Читать книгу Love in Strange Places - Anonymous - Страница 10

“Hey, there, Kelli,” Luke Jameson called as he walked into the gas station. Long-legged and broad, his twice-a-month visit was usually a highpoint in my life. But that day, even Luke’s shy friendliness represented only yet another shame-provoking poke at my own stupidity.

“Hey yourself, Luke,” I said. Leaning against the bathroom door, I jerked my hand to my mouth as a second wave of nausea churned my stomach and bolted like lightning up my throat. I raced back into the rest room just in the nick of time.

A few disgusting noises and gut-ripping heaves later and the illness settled, leaving me weak and weary yet again. For a moment, I simply palmed my forehead, my elbow on the chipped toilet seat. Tears gathered in my eyes and total wretchedness flooded throughout my system. How could I have been so dumb, so careless, so totally infatuated?

“Kelli?” Luke’s questioning voice sounded from behind me. I felt his hesitant, but strong, hand on my back. “You okay, sugar?”

He offered me a wet paper towel, then gently massaged my shoulders, smoothing the wayward hair away from my eyes. Humiliated to be found in such an unattractive state, I struggled to stand and flushed the revolting mess down the toilet.

“I’m okay, Luke, thanks. But you shouldn’t be in the ladies’ room, you know.”

“Well,” he chuckled, peering hard into my face, “I figured at five o’clock in the mornin’ the ladies’ room wouldn’t be exactly crowded with females. Besides, you looked pretty green when you came rushing in here. Are you okay, Kelli? Maybe you’d better go on home. There’s a lot of that old flu going ‘round, and you don’t want to get any sicker than you ought to be.”

Luke’s genuine worry added to my disgrace. I pushed around him, washing my hands and face. Though I wouldn’t have wished my current plight upon my worst enemy, I couldn’t fight the maternal urge to be as germ-free as possible. Clean and tidy, my hormonal imbalance calmed for the day, I studied myself in the mirror.

How could I have been so foolish?

“Kelli?”

Again, Luke touched my arm, his expression puzzled and alarmed. At twenty-five, Luke was eight years my senior. Yet despite the tough, lonely life he led as an interstate truck driver, he had managed to retain his boyish charm. Luke Jameson was an old-fashioned softy.

In the six months I’d known him through my job as an early-morning cashier at the truck stop, he’d been a steady, personable customer. He always had a self-effacing smile, a kind word, and a stray, abandoned animal tucked under his arm. The local humane society shuddered when Luke came into town! And while Luke was well-built and carried himself on a sturdy stride, he was not a particularly handsome man or gifted conversationalist.

Inwardly, I snorted. I’d fallen for a good-looking, fast-talking guy and come up alone, miserable, and pregnant. When my boyfriend found out about the baby, he’d merely scowled, and told me to get an abortion. When I refused and begged him to marry me instead, he’d casually said, “No way” and deserted me like one of Luke’s doomed puppies.

My parents hadn’t behaved much better than my creepy boyfriend. With five children of their own, they didn’t exactly welcome another mouth to feed. They’d been disappointed that their supposed golden child had ruined her youth on a hot-blooded man and motherhood. Like my lover, Mom and Dad had given me a heinous ultimatum: Have an abortion and go back to school, or take my troubles and stand on my own two feet.

It had been bad enough that the father of my baby had forsaken me, but to be left high and dry by my own family was an embarrassing, shabby degradation.

“Kelli?”

The squeak of the bathroom door and Luke’s peeping presence snapped me out of my woeful reverie once more. I sighed.

“What is it, Luke?”

“I’m having engine problems with the rig. Do you mind if I drive it around back, check it out?”

“Go ahead, Luke,” I said.

I glanced at my watch. Five-fifteen in the morning. The cook wasn’t in yet and I was in serious need of food. I was sure that the late-night cook was in the back catching up on some sleep.

Since I’d become pregnant, my morning sickness was followed by an urgent, almost painful hunger. Looking at Luke, I realized that he must be hungry, too.

“Before you start work, how about a little breakfast? I’m not much in the kitchen, but I can scrabble a mean omelet and fry up some tasty bacon.”

He shot me such a quizzical look that I had to laugh.

“How can you be hungry after all that vomiting, little lady?”

“Just lucky, I guess!” I chuckled cynically, and patted my slightly curved tummy. “You hungry or not?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Twenty minutes later, I laid a full plate in front of him, and began digging greedily into my own food. Glutton-like and simply famished as only a pregnant girl can be, I hardly noticed the weird, silent stares of my breakfast partner. I was halfway through my meal when Luke leaned forward, a baffled question about to escape his lips.

“Are you pregnant, Kelli?”

Luke’s on-the-mark query startled me. I had been so engrossed by my feeding frenzy that I’d nearly forgotten an explanation for my appetite. I glanced up at Luke mid-bite, then self-consciously, my eyes batted shut.

Although I didn’t know Luke all that well, I hated to see the condescending expression I knew my answer would evoke. For some unknown reason, I could not bare that “how could you have been so stupid” smirk from Luke. Still, he was no nincompoop, and he’d obviously pinpointed my ailment.

“Yes, Luke, I am pregnant.”

A quaint smile lifted his lips and he reached across the table, covering my hand with his. Luke appeared almost misty as his eyes ranged up and down my body, his fingers flexed sentimentally over mine. “Congratulations, Kelli. You must be so happy!”

