by Dawn, Penny
She emptied her purse, setting Allison's tap shoes atop the counter with a clink, clink, tossing random receipts and ratty-looking, but unused, tissues into the trash. Her hand smoothed against the bottom of her shoulder bag, but Luke's ring wasn't there. Maybe she'd given it back to him after all.
In a daze, she left the club and drove toward home, reluctant to arrive.
She stopped at the Jasmine Vine for a cup of decaffeinated raspberry.
She purchased two-for-one bath salts at Lyndi's as a thank you and apology to Lauren, who'd fielded more than a few tirades lately.
And she stopped at the drycleaner.
"Oh, hello, 3-4-3-7."
"Hi."
"I have no clothes, 3-4-3-7. You pick up Wednesday, no?"
"Did I?"
"Oh, pregnant lady always forget."
"I'm sorry. Are you sure?"
"I sure. Don't worry. See you Wednesday."
* * * *
Shit. In the cab of his truck, parked in front of Sugar Plum Dance Studio, Luke briskly rubbed his hands over his face, washing it with air. Good sex for him, but hardly a show of his best work. He'd finished too quickly, let Kimber walk away, and judging by her pouting exit, he'd probably never see her again. And double shit, she still had his wedding ring.
He took a deep breath and dialed her cell for the fourth time. Again, no answer. He fisted his left hand, which felt naked without the ring he'd worn for the past eight years, through Diane's adultery, the birth of two babies, even through separations. But things were different now. He'd made love to Kimberley Roderick. This time, he'd chosen to stray.
"God, I hope she's worth it,” he muttered. But would he ever see her again? He lifted his head from his hands, and the banner in the storefront window caught his eye: Spring Recital. Of course.
He made his way into the studio, still sticky at the crotch from ejaculation. “One ticket to Saturday's show, please,” he said to a young woman behind the counter.
The pretty blonde, aged about twenty and wearing a leotard, smiled from behind the counter. “You don't look familiar. Do you have a child in the show?"
"No, just a ... a friend. Diane's never introduced my girl to activities like this."
Dr. Schaeffer's probable commentary sounded in his head: Have you ever tried to introduce your daughter to dance? Why is Diane wrong for not trying, but you're always in the clear?
"Here's a fall schedule of classes, if you're interested."
He took the offered pink flyer. “You know what? Why don't you make that two tickets? I'll bring my daughter with me. She might enjoy the show.” Maybe she'd start dance classes in the fall. Maybe then, Diane would realize he was a good father, interested in his children's lives. Even though not a cell of his DNA existed in Rachael's tiny body, he loved her as if she were his own. And damn it, he wanted her to experience the world.
* * * *
When Kimberley returned home, Brennan and Lauren sat on the screened porch, sharing a breakfast of fruit and toast, unaware of her arrival, as she'd parked way down the drive, behind Lauren's car. The genuine, silent chemistry between them amazed her. They'd probably been flawless in bed together, too.
Had they ever considered rolling in the hay once more?
Take him, Lauren. Take him off my hands.
Ten feet away, Allison frolicked in the sandbox with Pink.
"Hi, baby,” Kimberley whispered.
Allison raised her head and broke into a sprint, screeching, “Mommy!"
Simultaneously, Brennan and Lauren looked up from their breakfast. “Hi, Kimmy.” Lauren dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “I hope her dress is all right. I didn't know if she should be playing in the sand, but she's choosey about clothes and—"
"It's fine,” Kimberley said, opening her arms to Allison. So Brennan had allowed his ex-girlfriend to dress their daughter. He'd already replaced his wife, if only for the morning.
"I missed you, Mommy.” Allison spun her wedding ring.
"I missed you, too, Allie."
She fingered her mother's nail polish. “Pretty color. What's it called?"
"Bordeaux.” She glanced up at Brennan, who managed a smile. On the table in front of him, amidst his breakfast dishes, sat the telephone book she'd highlighted last night, closed.
* * * *
"I want to take Rachael to a ballet recital,” Luke said, sitting on his side of the bed. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, a fading scent of Kimberley emanating from its threads.
"Why?” Diane puttered around the dresser, opening and slamming drawers.
"I thought it might be good for her. For us, I mean, to spend some time together. Daddy to daughter."
"She won't want to go with you."
"Why not?"
She slammed another drawer. “Because taking her to some ridiculous recital once doesn't make you Father of the Year. She realizes you favor Caleb. God, she'd have to be brain-dead not to see it."
"I don't—"
"Where is it?” The dresser shook with the slamming of the last drawer.
