"Certainly. To what room, ma'am?” came the polite reply.
"Uh...” Aubrey whispered to Sophie, who had followed her out of the bathroom, “What room is this?"
"Gray's suite,” she answered with a shrug. “I mean, tell them Mr. Delamonte's suite and they'll know what to do."
"Mr. Delamonte's suite,” she said into the phone.
"Certainly, ma'am. We will be there directly."
Good service, she thought. One of the perks of being able to claim such intimacy with the owner of the hotel was that you could order room service from his suite and never raise an eyebrow.
She hung up the phone and turned to Sophie. “It'll be here shortly."
"Great,” said Sophie without enthusiasm.
Aubrey left Gray's bedroom, went into his informal living area and sat on the couch. Sophie followed.
"This is a bit ... awkward,” said Aubrey.
"Gray always likes to think he's aloof and mysterious. Like I don't know he's mad at me and that's why he can't talk to me.” Sophie sniffled a little and picked at her cuticles.
"He's not mad at you."
Sophie gave her a look.
"Okay, yes, he's maybe a little mad at you,” Aubrey admitted. “But only because he loves you."
"I know. I know he loves me.” Sophie sniffled again and looked straight at Aubrey. “You don't understand about Gray. Gray's great. I mean, Gray's been such a good big brother. In the beginning he was gone. A lot. He didn't get along with my father. But then, when he came back ... I mean, he's annoying as hell, but he always looks out for me and Doug. He always has. And now I've gone and disappointed him, and I just wanted him to be proud of me, I really did.” Sophie sniffled again. “He won't believe that. He'll think I've done this on purpose. I'm always doing stupid things. But I didn't want to do this. Believe me, I never planned this. I was so stupid. Gray's right to be mad at me."
"Sophie—"
"I was sick of being a virgin. Were you sick of being a virgin?"
"Um—"
"I just wanted to know what the big deal was, you know? And really, what is the big deal?"
Before she'd met Gray, Aubrey had asked herself that same question. “Look, you're young, Sophie. You've still got a lot of growing up to do. Let me tell you my experience. What I've recently discovered is that sex isn't a big deal unless you're with the right sort of man."
"You mean, like, The One?” said Sophie.
Aubrey didn't think she meant The One. Unless she meant by that The One to Drive You Over the Edge and Then Back Before You'd Caught Your Breath. And Gray was definitely in that category.
Luckily, there was a knock on the door just then and Aubrey jumped up in relief. “That must be room service,” she said, digging in her pocket for a couple of dollars with which to tip the liveried man who, with even a curious look, left the food in the living area.
Sophie leaned over and picked up a cracker and nibbled at it delicately. Aubrey poured some tea into a cup, then realized immediately that it was so strong it might as well be coffee and decided against offering some to Sophie.
"Have you given any thought at all to what you want to do?"
Sophie put down her half-nibbled cracker and sighed. And was silent for a very long time. Aubrey let her be silent, because she assumed there was a lot to think about there.
Finally Sophie said, “It's not fair. It's just not fair. I only slept with him a couple of times, and now I have a baby on the way. I mean, that's not fair."
Aubrey, watching Sophie, mentally agreed that it wasn't. Aubrey was really not much more than a girl herself. And Aubrey had slept with Gray, with total abandon, no thought to birth control, and had been lucky enough to escape unscathed.
Sophie, meanwhile, had surely tried to be careful, and had a life where a baby would be even more inconvenient, and it wasn't fair that she should be the one making these decisions.
But because Aubrey didn't know how to make it any better, because it had actually happened and there was nothing anyone could do now, she just sat there and waited for Sophie to tell her what she wanted to do, or at least what her thoughts were on the subject.
