Читать книгу My Babies and Me - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M GOING to have a baby, Michael.”

Michael flew out of bed, hardly aware of her head flopping onto the pillows behind him as he stood on the thick carpet covering his bedroom floor.

And then, feeling incredibly foolish, he realized he must have misunderstood, heard her wrong. He’d thought, for a second there, that she’d told him she was pregnant.

“What did you say?” He stalled, looking for a way to explain his bizarre behavior without actually telling her what he thought she’d said.

She lay there, gazing up at him, the oddest expression on her face. Half fearful, half belligerent. Her chocolately golden hair was scattered about her face and tangled on the pillows beneath her, her lips bare and swollen, her eyes wide. She’d pulled the covers up to her chin. She looked about sixteen.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

The breath knocked out of him, Michael felt as though he’d been sucker punched. If he hadn’t been butt naked he’d have sunk to the floor.

“You...are.” He couldn’t, for the moment, think of anything more intelligent to say.

Still wearing that odd expression, Susan nodded. He hated the way she was looking at him. Hated seeing her so unsure. Hated everything about this damn evening. This day. This life.

“You’re going to have a baby.” He just couldn’t make sense of it.

She nodded again.

Susan was pregnant. His Susan. The woman whose career meant more to her than anything, including him, was going to be encumbered with someone else’s child.

He’d kill the bastard who’d done this to her.

“Who is he?” Michael reached for his slacks and, not taking time for underwear, pulled them on. He would hunt the guy down and kill him with his bare hands for not loving Susan more responsibly. Hell, for loving her at all.

“I don’t know yet.”

So intent was he on finding some shoes, a shirt, he barely heard the words when she first uttered them. But as he buttoned his shirt, cussing at every little buttonhole, her voice slowly sank in.

Whirling, he faced her. “You don’t know yet?” He had to be asleep, having the craziest nightmare of his life. There was no other way to explain the things he was hearing.

Unusually winded, Susan shook her head.

There’d been more than one man? “Well, when are you going to find out?” Didn’t they have to wait until after the baby was born to determine paternity?

“I’m not sure.”

“I’m going downstairs.”

Michael took the stairs three at a time—half sliding, half running in his hurry to get away from her. To get away from the whole sordid mess. With a Scotch in hand, and one small light on above the bar, he paced his living room, doing some quick desperate math. He’d seen Susan at Christmas, but he’d only been able to spare the one day and her whole family had been around. He’d been busy as hell all through the fall with year-end approaching, and dammit, this baby couldn’t be his.

His gut hard, he figured out that it had been a good four months since he’d made love to Susan. And there was no way she was four months along. Her belly was as flat as always. He knew. He’d just spent the past two hours intimately acquainted with it.

Not that he’d wanted the baby to be his. He finished off the shot of whiskey he’d poured. Not at all. Certainly no more than Susan wanted to be pregnant. He couldn’t think of anything she’d want less. Except maybe death. Or anything he’d want less, for that matter.

He also couldn’t get past the sick feeling of knowing that another man had done this to her. Dammit! Why hadn’t she been more careful?

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

She’d appeared behind him, wearing a rumpled men’s shirt. She’d found the shirt he’d worn to work earlier and wrapped herself in it. The shirt reminded him of his meeting with Coppel.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Michael.”

He turned toward her. She was right. Lying to each other was one thing he and Susan had never done.

“Okay, yeah, I’m angry.” So angry he could feel his nostrils flaring.

“Why? It has nothing to do with you.”

So why, if that was supposed to make it okay, didn’t he feel okay?

“For one thing, I’m angry as hell at the irresponsibility of whatever man did this to you.”

She frowned, dropping down to his leather couch, folding her feet beneath her. “Did what to me?”

Michael swore, out of all patience. “Got you pregnant, of course.” Did pregnancy make a woman stupid, too? He’d thought it only caused pickle cravings and crying attacks.

Susan laughed. Shocking him. “In the first place, Michael, a man can’t get me pregnant all by himself.”

She had him there.

“Secondly, I’m not pregnant—yet.”

The whiskey was clouding his brain.

“And in the third place, I haven’t slept with anyone but you in my entire life.”

Well, that was okay then.

Michael fell down to the couch beside her, feeling a little drunk, though he’d only had the one shot. “Thank God.”

Only him. In her entire life. He started to grin.

She grazed his face with one slim hand. “Would it really have mattered so much if there was someone in Cincinnati?” Her words were soft, easy, but the light in her eyes was soul-deep.

“It would.” In seven years’ time, they’d never discussed fidelity. Or infidelity, either.

“I’m glad.”

Pulling her into his arms, Michael held her, wondering if they’d just made some kind of crazy commitment in this relationship that wasn’t. And hoping, irrationally, that they had.

