She smiled. “I can hardly believe it yet. I think that’s why I just kept playing it, any time I had a break. I just wish...”
She broke off...because from there, things got confusing. She wanted that baby more than anything. Would give her life for it.
And that heartbeat scared her to death.
“I wish we could be sure it’ll be born healthy.”
His nod was short. Succinct. She offered him a glass of wine. And, when he accepted, poured herself one, too, handed him his and sat back down on her end of the couch, her feet tucked up beneath the pajama pants she quickly put back on after they’d had sex.
“So what does the future look like to you?” she asked him as it became more and more clear to her that he wasn’t going to just forge ahead with what he thought best, as he had in the past.
He shook his head. Shrugged.
Olivia sipped from her wine. Set it down on the end table beside her. Licked her lips. And sat up straight. “You’re welcome to move in here, if you’d like,” she said. She didn’t see how it would work. They were more honest with each other than they’d ever been. Had both grown and learned. But the goals, the lifestyles, that had driven them apart still existed.
She also didn’t see how they couldn’t try.
“Something keeps pulling us back together,” she dropped, almost defensively, into the silence.
He held his wineglass, staring as though it held the answer to a mathematical problem that had been eluding him—was still eluding him.
“I’m not suggesting we get married again,” she continued to talk, feeling her way. “Just that we try to cohabitate again. You’d still live your life, travel, socialize, continue to meet all of your global business engagements. You’d just come here at night when you’re in the state.”
She didn’t hate the idea.
Took hope when he didn’t immediately discount it.
And lost it again when he set down his wineglass and stood.
His back to her, he faced the window that looked out over the city. “I can’t go through it again.”
She understood. Knew he was right to call her bluff.
“I don’t think I can, either.”
“We lost a baby!” He was yelling as he turned around. “She died!” He was angry. His eyes glistening. “We never even got to bring her home!” He spewed words filled with the unfairness of it all, his anguish obvious.
Mouth open, she sat there, completely shocked. He’d never...had all of that been bottled up inside him all those years? And she’d thought he’d been a wizard, dealing with the grief so much better than she could...
She watched him, like a train wreck happening right in front of her. Her chin started to tremble, and then her lower lip. There was nothing she could do to prevent the crash.
To save anyone from the pain that would follow.
“Our baby, Liv!” he said, turning back to the window. “She was our baby.” His tone lowered. As did his head.
And she was filled with a strength she didn’t know she had. Standing, with tears streaming down her face, she went to him, her fingertips tentative on his back at first. Touching gently. Small motions. Circular. With just the tips of her fingers. And soon, her hand. And the circle grew slowly bigger as she absorbed the force of his sobs into her palm, and into her heart.
She cried with him. Reliving those endless and too short months with sweet Lily. The look in her daughter’s eyes when she’d walk in a room. The look in Martin’s as he stood helplessly watching his family erode.
The small city skyline stretched before them, proof of a possibility that felt as though, for them, it had been snuffed out.
“Every time I think of us together...our family unit...is like a symbol of unbearable pain.”
Her sudden intake of breath happened instinctively as he voiced what she’d been feeling since before their divorce.
“I loved her so much,” she said. “More than I even knew it was possible to love someone.”
Sliding an arm around her he kissed the top of her head. “I know,” he said. “I loved her, too. Just as much. I’d have gladly given my life for her. But even my life wasn’t enough to save her.”
She wrapped her arms around him. Holding on as the tears slowly spent themselves. Time had no meaning as they stood there, facing the night—and the horrors of their past.
“I can’t do it again, Liv.” His voice was broken and he turned to face her, his features swollen. “I can’t lose my family a second time.”
She understood. Because she felt exactly the same.
They couldn’t be that unit. It was a symbol of their worst nightmare.
“I can’t move in with you, try again, fail and lose you a second time.”
She got that, too, as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Chapter Nineteen
Martin offered to sleep on the couch. As ludicrous as it sounded, he had to respect the corner they’d turned. They could no longer find forgetfulness in each other’s arms.
They’d brought their truth out into the open. Had let the pain that had severed their marriage slide in between them.
Olivia didn’t even try to convince him otherwise.
If it hadn’t been Christmas Eve, if they didn’t have obligations the next day—responsibilities where the baby was concerned—he would have just left. Driven back to LA.
And done...he had no idea what. Couldn’t come up with a scenario that appealed to him. He could always think of something that sounded good.
But not that night.
Instead, he lay on his ex-wife’s couch and let the colorful lights on her tree drug him into a sense of nothingness. There was no peace for him that night.
Nothing that...kind.
But he didn’t writhe in pain, either. He was spent.
Numb.
Eventually he dozed. And each time he awoke, the numbness remained. Thankful, he’d watch the lights and head off again.
He was adrift. Fitting nowhere. A part of nothing.
Christmas was about the birth of hope.
And he’d lost his.