Sophie sighed. She nibbled again at the cracker. Then she said, “I don't know. I don't know what I want to do. Maybe I could have an abortion, but I feel that the longer ... The longer I take to make this decision, the less I like that idea. The more it begins to seem like a baby. A little baby. And if Mom had had an abortion, I mean, when she was pregnant with Gray, or with any of us, I mean ... So I could have the baby. Except that how can I be someone's mother? I can barely take care of myself. I would ruin this child. So I could give the baby up for adoption. But I don't think Gray or Mom would let me. They would insist on—"
"They would let you give the baby up for adoption if that was what you truly wanted. But they would also help you raise the baby, if that was truly what you wanted, so it isn't as if you'd be all alone. There's no real reason to give the baby up for adoption when you have people like your mother and Gray around determined to help you."
"That's true. They would help me. And that's totally not fair to them. I mean, it's pretty obvious that Gray doesn't want children, and I'd be forcing him into taking care of one. Just like he kind of got forced into taking care of me and Doug when we were little, after Mom and Dad got divorced and Dad left."
"This might not be his choice, that's true. But I don't get the impression that Gray in any way resents the relationship he has with you. And I'm pretty sure that Gray would absolutely adore your baby. Absolutely adore him. Or her."
Sophie regarded Aubrey intently. “Did Gray tell you what he wanted me to do?"
"As a matter of fact, he did. He told me that he wanted you to do whatever would make you happy. I really think that the only person Gray's worried about here is you. He will support whatever it is you want to do."
Sophie gnawed on her lower lip, looking even more uncertain, and Aubrey had the impression that Sophie had been hoping to make her decision by letting Gray and her mother make the decision for her.
"You need to think about this,” Aubrey told her.
"I do,” Sophie agreed. “I really do. I—I haven't thought enough about it."
"That's okay. You can think about it now.” Aubrey tried to be comforting and helpful. “It's going to be okay, Sophie. No matter what happens. You're surrounded by people who love you and who are springing into action to help you through this."
Sophie's eyes filled with tears. “I know. That's what makes this so awful. I've let everybody down!"
"You haven't let anybody down,” said Aubrey. “Believe me, you haven't let anybody down. You made a mistake. People make mistakes."
"But I make so many of them!” Sophie wailed. “Even I'm sick of me making all these stupid mistakes."
"But who's to say that this is a stupid mistake?” Aubrey smiled. “I don't think there's anyone who would call your brother a stupid mistake. Unexpected babies sometimes turn out better than all right. Sometimes they turn out like Gray. And, considering you're going to have your mother's help, I like your chances of bringing another person like Gray into the world."
"That was sweet,” said Sophie.
Aubrey supposed it was. And where had this unexpected feeling toward Gray come from?
Well, maybe not totally unexpected. She liked Gray well enough, had the feeling that he was holding his scattershot family together through sheer force of will, which she admired, and, hell, he seemed to think they were friends. She ought to say some nice things about him.
"You have a lot of thinking to do."
Sophie sighed. “I guess I do. You've been really great. Gray was right to go get you."
"Well, I'm glad I could help at least a little bit. I'm sure this will all be okay, Sophie."
"Oh, I'm sure it will, too.” Sophie managed a smile. “Gray usually makes things okay. It's a special talent he has."
Chapter Eleven
I left Winter Haven fee
ling rejuvenated but a little sorry for the Red Sox. Not because of any prediction as to their finish in the standings this year, but because they would have to leave soon for Boston, where, as Mike Barnicle has said, “Baseball isn't a life-and-death matter, but the Red Sox are."
—Timothy Donovan, Boston Globe March 18, 1984
Sophie was watching her second tearjerker movie when Gray walked in. He looked at her and said immediately, “Where's Aubrey?"
"She went back to her room. Don't worry, she hung around for a while and she was really helpful. It was a good idea to call her.” Sophie moved over to make room for Gray on the couch. “As usual, a good idea from Gray. So what's the deal with her?"
"The deal with Aubrey?"
"The deal with you and Aubrey."
He smiled. “No deal. She's a friend of mine."
