by Ann Cristy
Powerful silence filled the room as they stared intently into each other's eyes, facing each other like living, breathing statues frozen forever in a moment of perfect love.
Gently Luc placed his hands over hers on his face. "Mystique." The whispered word echoed in the empty room. "I want us to have a baby."
CHAPTER NINE
All during the rest of their stay Misty was aware of Luc's hurt and frustration with her. She'd stiffened in his arms at his mention of children, and, despite his frequent efforts to get her to reveal what was troubling her, she was still unable to share her fears about becoming a mother.
When they returned home Sunday evening, she told him, "Luc, I'm not hungry. I'm going straight to bed."
"I want to talk to you."
"Please, not now. In the morning." Misty felt his anger radiating like heat waves on her back as she turned and left the kitchen. Wearily she climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
Much to her surprise, she fell asleep immediately after a quick shower. When she awoke the next morning Luc was already gone, and though his blankets were mussed she had no recollection of him even having come to bed. She had a splitting headache, one so severe that she became sick to her stomach. She was holding a cold cloth to her forehead when the phone rang.
"Mrs. Harrison, this is Dr. Wagner's office. You said to call you if there was a cancellation."
"We have an opening at two o'clock today, if you'd like to take it."
"Yes, I'll be there." Misty hung up the phone and sat back in bed. Did she have the flu? She sighed, determined to keep the appointment with her gynecologist no matter how ill she felt.
By noon she was feeling somewhat better, much to her relief. She took a vitamin pill, but she didn't eat anything. Her stomach hadn't completely settled down.
At one o'clock she left the house, on impulse taking the bus to Henri Bendel, something Luc had been urging her to do since the beginning of their marriage.
As she walked into the quietly elegant establishment, she felt relaxed. She found some gloves in the softest white kid that she could use for evening wear and purchased several handkerchiefs with which to wipe her hands between musical arrangements at work.
By the time she left the store she was running late and had to take a taxi to the doctor's office, instead of waiting for the bus as she had planned.
She didn't have to wait long to see Dr. Wagner, and the examination was thorough but not uncomfortable. Afterward she got dressed, ran a comb through her hair, and met the doctor back in her office.
"I hope you'll be able to suggest another method of birth control," Misty began. "As you know, I was on the pill, but—" She stopped short in response to the quizzical look the doctor was giving her. "What's wrong, Dr. Wagner?"
The doctor closed Misty's folder and placed her elbows on top, her chin in her hands. "Misty," she said gently, "you're several weeks pregnant. Didn't you know?"
Misty's stomach seemed to sink to her feet. She stared at the doctor in stunned disbelief as a horrible sense of unreality swept over her. "I was tired," she said through stiff lips, "but I thought I might have the flu. I've never had regular periods." She let out a strangled sob. "I can't have this baby."
Dr. Wagner sat back in her chair and regarded Misty with concern. "You're very healthy, Misty, and I foresee no problem with the pregnancy, but if you insist on an abortion, I can suggest a colleague."
"Abortion? No, I don't want that. I'll give the baby up for adoption."
"You're married, Misty. Why would you want to do that?" Dr. Wagner asked with evident confusion.
"I'm married, that's true," Misty said dully.
"Doesn't your husband want children?"
"He loves them," Misty choked out, then bit her lip and fell silent. She stared sightlessly down at her hands.
"Misty," Dr. Wagner said, "something is deeply troubling you. Please tell me what it is so that I can try to help."
Misty studied the other woman's kind, concerned face, and suddenly knew she wanted to tell her everything. Words began to pour out of her in an unstoppable flood. She began at the very beginning, by describing how her essentially happy childhood had led to a traumatic adolescence. She explained how her parents had constantly corrected and criticized her and finally condemned her as an unworthy daughter. She went on to describe how her life had improved under her aunt and uncle's loving care, but how the vestiges of her low self-esteem had allowed her to get involved with Richard and Leonard, two men who used rather than loved her. Finally she told how Luc had entered her life and made her recovery complete. Except that she knew she must never have a child and risk becoming a destructive and hate-filled mother like her own.
