Читать книгу You're My Baby - Laura Abbot - Страница 9

THE ONCOMING HEADLIGHTS, the flashing neon of fast-food joints, the intricacies of traffic—none of it penetrated. Grant drove more by instinct than conscious action. Had he made an utter mess of things? What had seemed like a reasonable, if somewhat far-out suggestion an hour ago now could be categorized as sheer idiocy. Although he’d wanted to help Pam, too, she had to interpret his proposal as self-serving. And it was.

But not entirely for the obvious reasons.

The idea appealed to him on another level, one he wasn’t yet ready to put into words. He’d dated lots of women since his divorce, one or two rather seriously. But none had been as fascinating to him as Pam, who embraced life and didn’t give a darn what other people thought.

Turning onto his street, he tried viewing his neighborhood as Pam might. An older section of town with taller trees, these few blocks were in the process of making a comeback. Most of the houses, like his two-story, had been rehabbed by young professionals interested in preservation and renovation. A few, though, bore signs of neglect—fading paint, overgrown yards, seedy porch furniture. Would she be willing to move into his home? He hadn’t even mentioned that restriction, but Andy needed the yard and neighborhood, not a cramped condominium. And what about the sleeping arrangements? Swerving at the last minute to avoid a neighbor kid’s bike abandoned in the gutter, he pulled into his driveway.

Sleeping arrangements? A sudden image of Pam’s smooth, rosy-hued skin and full breasts unnerved him. He was a red-blooded male, for Pete’s sake. Could he withstand the temptation? There was a vast difference between being a husband in name only and the real McCoy.

He parked the car and sat brooding. Was he nuts? He was acting as if this was a done deal when, in fact, Pam had to be wondering if he’d lost his mind. Heck, he was wondering that himself.

Well, the die was cast. He walked toward the house, experiencing the same kind of jitters he felt before a crucial game. While he was still unlocking the back door, he heard the phone. He caught it on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”

Typical Shelley, always diving right in. No pleasantries. “I’m home now.” Darned if his whereabouts were any of her business. Especially tonight.

“We need to talk about Andy. Are we all set?”

“I think so.” He took a deep breath. “But I may have a delay on this end.”

“Delay?” With her emphasis, she managed to convey both incredulity and exasperation. “What delay?”

“I’ll have someone, but she may not be in residence right when Andy comes.”

“We have an agreement, you know.”

“I know, but surely a few days won’t matter. It’s important that Andy begin school with the others. Basketball practice for me doesn’t start until mid-October, so I’ll be around to supervise him.”

“Grant, don’t you be pulling a fast one.”

Ordinarily he’d resent the hell out of that remark, but is that what he was doing? Pulling a fast one? “Like you, Shelley, I have Andy’s best interests at heart.”

“I certainly hope so.” He could hear her long fingernails rat-a-tatting on the receiver. “All right, then. But as soon as you employ a housekeeper, I expect you to give me and my attorney the particulars—her name, social security number, and so on.”

For the first time since Grant had entertained the wild hope that Pam would accept his offer, he had an admittedly unworthy thought. He’d sacrifice a first-place finish in the prep league to see Shelley’s face when he told her his housekeeper just happened to be his wife. “I’ll be in touch.” He pulled a kitchen stool close and sat down. “Is Andy there? Could I speak to him?”

He waited for what seemed a long time while Shelley went to find their son. When Andy finally picked up, Grant could hear the frantic beat of a rap tune in the background. “Andy?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Dad. How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Looking forward to the move?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m jumping through hoops.”

So that’s how it was. “It’s gotta be tough, leaving your friends and all.”

Nothing.

“I think you’ll like Keystone, once you get used to it. I’m really looking forward to having you live with me this year.”

“Well, I have to stay somewhere.”

Like Fort Worth was the last alternative. “I’m glad that ‘somewhere’ is with me.”

“Whatever.”

Andy wasn’t going to let his father slip easily into his life. Hopefully things would be better when they could communicate face-to-face. Grant had dealt with surly, unhappy kids before, but the challenge was different when it was your own son. Could he rise to it? He had to. He might never have another chance. They talked then about the arrangements for meeting at the airport. Finally there didn’t seem to be anything further to say. “Good night, son.”

“See ya.”

Grant hung up. Pam had to say yes. For so many reasons. Not the least of which was how lonely and helpless he felt.

