She’s Having a Baby

by Marie Ferrarella

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?” MacKenzie commented.

  Quade took a sip from the glass of wine that Aggie had given him earlier. Normally, he didn’t drink anything in the evening; he’d done enough of that as a teenager, losing himself in the wildness of youth. But Ellen had changed all that. For a while. When she’d died, he’d almost crawled into a bottle.

  Eventually realizing Ellen wouldn’t have wanted to see him that way had been what had made him crawl back out again and become all but a teetotaler.

  But this was the first day of his new job and it was a social occasion, so he supposed that it was all right, as long as he kept it down to one drink. “That’s one way to put it.”

  He didn’t exactly sound thrilled to be here, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still here. MacKenzie had a feeling that no one made Quade Preston do anything he didn’t want to. Aggie had her vote for negotiator of the year.

  She shook her head at the wine as he offered to pour her a glass. Instead, MacKenzie picked up the bottled water that was set out for them. “So, how did your first day go?”

  He shrugged carelessly. His memory was a blur of names and faces. What remained clear in his mind was that the laboratory itself had been state of the art. And that was all that mattered. “All right.”

  “That’s it?” Disappointment registered. She would have thought that the man would have been vocal about his work, if nothing else. “You can elaborate a little, can’t you? You’re not being judged on brevity here.”

  Taking another sip, he looked at her over the rim of his glass. “I wasn’t aware I was being judged at all.”

  She shrugged casually, wondering what made the man tick. “Figure of speech.”

  Aggie stuck her head in from the kitchen and looked pointedly at Quade. “You need to loosen up, dear.” The next moment, she emerged carrying a large salad bowl. He took it from her, earning a smile. “Right in the middle of the table will be fine.” When he did as she asked, Aggie looked at him meaningfully. “But you still need to loosen up.”

  “My line of work doesn’t exactly promote laughter.”

  “No, but it does promote hope,” MacKenzie pointed out. It earned her a dark look. “You’re looking for a way to find a cure for something, right? That means you’re looking for a way to find hope for all these terminal people. A way to bring them laughter.”

  “Life,” he corrected. “Not laughter.”

  “Life without laughter isn’t worth living,” MacKenzie told him.

  “See why I like her?” Aggie asked him, returning from the kitchen with a large, steaming bowl of spaghetti sauce. She placed it on the table. Warm garlic bread followed. She gestured them to sit. “Nothing fancy,” Aggie pronounced with gusto. “Just something to fill you up and stick to your ribs for a while.”

  MacKenzie looked at the offering, her mind hungry, her stomach starting to rise in rebellion.

  Aggie indicated a small crystal bowl beside MacKenzie’s place setting. “I think you might like to put that on your spaghetti before you add the sauce,” she told her.

  It was ginger, she could tell by the scent. The woman had thought of everything. Mentally, MacKenzie blessed her.

  She raised her eyes to Quade, but he was busy cutting the loaf of bread in thirds. She quickly sprinkled the golden spice over her small serving of spaghetti.

  Aggie eyed the small portion, her generous mouth frowning in vague disapproval. She picked up a serving fork and added a third more spaghetti to MacKenzie’s plate, then covered it in more sauce. “Don’t worry about eating me out of house and home. There’s plenty more of that on the stove.”

  Gamely, MacKenzie took her first mouthful. The moment she began to chew, her taste buds were tantalized. A sound of pleasure escaped. She looked at Aggie with awe. “This tastes wonderful.”

  Aggie looked beyond pleased as she beamed. “Thank you.”

  MacKenzie knew that a lot of people just paid lip service, thinking they were obligated to because of the host’s hospitality. “No, really, I mean it. I know Italian food,” she professed. “My father runs Al Dente, an Italian restaurant in Boston. I worked there a couple of summers and—” She stopped abruptly, seeing the expression on Quade’s face. “What?”

  He shook his head. Talk about coincidence. “I used to eat there sometimes.”

