With Child

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “You didn’t have to do this.” In a dream, she laid Jessie, still snugly bundled in a receiving blanket, down in the bassinet, gently covered her with a fuzzy pink blanket with a woolly sheep embroidered on it, and turned to the bags. “What did you buy?”

  Still standing in the doorway, he said, “I just noticed you didn’t have any clothes for her yet.”

  Amazed and touched, she pulled one small sleeper after another from the bag, some thin knits, others thick, warm fleece. In the second bag were tiny undershirts, a mint-green knit cap embroidered with a white-and-yellow daisy, a rattle and a quilted sack with arms and a hood that looked like it would keep Jessie warm on the way up Mount Everest.

  “With the weather getting cold…”

  Quinn never showed emotion, exactly, but she realized he was waiting with apprehension for her reaction.

  “Oh, Quinn.” Blasted if she wasn’t crying again. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I mean, it’s for her, but…”

  “Don’t start that again.”

  Okay, she was wrong. He did show emotion. He looked seriously irritated.

  “‘Thank you’ will do,” he growled.

  She blinked away moisture and said obediently, “Thank you, Quinn.”

  “Are those okay? The receipts are in the bag if you want to take anything back or get something different.”

  “Everything you bought is perfect. Beautiful.” Her face wanted to crumple.

  He shook his head, disappeared from the doorway and reappeared a moment later with a tissue in his hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at her.

  She blew her nose, mopped her cheeks and smiled at him. “I think I need a nap.”

  He nodded toward the bassinet. “Will she let you nap?”

  “She actually hasn’t cried much yet. I think she’s too traumatized by the noisy, bright world. I did nurse right before you picked me up.”

  He looked vaguely alarmed, probably at the idea of Jessie squalling, and left her to her own devices. Mindy sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at her sleeping daughter, still awed by her perfection. No, by her very existence.

  She was surprised, too, by the love that was so sharp it might have been pain. It was fierce and instinctive, awakened the minute she’d seen her daughter, bloody and trailing the umbilical cord. She couldn’t imagine not feeling this way. It left her puzzled because she knew her own mother had never loved her so intensely. For the first time, instead of hurt she felt pity for the joy her mother had missed.

  “Daddy,” she whispered, “I wish you could have seen Jessamine.”

  She woke an hour later to a piercing cry. She was on her feet in an instant, lifting Jessie and cuddling her.

  “Sssh, sssh, it’s okay, Mommy’s here.” She looked up to see Quinn in the doorway and realized she’d never shut the door.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I think someone is hungry,” Mindy murmured. “Or wet. Is your diaper wet, sweetheart?”

  He nodded and retreated again. She wondered in gentle amusement what he would have done if she’d slept through Jessamine’s cries. Tried to change her diaper himself? Or woken Mindy?

  But then it occurred to her he had yet to hold Jessie. Or even, she thought in surprise, touch her.

  She knew when she nursed that Jessie wasn’t yet getting much milk, but she seemed satisfied by the act of suckling. Since she didn’t immediately fall asleep again, Mindy carried her out to the living room.

  Quinn rose from his chair, the newspaper crackling in his hands. His gaze was fixed on the bundle in her arms.

  “Here,” she said. “I thought you might like to hold her.”

  “Hold her?” He looked…well, she couldn’t quite decide. Horrified? Unwillingly fascinated by the idea?

  “She won’t break.”

  “I’ve never held a baby.”

  “One was born right into your hands. You kept her safe.”

  “I passed her off to her mother as quick as I could.”

  “Coward,” Mindy teased. “Come on. Put down the paper.”

  With obvious reluctance, he did.

  “Now, sit.”

  He sat.

  “Wow. If I’d known you’d follow orders so easily…”

  He gave her a dark look.

  She laughed at him and laid Jessie in his arms. His head bent, and he and the baby gazed in equal bemusement at each other.

  Mindy curled one foot under her and settled on the end of the couch, a few feet from Quinn’s chair.

