Maybe Baby

by Elaine Fox

With a shock, she stopped herself just in time. She was about to say a man who doesn’t even exist. Adrenaline shot through her.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his desk.

  “A man who…?” he prompted.

  “A man who they’ve never even met,” she finished, blushing, she was sure, to the marrow of her bones.

  Jack shook his head and leaned back with a casual smile.

  “I don’t know why you’re so smug, Jack,” she said. “What if Kim were to hear what they were saying?”

  He frowned. “She probably has. What of it?”

  Delaney looked at him, exasperated. “That doesn’t worry you? Are you trying to tell me you don’t think it makes a difference to her?”

  He shrugged, looked confused. “Why would it make a difference to her?”

  “Jack,” she said, with a knowing look, “I know something’s going on between you two.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Between me and Kim?” He laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea? Is that something else you got from the gossips?”

  She shook her head. What had given her that impression? Well, Kim, mostly. Talking about what great friends they were. And then that phone call at Sadie’s she’d lied about…

  “Delaney,” Jack said firmly. “Kim and I are friends, and only friends.”

  “All right, but still,” Delaney said, trying to regroup after this seemingly honest bit of information. From the expression on his face to his unequivocal words, Jack gave every indication he was telling the truth. “You should still know people are talking about you. You should be more careful.”

  He paused a moment, studying her. “The trouble with you is,” he said finally, “you care too much about what other people think.”

  “And the problem with you is you don’t care enough,” she shot back. She hated being treated like an oversensitive female.

  He had been about to take a sip of Coke, from a can that had been on his desk for God knew how long, but he stopped mid-lift.

  “You don’t seem to understand,” Delaney continued. “It’s dangerous for me to have people I’ve never even met dissecting my life, and in a way that has very little basis in fact, because reputations, careers, lives can be ruined by gossip. You of all people should know that.”

  At that he placed the Coke back on the desk.

  “What do you mean me, ‘of all people’?”

  She stood up, turning away from his eyes to face the trophy shelves. “Surely you’re aware of how much the people in Harp Cove know about you. You’re the most talked about person in town, as far as I can tell.”

  “You haven’t been here very long. I’ve just been in the news a lot lately.”

  She turned back and shook her head at the grin he wore. “I don’t know how you can be so unconcerned.”

  “There’s not a lot else I can do,” he said, rising and sitting on the edge of his desk, not far from where she stood. “Just like there’s not a lot you can do. Not without making it worse. So what did they say about your father? And your husband? Was it really so bad?”

  She looked at his knee, where it bent over the edge of the desk. His foot swung lightly. “They said something about my father working for the Secret Service. And one of them said he heard Jim worked for the White House, was some bigwig there, and that’s why he wasn’t here.”

  “That’s it?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “Hell, that’s not bad. Is either of those things true?” he asked.

  “No! But then they went on to say they thought Jim would never show up and that you were—that you would—that you and I are probably…” She couldn’t even repeat it. “Oh, I don’t know, it was all so sordid.”

  Jack stood up and took her gently by the shoulders so she had no choice but to look up into his face.

  “How much of any of what they said was true?” he asked quietly. “Hm?”

  His eyes were kind, reassuring, but the warmth of his hands through her blouse made it difficult for her to breathe.

  “None of it.”

  He gave her a look, as if his case were made.

  “But that was the worst part,” she insisted. “If even some of it had been true, I might have felt that there was at least a reason for their talk. But as it was, they were just making it up, saying it to be cruel.”

  “They weren’t being cruel; they were being creative. That’s what they do. Nobody believes them. In a way”—he laughed, and gave a half shrug, his hands sliding down her arms to take her hands—“if they can talk about you, they like you. It means you’re one of them, not too good for them. You’ve arrived, Delaney Poole.”

  “But I’m not one of them.” She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest. But she didn’t move away from him. She stood staring at his chest, unable to make herself move. Despite herself, she wanted him to touch her again. And she didn’t know how she could want that when she couldn’t stand the thought of her name being dragged through the mud with his.

  “I don’t want to be talked about that way,” she said finally. “I want respect. And I want my privacy.”

  “Then you’d better move back to D.C. because as long as you’re in this town—or any small town—there’s going to be talk.” Jack sat back down on the edge of the desk.

  They were both silent while Delaney sought to figure out her own chaotic feelings. She wanted him to touch her, and yet she was afraid of what would happen if he did. She wanted to be able to trust him, but something inside her was sure she should not. She wanted the things she’d heard about him to be untrue, but if they were, would she then have to tell him the truth?

  She shuddered at the thought.

  “The thing you have to remember,” he continued after a moment, “is that gossip’s only destructive if it’s taken seriously. Even if it’s true, it’s not so bad. Small towns may seem scandalized by some things, but they’re probably a lot less shocked than your neighbors in suburban D.C. would be by similar stories. These guys have seen and heard it all, and they relish the telling. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all, Jack.” She looked up at him, willing him to understand. Surely if he understood he’d stop whatever it was he was doing to be “in the news” so much lately. “Just because you don’t take them seriously doesn’t mean other people don’t. I’ve heard more people talking about you than just the diners club. And they all say basically the same things. When you hear that much talk, you start to believe it.”