Speechless, I felt my jaw drop and my eyes widen. Although only my doctor, parents, and disinterested lover knew of my with-child situation, nobody, not one solitary person, had treated this like a jubilant celebration.

“Your husband must be very proud.” Luke glowed, a curious tinge of envy brightened his eyes.

“I’m not married, Luke,” I whispered guiltily, expecting him to let go of my hand and harden his heart against me like everyone else had.

But once again, he amazed me. Instead of attacking my lack of character or spurning my slatternly behavior, he only nodded, his grin still intact. “Nevertheless, a baby is always reason to rejoice. They renew our hope in tomorrow.”

A guttural sneer puckered my mouth. Luke’s statement had brought a fresh crop of pain to my voice. “Maybe to some people, Luke. But according to my baby’s father, my folks, and even my doctor—this baby is a tragedy. A horrible mistake that will burden my life, destroy my future, and make me an old maid before my time.”

Totally astonished, Luke inhaled harshly. “Even the father thinks this way?”

“Especially the father!”

Luke whistled quietly. “And, the guy doesn’t want to marry you, sugar?”

“No, he says a baby is too much responsibility. He thinks it would interfere too much with his plans.”

“Seems he should have thought of that before—” Luke stopped abruptly. Since he was too nice a gentleman to voice his most honest thoughts, I supplied the coarse words for him.

“Guess I should have thought about it, too. After all, even in this enlightened day and age, girls still get stuck with the toughest decisions.”

He shrugged, his customary good-humored grin easing his taut features. “That’s all water under the bridge now, Kelli. Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. I know I did once upon a time. But when he was so brutal about the baby and all—I just don’t know. Guess that really makes me a piece of trash, a real—”

Luke’s hand stiffened on mine and he lifted my chin with an unsparing index finger. Intense sincerity warmed his plain features and deepened his voice. “What that makes you, Kelli, is an inquisitive, inexperienced seventeen-year-old girl who, unfortunately, confused love with desire and passion. You aren’t in an easy position, there are no definite answers, but it isn’t the end of the world, you know.”

“Your optimism is admirable, Luke, but not very realistic to me right now.”

He grunted, frowning in mock indignation. “On the contrary, Kelli. Optimism can always improve realism. I know your folks aren’t pleased, but what do they think about your condition?”

I felt my hands begin to tremble at the mere thought of my parents. “Oh, they’re as bad as my boyfriend. They don’t want me to get married, either. They want me to get an abortion and forget about this terrible fiasco.”

Luke cocked his head in pensive thought. “Makes sense, Kelli. Remember, your mom and dad are in shock just like you are. More importantly, however, you are their baby. They love you and are looking out for your best interests.”

Up until that second, I’d never thought about that point before. What Luke had said was true. I was their baby, and they only wanted what was best for me—for all my brothers and sisters. Mom and Dad had invested their entire adult lives in raising us kids. They understood the consequences of my sexual conduct. They also recognized what lay ahead for my baby and me. Mom and Dad had known much more than me.

Still, I wasn’t convinced, and couldn’t quite grasp the ramifications of it all. Then, once again, Luke startled me with another unexpected question.

“And what do you want to do? What will make Kelli happy?” he asked solemnly. His relentless concern for my feelings, my wishes, got to me.

Since I’d learned about my pregnancy, no one had even thought to ask me what I wanted, wondered what I thought best. And while they all believed in the “my body, my choice” scenario, they’d neglected to consult me. Not that it would have mattered any.

“I don’t know, Luke. I really don’t know. It seems each way I turn, people are hammering me with accusations, telling me what I must do. My boyfriend has left me, my folks and I quarrel constantly—bitter, ugly, loudmouthed battles where no one listens to anyone. I’m continuously torn, always in an uproar. I come up with lots of questions, but not many answers. Between my throwing up and my emotional state, I can’t think straight anymore. I cry all the time, too. It’s as though I got pregnant and my brain went out the window alongside my virtue!”

“Don’t run yourself down, Kelli. Yes, you made a mistake. But, aside from marrying a man who doesn’t love you or having an abortion before you’re ready, you do have other options.”

“Yeah,” I lamented, whimpering my secret fear, “I can always kill myself. That’d put an end to everything and all my problems would instantly be solved!”

Suddenly, I burst into tears and boohooed like a tiny baby myself. I covered my face and hung my head. I’d never felt so alone, so swallowed by despair.

Visions of pill-popping unconsciousness, bloody razors, and fiery car crashes obliterated my common sense and brought a chilly, eerie peace to my pounding heart. They were half-baked schemes, yet nonetheless potent.

But before anything could really take root or lodge too indelibly within my soul, powerful arms engulfed me; a steady, solid heartbeat pulsated beneath my tearstained cheek. “It’s okay, Kelli, everything will be all right. Don’t cry. I know your life has hit a horrifying glitch, but it isn’t that black, it isn’t that hopeless. Suicide is definitely not an option.”

Luke’s soothing voice and gentle cradling surrounded me and somehow eased my heart.

As Luke pulled me to his lap, rocked me and stroked my hair, I continued to sob, and mourn the burden of my impulsive sins. Somehow, despite the fact that we were barely acquaintances, unrelated and from two different worlds, I was comforted, and felt worthy of someone’s affectionate embrace. Luke dried my eyes. He gave me an encouraging wink.