When Misty finished, Dr. Wagner shook her head. "Misty, I grant you that there is sound evidence to support your belief that many emotionally abused children become abusive parents. But you've already faced and dealt with your problem. That makes all the difference in the world."
"But what if I... I..." To Misty's horror, tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.
Dr. Wagner came around the desk, pressed a tissue into Misty's fingers, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'Talk to your husband, my dear. Then come back to me, and we'll all three talk together. I sense that you do want this baby."
"Yes," she admitted with wrenching pain. She drew in several deep, steadying breaths, struggling to regain emotional control.
"Don't deny motherhood because you fear yourself," Dr. Wagner added. "Go back to your therapist. I'm sure he will tell you the same thing."
"Yes, yes, I'll make an appointment to see him." Misty wiped her eyes, a whisper of hope uncurling deep inside her.
Once outside, Misty began walking home, too deep in thought to even think of taking a bus or a cab. By the time she walked in the front door, she was tired and cold.
The sounds of someone in the kitchen surprised her. Mrs. Wheaton should have gone home hours ago. "Mrs. Wheaton, I'm home," she called. "I sure would love a cup of tea." She pushed open the door and stopped in her tracks. "Luc! What are you doing home so early?"
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "More to the point, why didn't you take your car? Did you go on the subway? Damn it, Mystique, don't you know how dangerous that can be?"
Misty remained stunned into speechlessness as Luc rattled off question after question. When he received no answers from her, he strode forward and pulled her into his arms. She sighed with delight and weariness as his muscular heat enclosed her. "Ummm, you're so toasty warm," she murmured.
"Damn you, Mystique. I don't want you riding around Manhattan on a bus or subway." He leaned back to look at her. "Now, where were you?" He spotted the bag crushed between them. "Bendel's! So that's where you were. But why didn't you drive?"
"Sometimes I forget that I can take a cab or drive a car whenever I choose," she answered truthfully.
"Well, try to remember from now on, okay? I don't like coming home and not finding you here. I called Mrs. Wheaton to tell her to defrost some fish for us." He frowned. "That's why I came home early, so we could fix lemon sole together.."
"Wonderful. Just let me take a shower and change first."
"I'll shower with you."
"No. We'll never get around to eating."
"Yes, we will. At midnight."
Misty shook her head and backed out into the hall. "No way. I'm hungry." She was laughing as she ran up the stairs, finally able to push her problem to the back of her mind.
She'd finished her shower and was humming to herself as, clad only in a silky bra and briefs, she searched through her closet for something to wear.
"I knew I'd find you like this." Luc's silky voice sent shivers up her spine and wave after wave of sensual shocks through her.
"It seems to me," Misty said sternly, straightening slowly but not turning around, "that you're always finding me in my underthings."
"Right," Luc said huskily, walking up behind her. "I was trying to think
up an excuse for barging in on you like this, but"—he leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck—"I knew you'd see right through every one of them."
"Right," she agreed dryly, closing her eyes and letting herself relax against him.
"Ahh, good," he whispered, satisfaction in his voice as his hands began an intimate exploration of her rib cage. "You're gaining weight," he murmured. "That's good."
Misty reeled back in shock. Was it possible that he'd already noticed a slight difference in her shape? She closed her eyes, trying to resummon her quickly vanishing emotional equilibrium.
"Luc..." She lifted her hands from where they lay on top of his around her waist. "Let me go, please." The words were barely audible.
Immediately his hands fell from her, and he stepped back. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He sounded angry.
Misty met his steady gaze. "Let me get my dressing gown first."
"I'll get it," he snapped, striding over to the bed where she had thrown the robe after emerging from the bathroom. He faced her with the dressing gown in his hands. "Turn around. I have a feeling I'm not going to like this."
