A Baby Affair
Page 15
“Yes. Four-thirty?” He grabbed the lifeline before she could change her mind.
She hadn’t left the bed, but he knew from her frown that she was confused. At the very least. He had everything he needed, even his shoes on bare feet.
“Yeah. Four-thirty’s good.”
“See you then.” With a quick nod, he was out of there.
Chapter Eighteen
She felt like she’d just lost her best friend. Scrambling an egg to eat with a piece of dry toast, Amelia caught a whiff of chicken from the garbage can where she’d deposited the bag Craig had brought, which she’d dropped on the floor just outside her door as she’d taken the man to bed. The thought of it made her cry.
So she went around the house collecting trash from all of the other cans, tied the drawstrings and, in brightly colored floral pajama pants and a T-shirt, she walked the bag out to the chute in the elevator foyer.
By the time she got back, her eggs had started to congeal in the pan. She added a little milk. Stirred them vigorously, let them cook another second and then ate them straight out of the pan.
You did what you had to do to feed the children. That was a rendition of a line from one of her favorite books recommended at some point during her years of counseling. She had a child to feed, so she ate congealed eggs when all she really wanted to do was curl up in her sheets, smell the man who’d been in them with her and watch television.
He’d cut out of there like a bat out of hell. Which had been the right thing to do. They weren’t in love. Having a relationship. They’d made an appointment to have sex. And they’d been done. It was the wasted chicken and salad that made her weepy. Chicken and hormones.
Craig made sure they had a ride time and place established before he left.
He wasn’t done with her yet.
She took that thought to the living room couch where she pulled a blanket over her tender and still-buzzing body, shoved a throw pillow under her head, turned on the television and started to cry.
* * *
Craig spent a good bit of the night concerned about Amelia. Hoping his abrupt departure hadn’t upset her, too much. Knowing it had.
Talk about “wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.” What an ass he was.
And he thought a lot about Isabella, too. Trying to figure out where she fit into his world. Could he really just walk away with only occasional tidbits? And the reality was, he had no other choice. No legal recourse if Amelia wouldn’t allow more. Would he be content, at peace, just with the knowledge that Amelia could call if she needed him? Could he trust that she would?
He asked the hard questions. Got no definitive answers.
Except one. He had no choice.
He had no rights, no power, to change any of it even if he wanted to do so. Nor would he even try. Amelia had opened her life to him in good faith. She’d trusted him not to try to insinuate himself into her child’s life. He had to honor that trust, at least.
Half thinking she wouldn’t be at their designated spot on Tuesday, he loaded the bikes and showed up, anyway. He was a show-up kind of guy.
And one who allowed himself to be relegated to the sidelines of life.
The thought stopped him cold, Tricia’s bike suspended over his head on its way down from his SUV in the parking lot.
He’d allowed himself to be pushed aside with Tricia and as a by-product, Gavin. And he was doing it again with Isabella. Not that he could have forced either woman to share their children with him. Nor would he want to do so.
But the realization told him something key about himself. He seemed content to be on the sidelines.
His work required him to focus on a person’s health, and then step aside as the family processed the emotional aspects of what he shared—good and bad.
But as he lowered the bike, he had a sudden vision of the way he had figured into Tricia’s life. She’d said she wasn’t open to marriage and he’d allowed himself to settle for less than he wanted. He’d wanted to adopt Gavin, or have some kind of guardianship rights, but when Tricia had demurred, he’d continued to live with them. To be a father figure to the boy—without any say in any of the key decisions in Gavin’s life. Tricia had made all of those, from what sports he’d play to new school clothes.
Craig’s bike came down next.
And yeah, what was he supposed to have done? Walked out? Left the boy to fend for himself? And Tricia...
So, maybe he hadn’t loved her as much as he’d once thought he had...
His bike bounced down to the ground with a bit too much force as that thought reared. Of course he’d loved Tricia.
As much as she’d let him.
Amelia wasn’t letting him love her at all.
But he did. A rush of emotion swamped him as he thought of her sleeping in his arms the night before, and had him wiping his forehead on his sleeve. He’d never felt anywhere near that intensity of feeling for Tricia.
He’d learned some things. Matured.
He knew he couldn’t settle for less than he needed.
Just as he knew that Amelia couldn’t, and shouldn’t even try to, give more than she had to give.
The only question left...where did that leave them?
She’d just pulled into the parking lot.
Thank God.
* * *
Tuesday’s ride was like any other weekday excursion they’d taken. Shorter than Sunday. Less talking. Afraid that she’d damaged her friendship with Craig after what had happened last night, Amelia gave everything she had to pretending that nothing had changed.