“What you need most, I think,” he contemplated out loud, “is a chance to think things through. Rationally, calmly—without outside interruptions. How far along are you, Kelli?”

“The doctor says I’m six weeks.”

“Then you still have time. You don’t have to do anything right this minute.”

“No, but I’ll have to do something very soon.”

Luke sat absently petting my hair, staring out the window. By the time my school-hour replacement had come in, Luke had reached a decision of his own.

“Look, Kelli, I know that this will all sound kind of bizarre, but it’s the best I can do on short notice.” He grinned. “I want to help you. And I think I know a way to do that.”

“That’s decent of you, Luke.” I laid a grateful hand on his arm. “But you aren’t the one in trouble—”

“No, you are. And you’re my friend. Let me help you.”

“Just like you help those stray animals? You’ve got such a soft heart.”

“Most people would say I’ve got a soft head!” He laughed with his characteristic self-reproach, then added a serious, “I like you, Kelli. I like you a lot. I have since I started this route. And, just for the record, you aren’t a stray, just a mite lost.”

“Thanks, Luke, I truly appreciate your concern. Still, though, I don’t know what you could do to help me through this predicament. I don’t know how anyone could.”

“You need time to think, plan your immediate and long-term future. And, you need a quiet, safe place in which to do it. With your mom and dad so angry, your boyfriend so uncaring, you won’t find the space you need here.”

I couldn’t dispute Luke’s logic. The constant upheaval in my personal life kept me dizzy and in an uproar. It wasn’t good for me, and I shuddered to think of what all this rigamarole was doing to the tiny, innocent fetus swimming around inside me.

But I didn’t know what Luke planned to do about it. He took a short, steadying breath, then gazed deep into my eyes.

“Finish this haul with me, Kelli. If all goes well—which it should—we can make the round trip from here to Michigan, unload, reload, and be back in two weeks. That should give you plenty enough time to truly know what you want to do about the baby.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Luke!” If he’d suggested that we sprout wings and fly to the moon, I couldn’t have been more stunned. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve never been out of Indiana before!”

“Good, then you can have a pleasant vacation, to boot.”

“I hardly think that after the mess I’ve created, I deserve a vacation. Besides, you run on a fixed timetable, Luke. Between my morning sickness and frequent bathroom stops, I’ll just slow you down.”

“No, you won’t. At any rate, I’m ahead of schedule this trip.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“Listen, Kell. The cab of a big rig like mine is comfortable, roomy, and infinitely quiet. You’ll find lots of time to think. And I promise,” he symbolically crossed his heart, “that you will be absolutely safe. I’ll be with you every second. And though we’ll be side by side in the truck, I won’t infringe upon your privacy. There’s a little bunk in the back where you can nap anytime. You’ll see, it’ll be great.”

“But I have no money—”

“You won’t need any.”

“I’ve got to eat.”

“Ah,” he said. “How much can a little thing like you eat?”

I gave him a skeptical smirk, then nodded toward my empty plate. Not only had I scraped it clean, but I’d wolfed Luke’s bacon and toast, as well. “Since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve developed a hollow leg! And I have to fill it up at least three times a day.”

“Well,” he shrugged, grimacing comically, “I’ll start a tab that you can pay after everything is straightened out.”

Despite the turmoil that raged within my soul, a few pertinent things did stand out. I had a tough choice to make, and I didn’t want to bungle it with a pressured, snap decision. A decision that, no matter what course I selected, would haunt me forever—mold the rest of my life. I’d already made one major error, and I couldn’t afford a second, perhaps more traumatic, one. Nevertheless, to run off with a virtual stranger. . . .

“We hardly know each other, Luke. We’re merely a couple of ships passing in the night.”

“That’s not true, Kelli.” Luke appeared somewhat taken aback, hurt even, by my feelings. “During the past six months, I’ve made this Michigan run a dozen times. I’m so predictable and methodical that I always stop at the same truck plazas along the way. Each place is loaded with colorful characters and friendly waitresses. I see them so often that they become like family. But this place is my favorite—homelike. Why? Because of a sweet girl named Kelli.”

“Why, Luke!” I patted his reddened cheek. Luke rolled his eyes, embarrassed.

“Solo truck driving is a lonely profession. I could use some company. Come on, Kelli. What have you got to lose?”

“My parents will kill me . . . I’ll miss two weeks of school,” I said, defeated. “Of course, my reputation is already in tatters.”

“Hey, now.” Luke stiffened, his expression stern and foreboding. “None of that ‘let’s beat up on Kelli’ routine. Everybody stumbles, everybody falls facedown sometimes. But that doesn’t make them bad people. It just makes them human. You’ve had some rotten breaks, some lousy luck. Now, it’s time to lick your wounds and plot your next line of action. The separation from your folks might give them a necessary period of adjustment, too. Come with me, Kelli; let me help you help yourself.”

Not unlike my earlier bout of morning sickness, my body was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. But I felt Luke’s outstretched hand too welcoming and sincere to refuse. Although his reason for rescuing me remained a mystery, I didn’t push him. I just accepted.

“Okay, Luke. What time do you want to blow this pop stand?”

“That’s my girl!” He winked at my giddy joke. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

“Half an hour?” I suggested.

“Great! I’ll have the truck all warmed up and ready to roll.” He smiled.