She put her arms into the gown and belted it at the waist, then walked to the elegant chaise longue and stood behind it, facing him. "Luc, I went to the doctor today... to get a prescription for birth control pills."
"Mystique, if you don't want children right away, we can discuss it."
"Luc, listen. Dr. Wagner examined me. It was a very thorough examination." She took a deep breath. "The fact is, I'm pregnant."
His mouth dropped open. A smile lifted the corners and glinted in his eyes. "Darling..."
"Luc," Misty said on a sob, biting her lip, "I... I'm not going to keep the baby."
"You want an abortion?" he barked furiously, his hands clenching at his sides.
"No... no, I couldn't do that to our child. I intend to carry it full term, then release it for adoption." She watched miserably for his reaction, pleading silently for him to understand.
"And what if I don't want my child to be raised by strangers?"
She forced herself to say the words. "If you insist on keeping the child, I'll leave you."
"I see," he said with a calmness belied by his tense stance. "I thought you loved children. Were you only pretending to enjoy playing with Greg and James? Did you actually feel loathing when you cooed at Jennifer?"
"No, of course not," she shot back, stung that he should think such things. "I love them."
"What about Mark and Mary?" he demanded as though she hadn't spoken. "Did you only pretend to be fond of them? And what did you feel for Janie Patterson, my sister Vel's girl, whom you met at Christmas? Was it all a charade when you took them all skating?"
"No, no, no!" Misty denied, shaking her head and holding out a hand to make him stop. "Can't you see?" she screamed. "I can't take a chance that I might become like my mother!"
Luc's face twisted with anger. "Do you have so little faith in yourself that you'd rather give our child away than trust your own strength?" he demanded incredulously.
Misty felt as though he'd slapped her face. "But don't you see?" she wailed. "I can't take the risk."
"Damn you for being a coward, Mystique," he said harshly, conflicting emotions of anger and love warring in his face.
"Yes, yes, I am a coward!" she cried.
He didn't reply. They stood facing each other like hostile opponents, their breathing harsh in the stillness.
"Get dressed. We have to fix dinner," Luc said with calm authority.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're eating for the baby," he reminded her. "And stop looking at me as though you think I'm going to strike you."
"I don't think that," Misty whispered, shivering. No, she knew he wouldn't ever hit her, but his anger was almost as frightening as physical violence.
He regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Damn it, do you think I'm going to attack you the way your father did? Berate you? Unfairly accuse you? Cut you down with words?" He inhaled a furious breath and exhaled it shakily. He studied her for long minutes. "I freely admit I'm angry with you, but that does not mean I don't understand how you feel. I don't agree with you, that's all. And I intend to spend the next eight months or so proving that you can trust me and yourself." His voice softened. "You can trust me, Mystique. Do you hear me?"
"I think they hear you on Long Island," she said dryly.
"As long as you hear me," he replied with faint amusement. "Now, are you going to get dressed or shall I do it for you?" His eyes went to her middle. "You are getting bigger," he said with quiet satisfaction. "Are you well? There aren't any complications, are there?"
"No problems. I have to take vitamins and eat whole cereals." She shrugged. "You know, the usual stuff for a pregnant woman."
Luc patted his shirt pocket as though looking for something. "No, I don't know, but I'll learn. Do you have paper and pencil? I want to get this down." He went to her desk, found some paper, and began writing rapidly. "Didn't you get any more details? Never mind, I'll call the doctor in the morning."
"Luc..." Misty reached into her closet for a pair of velvet jeans in a soft rose color and a matching silk blouse.
"I made an appointment with Dr. Mellon, the therapist I used to go to."
"When you first began taking charge of your life. Now you want to see him, but you don't trust your instincts."
"I do for myself, Luc," she tried to explain, "but I can't take any chances with our child. I just can't."