Slowly, though, as he sat listening to her breathing in the quiet of the night, Michael’s mind started to clear. He still had his good news to share. But first...

“Why did you say you were going to have a baby if you aren’t?” he asked, frowning in the near darkness.

“Who says I’m not?” She turned to look at him.

“You just did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Susan...” His tension was building again. “You just said—”

“That I’m not pregnant,” she finished for him. “But I’m going to be.”

“When?”

“Soon, I hope.”

Aghast, he stared at her. “Why?”

“Because I want to be.”

“But...” He was adrift. Lost. He stared at a scrap of paper he’d been doodling on earlier and left on the coffee table. “...then you’d have a child.”

“I know.” It was the quiet conviction in Susan’s words that got to him. And scared the hell out of him. Who was this woman? Susan didn’t want children.

Did she?

“Will you give me a baby, Michael?”

Michael jumped up again. “No!” He hadn’t meant the word to be so loud—so harsh. “You’re kidding, right?” It was late; she’d been working long hours. That must be it.

As soon as she started to shake her head, Michael looked away.

“Please try to understand, Michael.”

Looking back at her, he nodded. He wanted to understand.

“Having a baby is something I’ve always planned to do.”

“Since when?”

“Since before you and I were married.”

“And you don’t think I should have known about this?”

“Probably, but we were young. We had so many goals.” She shrugged. “Neither one of us wanted a child then.”

“But you planned to have one later.” He was trying to understand. He really was.

“By the time I was forty.”

“You never mentioned it because you weren’t planning to stay married to me?” He supposed the question was a bit ludicrous considering that they weren’t married, but had she gone into the marriage knowing it wouldn’t last?

“I just figured that once we’d both done what we had to do, reached our career goals, we’d be ready to talk about having a family.”

He nodded. At least she hadn’t been planning their divorce before she’d even married him. And they’d never actually said they were never going to have children. He’d just assumed, since she was as career-driven as he was—since she put job above all else and completely accepted the fact that he did, too—he’d just assumed she didn’t want a family as much as he didn’t want one.

Maybe he knew her better than she knew herself.

Sitting down beside her, Michael once again took her in his arms. Having her there with him was the only thing that felt right, natural... normal.

“Susan, honey, you’re at a particularly vulnerable time in your life. A time when people make rash decisions. And then spend the next twenty years regretting them.”

“Don’t patronize me, Michael.” She pulled away from him, one-hundred percent intimidating attorney, even while wearing nothing more than his shirt. “I am not going through a midlife crisis.”

“It’s perfectly natural.”

“And I’m not going through one.”

“Most people don’t realize that they are.”

“And do they start them in their twenties?”

“You can’t honestly consider some half-baked thought you once had about having a child as proof that you really wanted it. If you did, why’d you wait so long?”

“Because I knew I could afford to wait. That I needed to wait.” Her eyes pleaded with him to take her seriously. “The thought, even back then, wasn’t half-baked.”

“How can you be so sure about a decision like this?”

“Remember when I went to Kentucky that weekend before we got married?”

“Of course.” He’d been scared to death she was going to change her mind.

“I went because I was having second thoughts. I was afraid that by marrying you, I was going to lose me.”

“You never told me that.” Michael pulled at a string coming loose from the button at the bottom of his shirt.

“I know.” She smiled sadly. “You’d just have told me you wouldn’t let that happen, that you wouldn’t take away who I was or needed to be.”

“Because it’s true.”

“But sometimes these things happen to people without their even noticing it.” She took his hand, held it in her lap. “You wouldn’t knowingly or purposely have distracted me from my goals, Michael. Just my loving you, wanting to make you happy might have done that.” She paused, then began again, her voice low. “Once you start...subjugating yourself, you don’t even know anymore whose interests you’re really protecting. And then you’re fifty or sixty years old and resenting everyone because you haven’t done what you needed to do in life and it’s too late. Look what happened to my mother. Because of our family.”

And suddenly Michael began to understand. He’d been the one to pick up the pieces of Susan’s tortured heart after Rose Carmichael died. They hadn’t been married yet, but he’d helped her come to grips with that last, painful conversation. Helped her work through the regrets, the recriminations.

“I wrote out a life plan that weekend in Kentucky, Michael. My goals, my dreams. And target dates by which I either had to decide they no longer mattered—or I had to fulfill them.”

Michael started to feel a little sick. “Having a baby was on that list.”

Susan nodded.

“And it still matters.”

“Yes.”

The last thing in the world he wanted was a baby. He had his own reasons. And, like Susan’s, they came from examples set by his parents. To Michael, having a child meant his life was over.

He’d felt that even before the meeting with Coppel.

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

“Just Seth.”

“And?”