  The very sight of him in jeans and a black T-shirt, powerful muscles flexed in his upper arms as he sat frozen holding the tiny, pink-bundled infant, was enough to give Mindy that familiar twist in her chest. Jessie wriggled one arm free of the receiving blanket and waved it, causing Quinn’s eyes to all but cross as he studied the minute hand.

  “She’s so…little.”

  “Not that little. She was almost eight pounds. Imagine having a five-pound preemie.”

  “Can she see me?”

  “I think things are pretty fuzzy. It takes a few weeks for a baby’s eyes to figure out how to focus.”

  Jessamine let out a squawk. Quinn jumped. “Nothing wrong with her lungs,” he muttered.

  Mindy smiled. “Nope. I’m afraid you’ll be hearing a whole lot from her in the middle of the night. Not only does she want to nurse every couple of hours, but I have a suspicion she’s nocturnal.”

  “Isn’t that normal?”

  “Yeah, there’s a reason new parents look haggard for the first couple of months.” She bit her lip. “Quinn, you’ve let yourself in for an awful lot. I can start looking for an apartment right away if you want.”

  His head lifted and he pinned her with a glittering stare. “I said I wanted you to stay and I meant it.”

  “O-kay.” She waved her hand. “Down, boy.”

  He looked astounded.

  “You don’t have to intimidate me. I’m just asking. And telling you. You won’t hurt my feelings if you ask me to start apartment hunting.”

  “I don’t intend to kick you out!”

  Jessamine opened her mouth and screamed bloody murder.

  Mindy laughed at his aghast expression. “You scared her.”

  He swore, then said, “Damn it, I didn’t mean… Oh, hell. What do I do?”

  “Just lift her to your shoulder.” She mimicked the action. “Support her head with your hand. Like that. Good. Then pat her back and murmur soft things to her. Or sing. She likes it when I sing.”

  “She wouldn’t like my singing.” He cleared his throat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to cry.” His big hand engulfed Jessie as he awkwardly patted. “Hey, don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

  As if by instinct he began to jiggle her, and his voice softened, took on a singsong rhythm Mindy had heard herself using as well.

  Jessie quieted.

  Mindy smiled. “I think she likes that.”

  “Yeah.” He stole a glance down. “Yeah, I think she does.” His amazement was comical.

  “Would you mind holding on to her while I take a shower?” Mindy stood, taking his assent for granted.

  There was a hitch in the rhythm and Jessie’s head bobbed. “What if she…”

  “Talk to her.”

  The hot water beating down on her felt unbelievably good. Drying herself afterward, Mindy looked ruefully at her still-soft belly. She was going to have to keep wearing her maternity clothes for a few weeks, at least. How long did it take to get your figure back?

  Finger-combing her wet hair, she went back to the living room to find that Quinn hadn’t moved, but Jessie had apparently fallen asleep against his shoulder.

  “Afraid to twitch?”

  “Won’t she wake up if you move her?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen puppies and kittens and little kids sleep?” She reached for her daughter.

  He let her take Jessie. “I’ve never had a puppy or kitten.”

  She stopped. “You’re
kidding.”

  “Why would I kid?”

  “Not even the Howies?”

  “They had an old dog. Buster.” He looked momentarily reminiscent. “Buster was a beagle. A great dog. He died when I was a junior in high school. They never replaced him.”

  “Wow. We took in a pregnant cat when I was a kid. We found homes for most of the kittens. We kept the mom and one kitten. Mom still has them. I remember the way the kittens slept in a heap. One could climb right on top of the pile and the others wouldn’t even stir.” She leaned a cheek on the pale fuzz of her daughter’s head. “I think Jessie is like that.”

  Putting Jessie down for her nap, Mindy thought, At least he had a pet.