Because, in a very real way, nothing had.
Yeah, she was struggling a bit more with keeping her hands off him, struggling not to think about the chest underneath that spandex shirt and the rest of him...tucked inside those tight pants. Her mouth got a little drier as they rode, and she had to access her water bottle a bit more often.
She tried to picture herself living in Craig’s house with him—even just as a live-in girlfriend, not a wife—and her insides cramped. Like bad was just around the corner. Walls of worry. Her worries.
She’d known a woman in group counseling who had the same reaction to Sundays. Something had happened to her on a Sunday afternoon as a child. Football had been on at the time. And thirty years later, that woman still had to fight feelings of oppression on Sunday afternoons, most particularly during the fall months.
Emotional memory, their counselor had explained, adding something to do with hormones and brain chemicals that are triggered...
The big home, the yard, so privately offset from anyone else in the world—all that sent her spiraling. It just wasn’t right for her.
And wasn’t something she was likely to grow out of.
And when she pictured a life without Craig in it?
It wasn’t good, either.
Was there some other therapy she could try?
Wasn’t the love more important than where they shared it?
She’d done a real number on herself with this one. Had no clear way out. And all she knew was to continue to move forward. Take the next step. And then the next.
When she had to say goodbye to him, at least as a weekly occurrence in her life, a way would be made known to her.
They finished that Tuesday’s ride in near-silence. Neither of them brought up anything about the night before, good or bad. As she handed over the bike to Craig, Amelia tried to catch his eye, but only once. Briefly. She didn’t succeed and didn’t try again.
“What time Thursday?” she asked him.
He suggested they meet at five in the parking lot closest to her building—since they were starting later than usual. She’d have agreed to meeting on a mountaintop if he’d suggested it. Nodding, she waited until the bikes were secure and, when he turned, his biceps bulging, she told him good night.
Hard to believe that the night before she’d been lying naked in her bed with those arms wrapped around her. Hard not to be hurt by his abrupt departure and subsequent behavior.
Harder still to convince herself that she wouldn’t do it all again.
* * *
Craig went to Thursday’s bike ride ready to have “the talk.” The “we need to talk” kind. Enough was enough.
He’d started this whole thing—spending time together while trying to avoid building some kind of relationship. Time that was designed to remain completely impersonal as far as the two of them were concerned. Hard to remember exactly why he’d thought it a good idea. Or even how he’d thought it could work.
Sometime over the past two days he’d reached the conclusion that they’d need to discuss their situation instead of ride. Still, he had the bikes on top of his SUV when he pulled into the lot, surprised to see Amelia already there.
That couldn’t be good. She’d never been early by more than five minutes before, and it was a good ten before their designated time.
“We need to talk,” she said, standing not far from his car. “I was thinking maybe we walk instead of ride? Or ride and then walk?” She glanced up at the bikes.
“Let’s do that,” he said, reaching for his bike. “Ride, then walk.” He harrumphed as he unhooked the bike and lifted it down. Him thinking they needed to talk was one thing. He could control his own imagined outcome.
But who knew what ideas she had in her head? He couldn’t control Amelia’s thoughts.
He needed some bike time to prepare to hear them.
Half a block down the road, he slowed, waiting on the quiet neighborhood street for her to catch up with him. Most homes had lights on. A lot had cars in the driveways. None had kids outside. It was dinnertime.
“Look, if you’re regretting Monday, don’t. It happened. We can get by it,” he said.
“I wasn’t regretting Monday.” She didn’t look at him. He knew. He’d glanced at her. Slowed even further, lifting up straighter with only one hand on the handlebar. “Unless you are, I guess. If it was wrong for you, then I regret it.”
“No!” he blurted like an imbecile into the street. “I don’t regret it. Other than it seems to have cramped our style some.”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She looked at him then, but he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. Whether she’d purposely worn her helmet lower, or it had slid down, he didn’t know, but he didn’t like how it shadowed her face and hid the things he needed to know. “So...you have no regrets? It was good for you, too?”
That “too” about had him almost falling off his bike. “Yeah.” There was an embarrassing wealth of weight in the one word.
She nodded. Pedaled.
That was it?
She had nothing more to say? Just needed to know that he’d enjoyed himself in her bed? So like her to tend to his pleasure. And so damned infuriating, too.
But he couldn’t really be angry with her, especially not since he’d left her bed without even staying to say goodbye the morning after. Amelia was playing by rules he’d agreed to. Rules he’d helped establish. She was keeping them on a track upon which they could both ride.
He could get off at any time. He was the one who’d pushed his way in. The choice was all his.
