Baby on Board

by Lisa Ruff

  As the baby fluttered in her stomach, Kate went over the previous afternoon in her mind. Again. Her argument with Patrick was all she could think about, worry about. The night had been filled with disturbing dreams about him. In one, she and Patrick had soared through the air like eagles. They each held the hand of a tiny baby that squealed and giggled. Kate had felt exhilarated and free. When she turned to her companion, his face had changed, and her brother Danny looked back at her through large, sorrow-filled eyes. The baby’s hand slipped from her grasp and the two figures dropped away from her, falling through the air, becoming smaller and smaller. Kate had tried to scream but couldn’t. She woke with a gasp, her heart pounding. After that, she had given up on sleep and dreams and risen to make tea, hoping a new day would put the old one behind her.

  “Good morning.”

  Kate opened her eyes and looked up to see a tall woman in a bright orange-and-gold caftan step onto the patio. Her wild hair was caught up in a messy bun on the back of her head, tendrils flying and dancing as she moved.

  “Molly! Good morning. When did you get back?”

  “Late last night. I should still be sleeping, but the morning’s too glorious to miss.” The older woman brought her mug to the table and sat across from Kate with a sigh of satisfaction.

  “How did the festival go?”

  “Amazing,” Molly said, excitement lighting her oval, tanned face. “I sold everything! There wasn’t a cup or a vase left at the end.”

  “Fantastic. I’m glad it went so well.”

  “Me, too. It was definitely worth the trip.” Molly studied her carefully. “You look tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “You’ll have to get a nap in later.” Concern shone in the pale blue eyes looking at Kate.

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Good.” With a nod, Molly leaned back in her chair and stretched like a cat, slow and long. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, smiling happily. “Oh, what a wonderful morning.”

  Kate smiled as she watched Molly. She knew her aunt wouldn’t care one iota that the sun highlighted every line on her face. She had told Kate often enough that she didn’t understand women who fought time. There were too many other interesting things to do with life than trying to look young. She was a woman comfortable with herself and her age.

  With her hair, her wild caftans and a love for bright lipstick, Molly was the stereotype of an artist. She lived alone, happy and content by herself, in the house next to Kate’s. A common wall joined the two residences and they shared the garden with separate patios on either end. Behind the houses, fronting the main street was the retail shop they also shared. On the other side of the alley was the studio with Kate’s furnace and Molly’s kiln.

  Their work complemented each other’s perfectly. Their shop, Fire Works, was popular and profitable enough. Molly claimed that Kate’s fantastic glasswork was the reason. The pieces had an airiness and delicacy that tempted the eye. Kate returned the flattery, pointing out how much of Molly’s colorful, fanciful pottery flew out the door every day. They had been in partnership for five years, ever since Kate had finished school and her apprenticeship.

  It was through Molly that Kate had found her passion. As a girl, she had been fascinated by the clay and minerals her aunt used to create pottery. Shaping the raw materials and burning them into a new, solid form intrigued her. With Molly’s encouragement, Kate took it one step further and discovered molten minerals—glass—and her true artistic calling.

  Kate ran her finger along the rim of her tea mug. Bright green with stripes of blue, pink, purple and orange, it was one of Molly’s bolder designs. She didn’t want to spoil the tranquility of the morning, but she had to talk to her aunt, the one friend in whom she could confide.

  “Patrick’s back.”

  Molly’s eyes snapped open. “You saw him! How did it go?”

  “Not so well. He knows I’m pregnant.”

  “You told him?” Molly asked in surprise.

  “No, Shelly did. She told me she thought he knew. Oh, Molly,” Kate groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I made such a mess of it all. When he asked about the baby, I just panicked. Then I lost my temper.”

  Molly chuckled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was bad enough.” Kate sighed. “I should have been cool and firm. I’ve already made the decision, right? All I have to do is stick with it.”

  “Does he know what you’ve decided?”

  “He does now,” Kate said ruefully. “Poor Patrick.”

  Molly snorted. “Poor Patrick, my fanny. He deserves whatever he gets. He’s the one who disappeared without a word.”

  Kate sipped her tea. “I suppose so. I can’t help wishing I’d handled it better, though.”

  Who would have guessed that she, even tempered to a fault, could be so moody? When she got weepy during a commercial for laundry fabric softener, she had known something was wrong. A trip to the doctor had confirmed her suspicions. She had cried, then laughed. More than once since, Kate had found herself laughing and crying at the same moment. The abrupt mood swings embarrassed her, but she had no control over them. She sighed again, regretting yet another emotional outburst.

  Molly leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Did seeing him change your mind?”

  “No. Nothing’s changed.” Kate looked at her aunt and shrugged. “He gave no excuse for not keeping in touch, just that he was busy with the race. He said he was sorry, but that doesn’t mean much.” She paused, then added in a whisper, “He forgot about me. What if he forgets his own child, too?”

  Tears swam in Kate’s eye as she said the words aloud. It hurt right down to her soul to experience that indifference again. She thought she was over the pain but apparently not. Being abandoned by someone you loved was something you never got over.

