“I won’t do that anymore if you don’t want me to. I should have checked with you first.”
“It’s not the phone. I don’t mind that. Missy has to be able to get in touch with you. It’s... I feel like I’m involved with a married man.”
“It won’t be like this forever.”
She smiled drolly. “Isn’t that what married men always tell their mistresses?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he said sensuously. “Just before they scrub their backs.”
“Your turn,” she said later, after he’d scrubbed her back and a lot of equally important regions. “Hand me that bar of soap.”
“Soap? I like this slippery stuff better.”
“You can’t go home smelling like an English garden!”
“As if I don’t already,” he said, hugging her a little tighter.
She turned in his arms to face him and took a step back. “We’ll just have to scrub all that sissy, girlie stuff off you, won’t we?”
She wet the soap and slid it in circles over his chest and ribs. “See? Soap isn’t so bad.”
“I’ll never think of soap the same way again,” he said, closing his eyes as she reached her arms around his waist to lather his back.
She was still, he noted with much satisfaction, quite slippery in all the best places.
Later, they patted each other dry. Richard walked through the apartment collecting his clothes and donning garments one by one. When he was finally dressed, he found Barbara stretched out on the sofa in a terry wrap robe. She had lit several votive candles on the coffee table.
He stood for a moment, absorbing the sight of her. “You don’t look a day older than you did seventeen years ago.”
Pulling herself up into a sitting position, Barbara smiled and patted the sofa cushion. “Join me.”
He sat where she indicated. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned as she snuggled up to him.
“Too late,” she murmured, leaning her back against his chest. “I’m already comfortable.”
“I really can’t stay.”
“I know,” she said. “But for a few minutes we can pretend.”
“Like we used to.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Talk about déjà vu. Who would have thought that I’d still be kissing you good-night and then having to sneak home when I’m thirty-six years old?”
“It won’t be this way forever.”
“We used to say that, too,” Richard said grimly.
Barbara sighed. “We haven’t even talked.”
“I liked what we did better than talking.”
“We need to talk about Missy.”
“I hear you two are going shopping.”
“She’s supposed to ask you if it’s all right. You don’t mind, do you? She needs some...female things and some maternity clothes.”
“I’ve already given her my credit card. I’ll be eternally grateful to you for taking her. My mother always handled the shopping. I wouldn’t be much help to Missy even if I went with her.”
“I thought I’d take her to one of the Orlando malls. If we went out here in the ‘burbs and she ran into some of her friends, she might be embarrassed to be caught with a teacher. She’s already self-conscious enough about needing maternity clothes.”
“I’m glad you two are—what’s the latest word?—bonding? She’s been a little...I don’t know how to describe it. Preoccupied and...quiet.”
Concern weighted Barbara’s voice, as it had Richard’s. “She desperately needs a confidante—a female confidante—and I’m glad to be there for her. But I still have some mixed feelings about this situation, Richard. For Missy’s sake, I hope I’m not in over my head. “
“She likes you,” Richard said. “That’s just as important as any diploma you could have. If we tried to hoist her off on a stranger, I think she’d clam up.”
“You know her better than I do,” Barbara said. “I just hope your instincts are on target.” She paused pensively, then asked, “Did you know she was considering giving her baby up for adoption?”
“The subject came up with the lawyer who drew up the release papers for the father to sign.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“That sounds like a counselor-type question,” Richard said, and Barbara felt him tense.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” she said apologetically. “You don’t have to answer.”
Richard released a dismal sigh. “I’m sorry, Barbara. I know you’re concerned. It’s just...I don’t know how to answer. How in the hell am I supposed to feel about it? I haven’t even assimilated the idea of Missy’s being pregnant, much less come to terms with what she’s going to do with a baby. I think about her saddled with a child and it seems so...unfair. God, she’s still a baby herself.”
“She’s not a baby, Richard.”
“Obviously.” The word held bitterness and frustration. “But no matter how old or how grown up she gets, to me she’ll always be that little baby girl I held in my hands.” His eyes met hers gravely. “She was that tiny. I could literally hold her in my hands.”
His arms crossed over Barbara’s midsection. Barbara guided his hands to her mouth and kissed them, backs first, then palms. Then she pressed them to her face. “These are good hands for anyone to be in.”
Richard smiled sadly at her attempt to cheer him. “I was more terrified of that tiny little bundle than I’d ever been of anything in my entire life. And I’m just as terrified now, for her.”
“She has a difficult decision to make.”
“Difficult?” He shook his head. “Try impossible. I know my daughter. When she cares, she cares with her whole heart. As inconceivable as it is to picture her trying to raise a child at this point in her life, I can’t imagine her handing someone a baby she’s given birth to, knowing she’d never see it again. No matter what she does, some part of her is going to be destroyed.”
He shook his head and chortled bitterly. “The kid has one boyfriend and her life is topsy-turvy. It’s history repeating itself.”
“You’ve got to quit equating your experience with Missy’s situation. They’re not the same.”
