by Tara Mills
“You’ve completely changed things,” Jean said in amazement.
“I did.”
She pointed to the new layout. “You moved the doorway and wrapped the cabinets. And look, these weren’t there before.”
“You’re right.”
Jean looked up at her and smiled. “She’s going to love this.”
Ariela agreed. “And because I shifted the cabinets against the interior walls, both the kitchen and the nook benefit from the natural light coming in through these new windows.”
“They really make the room. I like this little extension off the counter here.” Jean followed it with her finger.
“People spend a good part of their day in their kitchens. It’s one of the most important rooms in a house so it needs to be properly designed and comfortable. Before, this kitchen was a dead end. Now it’s going to be Campbell Central.”
“She’s going to love the extra cabinets too.”
“I don’t know how she got along without them.” Ariela admired the design herself, pleased with it.
Jean handed the printout back. “So when are you gonna bring Dylan around again?”
“Hang out with you and Ron?”
“Well, duh.”
Ariela laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe we should make some plans.”
“How about tonight? Now that he’s back, I’ll probably never get to see you outside of work anymore. You two will be holed up in your little love nest again.”
“You’ll see us.” Then she realized Jean was probably right. She did tend to spend all her free time with Dylan when he was around.
“I want to see how he’s doing for myself,” Jean went on. “Not to mention, with the wedding plans underway, we need to talk about a few things ourselves, like our apartment upstairs, living arrangements, etcetera.”
“Oh god, you’re right.” What was going to happen in two months when Jean and Ron were suddenly expecting to live together? Someone had to move. How had she managed to overlook that fact?
“And what do you think about making Friday a half day?” Jean broke into her thoughts. “You can help me find a dress.”
Ariela glanced up at her. “I thought you didn’t want big and traditional?”
“I don’t, but I’ll still need a dress. I was thinking of renting one, unless I can’t find what I want. I’d love to find something sleek, like a nineteen-thirties–style, nightclub gown. Picture Constance Bennett or Veronica Lake standing in front of a big band. I want to look as sexy as possible while I still can.”
Ariela’s eyes popped. “What are you saying?”
Jean’s shoulder took a quick little hop. “I think I might be pregnant.”
“Are you kidding me? How?”
Jean rolled her eyes at the obvious.
“I mean, you’re on the pill, same as me.”
“I wasn’t always good at remembering to take them when I spent the night at Ron’s, and he wasn’t the greatest at reminding me to grab them, either.”
“Does he know yet?”
“I told him.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Well okay. Call me when you know for sure.’”
Ariela frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”
Jean toyed with a couple of paperclips, absently hooking them together. “Ron’s taking it in stride. If I am, I am. If not, I eventually will be so what’s the big deal?”
“Huh.” Ariela slowly swiveled side to side in her chair, lost in thought. “How soon will you know?”
“I dropped off a specimen at the doctor’s office this morning. I was hoping to hear from them by now.”
Ariela grinned. “You want it to be positive, don’t you?”
Jean smiled back. “I kind of do. I just don’t want to deal with morning sickness on my honeymoon.”
Jean’s phone interrupted the conversation, and she broke off to answer it, leaving Ariela to wait impatiently.
As Jean talked, she shook her head at Ariela. Bending down, she pulled a file from her drawer and opened it to fabric swatches while conferring with her caller.
Ariela gave her a commiserating smile after she hung up. “Maybe next call.”
***
Dylan was driving back to Lewiston when Dr. Hadad returned his call. He pulled off the highway and parked so they could talk. The forty minute conversation that followed grew organically in a direction he didn’t expect. A mutual sense of purpose arose between them. When he finally hung up, Dylan was shaking with adrenaline all over again.
Oh god, what had he just committed to? He pressed the heels of his hands into his temples, groaning as he made deep circles. He had no choice. This was a debt that demanded payment. He owed Ali—the entire Hadad family.
Dylan felt his precariously balanced life shifting beneath him. His relationship with Ariela, the story he’d so doggedly pursued, even his very survival weren’t enough to counter the heavy debt on the other side.
Whatever anticipation he’d felt for the confrontation with Senator Norton had been spent. The one that was destined to come from this decision filled him with dread.
***
He sensed tension in the air the minute he walked into the design studio. It gave him pause, but Jean’s welcome relieved a little of his anxiety. She stood and came right over with her arms open. They embraced.
“How are you, Dylan?” She stepped back to look him over, her brows pinched with concern.
“Managing,” he admitted with a weak little smile, hoping it was enough to ease her worries.
“And your leg?”
“Pain meds are a wonderful thing.”
She laughed softly at that then moved aside so Ariela could take a crack at him.
It was obvious she was upset with him. “I can’t believe you drove to DC and back again today.”
Dylan gave her an apologetic squeeze and kissed her on the forehead. “I told you I’d be busy. I’ve got stories to write and irons in the fire.”
“I was worried. Don’t take off like that without telling me from now on, okay?”
Yeah, he probably should have mentioned it. “Sorry, I forget there are rules when you’re in a relationship. It’s been a while.”