She was silent. Her eyes fell for a moment and then returned to his. “Seth’s hardly one to understand.”

Based on her brother’s bachelor life-style, he supposed not. But Seth had always championed his big sister, had walked in her footsteps as long as Michael had known him. Michael had even begun to wonder if maybe Seth was still alone, married to his career, because he was following Susan’s example.

“He thinks you’re crazy?”

Susan shrugged, shocking Michael when her eyes filled with tears. “He doesn’t think I’m mother material.”

Seth’s lack of confidence had shaken her. “He’s nuts.” Michael heard the words before he’d even realized he’d had the thought.

“Really?” Her beautiful eyes glowed with uncertainty in the dusky room.

“Just look at Seth if you need evidence,” Michael said. “You practically raised him.” Which was one of the reasons Michael had thought she’d never want children. With three younger brothers, she’d had more than her share of babysitting and housework and driving her brothers to practices and games. Her mother had needed her at home, so her high-school years had been rife with missed opportunities.

Somehow she was back in his arms and Michael soaked up her warmth, her soft feminine scent. The evening washed over him—the good and the bad. Was her need to have this child so great that she’d be willing to give up her job? Move to Chicago?

The thought wasn’t as displeasing as it might have been. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d wished he’d never had to divorce her in the first place. The number of sleepless nights he’d spent lying beside her, trying to convince himself that a long-distance relationship could work. Instead, he’d been tortured with visions of needing his wife at some important function and her not being there, or vice versa. He’d imagined them wearing themselves out trying to be together every weekend out of obligation to each other. And he’d thought of what marriage meant, of the expectations it brought, of two people being one unit—and just couldn’t picture the link between him and Susan stretched across two states. Visions haunted him of the damage they’d eventually do to each other by trying to hang on when they kept disappointing each other, when expectations couldn’t possibly be met. He’d tried to imagine himself being a good husband to Susan from Chicago and knew that he’d had no choice but to let her go. He’d finally had to face the fact that they couldn’t possibly be true to themselves, to their own needs and desires, and to each other, as well. There wasn’t room in either of their lives for anyone else’s expectations.

But that was before he’d known she wanted to have a baby.

“You want us to get married again,” he summed up.

She didn’t say anything right away. “Nothing’s changed for us, has it Michael?” she finally asked, frowning.

“How do you mean?”

“Our reason for divorcing. Your career needing you one place, mine needing me another.”

So, she wasn’t planning to move to Chicago? “Not for me, it hasn’t.”

“Then why would we get married again?”

“So you can have your baby.”

“This is almost the new millennium, Michael.” Her voice was a little arrogant as she settled back against him. Hard. “You don’t have to be married to have a baby.”

He was apparently too damn tired to think straight. “Do you mind telling me then, what exactly you do want from me?”

“Your sperm.” Susan grinned up at him. And he saw in her eyes, in the cocky tilt to her mouth, the woman he’d fallen in love with so many years before. The one who always made everything sound so easy.

ALMOST FOUR DAYS LATER, Susan couldn’t believe how relieved she was to have asked the question. She knew there was a good chance Michael was going to say no. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t already done so. And couldn’t help but hope that he wouldn’t.

She’d spent the rest of the weekend in Chicago, and it had been just like old times. He’d taken both days off in deference to her birthday and they’d played to their hearts’ content. In bed and out of it

They’d done the city, gone to the zoo, walked along the skydeck of the Sears Tower, taken a walking tour through downtown Chicago to view the skyscrapers. They’d been sidetracked before they’d actually seen many skyscrapers, however. The cold and their hunger had driven them inside. After an hour and a half spent stuffing themselves at Michael’s favorite restaurant down by the lake, Michael had driven her through the Lake Shore Drive Apartments—glass houses he called them—and out to the Widow Clarke House, the oldest surviving building in Chicago.

And not once, throughout the entire weekend, did they mention Susan’s baby—or anything else remotely serious.

But she knew Michael. He was thinking about the baby. And he’d let her know when he’d made a decision. She just hoped it was sometime before her fortieth birthday.

In any case, she was feeling better Monday morning than she had in a long while. She’d asked him. She could afford to wait. At least for a week or two.

In the meantime, she had another little problem to attend to. A problem named Tricia Halliday. Tricia’s office—it was still hard for Susan to think of it that way—occupied the whole floor above Susan’s. Formerly belonging to Tricia’s husband, Ed, the room was a sportsman’s dream. It had a half basketball court at one end, basketball being Ed’s favorite sport, a putting green running along one wall, and a ceramic tile floor underneath the furniture to accommodate Ed’s best friend, Annie. And it was all wrong for Ed’s widow, Tricia.

