Maybe Baby

by Elaine Fox

  At the ensuing awkward silence she looked up. Jack’s expression was surprised, and a little offended.

  She busied herself with the washcloth. “Thanks anyway,” she hastened to add. “I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t want to put anybody out. She’s probably enjoying her retirement, and babies are so much work.”

  “She likes doing it,” Jack said.

  Panic rose in her chest. She realized she’d been wiping Emily’s bottom long after it was clean. She whipped a new diaper from the pile at the end of the table. “Tiny Tot’s not so bad, really. And it’s close to the clinic, so I can go feed her at lunch. That’s the most important thing.”

  She glanced up at him. His eyes were on her. She fumbled for the talcum powder.

  “But you have to drive there, right? I mean, for it to be quick.”

  “Sure, but it only takes two minutes.” She dumped way too much powder on the diaper and struggled not to cough as a cloud of it ballooned upward toward her face.

  “My aunt’s is closer.”

  She forced a laugh. “Closer than two minutes? Where is she, in the lobby?”

  Jack laughed mildly. “Just about. She’s in the building next door. Second floor.”

  Delaney swallowed and concentrated on securing the diaper around Emily’s dancing legs. “Oh?” was all she could think to say.

  The building next door housed, ironically, a combination piercing and tattoo parlor indelicately called In the Flesh. When she’d first seen the clinic she’d thought she’d probably have to treat a large number of skin infections and botched piercings, but it turned out the place was clean and well run. And the building was nice. An old brick structure with tall casement windows and an ornate brickwork cornice along the top.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Couldn’t be more convenient, could it?”

  She swallowed. “I guess not.”

  “And that’s the most important thing, didn’t you say?”

  Delaney’s mind spun, well aware of the irony in his tone, but she didn’t look at him. “I wonder that you didn’t let your aunt live here. If she’s that hard-up for money, I mean.”

  “She’s not hard-up, just on a fixed income. And I offered her the house, but she prefers living in town.”

  She glanced up.

  Jack shrugged. “She doesn’t drive, you know. Anyway, I’ll ask her if she’s interested, if you want.”

  Delaney pressed the Velcro closures on the diaper and grabbed the rattle for a light tug-of-war with Emily. Having Jack’s aunt take care of Emily would be disastrous, she told herself. Nothing good could possibly come of it. She was already too close to him as it was, living right next door, in a house he owned and could overlook from any one of a dozen windows.

  Besides, if his relative took care of their daughter, that relative could one day notice a resemblance, couldn’t she? Wouldn’t she?

  “Well?” Jack asked, leaning slightly forward to look into Delaney’s face. He caught her eye, and she looked up from her daughter.

  “No really, Jack. I can’t let her do it,” she said. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. Emily’s fine where she is.”

  But was she? For a moment the idea of putting off Jack’s suggestion was somehow selfish. Emily could be the sole charge of a retired older woman living right next door to where her mother worked, instead of being cared for along with a slew of other small children by a couple of harried women making six dollars an hour in an ex–convenience store building on the outskirts of town.

  Jack laughed and shook his head. “It’s no trouble, Delaney. I’ll just ask and see what she says. Do you mind if I hold her?”

  The abrupt change in subject threw her. “What?”

  “Emily. Can I hold her?”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her daughter. “Uh, sure.”

  Maybe he’d forget, she thought as she handed Emily to Jack. Maybe the aunt wouldn’t want to do it. As she’d said, babies were a lot of work, the aunt was probably too old. Maybe the whole thing would blow over.

  She stared at Jack as he took Emily, his hands tan against her pale skin.

  He looked awkward with her, holding her out from his body and looking into her face. “Hello there,” he said, in a soft tone that sent shivers up Delaney’s spine.

  Emily’s hands reached for him and he settled her—ungracefully but effectively—against his side. Emily stared up at him as if engrossed by the rare sight of a grown man up close.

  “Aren’t you pretty?” he murmured. He smiled at her a moment, then opened his mouth and eyes wide—an exaggerated expression of happiness—then scrunched them both up and blew lightly into Emily’s face. Emily smiled immediately, and he chuckled, then did it again.

