Having the Soldier's Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I was clearing it out of the desk.”

  Clearing it to where?

  “You need more space?” she pushed, though her chest felt heavy with the question.

  “Not really. I just...didn’t want it there.”

  “Because you want it somewhere else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  He watched her and silence grew. She couldn’t move. Almost couldn’t feel.

  “My closet shelf.”

  The tone of his voice, a look in his eye, something warned her that there was more. But she was so damned relieved that their precious mementos weren’t going into the trash—even if they’d been headed there minutes ago—that she nodded and rose.

  “I’m going to start dinner,” she said, and left him alone with his box.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He didn’t want to be a father. He wouldn’t make a good one. The child would inevitably be hurt by his shortcomings. His inability to play. Get excited. Express affection. Feel joy.

  It wasn’t so much that he’d had an “emotionotomy” as it was that he just no longer trusted nebulous sensations that made it harder to do what had to be done.

  Some guys got to be dentists and car mechanics. They did their jobs and went home. Winston was a soldier. He was required to lay his life on the line for the good of his country, and that mind-set wasn’t something he could let go. He didn’t regret the choices he’d made.

  At the same time, he had to learn from them.

  Loving meant allowing others to count on you.

  And they couldn’t count on him. Plain and simple.

  No matter how many cards and notes and memories swamped him—and they were definitely swamping him more and more as days turned into weeks and months, some just in little ways, others, like the night he’d woken up hard next to Emily, in more difficult-to-brush-off fashion—they didn’t change the facts.

  His country could count on him. His loved ones couldn’t.

  Because loyalty and duty won out over love. Love wasn’t the huge, all-encompassing highest power as he and Emily had once believed it to be. It hadn’t protected “them.”

  He’d thought about letting Emily in on some of those inner thoughts—trying to help her understand why things were happening as they were—but every time came back to the same assessment he’d had the first night in her home. She’d think he was just suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress. She’d take his words with a “pat on the head” attitude, telling him that in time his feelings would change.

  Meaning, would return to what she thought was normal. His counselor continued to give him some of the same rhetoric. Telling him to give it time. Not to make major life-changing decisions in the first six months after his return.

  They didn’t get who and what he was—that this was his normal now.

  Seeing Emily look at his box the other night, he’d been pretty certain that she’d been right to say that time would bring clarity.

  Not his. Hers.

  He suspected, most certainly after that box hadn’t brought about any hint of the faith she’d once expressed so adamantly in them, that time was already making its delivery.

  He just had to hang tight. To stay the course. Stick with the plan.

  Which was why, Tuesday night, he sought her out in her office before bedtime. “I just wanted to let you know,” he said from the doorway, still dressed in the uniform he’d worn to the base that morning despite having no meetings or appointments. “I won’t be going with you to tomorrow’s appointment.”

  The decision, while potentially painful to her, was the right one. Building castles in the sand, ones that would be washed away with the tide, was far more damaging in the long run.

  Hardly glancing up from her computer, she nodded. “I already figured as much,” was all she said. And then, “I’ll be ready for bed in about ten. I’m just finishing up a report for Steve to present in the morning.”

  Surprised at the ease with which he’d pulled that off, most particularly after pondering on it so acutely over the past many hours, Winston went back to watch a little bit more of the baseball game he’d had on.

  * * *

  In a pair of thick black spandex pants, a cross between leggings and pants sworn to be the new dress pant, and a mid-thigh-length tapered white three-quarter-sleeved blouse, Emily stopped in the kitchen for a cup of tea Wednesday morning before heading off to her appointment. Routine usually meant that she showered first and left the house while Winston got ready every morning. She had clients and early meetings, and LA traffic to deal with.

  But the clinic didn’t open until eight. And it was a five-minute drive. With traffic.

  Winston, in his usual khakis and tie, came walking down the hall toward her ten minutes before she had to go. Somehow she’d figured he’d stay in either the bedroom or the office until she left.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he announced. “I’m opting to accompany you to the appointment. In separate cars. I can head straight to the base from there and you can head on to LA as you were planning.”

  She stared at him. Really needing to figure him out. More than the sex, even the conversation, she missed the way she knew Winston, could tell where he was coming from, how he meant his words, just by watching his face.

  “If you’re doing this out of guilt, don’t,” she told him, still sitting at the table, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m truly fine going alone.”

  A lot of women, even those with husbands who were fully engaged in all ways, went to doctor’s appointments alone. “I’ll have a video of the sonogram if you want to see it,” she added, figuring the mention would send him on his way.

  It should have. Every single mention of anything to do with any baby details had had that effect on him so far.

  “I’d like to come, Emily. Unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting me there.”

  What was he doing to her?

  “Of course I haven’t.” She stood, grabbed her purse and keys, going back to get the cup of tea she’d forgotten and almost left sitting on the table, emptying it and putting it in the dishwasher. Chamomile tea. To calm and soothe. Just in case it really worked. “You ready?”