Ariela slipped her hand into his and towed him away when Jean picked up her phone and began to dial. He sat down on the corner of Ariela’s desk. She settled in her chair.
“Aren’t you about done here?” He hoped so.
“No,” she answered slowly, her eyes locked on Jean.
“I’m on hold,” Jean told her while drumming rapidly on her desk with her pen.
Interesting. “What’s going on?” Dylan asked in an undertone.
Jean sat straight up and dropped the pen, her eyes wide. “Yes, I’m here…Uh-huh …You’re sure? … Okay. Let me write that down …Uh-huh …Good, I’ll be there. Thanks.” She looked up with a big smile, her face glowing.
Ariela squealed and bounded out of her chair so fast it knocked over her waste basket. She never noticed. Dylan picked it up and tossed the trash back into it while the friends hugged and chattered with excitement. He looked on, completely bewildered.
Jean reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “I have to call Ron and tell him we’re going out to celebrate tonight. You’re joining us, right?”
When he saw the hopeful smile on Ariela’s face, there was only one answer to that question. “Of course.” Then he waved Ariela over and whispered, “What are we celebrating?”
“Jean’s pregnant.”
Chapter 19
When Ariela climbed into the car, she seemed a million miles away. Dylan touched her arm to bring her back.
“Something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”
“I was just thinking about all of the changes that have come at me in the last couple of months. Six weeks ago, I didn't even know you, and now look, I’m in love.” Her little smile was there and gone in a flash. “My two oldest friends are planning their wedding and expecting a baby. On to
p of that, it just hit me I’m going to have to move. They’re going to need the second bedroom for a nursery.”
Dylan stared straight ahead, his mind racing. This would be the perfect time to suggest she move in with him, for real. She was there anyway, why not make it official? But he hesitated. How could he offer her shelter in a storm when he was standing right in the eye of the hurricane? His life was total chaos. His career was in a serious state of flux now that he was focusing on national rather than international stories. It was the right move for him, but that didn’t mean it was easy or he wouldn’t experience pangs of doubt and regret now and then. He’d moved back to the states and made the transition from absentee landlord to homesteader only eight weeks ago.
Then there was Max. Living with a dog was a big adjustment for him. It wasn’t the biggest. The major upheaval in his life was sitting right next to him. Dylan glanced surreptitiously at Ariela and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do about this one.
***
It wasn’t surprising that dinner conversation broke along gender lines. The guys talked sports and politics, while Ariela and Jean focused more on the wedding and pregnancy.
“You have to tell me everything. Don’t be stingy with the details. I want to know about morning sickness and cravings, mood swings and contractions.” Ariela turned when she felt Dylan’s focus directed her way. He looked spooked that she was even curious. “Take the terror down a notch there, big guy.” She laughed. “Just because I’m curious doesn’t mean I’m making plans. Relax. I just have no idea what to expect one day. Jean’s my guinea pig.”
Jean snorted and reached for her ginger ale. “Guinea pig? Nice.”
“You know what I mean,” said Ariela, placating her.
“I suppose I am breaking new ground, but I don’t want to be the reason your back hurts or you think your ankles look swollen. I swear to god, if you go into sympathetic labor with me, I’ll kick you out of the delivery room.”
Ariela’s face lit up. “You want me at the delivery?”
Jean nodded, her smile adding to her happy glow. “Well yeah! Ron will probably appreciate having someone around who isn’t ready to chew his head off with the next contraction.” Jean turned, poised to say something to Ron next when she caught the look of confusion on Dylan’s face. It made her laugh. “What, you didn’t know Ariela’s a hypochondriac?”
“No,” he said slowly, but he was grinning from ear to ear, obviously open to the possibility. He looked at Ariela and asked, “What else have you been keeping from me?”
She crossed her arms and shot back, “You should talk.”
Everyone stared at her, and no one was smiling now. Regret over her peevish retort struck instantly. She chewed her thumbnail and slid lower in her chair like a sulky teen. “I’m sorry. That just came out.”
Jean looked at her, hard, before turning back to Dylan with a forced laugh. “Ariela doesn’t just get headaches; she imagines potential aneurysms or tumors. A pulled muscle makes her worry about a hairline fracture. Or it used to.”
Let them laugh, thought Ariela, kicking her foot under the table. But he’d struck a nerve with his question. Dylan was the master of withholding information. It was how he carefully sidestepped unpleasantness without getting caught in a lie. For a journalist, he was pretty stingy with facts and details. Earlier today was a great case in point. He’d shuttled her out of the way then taken off for DC without a word. Apparently, she wasn’t quite over being angry with him. She might have been more forgiving if she hadn’t already come to recognize the pattern. Well, she’d be nice through the rest of dinner. No need to cause a scene. Tonight was all about Jean and Ron and their happy news.
Meanwhile, Dylan seemed ready enough to let bygones be bygones because he reached over and gave her a one-armed squeeze, his smile back in place.
“No way.” He shook his head. “The first time I saw Ariela, I thought she was one tough little nut. There she was, knocked out cold one minute, then fighting with the paramedics the next. Not only would she not admit she was hurt, but she insisted on going back to work. I actually wondered if I was the only reason she finally cooperated and agreed to go in for a check-up.”