  The third time Emily’s eyes and mouth opened wide at the same time his did, mimicking his expression, and Jack laughed, delighted. He blew lightly into her face. Her eyes narrowed against the breeze.

  They continued two or three more times while Delaney watched, fascinated. They did look alike, she realized with a start. It wasn’t something you’d see right off, but standing there, wearing the same expressions, it was obvious to Delaney that they shared quite a few genes. The realization terrified her.

  “Stop,” she said suddenly.

  Jack turned to her, surprised. “What?”

  She reached for Emily. “It—it’s not good to blow in a baby’s face.”

  “Oh.” Obviously chagrined, he stepped closer to relinquish the child to Delaney. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  Emily’s face screwed up in visible displeasure. She’d obviously been enjoying the game.

  “No, no, it’s okay. Listen, I have a lot to do.” She glanced around the room, hoping to see something undone she could start doing to make him leave, but the place was tidy.

  Glancing into the open closet, regretting that she’d just straightened it that morning, is when she noticed the picture frame. Hung on the wall next to the closet door was an engraved silver picture frame with Emily’s first photo in it. Her friend, Mary, had given it to her and had had it engraved with Emily’s height, weight, time and date of birth.

  It was this last that caused Delaney’s heart to leap to her throat. She froze.

  Why hadn’t she noticed it before? More importantly, why hadn’t she realized when she was hanging the blasted thing that the simple gift gave away her secret and jeopardized everything she’d done to confirm her story?

  She clutched Emily to her chest.

  Had Jack seen it? Had he noticed the date was two months earlier than she’d let on? Could she possibly yank it off the wall now without him noticing? Could she throw something at it? Break it? Drape Emily’s blanket over it as if she did it all the time? Maybe she could step in front of it and act nonchalant until he left?

  No. She had to get rid of him now. She spun back toward him.

  But Jack had taken her first hint and had turned toward the door. His high cheekbones were tinged with red. “Yeah, no problem. I gotta go too. I’ve got plenty to do myself.”

  They both headed for the bedroom door, on a course to barrel through together, but Jack stopped, motioning her ahead of him. Delaney passed him and proceeded down the hall, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards behind her.

  Her blood thundered in her ears as she considered the brief time they’d spent in the room. He hadn’t looked around, or even glanced away from her and Emily that she’d noticed, a fact that had made her very self-conscious. Surely he’d been too far away to read the delicate engraving from where he’d stood anyway. And wouldn’t he have said something if he’d noticed it?

  She could tell Emily watched him over her shoulder and she wondered if he was making faces at her. She readjusted the child to lie in her arms.

  She began to descend the steps, but Jack stopped in the doorway to her room.

  “Oh no,” he said. “Is that Destiny’s Children?” He motioned toward the TV and the muted voices emerging from it.

  She must hav
e forgotten to turn the tape off when he arrived. She blushed.

  “Uh, yeah.” She forced a laugh. “I record it during the week and watch on the weekends. It’s my secret vice.”

  He laughed and looked back at the TV.

  She cringed. Of all the embarrassing programs to leave on. A soap opera. She felt as if she’d just told him she wasn’t a real doctor but she played one on TV.

  “It just helps me unwind, you know,” she said. “The ultimate mindless diversion.”

  “Sure.”

  He looked back at the TV, and Delaney swallowed hard. How bad would it look if she edged past him and switched the damn thing off?

  “So tell me,” he continued, “do you think Sybill’s a selfish bitch or is my mother just a prude?”

  Delaney gaped at him. “Your mother called Sybill a selfish bitch?”

  “Yeah.” He turned to look at her. Looked her dead in the eye, in fact. “She’s the one who’s lying about being pregnant, right? My mother can’t stand her and for some reason feels the need to update me about her behavior every time we talk. I guess you could say my mother’s something of a soap addict.”

  Delaney could think of nothing to say. She felt as if Jack had just admitted his mother hated her.

  In the background, Sybill’s voice said something brittle that Delaney couldn’t quite make out.