* * *
Olivia called Sylvia first thing Christmas morning to warn her mother about her houseguest. To let Sylvia know that she and Martin had reached the same decision they’d reached before he’d known she’d been trying to save the life of their embryo.
They weren’t going to see each other anymore. Not in any capacity.
They hadn’t said so as yet, but she knew. He’d be sending financial support, setting up trust funds, keeping track of medical records, as was his right as a father, but he wasn’t going to be requesting visitation or playing an active role in his child’s life.
Where that left them in terms of guardianship in the event that anything happened to her, they hadn’t said, but figured that communication challenge could be left for another day. Either Martin would step up to the plate, or he’d see to it that Sylvia was appointed custodial guardian. She trusted that with all her heart.
It was only after she’d been speaking to her mother for several minutes that she heard a sound in the background. A voice.
Most likely the television.
At seven o’clock on Christmas morning?
“Who’s there?” she asked softly, hoping Martin would sleep until her mother got there. That he wouldn’t try to make his escape.
“I’m here,” Sylvia said. “And hold on, sweetie, I’ll be there in ten. I’ve got the casserole out and ready to go. Everything else is already in my car.”
Every year Sylvia showed up with a plethora of gifts. Making up for all of the years she couldn’t watch Olivia open Christmas gifts, she’d once said. And because she loved shopping, and watching people open gifts, Olivia generally went overboard, too.
Pulling on black leggings and the thi
gh-length Christmas sweater she’d bought for a party the year before, and finishing with black ankle-length boots, she took a deep breath, smiled at herself in the mirror and headed out to the front room.
The presents she’d bought were in the front hall closet, ready to move under the tree—something she generally did before her mother arrived.
And there was Martin, still sleeping on the couch.
Relief hit her so hard tears sprang to her eyes. They’d really only had one good Christmas together. Had only exchanged gifts twice. Every year she saw things that made her think of him, things she knew he’d like, and every year she passed them by.
This year she hadn’t. She’d purchased them. Wrapped them. And signed every one of them from the baby. She’d been living in fantasyland. She’d known it at the time.
And allowed herself the small comfort while she waited to find out if her baby was viable. To find out if Martin was going to be a part of their lives.
She’d taken a chance. Gambled.
And lost.
Still, as she put the coffee on and then pulled gifts out of the closet, quietly loading up the floor space under and around the tree, she carried his gifts out, too.
He was there. He had to have things to open.
She’d just carried in her last load, turned around to leave the room the way she’d come, avoiding the couch area, but unable to stop herself from sneaking one last peek at him, she saw him lying there, watching her.
His lids hung low, sleepy—the lazy look about him she’d always loved because it made him look so...accessible.
“You look beautiful.” The husky voice encapsulated her with wanting, giving her delicious chills. And Sylvia would be walking in the door any minute, bringing holiday air in with her.
“Mom’s on her way,” she told him, moving slowly closer. “She knows you’re here.”
He didn’t seem fazed either way. Nodded. And still she worried that he’d opt to leave rather than join them.
The thought of him driving back to LA all alone on Christmas morning, to arrive at an empty condo and sit alone, broke her heart.
And yet...if that was the life that suited him, the life he needed...
“Can we...can we just put things aside for a few more hours?” she whispered, sitting on the edge of the couch in front of his midsection. She wanted to smooth the hair off his forehead, run her fingers through the slight showing of gray above his ears, but didn’t touch him. “We have to be at the Applegates’, anyway...”
Breaking off, filled with a new dread, she looked at him. “You’re still going with me, aren’t you?”
His nod brought a wave of happiness that probably wasn’t warranted.
“And in answer to your other question, yes, we can put everything else aside for a few more hours.” Sitting up, he wrapped an arm around her, kissed her and then stood up. “And if Sylvia’s on the way, I need to get in the shower.”
“Use mine,” she told him as he picked up his bag, and when he did, when she could hear him moving around in the master suite, she went to set three place settings of Christmas china on the dining room table.
* * *
Sylvia not only had on leggings, her Christmas sweater and boots, also ankle-length, but she’d taken the time to put on full makeup, curl the ends of her shoulder-length dark hair and put on jewelry, too. Christmas tree earrings and a thick gold omega necklace.
“Wow, that’s lovely,” she said, touching the gold piece. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“That’s because it’s new,” Sylvia said, brushing by Olivia as she carried the casserole dish into the kitchen and put it in the oven Olivia had already warmed. Her mother was her usual Christmas morning chatty self as she carried in presents and placed them under the tree. Talking about a memory from her childhood, when it had been just her and her mother for Christmas, her father having died when she was a toddler, and they’d still had a pile of presents under the tree, music playing and magic in the air.
Taking her cue, Olivia found a station streaming Christmas music and set it to play over the home theater system. And listened for Martin to come down from upstairs.
“How about a mimosa?” Sylvia asked, carrying in a bottle of champagne and shutting the door behind her, signifying that it was her last trip out to the hall where the doorman had helped her gather her things. Olivia was specifically not allowed to help carry on Christmas morning. Sylvia had always insisted she could be her own Santa.
