by Elaine Fox
He kissed her neck again and traced his tongue to her ear. She shivered.
“Wait.” His voice was molten lava, his breath hot on her cool skin. He started to pull away.
“No.” She held him. She didn’t want anything to stop. Her body felt possessed, craving his hands, his lips, his touch inside of her.
He kissed her lightly. “Just for a second,” he whispered. “Let’s be careful.” He reached for his pants.
She let go and watched him, missing the warmth of his body on hers. She folded her arms across her stomach.
He wrestled a wallet from the back pocket of his wet jeans and pulled from that a plastic packet. A condom.
Relief almost made her laugh. He didn’t want to stop, she thought. Thank God. But what a fool she might have been, carried away as she was. She, the doctor, hadn’t thought of a condom.
A wave broke low on the bank and tickled her feet. Jack opened the package with deft fingers and pulled the condom out. He hesitated. Her eyes scanned his body, from his chest to his hardened manhood, before she realized he’d paused. She looked into his face.
“Are you sure, Delaney?” His quiet voice carried over the sound of the surf.
She paused. This was a man who carried a condom in his wallet. A man who had a day and a half ago no fewer than three women on his boat. A man who, despite his words, probably did this all the time. She knew she should think harder about this.
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
He smiled, then slid his hand behind her neck, under her wet hair, and kissed her soundly on the lips.
“I could really fall for you.”
Her lips curved against his, and she fought an urge to laugh. What was it about this guy that made that kind of corny line so seductive? She pulled him down over her. When he entered her, smooth and sweet, she felt as if her body were welcoming him home. They fused and moved as one. Their breath coursed together, and their hands spoke volumes to each other, more eloquently than words ever could.
Maybe it had simply been too long a time, but Delaney didn’t remember sex ever being like this. How in the world had she gone so long without this, she wondered, as her body and mind rolled in waves of desire. Her hips rose, and he thrust deeper and harder inside of her. His arms and chest flexed under her roving fingers, and his hips drove against hers in a driven, instinctive rhythm neither one could stop.
“I wish you could stay inside me forever,” she whispered.
“I will,” he said, then threw back his head with a deep exhalation. “Oh Jesus.” The words floated on a breath as he pulsed deep within her. “Don’t move. I’ll stay. I promise I’ll stay.”
And he did, until Delaney thought she’d spun off the face of the earth to glitter with the stars so clear in the sky above.
Chapter 2
Washington, D.C.
June
Six weeks later Delaney sat in the bathroom of her D.C. apartment and stared at the white-plastic stick in her hand.
A minus sign and a plus sign. First one, then the other, big as life on the narrow piece of plastic. Such childish, simple things. She pictured them written big and blocky on a schoolroom chalkboard. 1+1=3
“Dee?” Michael, her best friend since high school, called through the door, his voice tentative with concern. “Your mother’s on the phone. Should I tell her you’ll call her back?”
Her arm began to ache, and she dropped it to her lap, shifting her gaze out the bathroom window to the Dumpster in the alley.
“God, yes,” she said, amazed that her own voice emerged so steadily.
“Right.”
She heard his steps return to the phone in the kitchen, then his muted words placating her mother.
I’ve been on every other night this month, she thought, the toughest call schedule I’ve had this year. That’s why I’m tired. That’s why I feel kind of sick in the morning. That’s why my period is so late. I’m stressed.
She dropped her head, her eyes closed.
“What did she want?” Delaney called back through the door when she heard Michael return to the living room. Surely if she thought about something else for a while the pregnancy test in her hand would disappear.
She was a doctor, for God’s sake. Doctors didn’t accidentally get pregnant.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it was her mother’s intuition, but she said she was just calling to chat. How weird is that?”
Delaney frowned. Her mother rarely called “to chat.” Maybe her father had left the house for cigarettes or something. Otherwise, Mrs. Poole would never dare have a conversation he was not aware of.
Michael’s steps approached the bathroom door again. “Honey,” he said against the crack, his voice muffled and close, dramatically intoned, “dare I ask?”
She took a deep breath. “I think it’s wrong,” she said finally, and heard him sigh heavily. “I should probably throw it away and start over tomorrow, or the next day.”
“Dee.” His voice, always gentle, was implacable. “You’ve put this off long enough. Don’t toy with me now. Did you get a result?”
He was right. It was already unavoidable. The vague nausea, the missed period, the sudden sensitivity to smells and foods, it all made perfect sense. Her body was behaving properly for the situation she had gotten it into.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. Fear. She stood up and opened the door. Michael’s soft blue eyes and concerned expression nearly undid her. She swallowed hard and held out the stick for him to view. “I’m scared, Michael. I can’t remember the last time I felt this scared.”
Michael’s face reflected the same shock and disbelief she felt. “Oh Dee,” he said. “Oh God.”