  “How often do you talk to your mother?” Delaney asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “Often enough to know way too much about this show.” He laughed. “About once a week.” He continued to stare at the TV, mesmerized. “I guess that’s Sybill, huh? Man, she’s a piece of work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He turned back. “Well, if my mother’s to be believed—and in this case I’m sure she’s right on top of things—Sybill seduced her best friend’s husband, got pregnant, and now she’s not going to tell him the kid is his. I guess I’d have to agree that’s pretty selfish.”

  Delaney’s face heated. “I guess. Except, you know, it would screw up Drake’s life with Kristin, so maybe she’s being strong. Doing it for a good reason. You know. Maybe.”

  Jack looked caught between amusement and confusion. “Well, that’s an interesting take. I’ll have to pass that one along to my mother. Although I’m sure she’ll say Sybill’s doing it to punish Drake for staying with Kristin. Seems to me she just said that today, in fact.”

  Delaney swallowed. “Your mother’s pretty hard on Sybill.”

  He chuckled. “Well, she also thinks Drake’s an s.o.b. and he’s getting what he deserves. And that maybe this new guy she’s got will be better father material.”

  “There’s a new guy?”

  “Yeah, Ruark. She’s passing the kid off as his. I guess you haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

  She shook her head. “I guess not.”

  He started to head toward the stairs. “Maybe you should give up on the VCR and just talk to my mother. She’d be thrilled to know my tenant’s as interesed in Destiny’s Children as she is.”

  “But,” Delaney couldn’t help asking, “do you think Drake would really want to know?”

  He stopped at the head of the stairs and she looked up at him from two steps down.

  “I mean, it’s not as if he wanted the child he thought Kristin was going to have.”

  He frowned quizzically. “I don’t know. He married her, didn’t he? He did the right thing.”

  She took one of Emily’s hands, felt the small fingers clutch hers. “But, I mean, he’s happy the way things are, don’t you think? Why would he care about Sybill’s child? It’s not as if he’s in love with her or anything.”

  “You know, I haven’t ever actually seen the show, not all the way through. But I guess I’d have to say if it is his child there’s no way he’ll turn away from it. Besides, whether he wants to know or not, you know he’s going to find out.”

  “You don’t think he’d rather she just keep the whole thing to herself? You know, not mess up his life?”

  “Well, he would be an s.o.b. then, wouldn’t he? What kind of guy wouldn’t want to know about his own kid?”

  She dipped her head, feeling an elephant step on her chest. “I don’t know. Some men wouldn’t want to know, I don’t think. As long as they don’t know about it, it saves them having to take responsibility, don’t you think? Saves all that child support and everything.”

  He looked at her a moment before answering, causing her stomach to clutch.

  “It’s not as if these people are real, Delaney.” A smile touched his eyes. “He’s going to want the kid because that’s the best way to drag out the story.”

  She shook herself. “Of course. I just thought—well, sure, you’re right.”

  She turned away and continued down the stairs to the front door, Jack following. Once she reached it Delaney grabbed the knob and opened the door immediately.

  “Let me know if that window leaks again,” Jack said.

  “All right.” Delaney nodded. A fresh summer breeze coursed through the open doorway, flinging a strand of her hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear. “Thanks for fixing it so quickly.”

  “No problem. Thanks for letting me…” He gestured toward Emily. “You know, play with her. Sorry, though. Sorry I blew on her.”

  Delaney shook her head, ashamed of the lie, her mind in a turmoil. She’d been disconcerted by the similarity she’d seen between them. How long would it be before others saw it? And what did he mean when he said that of course Drake would want the child?

  “No, no, it’s okay,” she said. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Yeah, all right.” He hesitated, looking from Delaney to Emily. Then, releasing the air from his cheeks, he stepped over the threshold. “Okay, see you.”

  “Bye.” She shut the door firmly behind him, then turned to lean back against it. Emily gurgled and grabbed a button on Delaney’s shirtfront.

  Delaney closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the body in her arms.