I stood, prepared to leave, when Luke clutched my hand, his eyes full of concern. “Kelli, maybe I should go with you, you know, speak to your parents. They’ll be worried—”

“They’ll be at work and won’t even miss me until after six o’clock tonight. I’ll leave a note for them.”

“Still, Kelli, you really should—”

“It’ll be okay. Now, Luke, you’ve got to trust me!”

Feeling like some kind of common criminal, I trumped up a lie to tell my boss, then scurried home to pack a bag. I was glad no one was there. I didn’t want to face them in person.

The letter I left was cryptic and brief. I merely assured them that I was with a dependable friend and would return in a few days. I grabbed my vitamins and iron pills, and hurried back to meet Luke.

Surprisingly, once we hit the highway and crossed the state line, I felt as though a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The ironclad band that had seemed to constrict my chest suddenly loosened. I lowered my window and took in a fresh breath of air. Of course, Luke saw my relaxed posture and smiled at me.

“Freedom!” He nodded in understanding. “Exactly the reason I love being a trucker.”

Funny how we don’t realize things. I’d been under so much stress, suffered so many restless nights, that I slept for the better part of the next two days. Luke didn’t mind, as he said he made better road time. But after I caught up on my sleep, and the tension drifted away, I found the passing sights fascinating. My morning sickness abated, though I continued to eat like a horse. This was a constant source of amusement for my traveling partner.

But as always, his jokes were lightly aimed, more silly than judgmental. And despite the unorthodox trappings of the semi’s constraints, I felt at home—safe, secure, and pampered. I had originally presumed that Luke viewed me as just another stray creature, a needy case. Yet, as the miles whizzed by, he genuinely seemed to enjoy my company.

Luke showed me off at truck stops with a proud demeanor and a boastful smile. Although my pregnancy was still a secret to the outside world, for all intents and purposes, Luke acted as if the baby developing deep inside my body was his, a growing symbol of his love and devotion. Luke catered to my every whim, and looked out for my well-being as no one ever had before. We were inseparable, and oddly content to be so.

It was a peculiar scene, but again, I didn’t question his deeds too profoundly. I just accepted his kindness with a thankful heart and prized my momentary respite.

By the time we’d reached Luke’s home base in Detroit, we still had not discussed my future. Luke had not divulged any new options, nor suggested any further propositions. Furthermore, I still had not figured out what to do. Yet, I felt calmer, more capable, and finally in control. It was my life, my choice, and I alone who should determine my destiny. Thanks to Luke, that much was assured.

To my additional astonishment, Luke took me home to meet his family. Naturally, he didn’t mention my being with child—nor did he mention my dropping out of school, or how I’d ran away from home. They didn’t even seem to notice the difference in our ages.

His siblings were a curious array of blondes, brunettes, and one little redhead. Luke and one brother were well over six feet tall, while the rest of the boys looked dwarfish beside them. It struck me as curious, but of course, it would have been impolite to actually speak about it.

Regardless of their physical disassociation, however, they, up to and including Luke’s parents, shared a uniquely streamlined philosophy: Any friend of Luke’s was a friend of theirs. They welcomed me with open arms. In fact, they treated me like some long-lost cousin—or the girl who had stolen Luke’s heart.

Three days later, when we headed back for the return trip, I sincerely regretted having to leave. But, I knew that I had to go home and face the music. Once more, the dilemma loomed in front of me. Yet, this time, I was backed by Luke’s steady regard and his family’s easygoing manner. I was ready to meet the challenges squarely and logically.

“Did you notice anything remarkable about my brothers and sisters?” Luke asked conversationally after lunch one day.

“Well,” I hedged diplomatically, “they were a great bunch, so friendly, and they genuinely seemed to like each other.”

“Anything else?” He glanced at me, a huge grin on his face. His expression was so mischievous that I wondered what he was getting at. Since we’d become so close in this tiny window of time, I shrugged and told him the truth.

“They sure are a rainbow of hair colors and heights. That seemed a bit extraordinary to me.”

“Yeah.” Luke laughed, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “They are an eclectic group! Didn’t you wonder why?”

“Quit playing games with me, Luke Jameson!” I swatted his shoulder with frisky camaraderie. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“We’re all adopted. Some of us from infancy—the younger ones were foster children.”

“That explains why you’re always rescuing homeless cats and woebegone dogs.” I paused a second and tacked on a bemused, “And pregnant teen misfits.”

“Hey,” Luke said as he turned from the wheel and tweaked my chin, “none of that ‘misfit’ stuff, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I blushed and ducked from his earnest expression. “So, why did you want me to meet them? I mean, they were all great and I am glad I got to know them. But, why take a stranger home to meet the family?”

“Well, you are hardly a stranger to me, Kelli. We’ve known each other for months.” He hesitated as if he’d like to say more, then quickly changed his mind. “I thought if you met them, saw how well they all turned out, it might show you that other option.”

He took my hand, squeezing it gently. Although his eyes never left the road, his voice dropped to a husky, pensive rasp. “If you don’t feel comfortable having an abortion, Kelli, you could go on with your pregnancy, have the baby, then give it up for adoption.”

Slowly, his words began to sink in and my mouth hit the floorboard. Adoption. I’d never thought of it. I stared at him and blinked.

“It isn’t that I’m against abortion,” he assured me quickly.