He opened his arms and she stepped into them. It felt weird. Michael was not a tall guy and his frame was slight. They’d never been physically affectionate with each other, but they’d shared so much in their fifteen years of friendship that she couldn’t turn away from the gesture. Still, it felt odd to be held by Michael. Everything in this circumstance felt odd.
“This is wrong,” she said into his shoulder. “Have you ever had that feeling? That you’re falling into a situation that is just utterly wrong?”
He laughed ruefully, and they stepped apart. “All the time. But I know you don’t. I can’t believe this is happening to you.”
She backed up and sat down on the toilet lid. “It could be wrong.”
Michael shrugged, and she knew neither one of them believed it.
“When I was a kid,” she began slowly, “I always had the feeling that things were out of my control. That’s why I spent my entire adult life managing things so meticulously. You know how I worked in high school. How I saved every dime to get to college, and then medical school. And now, when I’m finally close to getting out of residency, when I’m finally going to get to live a life of my own choosing and control, now I’m supposed to deal with this? How could this have happened?”
She glanced up and saw a dubious look on Michael’s face and had to laugh. “All right, I know how it happened. But I had sex one time in the last seven months. Once.”
“I know,” Michael said gently.
Delaney swallowed back tears. God, when was the last time she’d cried, for pity’s sake?
“Oh hell,” she said then, forcing a wry smile to her lips. “All right, it’s not as if this happened without my participation. Nothing immaculate about this conception.” She tried to laugh.
“That’s right, at least you got the benefit of some great sex first. You did say it was great, didn’t you?”
Her rueful smile became real for just a second before she squelched it. “Yeah, so I had some great sex with a good-looking guy who had a little charm. A one-night stand with a guy whose last name I can’t even remember…though I think someone called him ’Shep’ at some point. And now I’m going to have his child. Can you beat that? God, when I screw up, I do it right.”
It was inconceivable. So inco
nceivable, in fact, that even as she sat there, stunned, she could not work up the requisite panic the situation seemed to call for. Thank God for Michael, she thought. Just seeing his concerned face kept her from feeling as if her life was over. At least she wouldn’t be alone through it. Michael would help her.
“So you were responsible for what happened. It almost doesn’t matter now,” Michael said. “The facts are what they are. So what are you going to do about them?”
She looked up at him and shrugged. “I’m going to have a baby.”
He raised one brow, a hand on his hip. “Are you?”
She knew what he was implying, that she had another choice. But she knew in her heart she didn’t.
She nodded slowly. “Yes. I am.” After a second she added, “It’s funny. I always assumed I’d think about having children later. It was one of those ‘maybe someday’ things, you know?” She shrugged, then smiled wryly. “I guest someday is today.”
He stood silently a minute, their eyes on each other. “You know what?” he said finally. “I’m not even worried about you. If anyone can handle this, you can. Now come on.” He leaned into the bathroom, took her hand, and pulled her up.
Delaney tossed the pregnancy test into the trash can as he pulled her out into the living room.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“We’re going to figure this out.” He sat her down on the sofa and seated himself in the armchair across from her. “Now. Remember how we worked through the problem of your getting out of your house to go to college? Remember how we found you that public-health money for med school? Remember how we got you this apartment for next to nothing?”
She nodded after each of these things.
“Well, we’re going to figure this out, too. Now I’m going to ask you some tough questions, and I want you to give me your gut answer. All right?”
She nodded again, mentally thanking God that someone else was here to take charge of her chaotic thoughts.
“How far along are you?”
She counted backward to that balmy April night. “About six weeks.” Her mind worked. “That would make the fetus about the size of a grain of rice right now…”
She paused, thinking how close that felt to being correctable, changeable, as if she could just take a tiny step back in time and alter reality.
“Pretty small,” Michael said, watching her.
She nodded. But there was only one way to alter this reality, and she couldn’t do it.
“So that puts the due date around…January 20,” she said quietly.
There had probably already been some softening of the cervix and uterus, she thought. “I should start prenatal vitamins immediately. And there are some tests that should be done as soon as possible. Hematocrit, rubella titer, Pap smear, urinalysis, albumin, white blood cell, blood and bacteria, and tuberculin skin tests.”
She ticked them off as if she were taking an exam.
“Okay,” Michael said. “Think of this clinically, if that helps you. Anything else?”
She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “VDRL and gonorrhea tests should be done, too.” Because who knew anything about Jack Maybe-Shepherd?
Michael frowned. “Honey, I thought you said you used a condom.”
“I did,” she said with all the feeling of injustice the situation provoked in her. “And it should have protected me from some of that, but let’s face it. It’s already failed—spectacularly—on at least one front, so the tests should be done.” She pressed three fingers to her forehead and took a deep breath.
“All right, all right.” Michael sat forward in the chair, his hands out patting the air calm in front of him. “Now, here’s the toughie. Will the father be involved?”
A shudder ran through her. “No,” she said immediately. “No, no, no. I don’t need some man in here thinking he has a right to tell me what to do. Besides, I have no idea how or where to find him. I can’t even remember the name of that town he said he was from. Something like Wellsley? Wellsmead? Who knows?”