  Molly reached out and took Kate’s hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “You know what the future is like with Patrick Berzani. If you want a different childhood for this baby than you and Danny had, then you need to take charge and make it happen.”

  “I know I do,” Kate said, feeling comfort in her aunt’s warm handclasp. “But am I nuts, Molly?”

  “Wanting a good father for your child?”

  Kate nodded, looking at Molly hesitantly. “At least, going about it the way I am seems crazy to me sometimes,” she admitted.

  Molly looked at her intently. “Well, as I’ve said before, it’s a bit out of the ordinary, but I wouldn’t call it crazy. And you could raise the baby on your own. I’ll be here to help.” She cocked her head to the side. “But then I will be anyway, regardless of what happens.”

  Kate felt a lump rise in her throat seeing the support and love in her aunt’s eyes. “What would I do without you?”

  “Probably get along just fine.” Molly released her hands and sat back.

  “I doubt that.” Kate sipped her tea, silent for a minute. “You know, you’re part of the reason I want a family for this baby,” she said, stroking a hand across the slight mound of her stomach.

  “Me? Why do I get the blame?”

  Kate smiled at the astonishment on Molly’s face. “Because you’ve been the best aunt in the world, and the best friend. You’ve been more of a mother to me than my own.”

  “Isabelle never had a maternal bone in her body. That’s not your fault, Kate. She has your father and that’s her life. End of story.”

  “I know. I stopped expecting her to act like a mother a long time ago.” Kate shifted in her chair. “But you’ve given me a taste of what a real family could be like. I want more aunts like you. And uncles, brothers, sisters, everything. For me and my baby.” Leaning forward, Kate set her tea to one side. “I want a family, Molly. A real, honest-to-goodness family, with squabbles and fights and holidays and vacations all jumbled up together.”

  “You want what you never had.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Kate said with a nod. She r
ested her elbows on the table. “That’s why Patrick won’t do. What’s the point of building a family with a man who’s never going to be around? Or who would forget us as soon as he left the house?”

  She and Molly shared a sad smile, then her aunt chuckled. “Besides, it would never work out. He loves water and you’re deathly afraid of it.”

  “True.”

  “Does he know that yet?”

  “No. I couldn’t tell him. How do you tell a man who loves the sea that every time you get near water more than three feet deep, all you can think about is drowning?”

  “He’d probably understand if you told him about your first and only swimming lesson,” Molly said. “Not everyone’s father begins by tossing their five-year-old into the deep end of the pool.”

  “It wasn’t quite that bad.” Kate shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what story I tell Patrick anyway.”

  “True enough.” Molly picked up her mug. “So what’s on your schedule today? Are you working in the studio?”

  “Maybe later. I’m going to tackle some designs here at the house this morning, then I have lunch with Steve Craig.”

  “Bachelor number one.” Molly laughed.

  “I wish you’d stop calling him that.” Kate frowned as she sipped her tea.

  Molly was unrepentant. “I can’t help it. I don’t think your scheme is crazy, but it is funny. It’s so like you—creative but excessively well planned.”

  “Well, it’s planned up to a point. I’ll see what Steve thinks about my crazy idea before I start patting myself on the back.”

  “The worst he can say is no, right? Then it’s on to bachelor number two.” With that, Molly rose from the table. “I’m going over to the studio for a while. Is Shelly in the shop today?”

  “Yes, she’ll open up at noon.”

  “Good. I’ll give her a call later and let her know I’m around if she needs help.” Molly sauntered off the patio toward the studio.

  Kate took her empty mug into the house to begin her day. Just how the day would go, she had no idea. It depended on Steve’s reaction to her proposal.

  She had known Steve Craig for two years. They had gone out a few times when they first met, but there had never been a spark for Kate. Steve still called her once in a while, but she had always evaded his invitations for dinner or a movie. Now, since she wasn’t looking for herself, she evaluated him in a different light.

  Steve was gentle and kind. He had patience and humor, two more important qualities for raising a child. He was stable, too, owned a house not far from hers and had lived in town for more years than she had. She couldn’t pick someone more likely to be there for her baby. He owned his own plumbing contracting business with ten employees and a reputation for quality work. Today, she would find out if he was interested in the additional job of becoming a father.

  After a cool shower, Kate pulled a sundress out of the closet. The yellow print was cheerful and bright, in contrast to her glum mood. She wound her long hair into a twist and anchored it against the back of her head with a gold clip. Wispy tendrils immediately worked their way out to tickle her cheeks and the back of her neck.

  In consideration of the afternoon heat, Kate put on a minimum of makeup. She smoothed on tinted sunscreen, followed by a little eyeliner to bring out the gold in her brown eyes, mascara and lip gloss. Grabbing her white sandals, she left her bedroom to get her sketch pad from the living room. As she walked down the hall, the doorbell sounded. Who could that be? It was too early for Steve. She pulled open the door and wished she had checked the peephole first.

  “Good morning.” Patrick smiled at her.

  Startled, Kate was at a loss for words. She reminded herself that she was not giving in to this attraction. She must be strong.

  “Good morning. What are you doing here?”