“No, me either. In fact, in some cases, I think it’s the best for everyone involved. But, while I believe in a woman’s right, unlike everybody else in my family, I’m not sure it’s the right choice for me. And the ‘right choice’ is what it’s all about.”

“Exactly, Kelli.”

“Yes.” I shook my head sadly; tears blurred my eyes. “I’m the one who has to live with my decision—now and forever.”

An icy chill darted through me and I shivered. The baby would have to live or die with my decision, as well. Furthermore, this baby that floated around inside of me was not to blame for my mistakes. Yet, to raise it alone, to be cast out by my family—adrift, uneducated, and condemned to a life of endless poverty and deprivation was no life for it, either. But adoption. . . .

“Through adoption, Kelli,” Luke cut into my reverie, his voice far away, but crystal clear, “you could have the baby, then give it to a loving couple who can’t make a child of their own. In a sense, you could turn this tragedy into a miracle for someone.”

“But, Luke,” I began, staring hard into his face, “even if I give the baby up, and it ultimately has a wonderful life with some other worthy couple, won’t it eventually wonder about me? Question why I did what I did?”

He took a deep breath, then shrugged thoughtfully. “I can only speak for myself. But, as an adopted kid, I have often daydreamed about my biological parents. Sometimes, I study my face and body in the mirror and contemplate whether I look like them, act them, or even think like them. Sometimes, I walk down a busy street and search for them—especially when I was younger. But, I’ve come to realize that they did what they thought best. Whatever their reason was, I need to accept it.”

“Do you hate them, Luke?” I asked, my voice a hoarse, emotional whisper.

“Hate them? No. Mostly, I’m just glad to be alive. Of course, if I’d been aborted, I’d probably never know the difference.”

Again I gazed unseeing, through the wide, high-up window. The wheels of the truck hummed a lullaby-like melody while my reflection in the window stared back at me. Objective and vulnerable, my single consummate dread surfaced, and I could no longer hide from its sickening truth.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t have known the difference, Luke,” I reaffirmed, “but your birth mother would have. Just like I will.”

Unthinkingly, my hand moved to my belly, and I systematically rubbed the half-shaped bundle of cells sailing within. No matter what I did, no matter how I handled this “surprise” calamity, I would always know, would always question my decision. Therefore, I realized that in the final analysis, my only genuine choice was to pick the alternative that would trouble my heart the least.

From across the semi’s cab, Luke leaned slightly toward me. Tenderly, he, too, massaged my swollen curve. Like always, his smile was merciful and benevolent.

“Whatever you decide, Kelli, I’ll support you and do all I can to make it easier. All I ask is that you search your soul, make sure that your choice is the right one for you, Kelli. Make this decision for yourself.”

The rest of our trip passed by in a haze of silent miles and profoundly intense self-scrutiny. I worried about everything from money to my folks, from that moment to my deathbed. But mostly, I worried about the baby.

When we reached the city limits of my hometown, Luke automatically pulled off the highway and parked the rig behind the gas station where I’d worked. I looked at him. My inner turmoil was gone; my soul was at peace. I’d made my decision.

“I’ll go with adoption, Luke. Just tell me where to start and I won’t bother you again.”

A tremendous sigh of relief blew from his lungs as he took my hand and raised it to his lips. Lovingly, he kissed my knuckles, his expression warm and compassionate.

“Although it wouldn’t have changed how I feel about you, Kelli, on behalf of adopted kids everywhere, I’m grateful and thank you for making this impossible choice. But just as importantly, you are not now, nor will you ever be, a bother to me. I’m fond of you, Kelli, more fond than you know. I have been since the beginning of this incredible adventure, and even beforehand. I was sincere when I said that I would do all I can for you—”

“That is so sweet and so just like you, Luke.” My voice wobbled and my never-far-from-the-surface tears threatened to undo my fledgling maturity. “But none of this is your affair, certainly not your fault. You’ve already gone above and beyond friendship. Surpassed duty—”

“Sssh. . . .” Luke pressed a chivalrous finger to my lips, and bumped my nose with his. “Don’t say any more. Just give me a big hug and then I’ll take you home. Together, we’ll explain to your folks where we’ve been.”

“That’s unnecessary,” I said, although the prospect of seeing my parents—by myself and unprotected—filled me with unqualified panic and misgiving.

Another pseudo-serious warning and Luke gathered me close to his heart. He warmed my icy fear with his firm, self-confident embrace. The safe, homey thud of his heart soothed me. Like always when in his arms, wrapped in his gracious attention, I felt safe, sure. My baby did, too. With the pure hope of a child, I wished I could stay swathed in his sureness forever.

Wriggling nearer still, I spread my hand over his shoulder, pressed my breasts to his ribs. I looked up at him.

For a moment, I stared into his dark eyes, hoping that my heartfelt gratitude could be conveyed by this guileless gesture. My fingertips fluttered to his lips, then traced the intimate fullness of his mouth. His eyes softened and he bent his head to return my gaze. The scratchy roughness of Luke’s chin on my cheek seemed to stir my sensitivities in a brand-new way.

As if in slow motion, our lips touched. The light and airy pressure was a gossamer promise of things to come. Despite my pregnancy, in Luke’s eyes, I felt virginal, clean, and unsoiled—a pristine lady in white. Once again, I basked in his tenderness. It was a rebirth I had no right to feel.