“Dee, honey, that’s sounding like an emotional response to me. Think about it now.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, unwilling to stop and examine the anxious flutterings in her head and stomach. “I can do this on my own. After all, I’m going to be thirty years old in a couple of months. I’ve got a solid career and a stable income. There’s no reason I can’t have this child and bring it up myself.”
“Except that he’s the father,” Michael said gently.
She rubbed a hand across her forehead again.
“He’s got a stake in the outcome,” Michael continued.
She exhaled firmly.
“He might be needed by your child down the road. He might want to help raise it, be part of its life.”
“He might think he could tell me what to do,” she objected. Adrenaline pumped through her veins so vehemently that she almost stood up. The only thing that kept her seated was knowing that Michael would think she was getting hysterical, and she hated anyone thinking she was anything but rational and logical. “He would think he could tell me what I’m doing wrong, or how I should be. He could have the mistaken idea that I owe it to him to alter my plans to accommodate his rights.”
She stood up then, aghast, and walked in a circle, stopping next to the sofa upon which she’d sat.
“But what rights does he have?” she demanded. “He has no rights. We had a one-night stand. No strings. Neither of us said anything about seeing each other again.”
Michael was wearing that dubious look again. He ran one hand through his hair, the tight blond curls springing instantly back into shape.
“And why should we have?” she persisted. “He lives somewhere in Massachusetts. I live in Washington, D.C. Who would pursue a romance over that long a distance? We had sex, that was all. One overexcited night that came and went like the weather. I know it sounds absurd, Michael, but I feel very strongly that he has little to do with this child.”
For a second she remembered lying on the sand, feeling his hands smooth the wet hair back from her face. Strong, capable hands behaving so gently. She remembered his eyes, thick-lashed and kind, seductive in their attentiveness, and a faint fluttering kicked up again in her stomach. Not fear this time. No, she remembered all too well the passion he’d awakened in her.
“There,” Michael said, standing up and jarring her from the memory. “What was that look for?”
“What look?”
“The look that was just on your face. This guy was more to you than a fun night on the beach, now, wasn’t he? Come on, be honest. And remember, I know you, Delaney.”
She turned abruptly and walked to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea? I’m suddenly in the mood for some tea.”
“Delaney,” he said in a warning tone, following her into the kitchen.
“Okay, maybe,” she said as she pulled a pot from beneath the stove, “maybe I do owe him something—notice or fair warning that he’s going to become a father. But how in the world will I find him?”
“Isn’t there someone in that town who might know him?”
Delaney paused, her hand on the faucet. “There was this one woman I met in the bar that night. Carol somebody-or-other. Oh but God, Michael, imagine the conversation we’d have to have. And if I end up going back to Harp Cove for my assignment, it would be foolish to let anyone know the circumstances of the child’s conception.”
She filled the pot with water, put it on the gas stove, and waited for the flames to catch as the gas hissed against the pilot light. Then she turned around, leaned against the counter by the sink, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Plus I don’t know her last name either, so it’d be just as hard finding her as Jack. And even if I were able to track down a Jack Shepherd—and who knows how he even spells that—he could be a ’John’ or it could be ‘Sheppelini’ or something—just imagine the conversation we’d have. ’Hello, Jack? Delaney Poole here. From last Apri
l—Harp Cove? One-night stand? Yeah, well, I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.’ How in the world could he respond to that, do you think? He’d probably say something like ’Who is this again?’”
Michael chuckled.
“Or this,” she continued, nearly frantic to wipe the skeptical look off Michael’s face. “’Jack. Delaney Poole. One-night stand—Harp Cove? Guess what. I’m pregnant, and you’re the reason. Yes, you did use a condom. But yes, I’m sure. No, I’m not a slut. No, I don’t want anything—just letting you know. Okay, you have a nice life too.’”
“I have a hard time believing you’d sleep with a guy who had that in him. Do you really think he’s that bad a guy?”
She sighed, panic making her tired. “I don’t know. No, I guess I don’t think he’s a bad guy. Honestly, I have no way of knowing what kind of guy he is. I barely know him. But while I’m not going to say that he is a bad guy, I have to consider the fact that he might be. Don’t you see that? He could be grossly irresponsible. Untrustworthy. A heavy drinker. A gambler. He could even be a child abuser. Good grief, he could be psychotic, a serial killer for all I know, or worse.”
Michael frowned. “What would be worse?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think.” She shook her head and pushed her hair back from her face. “I just believe I’m better off alone, raising this child in the safe, controlled environment I know I can provide. Don’t you see, Michael? It’s definitely best. I’m going to love this baby. I’ll make sure it gets healthy, positive male influences. You, for example! But I will not subject it to a father who for all I know could be insane.”
With a relieved exhale she turned to the boiling pot of water. “What did I boil water for?”