TUESDAY MORNING the Student Council officers, the boys dressed in crisp khakis and sport shirts and the girls in sleeveless sundresses, greeted the teachers as they slowly filtered into the cafeteria for the coffee-and-doughnut reception preceding the kickoff faculty meeting. Pam stopped to chat with Brittany Thibault, the StuCo secretary, who had been in her junior English class last year.

“Can you believe it?” The girl gestured to the other officers. “We’re actually seniors.”

Pam smiled. “Yes, I can believe it. The faculty’s expecting great things from you.”

“We won’t let you down.”

“Good. I’m counting on a nice, easy year.” At least at school. It was a cinch nothing else in her life would qualify as easy.

Connie caught up with her at the food line. “You’re in luck, Pam. They’ve got your gooey doughnuts with those disgusting sprinkles,” she said, reaching for a maple stick.

Pam eyed her favorite confection and realized that the nauseating whiff of freshly brewed coffee was up-ending her stomach. “I’ve eaten, so I’ll settle for an apple.” She plucked the piece of fruit from a tray and bypassed the coffee.

Connie stirred a packet of sugar substitute into her own coffee. “What’s up with you, caffeine addict?”

Pam waved her fingers airily. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m on a health kick. All those veggie, whole-grain restaurants in Austin convinced me.” Surely that inspired explanation would satisfy Connie, because nothing right now sounded more purely revolting than black coffee.

“Gee, we’ll have to be careful in the future about letting you out without a keeper. No coffee? That’s practically sacrilege.”

Pam chomped down on the apple. “But think how healthy I’ll be.”

After ten minutes of chitchat, Jim Campbell stepped to the microphone and asked everyone to take a seat. Out of the corner of her eye Pam saw Grant enter with a group of coaches. Why had she never noticed him before? Really noticed. He was by far the best-looking. He was the same tall, attractive, loose-limbed man he’d always been, but this morning she reacted to him in an entirely different and disturbing way. A physical way.

Before she could process that reaction, Jim Campbell began his opening remarks. He was a good speaker, mixing humor with motivational anecdotes. But today she couldn’t concentrate on a word he was saying. A single thought kept drumming in her brain. Grant Gilbert was willing to marry her.

Looking around the room at her colleagues and the self-important Student Council officers, she was moved by a wave of love, nostalgia and regret that tripped her breath. How could she leave all of this?

But people don’t get married to fulfill a bargain. She’d lain awake until the wee hours of the morning considering what was best for her child. If Grant was willing to give the baby his name, how could she refuse? Yet the logistics were overwhelming. How could they live together with Andy? Convince their friends and colleagues that they’d had a mad summer romance culminating in an elopement? And then carry on the charade every day for a year under intense scrutiny? She was a good actress, but this was an impossible role.

She studied Grant’s profile. And what about him? He was candor personified. Such duplicity wasn’t in his nature. They’d be discovered. And never mind that Andy sounded like anything but the ideal teenager. She wasn’t afraid of that, exactly, but he was a big unknown in the equation.

No, it was too complicated, too devious, too desperate.

Then she thought about the tiny person growing in her womb. Who was she kidding? Was there such a thing as “too desperate”?

GRANT COULDN’T HELP HIMSELF. The first thing he did when he entered the cafeteria was scope out the room for Pam. She was sitting next to Connie Campbell, her face animated. From his vantage point, no one would guess Pam was weighed down by vital decisions.

Grant moved toward an empty row of seats near the podium. Just in time. Jim Campbell had begun his address—the usual welcomes and platitudes about having a great year—but Grant had difficulty concentrating. All he could think about was his offer to Pam. Had expediency overwhelmed reason? Had he crossed some line between right and wrong?

Finally Jim’s words penetrated. “…and so I urge you to give equal attention—or more—to the kids in your classes who, let’s face it, try your patience. There’s an old saying, ‘Children need love most when they seem not to deserve it.’ It’s easy to single out and enjoy the friendly, cooperative, motivated youngster. But as teachers, we have to go further. The boys and girls who need us most are often least capable of reaching out. They feel unappreciated, alienated, lonely. So here’s my challenge to you for the coming year. Reach out to your students—all of them—so not one leaves us at the end of the day feeling ignored or unworthy.”

Grant shifted uncomfortably. Jim’s remarks were hitting way too close to home. Parents could heed his words, as well. Is that how Andy felt? Alienated? Unappreciated? Would one year be enough to make a difference in their relationship?