  MacKenzie looked at him in surprise. “You’re from Boston?” There was no telltale accent, but then she had gotten rid of her own years ago. It just took a bit of effort.

  “I’m from a lot of places,” he corrected, then added, “but Boston’s one of them.”

  She couldn’t help wondering if he was just making this up. “Where did you live?”

  He told her. Her mouth dropped open. She was vaguely aware of Aggie looking on in amusement. “That’s my old neighborhood.”

  “Small world, isn’t it?” Aggie commented. Her voice said that she had already made up her mind as to the answer to the question.

  Chapter Six

  MacKenzie was barely aware of eating. Her conscious energy was devoted to searching her memory. She was trying to remember if she’d ever bumped into Quade during that small island of years they had been in Boston together, perhaps even served him a meal since he’d said he’d been to her father’s restaurant.

  But nothing materialized. Boston was a big city and even people in the same neighborhood didn’t always know one another. She had the feeling that at no time had Quade Preston ever fallen under the heading of outgoing and friendly. Even in a commune, the man would have found a way to keep to himself.

  Unless Aggie had been his neighbor, she thought with a suppressed smile.

  “Traveled around a lot, did you?” Aggie asked Quade.

  He noticed the smile that MacKenzie struggled to keep under wraps. Why did the sight of it tease his senses that way, making him anticipate seeing it bloom? It made no difference to him one way or another if she smiled, as long as it wasn’t at his expense.

  “My father’s job took us to several different places,” he said to his hostess.

  For just a moment, he saw Aggie’s expression grow wistful. “Must be nice,” the woman commented. “Me, I was born and bred right here.”

  MacKenzie was quick to defend her adopted home. Personally, there was no place she would have rather lived than here.

  “Well, if you had to be in only one place,” she told Aggie, “New York City would be it. It’s got so much to offer.” She slid a sidelong glance toward Quade to see if he agreed with her. His expression, as always, was impassive. The man could have posed for a statue with no effort at all. “Can’t beat the theater here, or the restaurants. Or the museums,” she added quickly.

  Her expression grew distant as her own words triggered a memory of the last time she’d gone to the Museum of Natural History. It had been raining outside and she and Jeff had spent hours wandering around the halls, absorbing the past. Talking about the future. She hadn’t had a clue that this would be the last time they’d be together.

  As if sensing her thoughts were taking her mentally away from the table, Aggie cleared her throat, getting MacKenzie’s attention.

  “Do you go to the theater?” Aggie asked, her question purposely directed toward Quade.

  He didn’t like being pinned down about anything, even something as innocuous as the theater. “I just moved here.”

  Like her Jack Russell terrier, who was sitting in a corner, working away at a soup bone larger than he was, Aggie dug in, ready to outwait Quade for an answer to her question.

  “But they had to have some kind of theater where you came from.” The woman left the end of the question up in the air, coaxing him to jump in with an answer.

  “Maybe they did, but I never went.” Anticipating her next question, he added, “Never had the time.” He hoped that would be the end of it and that the woman’s attention would be redirected toward MacKenzie.

  It was, but not in the way he would have appreciat
ed. Aggie shook her head. “All work and no play. We’re going to have to change that.” She looked at MacKenzie for backup—and a plan of action. “Don’t you have access to theater tickets where you work? Good seats?” she added.

  Again, her question sounded as if she already knew the answer.

  MacKenzie smiled. Because Dakota was in television and the star of a highly rated daytime talk show, getting her hands on things like theater tickets was no problem for her boss/best friend. When you’re hot and at the top of your game, it was amazing just how friendly people could be, hoping to catch a little “glow-by-association” from the aura that you cast. And such was the case with Dakota. And what Dakota liked doing best was sharing.

  “I’m sure we could get them,” she told Aggie. “Any particular one?”