"Fine. Neither can I. I'll go with you to see Dr. Mellon. I have a few latent eccentricities he can begin to deal with. No, I am not laughing at you," he assured her. "I'm as serious as you are. I fully intend to be a very good parent ... and a better husband." He held out his hand to her. "If talking to a therapist will help me in any way, then I'll work with him." Luc dropped his hand when she made no move to take it.
"I believe you, Luc," she said.
He let out a deep breath. "Well, that's a start." She pulled on soft rose-colored ankle boots, then straightened. "You look very beautiful in that color," he said. "Renoir would have loved to paint you. Your hair is red-gold. Your eyes are far more luminous than your emerald ring." He gave her a half smile. "I think I should be your PR man as well as your husband."
"Yes," Misty agreed softly, grateful that his anger had faded. She wanted back the teasing, loving Luc who was hers alone.
He reached out to pull her toward him. "I tossed a coin to see who'll make the salad. You lost." Together they headed downstairs.
"Was it a two-headed coin?"
"Why, wife, how you talk!" he drawled, running the flat of his hand down over her backside. "Ummm, you do have everything in the proper place, don't you?"
Misty laughed, leaning against him and daring to hope that, just maybe, they would find a solution to her problem, that just maybe Luc was right and she wouldn't have to give up her baby. She erased her thoughts of the pain and concentrated on the man walking down the staircase beside her, their bodies bumping gently at every step.
In the kitchen Luc rinsed the fish in cold water, soaked it in fresh lemon juice, and let it drain. Misty paused in tearing fresh spinach leaves for a salad and watched him, delighted by his off-key whistling.
"Stop goofing off," he chided her with a grin, wiping his hands on a towel he had thrown over one shoulder. "I'm doing all the work."
"Poor baby," Misty cooed.
He breathed in sharply. "When you pout like that, my blood pressure goes up thirty points. Love, your face is getting red. How far does your blush go?" Chuckling, he reached for the belt at her waist and brought her close, her hands still full of spinach leaves. "All the way down there," he whispered, lifting the neck of her silk blouse so that he could look down.
"You should be arrested," Misty declared, laughing. "You're a devil."
"Uh-uh, just a husband."
"Do you think all husbands are so interested in their wives?"
"They would b
e if they were married to you. But no one except me is ever going to have that privilege. You're mine for the next ninety years. After that you're on your own." Luc kissed her open mouth.
"By the same token, you're mine for the next ninety years."
"By George, I think she's got it. Now finish that salad. I have to make a few phone calls." He kissed her temple and left the room.
"Bossy." Misty sighed, feeling free from worry for the first time all day. "Don't get too comfortable," she muttered to herself. But her admonition didn't dispel the happiness that filled her. She was here with Luc. They were together!
"Daydreaming?" Luc asked from the doorway. She looked up to see him lounging against the frame.
"Never." Forcing herself not to smile, she pretended to glare at him.
"Looked like it to me." He ambled over toward her and leaned down to kiss her. "I'll put the coffee on."
"You usually do that after we've eaten."
"Tonight we might be having guests before we're finished."
"Oh? You didn't mention that anyone would be stopping by." Misty popped a spinach leaf into her mouth.
"That was before I informed my mother that she's to have another grandchild in September." Luc licked the corner of her mouth. "Piece of spinach there," he explained.
"Ah, Luc, do you think you should—"
"Yes, I do think I should inform the family. In fact, I'm thinking of putting an announcement in The New York Times."
"Luc!" Misty laughed as he left her to check the saffron rice and the sole, which was turning golden brown under the broiler.
They took their food into the dining room and sat at right angles to each other. Misty tasted the fish. "Ummm, good." She smacked her lips. "I've been so hungry, lately."
Luc grinned at her. "Expectant mamas have big appetites, but I intend to see that you go on a very special diet. You and our child will have the best health care."
Misty stared in awe at the gleam of determination in his eyes. "Dr. Wagner didn't say I needed a special diet," she began, falling silent as Luc glowered at her.
"What does she know?"
