Laura Abbot - You're My Baby

“I didn’t want to do it like this.” He looked miserable.

“Do what?”

He lifted her hand, studying her fingers, then said in a hoarse voice, “Propose.”

Her ears echoed with the word—a preposterous word. Propose? “Come again?” She leaned forward to be sure she had heard correctly.

“I should get on my knees, present you with a rose or something,” he went on lamely. “Isn’t that how it’s done?”

She held up her hand, as if asking for a time-out. “Wait a minute. Are you actually suggesting we get married?”

“I told you it was a crazy idea.” His shoulders slumped. “But I thought maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement. You need a father for your baby, I need a housekeeper. I know it wouldn’t be easy, but…”

Chaotic thoughts whirled in Pam’s head. “Marriage? That’s a pretty extreme solution.”

“It was just a thought.”

For one idiotic moment Pam actually considered the idea. “Why would you be willing to marry me?”

“You’d be a great influence on Andy. Not a housekeeper, really. But Shelley would be off my case. Besides, if we were married, you could keep your job and you’d have a name for your baby’s birth certificate.”

She sat speechless, skeptical, but helpless to ignore the benefits of his idea. Marriage was sacred. It was about much more than mutual convenience.

“We’re friends,” he continued.

“That’s a start,” she conceded.

“I’m suggesting a kind of open-ended arrangement, but it would help me out if we could agree to live together for at least a year. After that, Andy’ll go back to his mother. So, come September, we can terminate our formal relationship. You know, we can—”

“Divorce?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, Grant. It’s a drastic step.” Just then, he put his arm around her shoulder. The embrace made her feel warm, protected—and unexpectedly fluttery, like when she was in junior high and the boy she had had a crush on smiled at her.

“It would be what we make of it.”

She looked up into his eyes, so serious yet hopeful. “Even if I were to entertain the notion, how would we ever carry it off?”

“You’re the drama teacher. The imaginative one. Surely we could think of something.” He massaged the sore spot between her shoulders as he went on speaking. “Somehow we’d have to convince everyone at school that we’re so in love we acted on impulse.”

“What do you mean?

“It would make sense for us to be married this weekend. Before school starts. Before Andy comes. We could pass it off as a whirlwind courtship.”

“But…but…”

“You’re right, they’d suspect. It’s not like we have a dating history.” His hand stilled on her back.

“Weren’t you here in town all summer?” She couldn’t help herself. She was actually playing out the scenario in her mind.

“No. I attended a three-week coaches’ clinic in Austin the end of July and the beginning of August.”

Pam studied the ceiling, wondering why fate was playing into their hands when she desperately needed a reason to say no. “I was there, too,” she said quietly.

“In Austin?”

“For summer school.”

He smiled for the first time since he’d arrived on her doorstep. “Do you think we might have fallen in love there?”

Her heart thudded. “It’s possible,” she found herself whispering.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you. I would never do that. I would genuinely welcome your baby for whatever time we’re together. In fact, if the kid needs a father—” He stopped as if he’d realized he was presuming too much. “I mean, well, my name would be on the birth certificate.”

Pam studied his face—the plane of his cheeks, the set of his mouth, the depth in his eyes. Implicitly she knew he would never hurt her or her baby. Outlandish as it was, his offer was tempting. A momentary panic fluttered in her stomach. She needed time. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”

He smiled. “Then you’re not rejecting the proposal outright?”

“I should.” She took a deep breath. “But I can’t.”

“If we’re to pull this off, we don’t have much time.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow evening, then?”

Twenty-four hours to make a life-altering decision? Impossible. “Okay.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then excused himself. She trailed him to the door, her emotions in turmoil. Before leaving, he paused to say one last thing. “I would take good care of you, Pam.” Then he was gone.

She wandered back to the sofa, pulling the throw around her as a shield against all the doubts, anxieties, questions.

She had some serious thinking to do. Fast.

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.”