A Mother's Secrets

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I’m actually at the college of art here in town, in the middle of hanging art on the walls of the classroom. Can you meet me here?” he asked. And then added, “I thought maybe it would be good if you could visit me in my world, maybe once a week at least, if that works for you, so that the baby becomes familiar with the surroundings.” It all sounded slightly hooey to him, but he’d read a lot about the importance of environment during pregnancy. Professionals in the field seemed to pretty much agree that babies were affected, at least somewhat, by things that went on outside the womb during their gestation.

  Even if it didn’t help, it couldn’t hurt.

  Christine had agreed immediately, and he was outside in the parking lot, waiting to lead her into the building that housed his classroom and small office. While classes hadn’t yet started, first year students were moving into dorms, preparing for orientation, so the campus had a sense of life about it. His building was completely empty, though, and he let them in with his security card.

  He’d seen her just three days before, and yet it was all brand-new again, the sense of life picking up when she was around.

  Because she was carrying his child. He knew that his attraction to her was because she was pregnant with his baby. Just like he’d have felt a new and energized attraction for Emily had she lived and was the one bringing their family to life. It was natural.

  But that skirt she was wearing—purple, black and blue little flowers on a white background—the way those flowers molded her, flowed around her calves with every step she took...

  He pulled at the hem of the T-shirt covering the blue shorts he’d put on, making sure that it covered any evidence of how much he liked that skirt. And the ribbed top... It was sinful, really, the way the fabric outlined those breasts so perfectly. Hugged them so softly.

  The way he was reacting to her was sinful. One thought of the child who would be setting up his classroom with him the following year—probably in a swaddle attached to his body—and he had himself under control.

  “So what are we doing here?”

  With a shard of guilt spearing through him, he turned to look at Christine. Oh God, if she’d seen, or sensed... He wasn’t a creepy guy. Didn’t ever get all het up over the mere sight of a woman. Not even Emily. He saw younger women, with great bodies and far fewer clothes, pretty much every day during his run on the beach. Found them attractive, of course. He was human. But he didn’t struggle to keep his reaction to them under control.

  Generally, his body just minded its manners on its own.

  Christine wasn’t looking at him at all. She’d picked up one of the several pieces of art lying along a bookshelf that lined one whole wall of the classroom.

  “I teach math to art students,” he told her. “Right brain, left brain. Opposite ends of the spectrum, to some. But in reality, art and math are encompassing visual depictions of the universe around us...”

  He stopped. Emily used to glaze over when he got his Math on. As did a lot of people. “Sorry,” he said. “I forget sometimes that numbers, measurements, spatial science and the way they all depict the world isn’t all that exciting to the general population.”

  She’d moved to a canvas with geometrical shapes. On the surface that’s what it was. If you stepped back and looked at the colors, you’d see a face there. And a single tear. “I’m intrigued.”

  “I use art to teach mathematical concepts,” he said. “Or rather, I challenge my students to use their art to show me the concepts I’m teaching them. I’m not an artist. At all. These were all final exams.”

  “So, your students did these?”

  She’d stopped at a three-dimensional, digitally printed plastic dollhouse.

  “Last semester. The top grades from all of my classes. I display them for the following semester, use them actually, as teaching tools when I’m introducing concepts, and then the students get them back.”

  She’d stopped at the poster-board-sized colored pencil drawing showing exponential math through pictures. A big bear with three little bears to show the concept of something cubed. There were thirty drawings in all. The bottom one showed an entire equation complete with solution through children’s pictures.

  “This was a math education class, geared for art students who want to teach middle schoolers,” he said. He was standing close to point out a couple of the students’ impressive highlights and caught a sniff of... Something flowery. Deliciously so. And stepped back. Quickly. The arm that he’d had outstretched to point to a part of the drawing brushed against her breast in his haste.

  His brain froze. Did he apologize? Draw attention to the flame she seemed to ignite within him? Or pretend it hadn’t happened, that it was no big deal?

  “What’s this one?” She’d moved on to an abstract piece and he had to struggle to come up with the mathematical concept found within it. Throughout it.

  His blunder was no big deal. He had to see that his reaction to her stayed that way.

  No big deal.

  Chapter Twelve

  She had herself in check. Had almost forgotten her core purpose when she’d leaned in a little too close to Jamie as he was showing her math in abstract art and he’d brushed against her, but she’d moved away. Moved on. Kept her mind on the job at hand.

  Giving Jamie and his unborn child exposure to each other, helping them build the bond that would last them a lifetime and beyond.

  It didn’t take a lot of effort. No heavy conversation or soul-searching required. Just being physically present with her belly in his space. She helped him hang and display all of the artwork on his shelf in less than half an hour.

  “Wow, thanks,” he said, standing back with her to view the results. “Seriously, this would have taken me a couple of hours or more, and the results would not have been so aesthetically pleasing,” he said.

