said Pam. “It’s the parents who are different these days. All too eager to help their kids avoid responsibility for their actions.”

  “Speaking of teens,” Connie piped up, “how are things going with Andy?”

  Pam slipped into the chair next to her friend. “It’s been tough on him.” She lowered her voice. “He’s his own worst enemy, daring everyone to love him at his most unlovable.”

  Connie laid a comforting hand on Pam’s forearm. “Kind of reminds me of Jim’s challenge to us at the first of school.”

  Pam smiled ruefully. “Only mine’s a twenty-four-hour-a-day challenge. But I’m seeing a ray of hope.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “He went over to Chip Kennedy’s house to play pool Friday night and Sunday Angela Beeman called to invite him to her church youth group meeting. I think he may screw up his courage to ask her to the Homecoming dance.”

  “Now that’s progress.”

  “One other thing. Although he clams up at home, he’s starting to open up to me in his journals. He’s harboring a lot of anger, but at least we’re communicating through his writing.”

  “He must trust you, Pam.”

  “It’s a heavy responsibility.”

&
nbsp; Jessie stood by the bulletin board, her owl eyes the size of fifty-cent pieces. “Pamela, how could you have cast me as a munchkin?”

  How could I not? “Our theme this year is the Wizard of Oz. You know, unmasking the Porter School Warriors as impostors.”

  “Jessie, thank your lucky stars. It could be worse. I’m a flying monkey,” Carolee offered with a grin.

  “Humph.”

  Connie arched a brow at Jessie. “Typical,” she muttered under her breath.

  Pam rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe away the headache gathering there. “But somehow the show always goes on.” She scooted back her chair and stood. “Duty calls.”

  “You look tired. Are you okay?”

  Nothing a long nap wouldn’t cure. “I’m fine. Just bogged down in midterm deficiency reports, college recommendations, a few hundred papers to grade and a list of suggestions for the curriculum committee. Business as usual, in other words.”

  Except it wasn’t business as usual, Pam reflected as she walked back to her classroom. She was pregnant. And worried.

  She, Grant and Andy were leaving Saturday for the trip to West Texas to visit her dad. Her father’s opinion and goodwill mattered more than she cared to admit. They shared a special bond—the lonely widower and the motherless child doing their best to carry on, despite their loss. She had no way to anticipate how this meeting with Grant and Andy would go.

  Nor did she have any way to anticipate how she and Grant would handle the sleeping arrangements. She pictured the home where she’d grown up. There were two guest rooms. Neither had twin beds.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HE WAS A LONG WAY from Florida, Andy thought, as he studied the miles of dusty wasteland out the car window. It was a monumental event to spot a grove of trees. Add to that the gross smell from the feedlots. The good thing, though, was his dad had asked him to sit in front so he could give him some driving instruction along the way to Will Carver’s. They’d gone to the school parking lot a coupla times last week for his first actual lessons, and even his old man had said he’d done pretty well. The trouble was, he wouldn’t have wheels before the Homecoming dance. But if Angie turned him down, it wouldn’t matter anyway.