“No,” he said forlornly. “I guess they’re not. We both slept with the wrong person for the wrong reason, but I did it because I was young and didn’t have the good sense to know how to handle hormones. Missy—” His voice choked with emotion. “Missy just had a bad example when she was vulnerable.”
“Do you honestly think Missy wouldn’t have gone to bed with her boyfriend if she hadn’t surprised you in your little indiscretion?”
“Yes. I’m sure of it.”
“You don’t think peer pressure and today’s sex-saturated media had anything to do with it? Richard, teenage girls feel everything strongly. She probably thought she was truly in love with this boy.”
“With that spineless little wimp?”
“Spoken like a true father,” Barbara said.
Richard sniffed indignantly. “I’d be doing society a favor if I castrated that little jerk. He didn’t think twice about taking an innocent girl to bed, but when he got found out, he didn’t even have the balls to stand beside her and own up to what he’d done.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
“Just a kid,” Barbara said. “He’s probably scared to death.”
“So’s Missy.”
Barbara didn’t have an answer for that. In the silence that ensued, she became aware of Richard again, warm and firm next to her. She rested her head against his chest and listened to his heart, then urged his hand to her lips and kissed the tops of his fingers.
“You’re not making it any easier for me to leave.”
“There are things I’d like to make easier for you,” she said. “Leaving me isn’t one of them.”
“It won’t be this way forever,” he said.
This time he sealed the promise with a kiss.
9
THE TRAFFIC was four lane
s wide in each direction. The signal light had already gone through its cycle twice while Barbara and Missy waited their turn in the left hand turn lane. “Is the traffic always like this?” Missy asked.
“It’s worse on weekends and holidays,” Barbara said. “But it’s worth it. I try to get over here a couple of times a year.”
“Heather’s big sister got her prom dress at this mall last year,” Missy said. “She said it’s the best place to shop.”
“I love the specialty stores here. I’ll take you to my favorite card shop. They have great notepads and rubber stamps. I’ve never been here when they have the Valentine’s Day stuff out. I’ll bet they’ve got neat stuff.”
Once they were inside the mall, Barbara asked,”Do you need a snack right away, or do you want to shop first?”
“I’m okay,” Missy said.
“Then let’s check out the directory for the maternity shops. We could walk miles in this mall without stumbling onto one.” They located the map. “Mommy To Be,” Barbara read. “It’s one level up.”
The shop was midsized, with window displays that were both artful and tasteful. The manager of the shop, a stylish woman in her fifties, greeted them, introduced herself as Connie and offered assistance.
“We need to look at maternity bras,” Barbara said.
“We have three basic styles,” the woman said. “I’ll be happy to show them to you.” She took a tray from within a glass display counter and lifted a white cotton brassiere by its straps. “Many women who plan to nurse find it practical to buy our basic nursing bra to wear when they’re pregnant. Then they don’t have to buy separate maternity bras and nursing bras.”
Missy stared quietly at the utilitarian undergarment.
“It’s a little...plain,” Barbara said, voicing the girl’s obvious reaction.
Connie laughed. “It’s not fancy, I’ll admit. But the fabric doesn’t hold moisture, and it provides strong support.”
She replaced the first style and picked up another, this one with touches of lace trim. “This might be a better choice, though it’s a bit pricier than the plain jane.”
“And this one?” Barbara asked, touching the third bra on the tray. Beige instead of white, with satin appliqués and lace panels, it was much prettier and more delicate than the other two.
“This is lovely, isn’t it? It’s our most feminine bra, but it’s not a nursing bra, which means a double expenditure if you plan to nurse.” She looked pointedly at Barbara. “Are you planning to nurse, or are you still trying to decide?”
It was a natural assumption, Barbara reasoned frantically. Of course the woman would think it was she who was pregnant instead of Missy. Still, she felt her cheeks coloring in what had to be a visible flush, as the old, familiar ache of knowing she was not pregnant and probably never would be slowly filled her.
She tried not to sound shaken as she spread her arm across Missy’s shoulders for support—physical support for herself, moral support for Missy—and told the clerk, “You’re asking the wrong woman.”
Connie registered surprise briefly, but quickly recovered. Shifting her gaze to Missy, she said lightly, “Either I’m getting old, or mothers are getting younger. Why don’t we start by measuring you to see what size you need, then you can decide which style you want. You might want to check out our sale rack before going into the dressing room. I’ll be in with my tape measure momentarily.”
Missy selected a pair of jeans and a knit pantsuit from the rack, and then she and Barbara went into the dressing room. She tried on the jeans first.
“Those are great!” Barbara said. “They’re a little long, but we can turn up a hem in nothing flat.”
“May I come in?” Connie asked from the other side of the curtain door.
Barbara looked at Missy, who nodded, then pulled back the curtain to allow the clerk in. Connie was holding a tape measure. “Those fit you perfectly,” she said, giving the jeans a once-over.
“My butt’s getting big,” Missy replied as she stood with her backside to the mirror and looked over her shoulder at her reflection.
“That’s your body preparing for childbirth,” Connie said. “Hormones cause the hip bones to move apart. Your feet do the same thing. They get wider to distribute the extra weight. Isn’t nature remarkable?”