  She chuckled at his self-deprecatory tone. “Aesthetically pleasing?” she asked. “Doesn’t sound like a Dr. Howe comment.”

  He’d been grinning, too, but his expression sobered at her words. “Emily said it a lot,” he said, his mood noticeably changed. Subtly. But still noticeable. It was like a fan had been turned off. Leaving the air in the room stale.

  Going to the desk at the front of the room, he gathered tape and nails, a hammer and some tacks together and locked them in a file cabinet in the corner.

  “It’s okay to talk about her, you know. In fact, I think it’s best if you do.” It’s what she would tell any couple in her office, facing their situation. Along with telling him to seek counseling, except that she knew he’d already done so.

  As had she. Before she’d signed on to be his surrogate. And she’d go back if she ever came up against a struggle she couldn’t handle.

  Half sitting on the corner of one of the student desks in the front row, Christine folded her arms and let him see the compassion she felt for him. As she did with most of her clients. Her compassion was what she had to give.

  He faced her, his bottom half mostly hidden behind his desk. The light seemed to have dimmed in his expression and she wished life had been kinder to him.

  Reminded herself that it was about to get much better, but harder, too, as he faced the challenges involved in raising a child alone.

  He straightened. Nodded. Put his hands on his desk in front of him. Like he was ready to make a point.

  “I’m struggling a bit here, unexpectedly,” he said, looking her right in the eye. As though trying to impart a particular message. “I think it’s only fair, given the unusual circumstances between us, that you know.”

  She nodded, too. “Yes. That’s good. Talk it out. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Only that for you it would be worth it.” A thought occurred to her, along with a stab of horror that left as quickly as it came. Still... “You do still feel that way, don’t you? That it’s worth it? You want this baby, right?”
>
  If not, there’d be a family that did, she reminded herself. Lists of couples with loving homes, waiting to fill them with children, were miles long.

  The instant sense of protectiveness that had come over her regarding the baby inside her was not altogether new. But it was a not quite welcome regurgitation of days long past. If he didn’t want the baby, could she think about keeping it?

  Could she make herself give up a second child to strangers?

  “Of course I want my baby!” Jamie’s stern, wide-eyed expression, his commanding tone left her in no doubt as to the truth of his words. “I admit to experiencing some unexpected emotional ups and downs here, but none of them, not a single one, have anything to do with wanting that baby. I did. I do. I always will.”

  Good. She nodded. Okay then, they were fine.

  “The struggle I was referring to has to do with you.”

  Not fine? They weren’t done here. “Me? Am I doing something that displeases you? If so, you definitely need to speak up. That’s why we have the contract, to protect both sides. If you have a problem...”

  His head shake stopped her words.

  “You aren’t going to get something like this to fit neatly into a contract,” he told her. “I’m just...you’re carrying my child...you went from a virtual stranger to...the woman carrying my child. There are feelings involved with that...and...and... God, I feel like a first-class ass, and...”

  She recognized guilt when she heard it. Her heart softened. Opened a bit more.

  “Jamie. It’s fine,” she told him, wanting to help him feel better. “I promise you it’s perfectly natural that you’d feel some resentment toward me. Emily, your wife, the woman you’ve loved since you were eight, should be carrying this child. Not me. You can’t help but have a part of you resent that...”

  There were some things you just couldn’t fix. But you could make them more bearable by sitting with those who were suffering. Offering comfort.

  “It’s not resentment I’m feeling.” He was still standing straight. The intensity of his gaze hadn’t lessened in the least.

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  Her mouth was dry. She no longer wanted to continue the conversation.

  “I’m finding myself attracted to you,” he said. “We hardly know each other. But...you’re carrying my child. The most important part of me is inside you, dependent upon you, and...like I said, I’m a first-class ass.”

  She shook her head again, tried to shore up the walls around her feelings. “It’s just a product of the situation,” she told him. Knowing that, above all else, to keep things professional, ethical, safe, she could not allow her own feelings to come into the situation.

  She’d be betraying his trust if she did so.

  And if she acted unprofessionally, she could do damage to the clinic’s reputation as well.

  “A form of transference, and completely understandable,” she said, with a little too much breathlessness for her liking, as the words came to her. “Certainly nothing to beat yourself up about,” she added, finding strength from within to give them both a solid piece of advice.

  “You’re not an ass, Jamie. You’re a decent man who’s owned up to something that you could have just kept secret. Which makes this situation safer for both of us. What we’re doing here is a beautiful thing, a miracle, really, but with every great thing there’s a shadow side, too. By nature of all that’s involved, pregnancy, even a planned and traditional one, generates a lot of varying emotion. Nothing’s free. We’ll get through this...”

  The words were powerful. She felt them. Saw his face relax and allowed relief to flow through her as he grinned. Nodded.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he said as he turned off the office lights and locked the door behind him.

