Becca's Baby Page 8

  “WHAT’S UP WITH YOU and Will?” Randi asked one Friday night almost two weeks after their visit to the doctor.

  Becca pretended to be busy with the address list Randi was helping her prepare for a mass mailing seeking sponsors for the Save the Youth program. She’d had a couple of bites, but final confirmations took time, and she wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  “Nothing’s up,” she said, studiously copying an address from the book of funding possibilities Will had brought her from Montford’s library.

  “I’ve been here three nights in the past two weeks,” Randi said briskly, writing away. “He’s come home, had dinner, said almost nothing and retreated to his study, from which he doesn’t emerge until sometime after I’m gone. If at all.”

  “He emerges.” He was still sleeping with her. But that was all he was doing. Sleeping. And after their celebration dinner, she’d been so hopeful…

  “He’s not upset about the baby, is he? I thought he’d be ecstatic.”

  So had Becca. Will had been one of the major reasons she’d worked up the courage to cancel her appointment in Tucson.

  “He is thrilled. He’s always wanted children.”

  “For a man who’s thrilled, he’s sure giving an excellent imitation of one who’s being eaten up inside.”

  Randi knew her brother well. Becca wrote down another address.

  “You don’t seem particularly excited, either,” Randi persisted. She’d pushed her book, pad and pen to the middle of the table. “I thought that when you got your second opinion and decided to have this baby, your dreams were finally coming true.”

  “I gave up thinking about babies of my own years ago,” Becca said, still copying from the grant book.

  “I’m not the same woman I used to be.”

  “You’re not a woman who loves children?” Randi scoffed. “And this is why you volunteer at the day care every week?”

  Of course she loved children, but… “Will and I are pretty set in our ways.” She tried again to verbalize some of the reasons she felt so panicked. “We enjoy traveling more than just about anything. We’ve even begun to plan our retirement.”

  “Which is a good twenty years down the road,” Randi said gently. “Bec, you and Will were getting old before your time. Not having children was doing that to you.”

  Pen poised, Becca looked up. “You really think that?”

  Didn’t Randi see the gray strands in her hair? The passing years? She was closer to fifty than thirty.

  “Look around you, Bec, at the friends you guys went to high school with. Are any of them joining adult tours of Europe for their summer vacations?”

  “Of course not.” Becca dropped her pen. “They have kids to—”

  She stopped, staring at Randi but seeing the past ten years flash before her eyes.

  “I understand your not wanting to vacation on the beach with a bunch of children,” Randi continued.

  “Not the way you two were hurting for so many years. But instead of jet-setting or finding a cabin in the mountains to have wild and raucous sex, you two hooked up with a group of senior citizens.”

  “They’re very nice.” Becca had to defend some of their vacation buddies. “We’ve made some good friends.”

  “And not one of them is within two decades of you guys. I’ve seen the pictures, Becca. They’re all old enough to be your parents.”

  “But—”

  “And that’s only one example.”

  There were more?

  “You guys used to drive into Phoenix a lot, go out for dinner and dancing. Or fly to Vegas for the weekend.”

  She’d forgotten that. They’d had some great getaways in Vegas. When had they stopped going? Why?

  “Now you work. Or stay home and read stuffy books.”

  “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People isn’t stuffy.”

  “But it couldn’t possibly raise your blood pressure, either.” Randi’s earnest brown eyes pleaded with Becca to listen. “You’re making yourselves old and it’s not time yet.”

  Did she dare believe her young and energetic sister-in-law? Had she really created some of her own fears? Had she made the wrong assumptions? Because of a difficult fortieth birthday, perhaps. A birthday that had forced her to accept the end of her hopes and dreams.

  Randi sat back. “I know so,” she said emphatically. “My other brothers and I have all talked about it—several times.”

  Will’s brothers had noticed, too? Becca was seeing the world from so many new perspectives lately it was frightening.

