Laura Abbot - You're My Baby

“And all along, you probably assumed I was just a dumb jock,” Grant joshed.

“No telling what you think of me. An artsy, impulsive broad, maybe?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.” He stood and placed his empty glass on the kitchen divider. Then, to her surprise, he sat down next to her. Not too close, but definitely not at the other end of the sofa. “Pam, I had another reason for dropping by.”

Something shifted in the vicinity of her stomach. “Oh?”

He bent one leg and stretched his arm along the back of the couch so he could face her. “Those tears this morning? I don’t think they had much to do with a messy room.”

His sensitivity nearly did her in. She owed him some kind of answer. “I have…things going on in my life right now. Things I can’t talk about. Not yet.” She looked into his eyes. “It’s not just you. I can’t talk about them with anyone. They’re…very personal.”

“I respect that. But whatever is upsetting you, maybe I can help. You don’t have to go it alone.”

Oh, but I do. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She didn’t know what to say next, how to break the thread of intimacy his offer had woven. Fortunately she didn’t have long to worry about it. The ringing phone saved her. Quickly excusing herself, she took the call in the kitchen. It was her widowed father in West Texas, who phoned her nearly every Saturday night. She loved him for the gesture. Undoubtedly he thought his call made her feel less dateless, less lonely.

After concluding her conversation, Pam returned to the living room, surprised to find Grant standing, his hands behind his back. “That was my father. He—” She faltered, the perplexed expression on his face stopping her in her tracks. She stared at him, confused.

He took a step toward her. “I—I was looking for the TV remote. You know, to catch the ball scores.” Slowly he brought his hands in front of him. “And I found this instead.” He held up the book she’d hidden beneath the sofa pillow.

The walls whirled and his voice seemed to be coming from a great distance.

“Pam, you’re not just doing research, are you?”

There was no turning away from the question, nor from the compassion in his eyes. “No.” Helpless, she felt tears threatening once more. She gulped, then, for the first time, whispered the words aloud. “I’m pregnant.”

WHERE THE HELL was Ann Landers when a guy needed her? Grant stared at Pam, questions racing through his head. Carefully he set the book on the arm of the sofa and moved toward her. “That’s good news, er, isn’t it?”

She lowered her eyes, standing before him defenseless and vulnerable. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Just wonderful.”

The hitch in her voice tugged at him. “Come here.” Before he could stop to think, he had wrapped her close, cradling her head against his chest.

He held her for long minutes, feeling her shoulders tremble beneath his hand, listening to the muted sounds of her weeping. She had to be scared to death. How could this have happened? Pam was smart, savvy. She had to know where babies came from.

He scanned her living room, desperately trying to focus on something besides the feminine body pressed against him. Okay, two cats reclining on the window ledge, books piled randomly in the bookcase, a baker’s rack crowded with candles and figurines, multihued pillows everywhere and an eclectic collection of prints and pictures on her walls. Nothing matched, but it was somehow…homey. Comfortable. The same way she felt in his arms.

The faint citrus scent of her hair and the way her cheek nestled against him stirred a surprising hunger. Gilbert, don’t be a jerk. The last thing this woman needs is you coming on to her.

He stepped back then and tilted her chin so he could look at her. “Are you okay?”

She ran her hands down his arms, then, clutching his wrists, ducked her head. “I’m sorry. Tears are stupid. They don’t accomplish a thing.” She let go, then turned away from him. “Two times in one day. That must be something of a record for you.”

“Probably, but who’s counting?”

“I promise not to make it three.”

“Sure? Third time’s the charm, you know.”

“There isn’t any charm to help with this.”

What did a guy say to that? He led her back to the couch, then wrapped a purple mohair throw around her. “Sit down and let me fix you a cup of tea. That was my mother’s solution to everything.”

“It can’t hurt. Tea’s on the top shelf of the pantry.” Almost without seeming to notice what she was doing, she picked up the baby book but didn’t open it, her fingers tracing a path around the edges of the cover.

While he waited for the water to boil, Grant paced, considering his options. Should he keep his big mouth shut? Or ask the tough questions? Like where the father was. Who he was. There had to be a rational explanation for this bombshell. He was no dummy, he’d read about the biological clock. Maybe she’d deliberately gotten pregnant. But then what about her job? Talk about an awkward, potentially litigious situation.

The whistling kettle startled him. He was in way over his head. He hadn’t a clue how to help her.

When he presented her with the steaming cup of tea, she took two dainty sips before setting it on the antique trunk that served as a coffee table. Then she gave him a wan smile. “Your mother was right.”

Holding his cup and saucer carefully, he lowered himself into the easy chair. And waited. A car horn sounded outside; inside, the ticking of a wall clock created a hypnotic rhythm. The bigger cat, a black one with white spots, leaped from the window ledge and hopped into Pam’s lap and curled into a ball.