  Jack folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. “People believe what they want to believe, Delaney.” He let that statement stand for a moment before adding, “And you obviously want to believe bad things about me. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested, probably too quickly. “I don’t want to believe bad things about you. But every time I turn around I hear something new. So when I hear my name linked with yours forgive me if I become alarmed.”

  He studied her anew, as if finally understanding the source of her distress. “So, when I talked to you on the green yesterday you were distracted because you were embarrassed to be seen with me. Is that it?” His eyes narrowed, his expression angry.

  She couldn’t speak.

  “You’re not worried about your dad being accused of working for the Secret Service,” he continued. “It’s not a bad thing if people think Jim works for the White House. No, you heard a couple sentences containing your name and mine, and that scared the shit out of you.”

  She had difficulty taking a full breath. “Is it so hard to believe I wouldn’t want people speculating about us? You should have heard the things they were insinuating.”

  “Did any of it come close to the truth, Delaney?”

  She was about to issue a heated denial—she’d done all she could to avoid Jack since she’d moved to Harp Cove, and no one could say otherwise—when the meaning of his words penetrated. He meant did they know about that night over a year ago. Did they
say anything about Delaney Poole and Jack Shepard taking off from a bar to have sex on the beach.

  Her mouth went dry and her palms wet. Her eyes shot to his. “None of it had anything to do with truth,” she said lowly.

  His eyes were hard. “Then be glad. Be glad they’re making stuff up because if the truth ever did come out, no one would believe that either.”

  He stood up, and she backed up a step.

  “But don’t worry, Delaney,” he said quietly. His eyes were laughing at her, and not in a nice way. “Your secret is safe with me.” He chucked her lightly under the chin.

  She grabbed his hand and lowered it from her face, glaring at him. “How dare you bring that up again.”

  “How dare you so conveniently forget it,” he said in a tone that showed he had lost patience with her. “You can make all the disparaging comments about me you want, Delaney, you can believe every last derogatory word you hear, but we both know you’re not as lily white as you like to pretend.”

  “And we both know—along with the entire town of Harp Cove—that your reputation is not unfounded.”

  For a second they stood there, inches apart, Delaney’s hand holding Jack’s at her side. The electricity between them was incredible, and Delaney found it impossible to tear her eyes from his.

  The skin-to-skin contact with his hand sent a physical yearning through her body that was nearly uncontrollable. Adrenaline, anger, and desire all warred within her to produce a feeling just like the one she’d had that night at the Hornet’s Nest—times ten. Because this time it had been well over a year since anyone had touched her. And this time she knew just how good it would feel if Jack did the touching.

  His look was unwavering, but she could not tell if he was angry. He was close, so close, she couldn’t think, and his skin was hot in her hand. She wished he’d say something.

  Instead, he took a slow step closer until his body was nearly touching hers and her back was against the shelves. He raised his other hand and traced the curve of her cheek with one finger.

  “My reputation has nothing to do with me,” he said softly. “Or you.”

  Every nerve in Delaney’s body came alive. Her eyes scanned his face, his brows, his stubbled cheek, his finely shaped mouth, and lingered on his lips. God help her, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel his hands on her so badly she could have leaned right into him. At the same time she desperately wanted to move away.

  She just couldn’t.

  He moved forward and touched her mouth with his, softly, so gently he might have been kissing her good night. His hand cupped the back of her head and their hands, once gripping each other in anger, held to each other palm to palm.

  His tongue traced her lips, and she allowed herself to open to the touch. His head tilted, and the kiss deepened. Delaney’s anger vanished like a puff of smoke.

  Her hand rose and grabbed the front of his shirt, the other still gripping his tightly. His tongue entered her mouth, and his hand moved down her back, pulling her body hard against his. She wanted to press herself into him and felt him pressing into her. Her arm encircled his neck as they kissed hungrily, violently, passionately.

  At the same moment someone knocked on the door.

  Reality avalanched upon her. Delaney turned her head, one hand pushing weakly against his chest. Her cheeks and chin burned from his beard. Her breath came in near gasps.

  Jack sighed and stood stock-still for a second, his cheek against her hair. Then he stepped back and their hands relinquished each other.

  Delaney’s fingers stretched taut, and she pressed the palm to the side of her skirt. Every nerve trembled. What was she doing?

  “What?” he barked to whoever was on the other side of the door.

  “We’re all in the gym, Coach,” a boyish voice called.

  Jack’s eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. Hers were hot with guilt, she was sure. And desire.

  “We’ll be right there,” he said, watching her.

  The ensuing silence was physical, pressing on her chest like a fist. They looked at each other a long moment.

  “That can’t happen again,” Delaney said finally, her voice an octave lower than usual.

  She thought she saw his eyelids flinch at the words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said flatly.

  But it wasn’t clear whether he meant he was sorry for what just happened or sorry that it could never happen again.

  Or sorry that it had been interrupted.