  They walked silently, side by side, several inches between them, out to the parking lot.

  He stopped by her car, and she turned to ask him when he wanted to meet again.

  “I do see real truth in what you said,” he told her, just inches away, his gaze locked with hers as though he had some otherworldly mesmerizing power. “But you are a beautiful woman, Christine. I’d notice you whether you were carrying my baby or not.”

  Notice her. Like he probably noticed most women of an appropriate age, as men did.

  “Jamie...”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you. I’m just keeping it all out in the open, as you said.”

  He could have been hitting on her. They were alone in a deserted parking lot with the sun setting romantically behind them.

  But he wasn’t. She believed him. One hundred percent.

  And that didn’t stop her body from wishing that he had been.

  That he could be.

  That she could lean in and touch her lips to his.

  But of course, she didn’t say so.

  She wasn’t going to get weak and blow this.

  Too much was at stake.

  * * *

  The next several days settled into a routine of sorts. Jamie ran every morning. Worked with his tennis team most afternoons during the week. Started two of his online classes. Drove up to the university in Mission Viejo to his campus office to attend meetings and prepare for classes there that were due to start after Labor Day. He had dinner with Tom a couple of times.

  And had dinner with Axel and his mother, Sandra, once, too. She’d made steak tartare. Was a great cook. A good mother. And an immensely attractive woman who did absolutely nothing for him. He enjoyed the evening. Figured, when she said they’d do it again sometime, that he’d accept that invitation.

  He didn’t tell them, or anyone in his life other than Tom, that he was going to be a father. Things were still so new. So private. He wanted to savor the news for himself, not answer questions about the somewhat unusual choice he’d made.

  Which meant that, other than the brief time spent with Tom, the only time he could really be himself, live the life that was coursing through him, was during his visits with Christine. With his baby.

  They had them regularly in various locations and during different times of day, and he got through everything else on his schedule just to get to those visits. Christine had been right. Bringing out his attraction to her, naming it for the transference it was, made things much easier between them. They’d been to the grocery store once, just chatting as they walked up and down the aisles together with their own baskets, each doing their own shopping. When they both reached for the same box of bran cereal, they might have touched hands, but he saved them from the collision just in time. He let her have the first box and took the second for himself.

  A couple of days later they met at a bagel shop midmorning, for a quick snack. She liked her bagels plain with butter. He was a cream cheese guy all the way.

  The Sunday after her visit to his classroom, they took a walk on the beach. He’d hesitated before suggesting that particular outing. The beach was a constant in his life, a part of every day, which meant that it would play an important role in his child’s life as well and should be familiar.

  It was also the place where he felt closest to Emily.

  A place he reserved in his mind for just the two of them.

  Needing Emily to be as much a part of their baby’s life as possible was what eventually convinced him to suggest that Christine join him there. She was attending a fundraising cruise later that day, but had agreed to meet him just after sunrise. In his running shorts, T-shirt and tennis shoes, he waited for her at the parking lot to the Marie Cove resident public beach entrance.

  And glanced away when his body immediately reacted to the feminine thighs shaped softly by the black capri yoga pants she had on. The colorful midlength sport top that outlined a stomach still completely firm and flat didn’t help.

  With a flip-flop in each
hand, she walked up barefoot to tell him hello.

  Maybe he should have run first, so he’d be smelly and not feeling at all sexy when she met his gaze and smiled.

  An easy smile.

  An understanding one?

  As soon as they were on the sand, it seemed suddenly mandatory that he tell Christine that he sometimes talked to his deceased wife as he ran.

  “Did she run with you?”

  “No,” he said as he noticed a series of little bird tracks left in the sand. Something he didn’t generally see as he ran. “She was always a bike rider. When we were in high school, she’d ride her bike and I’d run alongside her.”

  “You didn’t like riding?”

  “I did. I still do. We used to take day, and half-day rides. I just prefer running for daily exercise.”

  “I hate exercising.”

  The news kind of pleased him. Seemed to put more of a separation between the two of them in real life, as if the only things they had in common were bran cereal and the baby she was carrying for him.

  “Which is why I play racquetball.”

  That was in the tennis family. He left the comment alone in his mind.

  “So tell me about her,” she said next, seeming to understand that Emily was the reason he’d suggested the outing. Understanding him with him saying so very little.

  Twenty minutes later, after having regaled her with various memories that had popped into his mind—their first dance at their wedding when she’d started to cry because she was so happy to finally be married to him; the time they’d sneaked out of town to go on a date without anyone knowing they were together, only to run into another judge who worked with her father; the entire Saturday they’d spent decorating Christmas cookies with his mother—he wasn’t feeling any closer to Emily.

  Christine was still there with him, though, his awareness of her a palpable thing.

  “I looked you and Emily up in the high school yearbook,” she said softly. “I don’t remember either one of you from when I was in school, but it’s clear she was pretty popular.”