“You were,” Ariela admitted sheepishly.
Jean slapped the top of the table. “I don’t believe it! Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”
Dylan laughed, linking his fingers with Ariela’s. “Don’t kid yourself, Jean. She’s a fighter.”
Just for that, Ariela rewarded him with a tender, lingering kiss.
Jean raised a glass to them both and winked. “At least your finickiness finally paid off.”
Dylan drew back from the kiss with a smile. “Care to explain?”
Ron and Jean both chuckled.
Ariela rolled her eyes. “Why don’t I take this one—and feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong, okay?”
“Only too happy.” Jean agreed rather sweetly.
Ariela snorted. “I knew I could count on you.” Turning to Dylan, she said, “From what I understand, Jean and Ron think my standards have always been a little too high where men are concerned.” She glanced over and they both nodded. “I imagine I’ve been the object of a lot of discussion and speculation on the subject. Right, again?”
Jean laughed and Ron grinned.
“Which explains the eight months,” Dylan added, understanding a little more now.
He remembered the length of my sexual dry spell? Incredible.
“Eight months? What’s eight months?” Ron asked.
“Never mind,” the other three answered simultaneously, setting off another laugh around the table.
“Why am I different?” Dylan asked Ariela, his voice soft.
“I’ve been wondering that myself.” Jean broke in. “No offense,” she added when Dylan looked at her.
“None taken,” he excused her easily enough.
Ariela wasn’t exactly prepared to discuss this on the spot, but when she looked into his dazzling lapis eyes, she wanted to try. Squeezing his hand she said, “When we met, I literally didn’t know what hit me.” She laughed, and he smiled. “I was in a pretty vulnerable position right then. But when I woke up and saw your eyes and heard your voice, somehow I knew I was in good hands—the right hands. It was strange, because I’ve never trusted anyone instantly before. I knew you were looking out for me. I was safe. That’s why I agreed to go to the hospital, even though I felt ridiculous.”
She was still amazed at how this man came into her life. “So many other people would have left me with the bike messenger, made him take the responsibility. You didn’t. You stayed with me.”
Dylan squeezed her hand. “Walking away from people who need help is harder than you think.”
Ariela bristled at the private reminder those innocuous words held. She turned from his intent gaze, furious with him all over again. And they’d been getting along so nicely too.
“But, one look at you, and I knew where I had to be,” he finished.
“I get it.” She crossed her arms, feeling peevish now. “You would never turn your back on someone.”
She was shocked when his face fell and he no longer saw her, though he was looking right at her.
“A lot of times you don’t have a choice. I can’t load up every single refugee and haul them to safety. I can’t walk up and disarm the guys with machine guns, scaring people away from the only water source for a hundred miles. I can’t feed every desperate person I meet or take their starving children with me. If I couldn’t disconnect, I’d be haunted right over the side of a bridge.”
He took a swallow of water and tried to wave the dark and depressing mood away with an apology, but Ron and Jean wanted to hear more. Ariela, however, didn’t. His words, his passion, cut her to the bone.
Dylan relented when pressed. “In my job, I’ve seen everything humanity has to serve up—the good and the bad. Some of it’ll give you nightmares. You try to remain objective, or at
least appear objective, but even that can be a challenge. For instance, say you finally land a choice interview with a violent warlord and he glibly justifies his actions and all the murders with bullshit. If you aren’t careful how you couch your questions, or your expression gives your true feelings away, you won’t live long. At the very least, it’ll make it tougher to keep working. So you bury your reactions to keep them from eating away your insides. To be a journalist, you have to learn to separate yourself professionally in order to do the job. On my own time, I refuse to do it. I need to counter that detachment whenever I get the chance.”
“That’s why you went back for Hanna.” Ariela stared at him, finally understanding how much she’d asked this remarkable man to give up. Would he eventually hate her for it? He’d said he could walk away from it—that he had—but was that true? Who was he actually lying to here? The more she thought about it, the more she believed he was lying to himself. How many people had he lost before it sent him into a haunted retreat and into her arms? With the three she just learned about this week, she knew of four people he cared about in the last five months. How many hadn’t he mentioned to her? How many nameless people had he mourned? She’d had two. She was way behind his numbers, and yet, she’d tried to play the sympathy card to justify her ultimatum. What was wrong with her?
Journalism was in his blood. The time would come when he felt that relentless pull to return to the work so admirably suited to him. She couldn’t stand between him and a calling like that. Obviously he’d needed more balance than he’d had. He found her when he was most vulnerable, most in need of love and comfort. Even a man could long for a little security, especially after so much insecurity. But how much time did that give them before he felt the tug again? Was she strong enough to kiss him goodbye when he left?
To Ariela’s horror, she finally understood her mother a little better too. She wasn’t as weak as Ariela supposed. She’d endured the daily risks of her husband’s job with a brave smile, steady in her love and support. It wasn’t until his death that she’d cracked. Even without her parents’ history and commitment, her love for Dylan made her appreciation for her mom’s pain stronger than ever.