Remarkable. Oh, yes. So remarkable that Barbara had to choke back the bitterness as she recalled her years of trying to conceive a child and the disappointment that she had been cheated out of the experience of carrying one. She’d wanted it so badly—the queasiness, the changes in her body, the feel of a child moving inside her, the pain and joy and wonder of birth, of a child drawing sustenance from her breast.
A glance at Missy’s face and a glimpse of the confusion clouding Missy’s eyes as Connie talked about the remarkable feats of nature brought Barbara crashing back to reality. Here was a scared teenager dealing with an unplanned pregnancy, disrupted lives, and a Solomonesque decision that had to be made.
She could not look at Missy without seeing Richard, could not meet Missy’s desperate eyes without recalling the equivalent despair in Richard’s. And she could not remember Richard without feeling an overwhelming surge of love for him. She loved him with all the intensity of the seventeen-year-old she’d been when he’d broken her heart and with all the sagacity of a thirty-four-year-old who’d been hurt and now approached life and love with caution and realistic expectations. And because she loved him so much, and because Missy was part of him—his blood—she loved Missy, too.
Connie was wrapping a tape measure around Missy’s chest, just below her breasts. “I always insist on measuring,” she said. “Women come in and tell me a bra size, without realizing that their breasts change drastically when... Did I pinch you, sweetie?”
“No,” Missy said dazedly. She had such a strange expression on her face that Barbara poised to catch her in case she fainted.
“I felt something,” she said, spreading her hand over her abdomen.
“A pain?” Connie asked, concerned, but cool as a cucumber. “Did it feel like a cramp?”
“No,” Missy said. “It just—it was like something moved.”
“The baby?” Barbara asked, unable to suppress her awe.
“I don’t know,” Missy said. “Maybe.”
“How far along are you?” Connie asked, and when Missy didn’t have a ready answer, added, “When are you due?”
“June,” Missy and Barbara said in unison.
Connie counted back on her fingers. “That puts you at five months. It probably is the baby. You’ve never felt it before?”
“No. Oh!” Her hand flew back to her abdomen.
“Pain?” Barbara asked.
Missy shook her head. Wide-eyed, she said, “I think it is the baby moving.”
“Do you think I’d be able to feel it, too?” Barbara asked, and Missy moved her hand.
“Was that it?” Barbara asked, truly excited. Missy nodded furiously. Then, slowly, their gazes met, and they both laughed aloud.
Sensing that she was intruding, Connie began rolling her tape measure. “I’ll be at the counter if you need me.”
As soon as she was gone, Barbara told Missy, “We’re going to have to celebrate somehow.”
Missy nodded, then spontaneously threw her arms around Barbara. “I’m glad we came shopping together.”
“So am I,” Barbara said, knowing that Missy wasn’t referring to the shopping at all. She stroked the girl’s back maternally. “So am I.”
The poignant moment quickly dissolved as Missy drew away and began looking in the mirror again. “So,” Barbara said, “are you going to take those jeans? How do they feel at the waist? Comfortable?”
Missy decided to buy both the jeans and the pantsuit, which had a top that looked more like the big shirts popular with teenagers than like a maternity garment.
Feeling triumphant over their shopping success, Barbara carried the garments to the counter while Missy changed back i
nto her own clothes. As she waited, she noticed a display of books along the wall and perused the titles. One in particular drew her attention: Pregnancy Week by Week. Flipping through it, she was captivated by the in utero photographs of developing embryos.
“Do you have this book?” she asked when Missy returned from the dressing room.
Missy shook her head.
“I’d like to buy it for you. Would that be all right?”
Missy shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Good.” She put the book on the counter.
Connie had already folded the garments Missy was buying. “What did you decide about the bras?”
Chewing on her bottom lip, Missy turned helplessly to Barbara. Barbara smiled. “I rather like the pretty one.”
Missy’s relief was visible.
“How many and which colors?”
“Colors?” Missy and Barbara said in unison.
“The others are in white only, but this one comes in fleshtone beige, teal, coral rose and black.”
“Why don’t you show them to us?” Barbara suggested.
Missy looked at the colored undergarments with the intense concentration of a kid in a toy store. She touched the strap of the teal blue bra tentatively, as though afraid it might burn her. She seemed almost awed by it.
After an inordinate amount of time, when Missy still didn’t appear close to a decision, Barbara suggested, “You’re going to need several. Why not two of the beige and one each of two other colors?”
“Really?”
Barbara thought of something. “Your father didn’t put you on a strict budget with the credit card, did he?”
“Uh-uh,” Missy answered quickly. “He said if I went too hog wild the credit card people would quit approving the charges.”
“I don’t think we’re anywhere near ‘hog wild’ yet,” Barbara said, her heart filling a little when she thought how much like Richard the sentiment sounded. “So show the lady which colors you want.”
After browsing through the other maternity shops and the maternity departments in several major stores, Barbara and Missy decided to take a dinner break and then go to the card shop on their way out of the mall.
What Might Have Been Page 11