He turned slightly in his chair to glance at Pam. She was staring at her lap, her shiny hair obscuring her face. Was it fair to burden her with his problems? Marriage was a huge step. Was he trying to kill a wasp with an atom bomb? Beside him Jack Liddy coughed. Sitting here, surrounded by his co-workers and friends, Grant felt truly crummy. How could he ever have entertained the idea of deceiving so many who trusted him? Sure, he wanted to help Pam. No infant deserved to come into the world with the label “illegitimate.” But he’d insinuated his own situation with Andy into her life. That wasn’t fair.

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he made a decision. His “solution” sucked. They’d have to find another way.

The meeting broke up shortly, and he managed to locate Pam in the hallway on her way to a department meeting. He fell in beside her. “Could we meet for dinner tonight?” Up close, he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes, the uncharacteristic paleness of her complexion. He felt like a cad. His proposition had probably led to a sleepless night for her, as it had for him.

She continued walking, looking straight ahead. “If we make it early.”

“How’s six? I’ll pick you up. Maybe I’ll show off my barbecue skills.” Home would be good. They certainly didn’t need to have their discussion in a public venue.

She paused outside her classroom and looked up at him. “Okay. We do need to get some things straight.”

He was drawn into the amber depths of her eyes and realized belatedly that he needed to say something. “Yes, we do. I’m afraid—”

“Is this where the English department meeting is?” A young man who looked scarcely old enough to shave paused in the doorway. “I’m Randy Selves, the new journalism teacher.”

“Yes, please go on in.” Pam shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Grant, but I need—”

“No problem. See you tonight.” He watched her adopt a professional face and turn to address her department members.

He headed down the corridor toward the math meeting, for once not caring that he’d be late. Pam deserved the best. A man who would love and honor her.

His proposal had been ill-conceived. Unworthy of her. But at least he’d figured that out before he made a huge mistake.

GRANT HAD BEEN ten minutes late to pick her up, but that had suited Pam fine. She’d laid out three different outfits, but none of them worked. They were too frilly or too loud or too…something. Then her hair decided to have a mind of its own. Finally in desperation, she’d pulled on purple crinkle-cloth slacks and the matching boat-necked caftan top, knotted her hair on top of her head, put in big gold hoop earrings and called it good. All the while, though, she’d wondered why she was going to such trouble. After all, Grant saw her every day at school. What difference did it make how she looked tonight?

Her attempts at small talk in the car had gone nowhere. He had seemed unusually preoccupied, though that was understandable given the nature of the serious conversation looming ahead of them.

“Here it is. My neighborhood.” He glanced at her, apparently expecting some sort of reaction.

“I love it when people rehab these beautiful older areas. There’s much more individuality and artistic expression in these homes. I’ve never been a cookie-cutter subdivision kind of person. I bought my condo because it was the one thing close to school I could afford.”

“I needed a yard for the rare occasions when Andy visits. Although I had to do a lot of painting and refinishing, the basic structure of the house is sound.” He slowed in front of a two-story brick home with a full front porch and a detached garage. “Here we are.”

Tall trees shaded the yard and a hardy arborvitae hedge obscured the foundation. He pulled in the driveway beside the kitchen door.

“Aha! I knew it. There it is.” She pointed toward the backyard, half of which was devoted to a large concrete patio with a basketball hoop at the far end.

He chuckled. “What’d you expect? This way, when I miss a shot, I’m not visible from the street.”

“You? Miss a shot?” She poked him playfully. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He ushered her to a chaise longue near the grill and excused himself. When he returned, he carried a glass of lemonade for her and a beer for himself. “I guess you’re off alcohol now?”

“Yes, thanks. That’s thoughtful of you.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that citrus ate at her stomach lining.

He busied himself at the grill, while she studied the yard. It could do with a feminine touch. No flowers had sprouted here in a long time and the patio furniture was rusty and mismatched. She studied the lawn, trying to visualize a sandbox or a swing set. It was odd that he hadn’t invited her inside. Maybe that would come later.

When, at last, he finished swabbing the chicken pieces with a lemony sauce that smelled wonderful, he pulled up a chair at right angles to her and sat down.

She smiled. “All set?”

“For now. I hope you don’t mind not going out to a restaurant.” He folded his hands, nervously circling his thumbs.

“We can talk better here.”