Susan had gone to work for Ed right out of college. Having grown up with five brothers, she fit right in with the sports talk, understood the needs of athletes. She could even hold her own on the basketball court if she had to. And she’d adored Ed. She’d been devastated when he’d died of a heart attack last year, playing tennis at his club one Sunday afternoon.

He’d reminded her of her dad with his patience, his ability to see what was done well rather than focusing on what hadn’t been done, his insistence on looking at the bright side, the right side. The major difference between the two men, as evidenced by Susan’s position in the company, was Ed’s lack of chauvinism. He hadn’t thought, as Susan’s father did, that men and women had to be pigeonholed into particular roles.

Unfortunately, Ed’s character hadn’t rubbed off on his widow. Tricia was honest and hardworking, but her only interest was in the bottom line. Her pocketbook. And as Halliday Headgear was a privately held company, there wasn’t a lot anybody could do once the CEO made up her mind about something. Except live with it. Or quit.

Dressed in her red power suit, Susan faced Tricia across Ed’s desk, determined not to leave without some sort of compromise in the McArthur case.

“Are you telling me you can’t win this suit?” the older woman asked, her brows almost touching with the force of her frown.

“No. I’m not telling you that.”

“It was my understanding that my ten-year-old nephew could win this one for us.”

“Probably.”

“So why are we wasting my valuable time, and yours, discussing it?”

“Because the McArthur boy didn’t do anything wrong, Tricia. True, he was playing soccer instead of softball, but the mask would have broken, probably with more serious repercussions, if he’d been hit with a softball rather than a soccer ball.”

“He wasn’t.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Susan paused, eyed her boss, and started again. “But that boy is still paralyzed because of the malfunction of our equipment.”

“What do you want from me, Susan?”

Susan stood, leaned over the front of Tricia’s imposing desk. “I want us to settle out of court, to fund the boy’s operation—and his physical therapy afterward.”

Tricia stood up, too. “That’s got to be thousands of dollars.”

“The lawsuit could cost you a lot more than that.”

“But we’re not going to lose the suit.”

“I had Jill spend a day with Grady Moses down in production.” Looking around at the motivational posters on the walls, the peaks being scaled by climbers, the shots being made, the rides and runs and jumps, Susan took heart from Ed’s memory. “She found out that there was a malfunction several months ago on one of the machines. Six cases of masks were damaged before the error was noticed. Their hinges didn’t have double sealings.”

“I’m aware of the problem.” Tricia nodded. “The machine was fixed, the cases were pulled.”

“Five of the six cases were pulled,” Susan corrected. “While Grady was at lunch someone used the sixth case to fill an order. The masks had been on back order for weeks and someone in shipping was a little too eager.”

Carefully, slowly, Tricia sat back down. Her eyes never left Susan’s face. “You’re telling me we’re going to have more lawsuits, and somewhere along the way, one of them’s going to be the result of a softball injury.”

And the McArthur incident would come to light giving Halliday Headgear some very bad press.

“No.” Susan almost wished she didn’t have to be honest. “Grady was able to track down the orders and make exchanges.”

Relief softening her face, Tricia spread her arms wide. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

“The men’s club in Valdez had ordered five of the recalled masks. They sent back four damaged ones, but the fifth one they returned was a first-quality mask. By mistake, they kept the fifth damaged one for the boys at their church to use.”

“I see.” Tricia folded her hands on top of the desk.

Breathing her first easy breath, Susan hoped Tricia finally did see, and waited patiently for instructions to prepare the out-of-court settlement.

“We’re certain this is the only mask that escaped notice?”

“Positive.” Susan nodded, perching on the edge of the desk. “Grady checked and rechecked the serial numbers.”

“Then we’ll proceed as originally directed.”

“But...” Susan stood, staring down at her boss. “We know the mask was faulty,” she said, trying very hard not to raise her voice. “We know the boy would’ve been hurt no matter what ball hit him. It’s only a technicality that he happened to be playing soccer instead of softball.”

“And court cases are won on technicalities all the time.”

“You realize that if this information is made known, your chances of winning will drop considerably.”

Tricia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not!” Susan backed away from the desk. “I’ve been with Halliday Headgear since college, Tricia. I’ve always, always seen to the best interests of the company.”

Head bowed, Tricia said, “I’m sorry, Susan. Of course I’m fully aware of how much you’ve done for us, how lucky we are to have you.” She looked up and Susan saw the sincerity in the other woman’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Now, was that all you needed to see me about?”

Just like that, Tricia expected this to go away. “I can’t rest the case yet, Tricia. An eight-year-old boy may never walk again.”

Shrugging, Tricia pulled a pile of papers toward her. “I pay you to be thorough, Susan. Keep searching if you feel you must to protect the company, but unless you’ve got something new to tell me, I don’t need to hear about this case again.”

Too furious to do anything else, Susan turned and left the office.