  “Can you see me sitting in the park with the rest of the mothers?” she asked Randi. “I’ve changed most of their diapers.”

  “Well, you didn’t change mine—and I’m thirty, but I’m not sitting there yet.”

  Becca thought about that, too. Giving her precocious sister-in-law a weary smile, she asked, “Who the hell made you so smart?”

  Randi scrunched up her nose. “Hey, woman, I grew up with four older brothers. What chance did I have if I couldn’t outsmart them?”

  Returning to the task before them, the two women wrote silently.

  “Do you think Will’s open-minded?” Becca asked as she reached the bottom of the last page of potential patrons.

  “To a point, sure,” Randi answered slowly.

  “And always seeking to understand?”

  “Usually, yeah, that’s Will.”

  “Usually?” Becca repeated. Asked the same question herself a month ago, she would’ve answered with an emphatic “Absolutely.”

  “It’s easy to be understanding when your personal universe isn’t involved.”

  “You’re saying he doesn’t care?”

  “No! His life, his dedication to the students at Montford, is a tribute to how much he cares, but none of that affects his heart and soul. Not like you do.”

  “He’s become so black-and-white,” Becca murmured, remembering the conversation they’d had after his second meeting with Todd the previous week. Will wasn’t willing to concede that if Todd was indeed guilty of having an affair with one of his students—which Todd still had not admitted—it didn’t necessarily make Todd a bad person. A misguided one, certainly. An unhappy one. A man who’d made a serious mistake. But it didn’t change the forty good years Todd had put in on this earth.

  Randi rubbed the back of Becca’s hand, a sad smile on her face. “He’s not getting over the fact that you considered an abortion, is he.”

  “Nope.”

  And there was nothing Becca could do to change that. She’d had the thought. She couldn’t not have it.

  “Give him time, Bec. My brother’s a fair man. And he loves you. He’ll come around.”

  “I love him, too,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I can live with a man who only sees things his own way. When did he become so judgmental?” And how had she missed noticing it?

  “The man you’re describing may be the man who’s holed up in that office in there,” Randi said, gathering their papers in a neat pile as she stood up. “But he’s not Will. Give him time,” she said again.

  At the moment Becca had few other choices. And time was something she had a lot of. Six months of it, to be exact.

  WILL’S INTERVIEW with the prospective new English professor, Dr. Christine Evans, just happened to be on the same Monday as Becca’s second doctor’s appointment. He was glad of the diversion as he wondered what the doctor might tell them later that afternoon. He’d spent the past two weeks going over the warnings Dr. Anderson had laid out the last time they’d seen her. He’d done his research, knew which tests were necessary and which Becca could be spared. He also had several questions that needed answers.

  He wouldn’t allow himself to think that the doctor might find some negative change in Becca’s condition, that the pregnancy wasn’t progressing as it should. But somehow the fear crept in, in spite of his very forceful admonitions to the contrary.

  The first thing he noticed about Chri
stine Evans was the silky dark hair that hung all the way down to her hips. She had the thick tresses pulled back at the sides with a couple of pearled barrettes.

  Just the way Becca had worn her hair twenty years ago. Back when she’d been all natural, before travel, education—life—had put a stylish veneer on her beauty.

  The second thing he noticed was the quiet determination in Christine’s shadowed blue eyes.

  They reminded him of Becca, too. Shadows and all.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said as he shook her hand. He waited for her to settle in one of the maroon leather chairs in front of his desk before taking his own seat.

  Her legs, when she sat, barely touched the floor. She was much shorter than Becca. But just as shapely. And slim.

  “I’ve read your résumé,” Will said. He’d read it more than once, actually. Christine Evans was a dedicated woman when it came to her career. According to her interviews, the only family she had was a younger sister. “You achieved your doctorate at twenty-six. That’s impressive.”

  She shrugged, her eyes lowering briefly. “I always knew what I wanted.”