“That’s what I figured.” He drew himself upright. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

“Me, too.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“What on earth for?”

He placed his hands palms-down on his thighs. “For assuming you would welcome my crazy idea. You must think I’m about as self-centered as they come.”

The lemonade soured in her throat. “Wait. What are you trying to say?”

“This isn’t a business proposition. You need a real family. Not—what do they call it—a marriage of convenience.”

Pam could literally feel the color draining from her face. “Are you reneging?”

He leaned forward, his expression anguished. “I would never do that. It’s just that…I took advantage of your…position.”

“And you don’t think my marrying you would take advantage of yours?”

“Jeez, Pam, I never should have mentioned it. Logically, I suppose, it made sense, but marriage has to be about more than what’s good for Andy, what’s good for the baby. It would need to be about us. Otherwise, we could never pull it off.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“Is that why you’re calling this off?”

His jaw dropped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked straight into his. “I’m saying yes, I’ll marry you.”

“But—”

She swung her legs to the ground to face him. “It can be about us. It can be about two friends who have mutual respect for each other. Love may be an overrated emotion. I can’t speak for you, but I’ve never had much luck with it. Surely we can reach an understanding, somehow compromise to make this work.” She hesitated. “Unless you’ve totally changed your mind.”

“You’re certain about this?”

“My baby needs a name. And I can’t think of a better one than yours. But I do think it would be prudent to put our understanding in writing. Just so we’re clear.”

“You mean some kind of contract?”

“Exactly.”

He took hold of her hands, then rose to his feet, pulling her up, too. He took a deep breath, then said in a husky voice, “I’ll do my best to make this arrangement as comfortable for you as I can.”

They stood motionless, their eyes locked. Pam’s face was flushed with an emotion she couldn’t name. It was beyond gratitude, beyond fear. Finally she broke the spell. “Looks like we have an agreement to formalize and a wedding to plan, Mr. Gilbert.”

PAM AMAZED HIM. Calmly, confidently, she’d agreed to marry him. With a tectonic shift, his plan had lurched from the theoretical to the actual. Detecting the odor of seared meat, he edged toward the grill. “We’ll think better on full stomachs.” Grateful for the excuse to turn his back, he took the chicken pieces off the fire, all the time trying to master his confusing emotions—relief mixed with panic, excitement tempered by anxiety. And fear. Not of the day-to-day stuff—that he could handle. But fear that the unexpected elation welling within him would be short-lived. He’d promised not to hurt her. But, he suddenly realized, he’d given her the power to hurt him, if he let himself care—and it was going to be almost impossible not to.

Over dinner they agreed to obtain the marriage license in another county the next morning and be quietly married on Saturday. Further, she consented to live in his home. Naturally they would maintain separate bank accounts and, for legal purposes, Pam would retain her maiden name. Besides, all the school rosters would already list her as Carver. That way, she said, it would be easier when…

But he noticed she didn’t complete the sentence.

Then, clearing his throat nervously, he said, “I guess I need to reassure you about something. This is a business deal. I wouldn’t expect we’d, uh, have—”

“Sex.” She completed his thought. “Of course not. That never crossed my mind. We’re just friends, and friends we’ll remain.”

With all the details committed to writing, they dug into the meal with gusto. Pam even apologized for her hearty appetite. “The little guy needs to grow,” Grant suggested.

“Little guy?” She looked up with a smile that turned him to mush. “It could be a girl, you know.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Healthy. That’s my preference.”

He couldn’t get over it. Here they sat, talking babies, as if it was the most natural of conversation topics. He hadn’t discussed babies, not really, since Shelley was pregnant with Andy. And to tell the truth, for all his brave front, the thought of Pam’s pregnancy terrified him. What if something went wrong?

“How about the house tour? We’ll have to figure out where to put your stuff and where you’ll…sleep.” Leading the way toward the house, he cursed under his breath. The word “sleep” echoed and reechoed with each step he took. And the visuals were equally disturbing.

Pam stopped at the kitchen stoop. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?” She furrowed her brow. “Unless you plan to tell Andy about our little charade.”

He groaned. “No, that can’t happen. Everybody, and I mean everybody, has to believe we’re for real, especially for you and the baby.”

“Then we’ll simply have to work something out.”

He held open the back door and she stepped into the small kitchen and stood, speechless, studying the aqua sink and countertop, the cocoa-brown appliances, the wallpaper sporting aqua and brown steaming coffee cups on a yellow background. With a sinking feeling, he saw it from her fresh viewpoint. “Uh, I haven’t gotten around to doing much with the kitchen.”