Starry-eyed and flushed, my body coursed with the most feminine of yearnings. I felt sensual sensations I’d never experienced before, not even with the father of my baby. I felt faint, fevered, and completely unprepared for the gruff rumble of Luke’s rigid ouster. Though his features retained a trace of his more kindly demeanor, the determined set of his once-pliable mouth shocked me back to reality, centered me on the task at hand—facing my folks.

My folks. The mere thought of them sent a chill up my spine and weakened my knees.

With Luke’s reliable bulk bolstering my sagging spirit, I handed my parents my decision, and girded myself for their virtuous reprimand. But true to Luke’s prediction, they were more happy to see me return safe and sound, than they were at my hard-won decision. They didn’t mind the adoption plan and allowed me back into the house.

Before he left on his turnaround haul to Michigan, Luke accompanied me to a local women’s clinic, and held my hand through the embarrassing question-and-answer counseling, patiently reading dogeared magazines while I underwent my physical examination.

The clinic proved a godsend of help and reassurance. They even hooked me up with a sympathetic doctor and a reputable adoption agency.

As my gloom gave way to springtime blossoms, the weeks passed in supercharged emotions. Although I’d left him high and dry, my boss welcomed me back without dissension. My high school had more to say, though, and they were infinitely hesitant to permit me back to class. Still, once they learned that I would not “brag” about my condition, and I assured them that I would not “show” before graduation, they capitulated, and reluctantly let me finish out my senior year.

My ex-boyfriend had absolutely no interest in our baby. He avoided me like the plague. But somehow, I didn’t care. Indeed, I was glad to be rid of him—an immature, selfish little boy.

Through it all, I had one unvarying, uncompromising champion in my corner: Luke Jameson.

Luke called me every night, and sent me postcards from random truck stops. Every two weeks, he came through town and took me out to dinner and a movie. Luke listened to my troubles, and stroked the burgeoning roundness of my belly as though the being inside was an object of phenomenal delight. Luke giggled like a first-time father every time an errant foot or fidgety fist nudged his loving hand.

Despite our closeness and obvious physical attraction toward one another, by mutual, unspoken agreement, we did not fool around sexually. We never kissed or touched again, but we did constantly hold hands. Our emotional bonds grew more personal, but our physical relationship stayed strictly platonic.

Since I intended to give the baby up for adoption, I struggled to remain unattached to my little bundle, which I frequently referred to as “the fetus.” Nonetheless, some things are easier said than done.

As my belly protruded, bounced around, and ruined my sleep, I couldn’t help but talk to it. Late at night and early in the morning, I told it my life story, and dreamed aloud its prospects with some loving, caring family. My hands became a safeguarding shield around it’s shifting, kicking orbit. With all my might and no-nonsense logic, I endeavored not to love it. I desperately tried not to think of my unborn child’s postpartum future.

As my due date grew nearer, winding down to a last few days, I was surprised to see Luke in a pickup truck, instead of his usual eighteen-wheeler. He wasn’t scheduled to arrive for days. I was, however, immeasurably joyous to see him. But I’d never felt larger, more uncomfortable, or more unlovable. The baby had been too quiet and my back ached fiercely.

Luke jumped out of the cab and winked at me. His eyes roamed up and down my huge torso like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. I almost cried, but then, I was always near to tears, it seemed.

“How can you look at me and be so proud, Luke?” I waddled toward him and gave him a pudgy-faced grimace. “I’m a water balloon about to pop!”

“Oh, I love water balloons. They’re so darned squishy and soft and bright and cheerful. Besides, Kelli—you are glowing. Simply radiant, sugar.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed at his playful assessment while Luke made his customary acknowledgment of the baby. Gently, he patted my oversized stomach, and held a sunny conversation with my belly.

Not unlike me, Luke enjoyed talking to my tummy and usually explained his latest trip and any excitement he’d had along the way. Not only did his one-sided chats entertain me, but his carefree dialogue seemed to affect the baby. It responded to Luke’s voice with a muffled squiggle and an amniotic gurgle.

“What are you doing here, now, Luke?”

He shrugged bashfully. “I took my vacation. I wanted to be here with you when the baby comes.”

“Who knows when the baby will be born?” I groused, weary of being pregnant, terrified of the childbirth ahead, and profoundly relieved to have him with me.

“I’d say soon. You hungry?”

“No,” I admitted, amazed that I hadn’t been all day. “Just tired and swollen. My feet hurt and my back is killing me.”

Luke’s grin widened hopefully. “Really?”

As if on cue, another spasm shifted the load within me and a sharp cramp shot through my torso. I stumbled, caught by Luke’s steadying embrace.

Alarmed and leery, I straightened, only to feel the almost soothing sensation of something warm oozing inside, then staining my maternity pants. I gasped and looked up into Luke’s eyes.

“Maybe we’d better put off lunch until after we call the doctor,” Luke said panting, his arms tight around me. He held me strong against his chest.

“Good idea,” I chuckled, then was hit by another savage jab.

For the next ten hours, Luke never left my side. He sponged my sweating face, watched the bleeping monitors, and didn’t even notice the ragged welts my fingernails had clawed onto the backs of his hands. When the baby braced itself against my lungs and wrung out the air within them, Luke drew a breath for us all, and loosened my labor with his tranquilizing voice.