  Aggie had a pensive look on her face for a moment as she mentally weeded through the available shows currently playing on Broadway. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  Just for a moment, MacKenzie could have sworn that she heard the strains of the “Matchmaker” song from Fiddler on the Roof playing in the background. The woman was trying much too hard, especially since neither MacKenzie nor, she assumed, Quade were in the market to be “matched.”

  It was time to set this train on another track. MacKenzie looked at Quade. “How long have you been in research?”

  Quade stopped eating, not pleased by having attention drawn to him again. Even as a child, he’d always been at his best when he was left alone to do his work. He never needed the validation that came from having someone paste a gold star on his paper or praise him in front of others. He knew what he was capable of and that suited him just fine. He was happiest competing not against others, but himself. That was where the true sense of accomplishment came from, besting himself, going a little further than he had before.

  He looked back at his plate and addressed his words to a strand of spaghetti. “Since before I graduated from medical school.”

  A conversation with Quade took work, MacKenzie decided, but it was the kind of challenge she liked to undertake. So over the course of the dinner, the conversation eked along, with either Aggie or MacKenzie pulling teeth and Quade responding in one or two sentences. One or two words if he could get away with it.

  MacKenzie could just visualize him on Dakota’s show with the audience no doubt thinking that somehow their programming had gone into slow motion. But she was undaunted. Besides, she liked finding things out about this mysterious, brooding stranger who had moved in next door, no matter how slow the process.

  “So do you like this new facility you’re working in?” she asked.

  He shrugged, putting down his fork. Aggie had urged two servings on him and he felt as if he was going to explode if he even looked at a third. Eating for him was something he did these days out of necessity, not out of a need to satisfy a craving. Ever since Ellen had died, he ate to live, nothing more. But he had to admit, this had been a rather pleasant experience. If only it hadn’t been accompanied by a myriad of never-ending questions.

  “It’s all right,” he allowed. “Although I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be there.”

  MacKenzie looked at him incredulously. Wow, talk about wanderlust. “This is just your first day. You couldn’t be that restless, could you?”

  “Being restless doesn’t have anything to do with it. The program at Wiley Labs is underfunded. If some money isn’t allocated from somewhere, and soon, the laboratories might have to close their doors, or at least cut back drastically.”

  MacKenzie looked at him knowingly. “And the last hired is the first let go.”

  “Something like that.”

  He made it sound as if he didn’t care one way or another, but MacKenzie figured he had to. A man didn’t just pick up and move because he was indifferent to his job. Why was he so reluctant to express any sort of attachment to anything?

  Aggie looked at MacKenzie. “Couldn’t your friend do something about that?”

  It made her uneasy the way Aggie just seemed to know things about her. Granted, her life wasn’t exactly a state secret, but Aggie had a way of looking at her and intuiting things not readily known. She’d told Quade where she worked but she hadn’t mentioned anything about the show to Aggie. Just as she hadn’t mentioned that she was pregnant to the woman. Aggie just knew.

  “You’re talking about Dakota?” It was a rhetorical question.

  “Yes.” The look Aggie gave her spoke volumes. The next moment, she was the cherubic woman who had corralled them for dinner. “By the way, once I get my act polished I was thinking I could impose on you to get me a three-minute slot on your show.”

  Everybody and his brother wanted to be on Dakota’s show. But saying no to Aggie would have been like saying no to a beloved grandmother on Christmas morning.

  “I’ll talk to Dakota,” MacKenzie promised. And then the seed Aggie had planted first took root. It was as if MacKenzie heard an echo of Aggie’s voice in her head. She looked at Quade suddenly. “You know, Dakota’s marvelous with fund-raisers. Maybe she could help Wiley Memorial raise the money it needs to keep the program running.”

  A fund-raiser? Quade blinked, stunned. He felt as if he’d just been run over by a steamroller. How had a piece of cast-off information suddenly turned into a strategic plan in the making?