“Who’s your buddy?”

“This is Sebastian.” She nodded toward the window. “And that’s Viola. They were littermates.”

Cat names had always struck him as pretentious. He was a dog man himself. Dogs had forthright names like Buster and Max. “Where’d you get those handles?”

“The bard. Viola and Sebastian are the sister and brother in Twelfth Night.”

“Oh.” Shakespeare. It figured. If he ever had a cat, God forbid, did that mean he should call it Euclid?

They sat in silence, slowly drinking the tea. She appeared lost in thought, but finally looked up. “I’m scared.”

That was an admission he’d never have anticipated from the Pam Carver he knew. “You don’t need to tell me, if—”

“It’s time I talked to somebody, and it looks like you’re elected.”

“You can trust me, Pam.”

“I do.”

Her sincerity touched him. “Is there a man in the picture? Are you planning to marry?”

“No man.” Then she gave a short, derisive laugh. “Obviously there was one. But marriage isn’t an option.”

Grant was confused by his reaction. How could he be relieved to hear that? “Does he know?”

“No. And he’s not going to.”

“Is that fair? Maybe he would want to be involved. Help.”

“Please.” Her eyes begged. “You’ll have to take my word for it. I’m in this by myself. For good.”

The enormity of her predicament was hard to imagine. “It’ll be tough being a single mother. I’m sure you’ve thought of that. Have you considered…you know…?”

Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not an option. I want this baby very much. This may be my only chance to become a mother. You’ve surely noticed I’m not getting any younger.” The edge in her voice cut off any inept, glib response. “So I simply have to figure out where to go from here.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. And I don’t plan for them to until it has to come out.” She drew the throw closer around her shoulders. “I’ll have to resign then.”

That would really be a blow for her. She was a born teacher, but schools—especially private schools—couldn’t overlook what might be viewed as “immoral” behavior. And Keystone? For the second time that day, the school motto came to him. Caring, Character, Curiosity. Jim Campbell, the headmaster, was big on character, but even if he found a way to ease Pam’s situation, would the trustees go for an unmarried, pregnant English department chairman? Pam was in a no-win situation. “Jeez, I suppose you’re right. What then?”

She looked directly at him. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, as if protecting her womb. “But I’ll tell you one thing.” Her voice held the old spark. “I will do whatever I must to love and support this baby.”

“You’ve got guts.” Pam had always been a fighter. She’d need to be now.

“I figure I’ll be able to make it at school until Thanksgiving, at least. That should give me time to line up some other type of work.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I’m not very far along. Except for morning sickness, I feel fine. I’ll try to locate a doctor this week. One that has nothing to do with Keystone School.” She reached for her cup, then took several sips. “I’m sorry to burden you with this.”

He rose to his feet. “It’s no burden.” He picked up his cup and saucer and carried them to the kitchen divider, then returned to her. “You’re brave. You’ll manage.” He stood awkwardly, feeling helpless. “What about your family? Can they help?”

“Not really. My mother’s dead. My father and I are very close.” She ducked her head. “He’ll be disappointed in me at first.”

He waited.

Then she looked up. “But he’ll love this baby.”

“I’m sure he will. What about sisters? Brothers?”

“One sister. I can forget about any help from her.”

The uncharacteristic bitterness surprised him, especially in light of the bond he and his brother Brian had shared. “Why’s that?”

“We rarely see each other. I think it’s safe to say Barbara doesn’t have much use for me. She has her life in California with her dentist husband and her three children. For as long as I can remember, she’s made it clear I’m the baby sister who made her life miserable. Never mind that we’re grown-ups now. Supposedly.”

He identified with the hurt in her voice. He knew from his own father and from Shelley what rejection felt like.

She placed Sebastian gently on the floor and stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.”

Every instinct said, hug her, but instead he nodded his head. “I understand.”

She accompanied him to the door. “Thank you for coming. It helps just knowing I can talk to someone if I need to.”

He hesitated in the doorway, admiring the way she stood tall, determined, as if she could take on the world. “Call on me anytime if there’s something I can do.”

“I will.”

He studied her coppery hair, her wide hazel eyes, her full lips—as if he’d never seen them before. She was not only courageous, she was beautiful. “Good night,” he finally managed, turning to leave.

“Good night. And, Grant?”

He paused. “Yes?”

“The father is a good person. I knew what I was doing. But accidents happen.” She studied the floor and he knew she was going to say something more. Finally she raised her eyes. “But this is the last time you or anyone else will hear me refer to this precious child as an ‘accident.’”

Then she came closer, stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for being my friend. Now, go,” she said, gently nudging him in the small of his back.

He stood on her walkway long after she had closed the door. The night was warm, and above him a nearly full moon was on the rise, the stars hidden beyond the city lights. The universe was as it eternally had been, its orbits fixed.