"What are you looking for?"
"Your wedding ring."
"You're looking for my ring?” He cleared his throat, his heart picking up pace. “Why?"
"I left for one day, and you're not wearing it anymore."
"Aw, Diane, don't read into it. I sprained my finger at the gym this morning."
"How very convenient."
He stared at his hands. “Talk about convenient. I found the test."
Her skin went wan. “Test?"
"In the trash. A positive pregnancy test."
She shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about."
"I didn't imagine it, Diane. I saw it. A generic, over-the-counter pregnancy test with a positive result."
She slumped into bed, her back to him, and reached for her book.
"Where did you go last night? To tell this guy—is it Radcliffe again?—you're knocked up?"
"Keep your voice down."
"Answer my question."
"I told you yesterday. I spent the night with my sister. Call her if you'd like."
He crashed into his pillow, exhausted. No need to probe her with questions she obviously wouldn't answer, and no need pry her legs apart tonight either. Fourteen hours ago, he'd made love to a passionate angel. He'd finished inside her, such an intimate occurrence.
A nice thought to fall asleep to, to dream about.
Around three in the morning, he awoke with an intense erection. Not bothering to leave the bed, he reached down and rubbed it out, leaving a puddle just south of his wife's derriere.
* * * *
Kimberley stared at her ringing cell phone. A battle of will ensued between her heart and her head, but in the end, her heart claimed victory. “Hello."
"Hey, beautiful girl."
Silent for a few seconds, lulled by the tenor of his voice, she knew she'd done the right thing in answering the call. “What can I do for you?"
"Where should I start?"
She smiled at the sound of his laughter. “I'm sorry I haven't called, but—"
"No need to explain. I'll see you at three."
"I don't think we should see each other right now."
"If you think I'm letting you go back there alone, you're crazy."
Back there? “Oh, the doctor."
"What did you think I meant?"
"My appointment's at four."
"I know. I made it for you, remember? Can you meet me at three? Just to talk?"
Against her better judgment, she said, “I'll call Lauren and see if she can take Allie an hour earlier."
"Good. How are you feeling otherwise?"
"Fine."
"Any morning sickness?"
"Not in the past ten days."
"That doesn't mean anything. I'll be waiting at your doctor's office at three, unless I hear from you."
She climbed into Luke's truck at three-fifteen, and because a large, cuddly
-looking dog consumed the better portion of the floor, she propped her feet on the dashboard.
"Hey.” His hand glided to her lap and rested on her thigh. “Thanks for coming."
She looked to a snapshot on his dashboard. “Is this Caleb? And Diane?” The child had Luke's eyes, and the woman's hair was the color of corn silk.
"Yeah. Caleb's second birthday.” He squeezed her thigh. “About the other day ... I can't stop thinking about it."
"Try.” Finally, her gaze trailed from the photograph and met his.
"Are you still thinking about it?"
She began to shake her head, but then nodded. “It hasn't left my mind."
"I'm not living in a dream world. I know I have to share it with your husband, but I can't forget your passion."
She took his hand. “What do you think will happen if we don't hear the heartbeat today?"
He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “The doctor will probably want to take a look to see for sure, but—"
"But you think I'll probably miscarry."
"No matter what happens, I won't let you think it's your fault. I won't let him blame you.” His thumb brushed over her fingers.
She rested her head against his shoulder, and suddenly, he was Jason. Outside the abortion clinic, the beat of Jason's heart, the rising and falling of his chest had reminded her of his mortality. Had reminded her of what she'd taken from an innocent baby.
* * * *
"I want hordes of children.” Luke's eyes scanned the walls of the examination room. “Five or six maybe."
She unbuttoned her shorts and lay on the examination table. “You'd better have a harem. Very few women can endure pregnancy five or six times.” She gathered her shirt up under her bra, exposing her stomach.
"You know, I think a lot of families live with the husband thinking he's the father of the children when he isn't."
"I spent a year in the courtroom, litigating filings of divorce, due to undeniable adultery, proven with the birth of a child."
"My father didn't stick around, and we were his.” Luke shook his head. “Rachael isn't mine, but when it all came down to it, I wanted Diane and me to last forever, so what choice did I have? But when there's someone like you out there, when you need me ... I can't pass off another one. I won't."
"Do you really know she isn't yours?"
His left hand landed upon her stomach. “It doesn't matter. I love her anyway."
"You're a good father."
"I'm going to get you pregnant. Probably in the first few months after you have this baby. If you want me to step in and take care of you, I will, but if you'd rather let Brennan assume responsibility, I won't interfere."