  His first inclination was to talk MacKenzie out of it. “I don’t—”

  If, perhaps, there might have been a chance to stop MacKenzie, there was apparently no stopping Aggie once she got started. The older woman rattled off Dakota’s qualifications to run a fund-raiser as if they were her own. “Her grandfather used to be on television years ago and she has a lot of ties to the industry. I don’t think there’s anyone Dakota doesn’t know.”

  It was the kind of statement that begged for a rejoinder. He gave it. “She doesn’t know me,” Quade pointed out.

  Amusement danced in Aggie’s soft blue eyes as she looked at him. “Yet.”

  The next half hour was given over to discussing the fund-raiser that still only existed in the minds of the two women at the table. And slowly, it began to take on breadth and form.

  At every turn, Quade felt as if he were outflanked and outmaneuvered. In truth, there was really no good reason for him to try to resist what they were proposing in the first place. After all, he believed in his work, in what he was trying to do, even if it was hideously ironic. He was searching for a cure for leukemia, the way he’d been all along.

  On the exact same disease that had taken Ellen away from him. If that wasn’t irony, then he hadn’t a clue what the word meant.

  “I’ll talk to Dakota tomorrow,” MacKenzie promised, her voice growing in enthusiasm rather than diminishing. “See what she thinks and if she’s amenable—and I’ve never known her not to be to a worthy cause—then she’ll get in touch with the laboratories’ directors. She’ll give you full credit, of course and then—”

  His voice was sharp as he cut into her words. “I don’t want it.”

  MacKenzie stopped abruptly, exchanging looks with the older woman at the table. She didn’t understand. “You don’t want the fund-raiser?”

  “No,” he said, finishing his wine. Was it his imagination or did it have an unusually powerful kick for something that was supposed to be only marginally proof? “I don’t want the credit.”

  That still left MacKenzie bewildered and curious. “Why not?”

  What he liked even less than sharing his thoughts—outside of work—was explaining himself. “Because it’s not necessary.”

  MacKenzie cocked her head and looked at him. Everyone she knew wanted credit. Sometimes for things they hadn’t even done but most definitely for what they had, as long as the credit was good.

  And this was good, very good.

  “Are you part Navajo?” she asked him abruptly. Now that she thought of it, he had the coloring for it and his cheekbones were gaunt and chiseled.

  The question, coming out of nowhe
re, caught him completely unprepared. A little like the woman who asked it. She seemed to make a habit out of making off-the-wall assumptions. “What?”

  “Navajo,” she repeated. There was no recognition in his eyes. It was as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue. “Navajo Indians, among others, don’t believe that it’s polite to compete, to steal the thunder for themselves.”

  He could identify with that, and even if there was a touch of Native American in him, he wouldn’t have known. He was down-to-earth, honest-to-gosh American mutt with so many nationalities mixed up within him he could have been his own one-man UN.

  But to say something along those lines would have opened up another two hours’ worth of conversation, so he found it safest just to shake his head.

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t see the point in being singled out.”

  He noted, with a smattering of what he realized was satisfaction, that he had left MacKenzie speechless.

  For at least a couple of seconds.

  That helped balance out the feeling that he had somehow fallen down the rabbit hole and hadn’t a clue as to how to get back out again. The way he saw it, the older woman seemed to arrange things and then the younger one went to town with it until he felt completely snowed in with rhetoric.

  Mentally pausing a moment, Quade couldn’t remember ever being in the company of anyone who talked as much, or radiated as much enthusiasm, as this woman he was sitting beside.

  He needed to retreat as soon as it was politely feasible. But Quade still didn’t get his opportunity until almost an hour later. The three of them had cleared the table. He’d helped out over Aggie’s protests because he felt it was the right thing to do and because, with his helping, it got the job done faster and him closer to escaping.

  But Aggie had had other plans. Dessert had to be served first. It turned out to be some kind of pie-and-ice-cream concoction that flirted with his taste buds, reminding them that they were alive. Reminding him that once he used to go to restaurants just to eat and just to talk. Back in the days when he’d been with Ellen and in love.