She tried a smile. “Vintage 70s decor. All we need is the Brady Bunch.”

“Maybe, um, we could redecorate.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s only for a year.”

“Oh, yeah.” Why hadn’t he realized how dated and ugly his kitchen was? He hastened to put distance between him and the Martha Stewart disaster. “Down this hallway on the left is the dining and living room combination.” He stopped and made a vague gesture. “The master bedroom, bath and den are on the right. What first?”

“And up there?” She gestured at the staircase.

“Two bedrooms and a bath.”

“Where does Andy sleep?”

“Upstairs.”

“I guess, then, you’d better show me the master bedroom.”

He stood aside and let her precede him. The plaid bedspread was drawn barracks-tight over the king-size mattress. His dresser top was bare except for a pewter dish for pocket change, a small portable television set and a basketball trophy. The bedside table sported a lamp, an alarm clock and the biography he was reading. The bare wood floor suddenly looked utilitarian. When, after a few moments, she hadn’t said anything, he couldn’t stand it. “Well?”

She screwed up her face as if searching for the word. “Spartan. Masculine.”

“Is that bad?”

She shrugged, then smiled. “C’mon, you’ve seen my place. The kindest thing that can be said of my taste is organized chaos.”

“But you can bring your things.” He looked around helplessly. “Do whatever you like.”

“Plants?”

He nodded.

“Wall hangings?”

“Sure.”

“A big, old braided rug?”

“Why not?”

“A nest for Viola and Sebastian in the corner?”

“In here?”

“My kitties always sleep with me.”

That stopped him. The darned felines were going to be better off than he was. “Uh, where did you have in mind for us to sleep?”

“Show me the den.”

He led her through the bathroom to the small room crowded by his desk, bookcase and a beat-up daybed. He noticed her studying the bed. “I suppose I could sleep in here,” she said, eyeing the sagging mattress dubiously.

“I thought I would.”

“Grant, look at it. You’re a foot taller than that thing is long. If anyone’s going to sleep in here, it’ll be me.”

“Okay, we’ll try it that way, but I don’t want you and Barney to be uncomfortable.”

“Barney?”

He reddened. “You know. The baby.”

She shook her head, seemingly bemused. “Or Barnette, don’t forget.” She started back through the bathroom, then stopped. “Are you sure you’re ready to share a bathroom with a woman again?”

He had a sudden disturbing image of wet hosiery, like slimy tentacles, draped all over the towel rack and shower curtain rod. He gulped. “I’m sure.”

By the time they reached the living room, which she proclaimed “austere,” he was worn-out.

“I don’t want to intrude into your lifestyle, but—”

“Nonsense,” he said. “This will be your home, too. I want you to be comfortable.”

She sank down into the brown tweed sofa he’d bought at a going-out-of-business sale. It had been cheap and matched his cushy, man-size rust recliner.

She eyed the mantel. “Do you think we could get a shelf for those?” Move his team pictures and state championship trophies? He enjoyed looking at them while he watched TV. “Sure, if that’s what you’d like.”

Her eyes, like some malevolent detecting device, raked the room. “And maybe we could move your chair and turn the sofa this other way, so my chair would fit.”

“I guess.” What was it with women? Did they come wired with the rearranging-furniture gene? Just as he acknowledged his irritation, she relaxed against the sofa, spreading her arms in a gesture of contentment. “It’s going to be fine, Grant, really fine.”

He sought the comfort of his recliner before answering. “I hope so. But it may require more patience than we imagined.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Having second thoughts? It’s not too late.”

Second thoughts? Not about her. She looked just right sitting in his living room, even if she was discussing upsetting his ordered existence. “No. I want to marry you, Pam.” Then, grinning, he added, “And that’s my final answer.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, a peaceful expression on her face. “Good,” she said softly.

They sat in silence for several minutes, and he thought how pleasant it was to have this kind of quiet companionship. Finally she spoke up. “If we’re going to hit the county clerk’s office before our eleven-o’clock upper-school meeting, I think you’d better take me home soon.”

“I will, but first…” Curiosity had been eating at him for several days, waiting to be satisfied. “Could you tell me about the man? The father?” Needing to risk the rest, he blurted out the difficult question, “Do you love him?”