"I didn't know you had female friends."
"I try to keep them hush-hush."
"I didn't know you had female friends with red hair. I've never seen you resist a redhead."
"Why don't we talk about you?"
She groaned. “Do we have to?"
"You're twenty and single and pregnant with the baby of a young man named Dirk. Yes, we have to."
Sophie grimaced. “Well, you're just endless sunshine."
"Sophie—"
"No, I know. I know I have to make a decision. I know that. I've been sitting here trying to figure out how I feel, what I want to do."
"And?” asked Gray, cocking an eyebrow at her.
She frowned. “Do you always have to cut right to the chase?"
"No,” he answered. “And if I'm rushing you, I don't mean to. Take your time.” He smoothed his hand over her hair with a lingering fondness that made her feel so unbearably loved that she made her decision at that moment.
She could give this baby a life like this. And a life like this really wasn't so bad.
"I think...” she started, and then gave herself a second to gauge his reaction to that statement. He looked encouraging, interested. “I think ... that I might want to have the baby."
"Okay,” he said simply, and she couldn't figure out from just that one word what he actually thought about that.
"Is it okay if I want to have the baby?"
"Okay?” he echoed, sounding shocked. “Sophie, of course it's okay. Of course it's okay."
"But I—You—I mean, it's going to be so much trouble for everyone, Gray, and I'm so sorry that I—"
"Stop it. We can't do anything about it now. And if you want to have this baby, then we'll all have this baby. We will all have this baby, and we will all love this baby."
She snuggled into the hug he offered and felt instantly better. “Aubrey's nice, Gray. She said nice things about you."
Gray found that almost difficult to believe. Whatever his relationship—or lack of one—was with Aubrey, he didn't think it was exactly based on fondness. “Really?"
"She said that sometimes unexpected babies turn out fantastic. Like you. My unexpected baby could be like you."
"Or it could be like you,” Gray replied, “which is a few gigantic leaps better than being like me."
"Will you help me tell Mom?” she asked him.
He responded by hugging her even closer.
* * * *
The little interlude with Sophie had made Aubrey a little homesick, so she called her mother after she got back to her room. Then she set up an easel and mixed some paint and painted.
She had been painting lately, for herself, tentatively at first; but then it began to flow and feel right and the painting passion was back. She'd been working on a couple of stark modernist paintings, but now she started applying the careful brushstrokes of Impressionism, working so quickly and deeply that it wasn't until a knock sounded on her door that she even thought of how she hadn't eaten anything all day and was actually hungry.
Frowning over that, she walked over to the door and peeked through the peephole. Gray. She supposed that wasn't much of a surprise. She swung open the door.
Gray gave her an almost hesitant smile. “Hi,” he said.
"Hi,” she replied.
His eyes flickered up and down her length. “I gather that you're painting."
"Oh!” She must look an absolute wreck. Great. “Yeah. I was."
"Can I come in? Or am I interrupting?"
She'd like to invite him back after she'd taken a shower, but she couldn't think how to do it without looking like a complete idiot so she just opened the door a little wider. “No, no, come in, come in."
He strode through, noticed the painting she'd been working on and walked over to it, hands in his pockets. And he said immediately, “Why, it's Sophie!"
She was surprised that he recognized his sister instantly. She tried to discreetly wipe her hands off on the poncho she was wearing. “Yes,” she answered, pleased.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, studying the painting, and she experienced the usual surge of nervous nausea when other people looked at her work. Especially unfinished work. Like an unfinished, unplanned study of Sophie on a couch looking pensive. Or, at least, she hoped that Sophie looked pensive on a couch.
"I like it,” said Gray. “I like it a lot. It looks like Sophie. Like the Sophie I know.” Gray looked at Aubrey now, smiling at her with such force that the nervous nausea dissolved into something close to panic over the fact that Gray was here, this close, and she once again looked like a harridan. “It's very good. My mother's portrait folly might actually turn out well."