Mimosas were new for Christmas morning, but she wasn’t opposed. Getting her finest crystal champagne flutes out of the cabinet—wedding gifts from long ago—she filled them with orange juice and bubbly, figuring the little bit of alcohol would be a good tension breaker as she finally heard Martin descending the stairs.
It had been years since her ex-husband and her mother had actually seen each other. She needed them to get along. Just for the one day.
She needed a real family Christmas memory to take with her into the future.
Turning from the counter with two drinks in her hand, intending to hand one to her mother and then reach for Martin’s to give him as soon as he walked in the room, she noticed a fourth place setting at the table.
“What...”
She didn’t get the sentence finished before there was a knock at the front door. She hadn’t buzzed anyone in. Or put another name on the list with the doorman.
“I’ll get that,” Sylvia said, and left Olivia, openmouthed, holding two glasses. Her mother had been running around like a bit of a nervous hen, but she’d put that down to Martin’s presence in the condo.
“Who’s here?” he asked, coming in from the opposite direction and taking the champagne flute she handed him.
“I think we’re about to find out,” she said, unable to stop herself from salivating for a second over his broad shoulders in the black sweater he was wearing, the damp hair and sexy stubble on his face.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, tapping his glass to hers as her gaze went lower, noticing the fly of the black jeans he had on.
Martin in jeans had always been a sight that sent her heart thumping. He didn’t wear them often, but when he did, it was like they were sewn together right on his body.
“Merry Christmas,” she said back, barely tapping her glass to his before taking a huge gulp. There was more orange juice, and more champagne, and she had a feeling she was going to need them.
She heard her mother’s voice, listened to see which girlfriend, or stray, she’d invited to Christmas breakfast without letting Olivia know, and froze when she heard the low tone of a male voice.
With a glance at Martin, and her glass firmly in hand, she headed toward the front room.
A man easily as tall as Martin, with white hair that curled at the collar of his red sweater, held bags in one hand, the other pulling back from under the tree, where he’d clearly just placed something.
She glanced at her mother.
“Sam...” Sylvia moved to the man’s side and, as he straightened, hooked her arm through his. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Olivia, and behind her is Martin. This is Sam,” she said, her lip clearly trembling as her gaze implored Olivia.
For what, Olivia wasn’t sure. Unless her mother was pleading silently with her to not be angry for springing a man on their Christmas morning.
Of course, she hadn’t told Sylvia about Martin being there, either.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” Sam, who was easily sixty, said, also appearing slightly apologetic as he glanced at Olivia and Martin, who’d come up to stand beside her. “I wasn’t planning to come. The plan, actually, was for me to stay at Sylvia’s for the morning...but—”
“Maybe we should sit,” Sylvia said, leading Sam to a seat beside her on the couch Martin had been lying on an hour before, leaving the oversize armchair for Olivia and Martin to sh
are.
Dropping the bag he’d emptied, Sam settled in beside Sylvia. Close beside her.
And Olivia sat forward. “I’ve seen you before,” she said. “The morning I picked my mother up from the cruise...”
She glanced at Sylvia then. “You didn’t go on that cruise with Gloria and Sandy.”
Her mother shook her head.
“You lied to me?”
This was most definitely not turning out to be the lovely family Christmas memory she’d been envisioning. That her mother had gone on the cruise with a man fazed her not at all. That Sylvia hadn’t been honest with her...
Hurt. Badly.
“Being a parent is tough,” Sylvia said, her gaze clear and straightforward as she looked from Olivia to Martin. “There aren’t always right choices. Clear choices. Easy ones. Some of them are just crapshoots.”
She’d lied. Seeing that that wasn’t a good parental choice was easy. Trust was everything. Most particularly between a parent and a child.
Between family members in general.
“My life with you has been filled with situations that had no good answers, Olivia,” she said. “I gave you up out of a mother’s love. It broke my heart. I went into a depression that would have killed me if my own mother hadn’t held on to me. While she was holding on to you for me. But my giving you up gave you a stable home you could trust. And when I came back into your life, I paid again for that choice. Because you didn’t trust me. For the past ten years, and for as long as I’m alive, I put you first. Period. It’s you. No matter what.”
She glanced at Sam.
“And I’m still learning what that means. Slowly. Because I didn’t have your growing-up years to teach me. I’m like a new mom but I’ve got an adult kid.”
Olivia’s heart reached out to the woman. But she wouldn’t let herself get past the lie. Somewhere there had to be lines drawn. Boundaries.
“I didn’t tell you about Sam because I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you for him. You’ve been so lost, sweetie. Decorated in your field, saving lives, strong enough to deal with the painful things you see every day—and lost, too. I’m your family. Your person. I wasn’t going to have you thinking that I was moving on. Or to feel, in any way, like a third wheel.”
Her Christmas Future Page 18