When at last the delivery-time came, they draped a concealing sheet to separate me from the happenings below. Luke held my hand and braved the curtained sheet.

Through his eyes, I watched the birth of my baby. As I bore down for a last, tooth-grinding push, Luke gasped, and shared the life-freeing cramp with me. His mouth formed an awestruck circle and moisture glistened in his eyes.

Seconds ticked by, and time hung suspended in that breathless heartbeat. Then, my baby sputtered toward independent life with a shrill cry.

Helpless and fragile, the newborn’s voice grew stronger, more determined, until its scream was boisterous. And with each life-reaffirming squall, I gripped Luke’s hand, choking back my own bittersweet tears.

“Is it okay, Luke? Is my baby all right?”

“Oh, Kelli,” he twisted, eyes brimming with emotion. “She’s beautiful. She’s perfect.”

“Can I see her? Can I touch her?” I sobbed, squeezing his hand with all my frail, drug-induced power.

“Better not, honey,” the nurse interceded, blocking what little view I may have sneaked.

“Oh, please!” I beseeched her, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.

Fortunately, Luke was not as sensible. With a puckered smile on his lips, he leaned away from me and reached toward my baby.

Although I could not see my baby, the instant Luke made contact with her, I felt her in my entire being. I could almost feel Luke’s strong hand caressing her. His hand tightened on mine and his face beamed with unadulterated joy. Luke stroked her little body, and whispered sweet phrases against her ear. Soon, her angry cries hiccuped away.

“Oh!” Luke chortled, his tone thick, muffled by a wistful throb. “Her skin feels like wet velvet, her eyes are blue. Little, precious blue orbs! She looks like you, Kelli. Ten little fingers, ten little toes. She’s just the most precious little angel I’ve ever seen!”

I struggled to sit up and tear away the sheet that kept me from my baby. However, the entire hospital seemed to know of my adoptive decision, and the burly nurse grabbed my shoulders gently and pinned me back down.

“It’s better you don’t look, Kelli,” she murmured. Though I begged her to free me, she shook her head and pressed me to the bed. In my weak-limbed condition, I could not fight her. All I could do was grieve, and taste the sour, regretful tears that dripped down my face.

Looking again at Luke, my utter misery must have broken his heart. His face contorted and I saw wetness collect in the corners of his eyes. For one quick moment, he turned back toward the baby, his finger tracing her delicate, soft mouth. Luke kissed her forehead and breathed in her newborn scent. With paternal-like reluctance, he stepped away from the child, then moved to stand beside me.

With his lips to my forehead, his fingertips on my lips, he gave me my baby’s kiss.

A primal, bestial sob ripped from my deepest being, my heart shattered into a million, blood-dipped shards. Luke caught me to his chest, and bore the heartbreaking torrent of my dying soul.

After some scuffled footsteps and muted orders, my baby was gone—spirited away, torn from my body, withheld from my sight, and completely erased from my life.

I continued to struggle and scream. Even Luke’s tight hug could not placate me. Even my hero, Luke, could not diminish the sorrow that swallowed me whole.

“It’s okay, Kelli,” Luke wept, his tears mingled with mine. “It’s okay, you are doing the right thing.”

But before I could tell him he was wrong, explain how deeply in love I was with my unseen child, another compassionate nurse bustled at my IV, pumping yet another dulling drug into my veins. Blackness swirled around me as conscious thought drifted away.

I’ve no idea how long I slept. It could have been an eternity, or a timid half-second. Nevertheless, when I awoke, my entire body throbbed. My hospital pillow was saturated, yet my eyes were puffy and dry. On my bedside table stood a stack of official papers—papers that, once signed, would seal my baby’s fate forever. I couldn’t stand the thought of her receiving some other mother’s love. . . .

I wrestled to an upright position and saw Luke sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. When he realized that I was awake, he offered a gallant, but vacuous, smile.

“How are you feeling, Kelli?”

“Like I was hit by your semi!” I managed a feeble grin, then felt the blurring of tears. I wondered if I would ever stop crying.

“Your folks came by.”

“Did they see the baby?”

“No.”

A deafening silence seemed to smother the room and I shuffled the papers, pushing them farther away from me. Of course, Luke noticed and picked them up with trembling hands.

“You haven’t signed them yet, sugar.”

“I love my baby and I want what’s best for her. But. . . .” My voice cracked and I just couldn’t continue.

Luke patted my hand and pulled his chair close to my side. For a time, he just hung his head, studying the floor. At last he looked at me, wiping a tear from my cheek.

“I love her, too, Kelli. I have since—I don’t know when. The nurse was right, though, I shouldn’t have touched her. I shouldn’t have stared into her eyes or kissed her tiny forehead.” His voice broke; his face blanched ominously. “In my heart, I’m sure that giving her to a good family is best for her. With babies so scarce and in demand, no doubt, she’ll go to a wonderful family with plenty of money. She’ll have everything a kid could ever want or need. Orthodontia, college, ballet lessons—”

“A pony,” I added. I tried with all my soul to mollify my broken heart with the glorious picture he was painting. I crossed my fingers and prayed like never before. Despite my best efforts, however, it didn’t work.

Apparently, Luke wasn’t buying it, either. With a single, callous sneer, he decimated any hope I had for giving my baby away.

“No, she’ll never have a pony. Her new parents will live in the city where she can’t have one!”