  Patrick leaned a shoulder against the door frame, close enough for her to be surrounded by the aroma of his after-shave. The crisp lemon scent reminded her of other mornings after he had spent the night with her. His beard was heavy, so he usually rose early and shaved, then came back to bed. To her.

  His cheeks would be soft and—Kate gritted her teeth, forcing the memory away. That didn’t matter now.

  “I thought we could take a drive this morning.” Patrick was solemn. “To talk.”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Katie.” He took her hand. “We do need to talk about this more. You know that.”

  She shook her head again, but he squeezed her fingers lightly. “Please, Kate.”

  The quiet entreaty swayed her as a demand could not have done. She remembered again how badly she had handled yesterday. Patrick was right. They did need to talk. He had to see the truth; the best thing he could do for the baby was recognize that he was not the right man for the job and step aside. It wouldn’t make him a bad person. Just the opposite; it would show that he really did have the best interests of their baby at heart.

  “Let me get my purse.”

  Patrick waited on the porch until she returned, then led the way to his truck. He opened the door for her and helped her inside. It struck Kate how thoughtful he was in these small, gentlemanly ways, but so thoughtless in other, larger ones.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” Patrick said, once they were out of her driveway and headed down the road. “About me not being around for you and the baby because I race. I would be here, Kate.”

  “All the time?”

  “As much as I can. I could cut back on the racing.”

  “But you still plan to race,” she said quietly.

  Patrick’s jaw clenched, but his voice was even when he spoke. “Yes, I still plan to race.”

  “Then you’d better turn the truck around.” Kate’s tone was flat and hard.

  “Wait a minute. I thought the problem was that I was gone so much of the time. Now you’re telling me I can’t race at all?” Patrick spoke slowly. “What is this, some kind of test for fatherhood? How many other qualifications are you going to throw in?”

  “It’s not a test.”

  “What is it then?” He looked over at her briefly, his eyes cool.

  Kate shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What happens when you’re out racing, Patrick?”

  “What do you mean?” He frowned, confusion in his tone. “What has this got to do with—”

  “On that last race, your boat almost sank.”

  “No, it didn’t.” Patrick shot her a glance. “Are you talking about the knockdown?” He snorted, shaking his head. “They kept calling it a broach, but it wasn’t even close. The mast didn’t touch the water.”

  “Patrick, I saw the footage. The boat looked like it was going to go completely over.”

  “I was there, Kate. We were fine.”

  “They said you were taking too many risks with the boat. You were pushing too hard. You should have been more careful.”

  “Careful doesn’t put you in the winners circle,” Patrick said stiffly. “That’s what it’s all about. Those guys weren’t out there. They didn’t know the conditions. I did.”

  “But they said you had too much sail up. That you always have—”

  The truck jerked to an abrupt stop at a red light and Patrick turned to face her. His eyes were intense, his jaw set. “The commentators second-guess everything, Kate. That’s their job. If you kept listening, you would have heard them say that my tactics brought us from the back of the fleet to second place. If I’d had a day longer, I’d have won that race.”

  Kate stared back at Patrick. She bit her lip, not wanting to continue the argument but unable to stop herself. “It sounded like you pushed too hard.” She paused. “Like that day last February.”

  A car horn sounded behind them. The light had turned green and Patrick put the truck in motion. “That was different,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

  Was it so different, Kate wondered, or just more of the same? She turned her fac
e to look out the side window, remembering the cold, brilliantly clear winter day. The fierce wind had seemed to light a spark in Patrick’s eyes. He and his team were match racing another boat across the Chesapeake, from Baltimore to Rock Hall. She dropped him off at a marina in the Inner Harbor and drove around to meet the boat on the other side of the Bay.

  Waiting for him at the dock, she heard Patrick’s voice on the VHF radio in the marina office. The dockmaster had turned up the volume to follow the race’s progress. Patrick and another man argued about how close he was sailing to a container ship. The man—the ship’s pilot—told Patrick to change course. Patrick refused. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll clear you.”

  “Change course now, Captain. I have the right-of-way in the shipping channel.”

  “Actually, I have the right-of-way, since I’m under sail, but I don’t have time to argue about it,” Patrick’s voice had crackled back. “Maintain your course and let me worry about mine.”

  With that, Patrick had signed off and Kate waited, tense until she saw his boat round the breakwater. She rushed out of the office and down to the dock in time to see the Coast Guard also pull alongside the pier. The Coast Guard officer had been coldly furious with Patrick and berated him for jeopardizing the safety of his crew. Patrick claimed that he knew exactly what he was doing; there was no risk. The officer said it was reckless and threatened to revoke his license. Finally, Patrick apologized. That hadn’t been the end of it, though. “I’m not wrong,” he had muttered after the Coast Guard officer walked away. “And I won the race.”

  Kate had felt her stomach sink. He was so certain that he was right, that the risks he took were not risks at all. Every day that she followed his race across the Atlantic Ocean, she had the same feeling inside. It grew agonizingly stronger when the boat had nearly capsized. Patrick Berzani lived on the edge and he liked it just fine out there.

  Patrick turned the truck left at a stop sign and Kate saw that they were heading down to the water.