  She led the way out the door, to the clinic and then to the examining room the nurse indicated. Watching for Christine, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that the managing director was nowhere to be seen. Not sure if she wanted to introduce the whole Winston being there thing with her or not.

  It didn’t mean what it looked like—didn’t indicate that he was on board.

  Or did it?

  She lay down as instructed by the technician. Lifted her shirt up to just below her breasts. Tried not to squirm when the cold liquid was squirted on her belly. And to keep an eye on Winston, just to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming and he was really there.

  As their love would have demanded.

  Their longtime dream might be coming true in unforeseen ways, with god-awful detours, but it really was happening.

  She and Winston were having their first ultrasound, to get the first look of their first child.

  The monitor sliding across her stomach brought her back to the room, the reality of a screen that would show the truth of what was inside her.

  Not a dream.

  But a healthy fetus? Suddenly nervous as hell, she stared at the screen, with intermittent glances at the technician. Winston, who’d declined the seat he’d been offered, stood between the technician and the door, meaning, once the test began, she could no longer see him.

  She could sure hear him, though. The man had so many questions, and asked them with such swiftness, one after the other, that she didn’t have time to worry about what the screen might be showing them.

  Bone measurements were taken. Circumferences, too.
>
  “And the heartbeat?” Winston actually seemed to be directing the test, though she knew that wasn’t true.

  The monitor on her belly lifted, settled, moved, lifted, settled again. “There.”

  What there? She saw nothing different about the blurs of black and white, shadow and light, she’d been staring at all along. And then she heard it. The faint thumping. When the technician reached over, turned a button, it grew louder. Much louder.

  “It’s so fast,” she said, frowning up from her supine position.

  “It’s supposed to be,” Winston’s voice came more strongly to her than the medical professional’s who was right beside her. Not because it was louder. It was just what she heard.

  “Babies’ heart rates are faster than ours,” the technician clarified, and then asked, over her shoulder, to Winston, “You a doctor of some kind?”

  “No. I’m a soldier.”

  “I have to hand it to you, then. You’re probably the most knowledgeable first-time dad I’ve ever had.”

  “I did some reading.”

  He had? When?

  Could the technician tell that Emily’s heart rate had just increased? Would that be sounding on the screen next?

  “Okay, let’s see if we can get this little one to move enough for us to tell whether we’ve got a boy or a girl...”

  Emily stared at the screen off to her right, her heart searching for Winston. Wanting to hold his hand. The monitor on her stomach moved, lifted, pushed, slid, lifted. Until finally, the technician sighed. “Looks like you’ve got yourselves a stubborn one,” she said. “I’ve taken screenshots that I’ll share with my colleague, but I can’t get this little one to move enough to give us a clear look.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Winston. “Do you have a preference?” she asked him. “A boy or a girl?”

  “No.”

  “How about you?” She looked at Emily, smiling.

  She’d been kind of thinking, when she’d first inseminated, that she’d have a boy, someone to take after his father. But now... “Nope. I just want a healthy baby.”

  And a loving home in which to raise it.

  “Well, you’ve got that,” she said, turning things off and wiping the gel from Emily’s belly. She gave them a couple of instructions—where to collect the video the clinic would be providing to them, who to see on their way out. Emily wasn’t seeing the doctor that day, so they were done.

  She paused in the doorway as Emily sat up and started to right her shirt. “Your baby’s a lucky one, to have a father as dedicated as you.”

  “I’m only here to make certain that I know the parameters of Emily’s pregnancy so that I can plan for any possible eventualities,” he said.

  If Emily’s entire emotional being hadn’t just dropped from the words alone, they would have when she saw the shocked look that crossed the technician’s face before the twentysomething hightailed it out of there.

  Wow. After they’d just seen their baby move. Heard their baby’s heartbeat...

  Winston hadn’t lost his memory, like she’d momentarily feared in their office the other night. No, he seemed to have lost something far more critical. His heart.

  * * *

  He had to find a way to factor the rapid thadump, thadump, thadump of a minuscule cardiac organ into his mission. He’d heard the indisputable fact.

  Had caught himself grinning for a second there.

  Grinning. Him, a man who’d lived in the middle of bloody carnage, had been...moved. He didn’t know what to make of that, either.

  How did an emotionally aware guy like himself, one who knew that the illusion of love was as make-believe as Santa Claus, at least where his own capabilities were concerned, get moved by shadows on a screen?

  Probably the same way that guy stripped his dead comrade, traded uniforms with him and walked up to the enemy asking to be one of them. You dealt with it by processing the situation and doing what you had to do.

  Clearly, when it came to Emily’s child, he was going to have to do something.