“Luke!” I blinked, my bottom lip quivered.

Mindless to my bewildered plea, he was building steam, working himself up into a belligerent, heart-wrenching fury. “No pony, ever. Not only that, but that darling, precious baby will be damned to a lifetime of wondering who her biological parents were and why they didn’t love her enough to keep her! She’ll always imagine that there is something wrong with her, something that made her so detestable that they had to give her away—hand her off to strangers!”

“Luke!” Again, my own precarious sentimentalities took a backseat to his inconsolable ranting. Now, it was I who had to comfort him. “But look at your family, Luke. Your folks love you, and your brothers and sisters adore you. You’ve been happy, Luke. You know you’ve had a good life, despite being adopted.”

“That’s true,” he agreed heartily. “But I’ve wasted years wondering why. Why didn’t my real mom and dad want me? I’ve spent so much time wondering what was wrong with me that prevented them from keeping me.”

“But there is nothing wrong with you. I suspect your birth mother may have been just like me: a reckless girl, old enough to conceive, but too young to raise you herself. No doubt, Luke, your mother made the best of a bad situation. Just like I’m trying to do. You’ve got to believe that.”

“In here, Kelli.” Luke tapped his head. “I know you are right.” Then, he stabbed a self-castigating finger into his chest. “But here, I always wonder. Your baby doesn’t have to do that, not ever. I have another option for her—for us. One I thought of before, but didn’t have the guts to present to you.”

He picked up the papers that littered my table and heaved a great sigh. Placing my baby’s birth certificate on top of everything, Luke’s voice lowered, his eyes penetrating mine. His knuckles whitened as they seized the rail of my bed.

“I know ours has not been a traditional, romantic courtship, Kelli. I also know that there are eight years between us. But what I feel for you is genuine and lasting. What I feel for your baby is unquestionable and lifelong. We’ve been through so much, your baby feels like mine. Marry me, Kelli. Let me claim fatherhood to your little girl. I love her, and I love you even more.”

My mouth hung open and I couldn’t speak. As he waited for my answer, he found a pen and began writing in the baby’s legal birth papers.

Under Mother, he wrote my name, hyphenating my last name with his. Beneath Father, and though he knew the truth, he wrote his own name. Once the deception was made, he bit his lip and gave me a quavering look.

“Say, yes, Kelli. Say yes and I can have a justice of the peace here this afternoon. As soon as you and the baby are ready, we can drive down to Michigan and live in a mobile home behind my folks’ place. Just temporarily,” he amended hastily, “until we can afford a home of our own. Someday, when the baby is older, we can explain the truth to her, and, God willing, to her little brothers and sisters.”

Although his proposal seemed haphazard on the surface, deep in my heart, I knew it was not. He’d thought this “option” out meticulously. It was Luke’s nature, part of what made me feel so anchored, so safe, when I was near him.

And despite the cautious fluttering of my own heart, I was not too uncertain, either. For, in truth, I’d spent more time with Luke, understood the workings of his mind and soul, far better than I did my baby’s father—a man whose face I could hardly recall, a man I had never loved and could never love, now that I’d been so touched by Luke.

I took Luke’s hand, kissed its palm, then cupped it to my cheek. Impulsively, his fingertips dried the tears from my face.

“You don’t have to twist my arm, Luke. I love my baby and I want to keep her with me, be her mom. And, despite the goofy relationship we’ve had, I, too, have grown to love you and feel as if she is your child, as well. Maybe that’s because you have, from the very start, acted like her father. Yes, I’d be most happy and proud to marry you, Luke Jameson.”

Such a flood of relief and absolute joy wreathed his face—and mine, too. For the first time since I’d discovered I was pregnant, I knew without a grain of doubt that I had made the correct choice, finally done a complete right.

I grinned up at him.

A heartbeat later, Luke eased down the bed rail and carefully sat on the edge of my hospital bed.

With a tenderness and generosity I had come to cherish in him, he wrapped his arms around me, let his adoration caress away my every hurt. Our tentative kiss soon deepened and made honeyed promises for our future ahead. We giggled and dreamed, and then tore the adoption papers into a million shreds. Hand in hand, we ambled toward the nursery to say hello to “our” baby daughter. . . .

I cannot describe the sheer, sweet fulfillment that holding her close and touching her tiny features gave me that first time. I doubt any mother could. I only know that it was the single greatest blessing of my existence, and ultimately became worth every trauma and emotion I’d wrestled with.

Although marrying Luke, keeping my baby, and moving to Michigan was my saving grace, I know that it would not have worked for every teenage mother. Not every man is as forgiving and compassionate as my husband is; not every man is as devoted and good. Nonetheless, through perseverance, dedication, and unselfish love, Luke and I have forged a strong, lyrical union. Our daughter, Sabrina, is at its center, the sunshine of our lives.

We’ve been married three years now and have recently moved into a little brick bungalow on the outskirts of Lansing. Luke’s family members are regular guests and they are enchanted by their granddaughter. Even my parents have yielded and visit on occasion. Ours is a bountiful life.

In a few weeks, on my twenty-first birthday, Luke and I are leaving Sabrina with his folks while we spend our honeymoon in Aruba. There, if my good luck prevails, I should be able to come by his twenty-ninth birthday gift—we are hoping for a boy this time. Not that it really matters; we just want another beautiful collaboration to love and cherish. THE END