  What was she doing? Emily’s father was right there. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to play with her. He knew how to make her smile. He wanted his aunt to take care of her. He thought an s.o.b. like Drake Westmoreland would of course want to know about his child…

  She was losing control, that’s what she was doing.

  She thought of him asking if she was worried about Tiny Tot, how for a moment she had so desperately wanted to talk to him about it all. As if they were friends. As if they were parents.

  Delaney pushed off the door and quickly moved to the window in the living room. Standing diagonally behind the curtain, she peered out the window at Jack’s retreating figure. He was looking at the ocean and moving very slowly. Contemplatively, almost.

  The thought formed in her mind that she should tell him. Everything. Stop this endless lying that she wasn’t any good at anyway. She should tell him that her husband was a figment of her imagination and Emily was his daughter. That she had lied to him and everyone in town because she didn’t want him to find out that he was Emily’s father. Because she didn’t know him. Because she didn’t trust him.

  Her stomach lifted as if she had just stepped off a cliff.

  A car pulled into the drive. Delaney took a step right to watch its progress. A small white sports car pulled in behind Jack’s truck. Jack moved on toward the back of his house, oblivious, until the driver of the white car leaned on the horn.

  Jack’s head snapped up, and out of the car popped Lisa Jacobson.

  Delaney’s stomach plummeted.

  “Hey,” she heard Lisa yell. Then Lisa’s head ducked back into the car. She reappeared with something in her hand, a black piece of material. “Hey, Jack,” she yelled again, the words emerged like bullets from a handgun.

  She sauntered toward where Jack had stopped, his eyes narrowed against the sun.

  Delaney watched Lisa’s back, the way her hips moved from side to side in opposition to her shoulders, like a mod
el on a runway. The black cloth fluttered in her hand before she slung it over her shoulder.

  Clearly, it was a shirt.

  Apparently, it was Jack’s shirt. Left, God knows where—the backseat of a car? a dark alley? certainly not Dr. Jacobson’s house, where her boss had complained more than once that Lisa still lived—for Lisa to return.

  Lisa approached Jack, and when she was about five feet away she flung the shirt at him, her chin jutting out. The shirt caught him across the chest and draped there momentarily. Jack’s hand lifted and snatched it down.

  To Delaney the scene was perfectly readable: The shirt was his and Lisa was returning it to him. The short shorts and tight halter top Lisa wore were just as obviously calculated to tease as that attention-grabbing walk.

  Delaney could no longer hear their words, but she didn’t need to. Lisa inched closer while Jack watched her, his head cocked to one side. Then she saw his head turn and his eyes shift to her house.

  She sprang back into the living room. Could he see through the window? Surely not. Outside was bright sunshine, and there wasn’t a light on in the house.

  Fool! Delaney told herself. Idiot, moron, jerk. You almost told him. Because he’s attractive, you had a moment of longing and almost put your own daughter into the hands of stepmothers like Lisa Jacobson, for God’s sake. Time to grow up, Delaney Poole, and realize no matter how much he may smile at you, no matter how appealing you might find him, no matter how much you may want a friend, you have to think of Emily first and foremost.

  Delaney rubbed her forehead with her free hand and bent her stiff knees to sit in the chair in front of the window. The wing chair’s high back protected her from whoever might look in the window.

  Emily grabbed a fistful of shirt and drooled down Delaney’s shoulder.

  Idiot, she thought again. It had been foolish even to let him go up and see Emily. She’d succumbed to a moment of weakness and it was during moments of weakness that she made her worst decisions. Case in point: the night she’d decided a one-night stand was a good idea.

  She couldn’t trust him. She didn’t know him. He dated children, for God’s sake, how could he be expected to care for one?

  She took a deep breath. Okay, so he was a nice guy. He had…some charm, she conceded. But he was not the kind of man you pick to father your children. He’d as much as said he never wanted any children. And since she was in a position—sort of—to pick whether she wanted him for Emily’s father or not, she needed to evaluate the situation very carefully. And so far, all the evidence suggested to her—no, compelled her—to keep the information to herself.