“We’ve only got a couple of weeks left of safe riding,” he said, thinking about her stomach. Her balance. For the previous two days he’d done all he could not to think of Isabella. Of his daughter’s tiny touch.
“Yeah.”
“I guess we settle into a place where you call me if you need me after that,” he continued. He had to take control. Move on, even if he didn’t know quite yet where he was going. Ahead, he knew that. The practice was going well. He still felt passionate about his job. He just needed to start getting out more. Getting involved in things that weren’t work related.
For the first year after Tricia’s death, he’d been consumed with fighting for Gavin. And during the second, while he’d been waiting for state supreme court dates, he’d come out of his grief enough to start dating.
Now, he could get on with finding the love of his life. Starting a family. He had to do so for his own sanity. He could not spend the rest of his life loving Amelia.
“I’m happy to stay in touch, Craig.”
Her words could mean anything from thrice weekly meets as they were doing now, to once every couple of years, as he’d at first envisioned.
“I’m really going to miss these rides,” she added.
He’d still be riding. But he was going to miss her—and still love her—despite his silence.
* * *
Something was bothering Craig. Amelia was driving herself mad trying to figure out what it was. Because that’s what she did...made life about another person.
Because it was the right thing to do.
The non-selfish thing to do.
Because if she didn’t please, others weren’t going to love her.
Words from a counseling session years ago came back to her out of nowhere. Her therapist had told Amelia that her mother acted in a similar way when it came to the men in her life. Amelia had learned from her.
Amelia had done everything Mike had asked, even when it had seemed wrong to her, to prove her love. To earn his love. She knew all that.
But she didn’t love Craig. And didn’t expect his love.
Did she?
She just cared about him as a person. Because he was decent. Kind. Generous. Patient. Gentle. And there was some extra connection there because his donation had given her the ability to live her best life. To have her family. To be complete.
And he really just needed to be at peace with Isabella’s future. Like his other female recipient, the ten-year-old in Oregon. He’d move on to his own life when this was done.
Thoughts swirled around as she circled with Craig back to the parking lot where they’d left their vehicles. She was heading to Angie’s for dinner and to look for baby things on the internet, things they’d then order in bulk from manufacturers for apparel and amenities to add to the infant division of Feel Good. And if she found some cute outfits, she might have to get them for Isabella.
By the time they’d stopped at his SUV, she knew she couldn’t just leave, in spite of the fact that Angie was waiting.
“Would you please tell me what’s wrong?” Hands at her sides, she stood directly in front of him.
He shook his head, as though he was going to deny being bothered, and it occurred to her that it might not be about her at all. He could have a patient with a scary diagnosis. Something he wasn’t at liberty to share. What a self-centered little girl she was, making everything about her.
“Monday night changed things for me.”
Talk about her worst nightmare coming true. Well, not the worst. Not by far. She had her family. Isabella was thriving. They might be adding a baby division to the business...
“Okay.” She had to handle this. She’d started them down that path. “How do we fix it?”
He put his bike up, secured it, leaving her hanging there.
“I don’t know that we do,” he said when he was facing her again.
“Wow.” She met his gaze, and then couldn’t. “Okay.” She could handle this. She would handle it. “Are you breaking up with me?”
As soon as she heard the words, she knew they were the wrong ones. They weren’t even together.
But she felt like she was in the middle of the worst breakup ever.
Maybe it was hormones, this feeling of desperation climbing inside her. Please God, let it be hormones. Could they suck the air out of you?
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Craig’s words, delivered in that familiar, confident tone, put breath back into her lungs. Enough to fight for something that had no name.
“You want to remain friends.”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said, his gaze serious. “But...”
She didn’t like “buts.” Never had. Neither did Angie. Too many times that word had come out of their mother’s mouth in the most critical moments.
She shook her head.
“We can’t keep pretending we don’t care about each other,” he finished.
Tears sprang to her eyes. At the absolutely worst moment. “Agreed,” she said.
He continued to look her in the eye, sending her comfort and a whole slew of other feelings. Leaving her with questions that didn’t have answers.
“I have a few close friends I really care about,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“I do.” The doctor who’d brought him to Marie Cove in the first place, who was now a current partner in his firm, she remembered. “But I don’t have sex with them.”
“We only did it once.” Two friends of hers in college, suitemates, had done it once after a night of drinking. She’d walked in on them. It happened. It was over. No big deal. They were both married now, to other people, and still friends.
“I want to do it again.”
Understanding dawned with a relief that made her dizzy. He had the hots for her body.
“There’s no law that says we can’t. For now. Until it doesn’t work for one or the other of us.”