  He moved back around the desk and sat down, one elbow on the desk, his hand covering his mouth. He looked…disconcerted, Delaney thought.

  “This is just the sort of thing I’m going to discuss today,” Delaney said. Her voice quavered slightly. “With the boys. These purely sexual urges and how to resist them.”

  “Purely sexual urges,” he repeated, then laughed without humor.

  She cleared her throat. “That’s right.”

  “You’re well qualified.”

  She couldn’t even laugh at the irony. She bent to retrieve her briefcase.

  “You know you never answered my question, Delaney.”

  She straightened and looked over at him, her spine ramrod straight. “What question was that?”

  “From yesterday. About whether you ever thought of me, after that night.”

  He looked so open, sitting at his desk. So real and warm and vulnerable—though that was absurd, Jack was nothing if not confident—that she couldn’t help but think about what the gossips had said about her, about how none of it was true, not even the slightest basic fact. Could it be that the gossips just made things up as they pleased all the time? Could Jack really be as innocent as he claimed?

  She took a long silent minute zipping up her gaping briefcase.

  “I just thought,” he added, “when you apologized earlier, I just thought maybe you were going to answer it now.”

  She paused, unable to come to a conclusion. If the gossip was false, and Jack was as he seemed at this moment…if she could not cling to his philandering as the reason to keep Emily from him, what would she do? Would she have to make the decision to share her with him?

  The thought stopped her. She was afraid of sharing Emily. She was using Jack’s reputation to keep him from his daughter.

  She wasn’t keeping the truth from Jack to protect Emily at all.

  She was doing it to protect herself.

  Shame scalded her, and she didn’t know what to do about it. The revelation was painful in its intensity.

  “Maybe,” she said slowly, thinking that at this moment she owed him some truth, at least until she could figure out what ultimately had to be done, “maybe you can take what happened here today as your answer, Jack.”

  He looked pensive. She slung her bag over her shoulder and moved toward the door.

  “Delaney?”

  She stopped.

  “You should pay less attention to the gossips. All right?”

  She dropped her head, staring at the scratched chrome doorknob. “And you should pay more.”

  She heard him laugh.

  “It’s been going on so long now I’m used to it,” he said. “And it hasn’t hurt me yet.”

  She turned then, a thousand replies in her head, not one of which she could utter.

  Oh but it has, she thought. It already has hurt you, Jack. It’s kept you from your child. The truth of the thought cut straight through her chest.

  But it wouldn’t forever, she thought grimly. It couldn’t. Not if she were to do the right thing.

  Their eyes locked for a moment more, before she pulled open the door, and said, “I’ll see you in there.”

  Jack pulled into the end parking space at the one tiny strip mall Harp Cove boasted, though calling it a “mall” of any sort stretched the bounds of credibility.

  The Tuckahoe Shopping Center contained all of three stores: a laundromat, a bank, and a card/stationery store that Jack frequently speculated would soon go out of business. He�
�d been speculating that, however, for several years now, and nothing had changed, including the dismal number of cars in the parking lot whenever he passed by.

  He’d often wondered what sort of stuff the store could carry to keep it alive, other than cards you could get at the grocery or drugstore, and had his answer partially answered when his wallet disintegrated in his hands in front of Kim at lunch.

  “Jesus, Jack, did you get that for your high-school graduation or something?” Kim asked, as he held the two separated halves in his hands.

  “I don’t remember,” he said, trying to catch the bank receipts, business cards, and folded bits of paper that dripped from the ruined pockets to the floor.

  “Obviously,” Kim snickered, chewing on a fry, “it’s been a while since you bought one.”

  “I’m not sure I even bought this one. Where can you buy a wallet in this town?”

  “The Paper Mill, on Route 1.”

  “The Paper Mill? That card store near the laundromat? Who goes in there?”

  Kim arched a brow. “I do, and you will too. They’ve got wallets there.”

  So here he was. He entered the store and nearly gagged on the perfumey smell of the place, which a large rack of candles near the front seemed to be responsible for.

  “Hi,” a voice from behind the register said. “I’m Ashley. Can I help you?”

  Jack glanced over to see a redheaded girl painting her fingernails. She barely looked at him.

  Recognizing her as one of Lisa Jacobson’s friends, he ducked into an aisle and called, “No thanks. Just looking.”

  He followed the long narrow aisle crammed with cards to an endcap, where he found two identical wallets.

  Apparently they were low on stock right now.

  He picked up a wallet and leafed through it, becoming aware after a second that the salesgirl had moved and was rearranging a shelf not six feet away from him.

  He turned his back to her and flipped through the other wallet, confirming that it was the same as the first. Why were they so big? Who carried this many pictures? he wondered, letting an accordion of plastic drop nearly to his knees.

  He glanced back over to see if the salesgirl was still nearby and saw her attempting to look busy by a shelf of stationary, as if she thought he might be a shoplifter and needed to keep an eye on him. Surely she was younger than Lisa. She looked as if she were about fifteen years old, he thought, wondering for the thousandth time what he’d been thinking that night he’d taken Lisa home from the Hornet’s Nest.