Aubrey managed a smile. It must have looked sickly, because Gray corrected himself immediately.
"Not that I doubted that you would be a good painter. Just that I think it's silly to have your portrait painted. And now I've insulted your career. Why don't I just shut up now?” He sent her another smile, but he did not move away from the easel. “Thank you for talking to Sophie,” he said in a soft, somber, sincere tone.
"Oh,” said Aubrey, because she didn't know what to say. She gave a little wave of her hand to indicate that his thanks weren't necessary.
"She's decided that she wants to keep the baby."
Aubrey smiled and sat down on the couch. “I thought that she would."
Gray sat down at the end opposite her and propped his elbow on the back of the couch. “She said you said nice things about me."
Aubrey felt herself flush, but replied coolly, “Well, I wasn't going to badmouth you to your sister, was I? It would have done no good. She obviously adores you."
Gray smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “We have kind of a love-hate relationship."
"All families have kind of a love-hate relationship. You did a good job with her."
"A good job with her?” echoed Gray.
"Raising her."
Gray shook his head. “I didn't raise her."
"Oh.” Aubrey blinked. “I'm sorry. I thought ... I mean, I assumed ... She said you took care of her and Doug. After your mother divorced their father."
"I wouldn't say that I took care of them. I was seventeen when my mother divorced Simon. I went away to college. I traveled in Europe. Sophie was eight by the time I spent any real time with her."
"So?"
"So she was pretty old by then."
"How often does she see her father?"
"He's not what you'd call an ideal role model father. My mother, aside from her brief interlude with Hugh—and I really almost think that that was a mistake that she hadn't meant to make but it surprised her by turning out okay—does not seem to be drawn to men who have paternal instincts."
"So basically Sophie looked to you for that role model,” said Aubrey. “And you were certainly old enough to fill the role."
"Right. Exactly the age my father was when I was born. Way, way too young to have children."
"Your mother seemed to do just fine."
"Ah, there it is again,” said Gray.
"What?"
"That sort of veiled compliment."
"
I don't mean it that way."
"You don't mean it to be veiled?"
"I don't mean it to be a compliment. I mean, not to you. To your mother."
"Would you have told me?” he asked abruptly.
"Told you what?"
"If you had been pregnant. I mean, after..."
A bristle of anger whipped its way unexpectedly through her. “How the hell would I have told you if I was pregnant? You didn't even leave me a last name!"
Gray paused as if surprised by this argument.
"I thought that would be your usual routine, your modus operandi,” she continued hotly, “to not leave your last name just in case the current assignation got pregnant and forced some child you didn't want on you.” Oh, it felt suddenly lovely to yell at him about this. She had been telling herself that she had wanted a one night stand—and she had. But she didn't want Gray to sit around and pretend like it hadn't been, like he had acted honorably.
Gray's eyes narrowed. She had seen him angry before, but it was the first time she had been close enough to notice the steely narrowing of his eyes. He made it look like a threat, turning his eyes into slits of gray fringed with black eyelashes, and that made her even angrier.
Like she was going to sit here and be intimidated that easily!
"That isn't my—"
"That isn't what happened?” she countered quickly.
"That's what happened,” he snapped, “but I didn't mean it to happen that way."
"Oh? You didn't mean to slip out before I woke up?"
"I didn't mean to sleep with you at all."
"I took advantage of you..."
"I usually know the women I sleep with, regardless of what you seem to think. They usually know me. That's why they're with me."
"Ah. They've heard of your fantastic reputation as a lover."
"You said you weren't angry with me about what happened in Boston. You said you wanted it just the way it was."
"You're right. I did. And that's fine. But don't sit here and ask me if I would have told you if I was pregnant. As if I would even have had that option. And don't tell people we're friends when we're barely civil acquaintances. Just because we've had sex doesn't entitle you to be included among the ranks of people I call my friends."
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