  Asking the standard questions the position required, ensuring that Dr. Evans was aware of—and supported—the standards of conduct demanded by Montford, Will completed his portion of the new-hire interview.

  “So what do you like most about teaching English?” he asked, trying to ignore the twinge of conscience that told him he had no need to ask such a question. “Literature or writing?”

  He’d read the reports from his colleagues, the unanimous recommendations that Dr. Evans be offered the position for which she’d applied. Normally this last interview was merely a formality, a handshake and an offer. But Will didn’t want Dr. Evans to leave his office so quickly. He was curious about her, this woman with her downcast eyes who reminded him so much of his wife.

  “Literature,” she said after some thought.

  “Though I do a lot of personal writing, too.”

  Hands folded across his stomach, he leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Ever been published?”

  She looked away. “Some, not a lot.”

  He found it hard to believe that someone with her credentials, her many impressive references, hadn’t yet realized success in the journal-publishing arena. Scholarly journals usually snapped up people like her, regardless of whether they could actually write or not.

  Judging by the two-page review she’d submitted on her views of education, she could write.

  “You must be submitting to the wrong forums,” he suggested.

  Her eyes, when she turned them on him, struck him with an almost tangible sensation. Held him captive. So full were they of pride, of self-respect—and insecurity.

  “What I’ve submitted has been published. I just don’t submit a lot.”

  He’d have jumped on that instantly, encouraged her to submit as often as possible, offered to help her if he could, but she forestalled him.

  “I write for myself,” she said. “A form of catharsis. My work isn’t intended for anyone else to see.”

  Will wanted to read what she’d written more than he could remember wanting anything in ages.

  Christine Evans was having a strange effect on him. For the first time in weeks, he was starting to take a genuine interest in the world around him.

  He hired her on the spot.

  BECCA CHATTED all the way to the doctor’s office. Through Shelter Valley, along the freeway, across the busy Phoenix streets, she kept up a string of comments and questions that prevented her thoughts from flaying her raw. After two weeks of virtual silence, she and Will once again got caught up on each other’s lives.

  So far, he’d been able to avoid the Todd issue. The alleged pictures were never produced. Stacy had been questioned and had managed to avoid admitting anything that proved Todd had committed any ethics violations.

  “So it all just goes away?” Becca asked, not sure she agreed with that. It really sounded as though Todd was involved with this girl. And if he was, something should be done about it. A lot of people stood to get hurt.

  Will signaled to change lanes. “Not quite.” Looking in his rearview mirror, he slid back into the right lane. “I’m obligated to do some checking,” he said. “The complaint was filed officially and demands investigation.”

  “What are you going to do?” She didn’t envy Will his task. But she admired his ability to do what was right, even in a situation as hard as this one. She’d complained to Randi that he seemed uncompromising these days, but as she watched him struggle with the questions of Todd’s guilt, she was no longer convinced of that.

  “I’ve hired an investigator from Phoenix to do some simple surveillance,” he said. “I don’t expect him to come up with anything.” He glanced over at her, his expression pained. “I hope to hell he doesn’t, that this is all some big mistake.” His eyes were back on the road. “But at least I’ll have a paper trail to prove that we did look into it to clear Todd’s name if this ever comes up again.”

  Becca settled herself more comfortably in the seat. Her skirts were getting a little tighter than she liked. “I saw Martha at the grocery the other day,” she told Will, glad to finally have a chance to speak with him about it. “The whole thing was really awkward. She was her usual cheerful self, asking about the Fourth of July script as if nothing was wrong. I felt horrible for her.”

  He loosened his tie. “Did you say anything?”

  “I didn’t.” And she felt bad about that, too. She was weak. A coward. “I wanted to, though.”

  “I don’t think we should. Not unless we have something substantial to give her.” He glanced quickly at Becca again, then back at the road. Traffic was heavy. “Otherwise, we’re just as bad as the old ladies in this town passing gossip that has little basis in truth.”