"Don't say things like—"
The doctor walked in.
If the doctor noticed the location of Luke's hand—inappropriate, considering he was supposed to be her brother—he didn't comment or blink an eye. Luke slowly removed his hand from her body.
God, he isn't wearing his wedding ring.
"Let's see,” the doctor said, perusing her chart. “Almost twelve weeks. Maybe this little one will talk to us today."
She grasped Luke's naked hand. Please, let me hear it.
Together, they listened for the comforting whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of a fetus’ heartbeat, but the Doppler registered only static, fuzz, and the occasional gastrointestinal gurgle.
"Well,” the doctor said, removing the device. “Any bleeding?"
She focused on Luke's eyes, which drooped like a sad puppy's. “None."
"That's a good sign. Let's schedule an ultrasound. If we can't hear it, maybe we'll be able to see it."
Halfway through the parking lot, Luke's voice pierced the dead air. “Will you say something?” He opened the passenger side door of his truck, and in she climbed, next to the massive Golden Retriever filling much of the bench.
"You aren't wearing your wedding ring."
His brow furrowed, and he nimbly climbed up next to her and closed the door. “Are you okay?"
"What's ‘okay'? If this baby is gone, there's nothing I can do to bring it back."
"Don't think like that. The doctor said no bleeding was a good sign."
"How old are you?"
He cracked a smile. “How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"I'll be thirty-two next month."
"Did you ever think, growing up, that your life would be such a mess?"
A sigh escaped him. “Are you all right?"
"Not really.” She shook her head. “How do you feel about me?"
"I ... I want to know what your favorite kind of ice cream is because I eat ice cream every day, too. Sometimes twice."
"What?"
"I want to know your maiden name, whether you considered keeping it. I want to know if you breastfed Allison, whether you regret your decision, either way. How many pairs of panties are stashed in your lingerie drawer? Pairs you want to wear, but don't have an occasion for. Pairs you wear when you want to veg out in front of the television. Pairs you wear when you want to turn someone on. And last, but not at all least, I want to know what Jason did to captivate you because, as far as I see it, no man on this earth deserves you, least of all a man who left you."
Her jaw dropped.
His eyebrows darted upward in expectation. “Well?"
"I can't explain Jason and me. I never could."
"I'm jealous of Jason. And if I'm jealous of anyone, I should be jealous of the man with the liberty to make love to you, day in and day out, but I don't feel threatened by your husband because I don't feel like you love him."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?"
"I resent his addictions. Allison and I stand in line behind his job, his gambling, his drinking, and his friends, and I have no leverage when it comes to anything financial. Our money is his money, and he won't let me earn my own. But he's my husband. I love him."
"In that case"—Luke massaged his bare wedding ring finger—"you should get back to him."
CHAPTER 12
In the dim light of her kitchen in late evening, Kimberley faced her laptop screen, staring at Jason's street address, phone number, and e-mail address, usually unlisted. Yes, he'd bought his parents’ house, and if that were any indication, his dreams were becoming reality. Quickly, as if the information would disappear, she jotted down the information and glanced at the clock.
Nine-thirty. Far too late to call, should he have small children. And if he'd yet to procreate, he'd probably be holding the hourglass tightly around that tiny, silk-clad waist, watching old movies until they drifted off to dreamland.
Perhaps an e-mail would be better. She typed, “jldevon—” But no. That “jl” could stand for Jason and Linda. Besides, what would she say? E-mailing didn't seem the way to go either.
She'd waited years to contact him. Perhaps a night to sleep on the proper method would help. She exited the web page, shut down the computer, and tucked the scrap of paper into the hollandaise page of the Fabulous Gourmet. Simply having his address would have to suffice for tonight.
She heard a tap on the window and looked up to see Luke, wearing a loose, denim shirt and a straight expression, standing in her screened porch. “Hi."
She glided to the door and met him on the porch.
"I had to see you,” he said.
"You shouldn't—"
He kissed her full on the mouth, his tongue flirting with hers, surging her blood to a boiling point. His hands trailed from her backside to her breasts, gingerly caressing her over her pajamas.
She stroked the fingers on his left hand. Still no wedding band.
When he pulled his lips off hers, a low hum filtered through his next breath. “I've missed you, Kimber.” He began to lower her to the wicker tabletop.
"It won't hold,” she whispered.
"Sure it will.” He kissed her again, his fingers grazing against her abdomen, expertly untying the drawstring of her cotton pajama pants. “You're smaller than
you think you are."