  Keeping in mind that he couldn’t be the husband she needed, or the father his child needed. That if she knew the complete truth, she’d know that he’d made their only-each-other-as-lovers-for-our-whole-lives thing impossible. The ultimate proof that their love hadn’t been strong enough to save them.

  He was still hoping to get them out of the past and into a future where he could do his job and she could have a happy life, without completely obliterating her belief in love and happily-ever-after. She was young. Could still have that dream with someone else. He didn’t ever want her to know the full extent of what he’d done.

  She was on a need-to-know basis, and she didn’t need to know.

  He called her on the way home from the base late Wednesday afternoon. They hadn’t spoken since parting ways with a quick goodbye in the clinic parking lot that morning. He’d worked out for a couple of hours, driven out to Coronado to watch SEAL training, and then stopped in to chat with the counselor who still wasn’t giving him anything good to work with.

  Emily’s phone hit the fifth ring before she picked up.

  “You on your way home?” he asked her straight off.

  “Not yet. I’m getting ready to leave shortly.”

  “I was thinking maybe we’d have dinner out.” He named a fine dining place he’d seen on a cliff overlooking the ocean just a few miles from her house. It was new since he’d left Marie Cove for ground training.

  “Why?” Her suspicious tone wasn’t all bad. It indicated to him that she was progressing as the plan required. As he’d known she would.

  Realizing that he wasn’t the man who’d married her.

  He didn’t have to like the job. He just had to get it done.

  “I want to,” he told her. It was true. He also needed to speak with her with the buffer of others around them who’d necessitate remaining focused on fact, not feeling. Even Emily didn’t get emotionally deep out in public. “I’ve never been there,” he added into her silence. “I’m curious about it.”

  He was doing an awful lot of explaining for a simple suggestion. Noted.

  “I’ve never been, either, and...okay, yes, I’d like to go with you.”

  She’d never been. Shouldn’t matter to him one way or the other. He was bothered that it seemed to matter. That he was pleased.

  He wanted a planning session, not memory-building here.

  Goal in mind, he headed back to the house to wait for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We need to talk.” They hadn’t even had their salads yet. Emily had warned herself not to read anything into the surprising dinner invitation. Still she hadn’t been able to stop hoping that it could be a celebration of having heard their baby’s heartbeat for the first time that morning.

  But “we need to talk”? Everyone knew nothing good came out of that one.

  She hadn’t bothered changing from the black pants and white blouse she’d worn to work, though he’d offered to wait while she changed. Hadn’t let herself create any moments to remember, sitting in his car as he drove to the restaurant she’d told herself she’d never visit without him. “Can we wait until after dinner?” she asked. They’d ordered. Their food was being prepared. Filet mignon for both of them. Because...maybe she had been trying to have a bit of a celebration. Something they’d look back on in the future as a good moment during a difficult time. Something to put in the baby book.

  “I need to eat,” she said, not caring if she was pulling the baby card. She wasn’t going to suddenly fall ill without a meal. And she could have a salad at home. Enough to sustain her and the baby until morning. But she wanted this dinner, here with him, even if it didn’t mean what she’d hoped it would.

  With a nod, he pulled his napkin from the table and put it over his khakis. Used to be Winston ma
de a point to never wear his uniform anywhere personal. It had been a clear distinction for him.

  There was a message in there for her. She’d been getting it. Slowly but surely.

  Because they had to fill the silence, or they might as well be having “the talk,” she rambled on a bit about her day. A new client she’d been courting for months had just signed. She asked Winston about his workouts. In detail. She used to know how much weight he was pressing. How many miles he ran. The ease with which he shared the answers to her questions had her wondering if maybe she was the one who’d been at the root of the distance between them. At least somewhat. She’d been told to give him time. Which she’d taken to mean to leave him alone, not question him for fear of pushing him into a corner.

  Maybe all she’d needed to do was show interest in the little things? Like she used to do?

  Their steaks were delivered, cooked to perfection. The view of lights bobbing far out in the darkness beyond the window, the dimly lit room, cloth table covers and well-dressed patrons were all perfection. She wanted to remember every detail. In honor of a healthy heartbeat. And sharing it with Winston.

  “This is so good,” he said, his eyes alight with a familiar look of appreciation as, fork and steak knife in hand, he went in for another bite.

  “Might be the best steak I’ve ever had,” she agreed, smiling at him.

  He smiled back and in that second, her whole world was perfect.

  * * *

  She wasn’t drinking coffee, but ordered a cup of chamomile tea while Winston drank his after-dinner espresso. Happy just to sit at that table, with that man and their baby growing inside her. The type of moment they’d promised each other when they were fifteen-year-old kids.

  Reality sat upon them as well. She didn’t ignore that there were struggles in their immediate sphere, but knew that she had to take strength where she could.

  Glancing at her husband over the candle in the middle of their table, she wanted to tell him she loved him. Something she hadn’t said to him since the first day he’d been back. He hadn’t been open to such a declaration.