  What the Howies had done for Dean and Quinn was extraordinary. They hadn’t just given them a home. They’d given them a childhood neither had had. Even Dean, much as he’d worshipped the memory of his mother, had admitted that she’d taken him from one dump to another. They’d lived in women’s shelters some of the time. He’d remembered long days of kicking his heels while he sat on plastic chairs in government offices while she applied for food stamps and welfare and subsidized housing. As fast as he’d grown, he’d never had clothes that fit. The jeans had always been too short, his bony wrists had always stuck out below the cuffs of shirts.

  “I wanted the things other kids had.” He’d looked with satisfaction around his living room, at the leather couches and crystal and wrought-iron lamps, at the ten-thousand-dollar painting that hung over the fireplace. He’d always made sure everyone knew how much he’d paid for that painting. “I haven’t done half-bad at getting them.”

  He would hate to know she hadn’t been able to get anywhere near that much money when she’d sold the painting.

  In the early days, she’d enjoyed his childish pleasure in his success and in new possessions, but had also found it a little sad. What she hadn’t realized was that he never would have been completely fulfilled. That car or boat or fancy lawn mower wasn’t an end, but…oh, more like a piece of chocolate popped in the mouth of someone who was ravenous. It tasted good, it spiked the blood sugar and brought temporary contentment—but then it was swallowed and the blood sugar plummeted and the stomach was still empty. Dean was always hungry.

  Mindy wondered whether Jessie would have been like that bite of chocolate for Dean, or whether she would have satisfied a deep need in him for love. She wanted to think he would have been a great father.

  Over the next few days, she kept thinking about Dean and about Quinn in contrast.

  Why didn’t Quinn covet the newest, shiniest, most dazzling possessions? He hadn’t had it any better than Dean. Worse, in some ways.

  And why had one man tried hard to be loved by everyone, while the other became a loner, skipping most human connection by choice?

  Why, she wondered, had Dean, who’d known that he was loved, been so restless? Shouldn’t he have been more able to make long-term commitments than Quinn, who’d never had anyone make one to him until the Howies came along?

  More and more she speculated on whether her marriage would have lasted. Would she have satisfied Dean, or would his unending hunger have caused him, sooner or later, to start dreaming about replacing his wife with a newer, more spectacular model?

  She felt horribly cynical even to be thinking that way, or to be wondering whether she would have remained content in the marriage, but part of her needed to know.

  And she knew why, although she wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

  One night, after Jessie was asleep and she and Quinn were cleaning up the dinner dishes, Mindy said, “You didn’t have much when you were growing up, either. Why is it that you aren’t like Dean? I mean, always wanting something newer and better?”

  Quinn paused with his hand on the handle of the faucet. If he was surprised at the way she’d jumped in with both feet, given the fact that they’d been talking about a scandal in the state attorney general’s office, he didn’t show it.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just never cared that much about possessions. In fact…”

  He braked so suddenly she was intrigued.

  “In fact what?” she prodded, when it was clear he wasn’t going to finish.

  His face took on that closed look she was so familiar with. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he shrugged, turned on the water and poured soap into the sink.

  “I was going to say, if anything I was suspicious when someone wanted to give me something. It felt like a bribe. I always assumed strings were attached.”

  Disturbed by the sad picture of a boy who didn’t believe in pure goodwill, she asked, “Why?”

  “Why?” He turned off the water, not looking at her. “I don’t know. No, that’s not true. My mother always had a man. When they gave me presents, they were trying to buy something from her. I knew that, even when I was really young. And when she gave me a special treat, I knew to brace myself. She did it when she felt guilty. Usually it meant she was going to take off for a few days, or she’d spent her welfare check on heroin without going to the grocery store first.” He shrugged, his appalling story matter-of-fact.

  “How awful,” Mindy whispered. On automatic, she accepted the pan from him that he’d just rinsed and began to dry it.

  “I survived.”

  “Has anyone ever given you a present you really loved and kept?”

  He looked surprised. “I don’t know. Yeah, probably. I guess some of the CDs in my collection were given to me.” He turned off the running water and looked directly at her. “The Camaro.”