  “You’re right,” Becca said, feeling much better. This was why she needed Will. He was the sounding board for her thoughts, helping her see issues and concerns that remained hidden from her, giving her a second and immensely valuable viewpoint.

  Which was what made this whole baby thing so much more devastating. She’d thought Will would be logical, fair, clear-minded, as always. She’d counted on him to help put her fears to rest, to give her some insight that would have made the decision, either way, feel like the right one.

  Not only had he not done that, he’d removed himself from the position of sounding board altogether. He’d retreated into a kind of numbness.

  “I’m hoping the entire mess will disintegrate,” he said. It took Becca a second to realize that he was still discussing his friend. “With luck, Todd will take a heads-up from our conversations, and if he’s been seeing more of the girl than he should, he’ll heed the warning and stop.”

  “No pun intended,” Becca said. Considering the situation, Will’s choice of words wasn’t funny at all.

  A NURSE ADJUSTED the lead weight as Becca stood on the scale. “Same as you were last time.”

  Frowning, Will looked over the nurse’s shoulder. Becca could feel his heat along her back, could smell the aftershave she’d chosen for him more than two decades ago and still loved.

  She couldn’t help thinking, as they were ushered into a little examining room, that if the doctor’s visits served no other purpose, at least they were an excuse for her and Will to be together.

  The blood pressure cuff was tight on her upper arm. Becca tried to be calm, to will herself healthy. And just in case her best efforts weren’t good enough, she prayed, too.

  “Blood pressure’s fine,” Dr. Anderson said as she jotted numbers on Becca’s chart.

  “Thank God.” Will’s soft sigh warmed Becca. Despite the emotions and doubts churning inside him, despite his withdrawal, he was concerned about her. He wouldn’t leave her to deal with this pregnancy by herself. That meant the world to her.

  “Why don’t you slide up here?” the doctor said, patting the paper-covered examining table. Even dressed in her wool sl
acks and long-sleeved cotton blouse, Becca shivered, but did as she was told.

  Feeling a little awkward all of a sudden, lying flat between her husband, who hadn’t seen her naked since before their last visit, and the doctor, Becca stared straight up at the little dots patterning the ceiling. Everything was going to be fine. She’d promised herself it would be.

  “She’s still getting violently ill every night,” Will reported as the doctor lifted Becca’s blouse up past her ribs, exposing a belly that was actually a little bloated.

  Dr. Anderson nodded silently.

  “That doesn’t worry you?” Will persisted.

  “It’s perfectly normal,” the doctor murmured, feeling Becca’s stomach. “She’s at twelve weeks now, so it should pass soon.”

  Will was looming right above her beside the table. From her peripheral vision Becca could see him watching the doctor intently.

  Hands resting on Becca’s abdomen, the doctor met her eyes. “You’re eating well throughout the day?”

  Becca nodded.

  “All the books recommend daily exercise,” Will said. “But they don’t say how much.”

  Becca had wondered about that. She’d had no idea Will was wondering, too. It was imperative that she do everything necessary to help this baby into the world and, equally, that she not do anything to weaken her chances of a successful delivery and a healthy child.

  “We can go over that when we’re through here,” the doctor said, though she sounded distracted. “I’ve got some pamphlets….”

  The room was silent as the doctor continued to probe gently, and Becca started to worry in earnest. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t bear it if something went wrong. She wasn’t strong enough to cope. Her chest tightened, making each breath labored, a painful chore.

  “Have you felt any cramping?” the doctor asked.

  Becca shook her head, still gazing at the ceiling, enduring, doing everything she could to lie there calmly.

  She almost jumped right off the table when Dr. Anderson pulled her stethoscope out of the big pocket in her white coat. Staring at the thing, which had two headpieces, feeling as though it was some big menacing needle, Becca sat up on her elbows, heart thundering. She wasn’t ready for…whatever this meant.