  “It wasn’t a gift. You insisted on paying for it.”

  “I think of it as one. As something of Dean’s you wanted me to have.”

  “I did want you to have it. But I wanted to give it to you.” It still frustrated her, remembering his stubborn refusal to accept anything from her. “You know, I think that’s when I lost hope that we could stay friends. When you wouldn’t even let me do that.”

  “I couldn’t let you give me something that expensive.”

  “But you meant so much to Dean, and so did the car. It just seemed important that you had the best piece of him I could give. Don’t you understand?” She felt as if she were begging. “It wasn’t really from me. It was from Dean.”

  Hands in the soapy water, Quinn said, “I didn’t take presents from him, either. Nothing big.”

  “A CD was okay, but not a car.”

  His mouth twisted. “Something like that.”

  “Did you really believe Dean would want something in return?” She studied Quinn’s hard, unreadable profile.

  The breath he drew was ragged. “No. My reaction was…instinctive. He got that.”

  “And I didn’t.” Mindy tried to smile, but felt her lips tremble. “You and I didn’t even know each other that well, and I expected you to take this huge gift from me because we’d both loved this guy.” The realization stung. “That was…really self-centered of me.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “But I did. Kind of. Dean tried to tell me about you. I knew that when you left the Howies, you took only the things you’d actually bought with your own money from your job. Dean was laughing when he told me, like, see, Quinn has this weird quirk. He might have respected your wishes, but he didn’t get it. Not really. He just thought it was funny.”

  Quinn made a rough sound in his throat. “He was humoring me.”

  Belatedly, she understood she might be hurting him by telling him this. “Maybe I’m wrong…”

  “No. You’re not. I knew he didn’t really understand. ‘Why not take everything you could get?’ was his attitude. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Just…we were opposite sides of the coin.”

  “Do you suppose…” Mindy gazed out the kitchen window. “Do you suppose his mother wanted nice things desperately? Or that she always promised him that someday they’d have all the things they wanted? Or the last thing she said was tha
t when she came back for him, she’d buy him some toy?”

  “I don’t know.” Quinn rotated his head, as if to loosen tight neck muscles. “What I do know is that he was hardwired to be the way he was.”

  “And you to be the way you are.”

  “Maybe. Aren’t we all?”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure I believe that. I think we have some choice. We may be pulled one way or another, but we can dig in our heels and say, ‘I’m not going to be like my mother.’”

  Where in heck had that come from? Was that how she saw her quest as a human being? To not be like her mother?

  Quinn gave her an odd, thoughtful look. “You’re not, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean that. It was just an example. Pulled out of a hat.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She swatted him with the dish towel. “Mr. I-Will-Never-Trust-Another-Human-Being.”

  The mask slid over his face again. “Is that how you see me?”

  Feeling bold, she stuck to her guns. “I think that’s how you see yourself.”

  “I trusted Dean.”

  “But not so far as to accept something from him that might have strings attached.”

  He pulled the plug from the drain and faced her, voice flat. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe I don’t.” Her boldness was swirling away with the dishwater. “But I want to.”

  “What difference is it to you what makes me tick?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. At something he saw on her face, he went still. They stared at each other.

  “I…” Her words squeaked to a stop.

  The muscles in Quinn’s jaw flexed. Then his lashes shielded his eyes and he said, with seeming indifference, “Jessie’s crying.”

  “Oh!” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. She hadn’t even heard her own baby crying! “Oh, dear. I’d better…” She backed from the kitchen. “She must be hungry….”

  He was putting away the pans she’d dried and didn’t even seem to notice when she fled.

  THAT ONE CONVERSATION in the kitchen seemed to change everything. Until then, it had never once occurred to Quinn that Mindy might see him as anything but Dean’s friend. She was so damn determined to believe that everything Quinn did for her was really for Dean, how was he supposed to think differently?