The Baby Agenda

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Charlotte would have been her first choice for a partner, but Gray had woken Moira at 4:00 a.m. five days ago to let her know their baby had been born. A little girl, Emily Faith Van Dusen. Moira didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound so exhausted and so happy. And all at the same time.

  He hadn’t looked or sounded any more rested since, and Charlotte, who was breastfeeding, was probably even more tired. Obviously, she was out as a labor partner for Moira.

  And even if Gray had been willing to leave Charlotte and Emily for the weekly class, Moira didn’t want him. The fact that he was a man and she was a woman didn’t usually seem to matter. For heaven’s sake, he’d even had her stand up for him at his wedding. She’d always thought, if she got married, she would ask him to do the same for her. But she wasn’t asking him to coach her in childbirth the same way he had his wife, the woman he loved.

  Sheila Daniels would be her next choice, but Sheila lived in Mukilteo. Only a forty-minute drive from West Fork, but Moira suspected she’d want someone now once labor started. Bonnie Pappas was another possibility, or Jill Shore… Moira’s brow wrinkled. No, with two young kids of her own, Jill might have a hard time getting away for the weekly classes, never mind at whatever hour of the night or day Moira went into labor. Bonnie, then. But Moira didn’t call her. She had time. She didn’t have to start childbirth classes quite yet.

  What she did have to do was call her mother. Admitting to Will that she hadn’t told her had made Moira shrivel inside, knowing how Mom was going to feel about her having kept this secret. Will hadn’t looked too happy himself when he did a mental count and realized how long she’d known she was pregnant before she’d told him. And Moira had even less excuse where her mother was concerned. Worse yet, she and Mom talked every couple of weeks, so she’d been lying by omission for months now.

  Filled with resolve, she called that evening.

  “Sweetie,” her mom said with pleasure. “How nice to hear from you.”

  Moira gulped. “I have something to tell you. I’ve been putting it off for ages.”

  During the ensuing pause, she could all but see her mother’s eyebrows arch. “Oh?”

  Deep breath. Bald words. “I’m pregnant.”

  This silence was even longer. “Pregnant?” Mom whispered.

  “It was, um, an accident. The guy isn’t anyone I was seriously dating… He wore a condom, but…” She stumbled to a stop. “Oh, honey.”

  Moira squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “Please tell me you’re not apologizing to me,” her mother said tartly. “Are you sorry in the sense you wish you weren’t pregnant?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath. “No, actually I’ve become reconciled to that. I want to be a mother. I’d even given thought these past couple years to… I don’t know, adopting, or looking into a sperm donor bank. No. I’m excited about having a baby. I just wish I’d fallen in love and gotten married first. I know raising a child alone wasn’t easy for you.”

  “It was also the greatest joy of my life,” her mother said.

  Moira sniffed. “Oh, Mom.”

  Her mother’s laugh was warm and familiar, almost as good as an embrace. “When are you due, honey?”

  “Oh, uh, January. My official due date is January 14.”

  This silence fairly crackled. “You’re six months pregnant.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and said again, “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been ashamed to tell you. Which I know is dumb. It’s not like I’m sixteen. Or that you wouldn’t have guessed I’m not a virgin.”

  “No, although I’ve wondered… Well.” Mom cleared her throat. “I’d like to be there when the baby comes, or whenever you need me most.” She hesitated. “Is the baby’s father going to be involved at all?”

  Moira found herself telling her mother about Will, including his visit and her own bewilderment. It felt like it had when she was a confused teenager who’d been able to cuddle up to her mommy on the sofa and confide all her troubles. She’d been the envy of her friends because she could talk to her mom. Of course Mom wouldn’t be ashamed of her or ever have anything but faith in her. She didn’t know why she’d ever feared otherwise.

  She was the one who didn’t have faith in herself. Who’d been ashamed of herself.

  Moira swallowed a few lumps in her throat, told her mother she loved her, and finally hung up the phone feeling both better and terribly, inexplicably sad.

  Until she’d felt the first movements inside her, she hadn’t realized how lonely she was. She had friends; Gray, especially, would do almost anything for her, she thought. But Mom was the only person in the world for whom she, Moira, came first. And…it wasn’t supposed to be that way. By her age, she should have found someone else to love her completely, so much that she never had to doubt it. Instead, she would turn the fierceness of her love on her child. She could see herself replicating her mother’s experience, her own experience, and it scared her to wonder if she hadn’t somehow made this happen because it was the only kind of family she knew. Maybe she wasn’t capable of loving a man and being loved by him, of forming a true family circle.

  She sat in the quiet of her house and thought, with a kind of chill but also the knowledge of her own strength, If that’s the way it is, so be it.

  There were worse fates. She was lucky enough to have the chance to be a mother. Mom had talked about joy, and she’d have that. The man-woman thing…so, it hadn’t happened. She’d have a rich, satisfying life anyway.

  To heck with Will Becker. Who needed him?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “YOU UNDERSTAND,” THE SMALL, balding man told Will, “that I will need to get permission from higher up for these plans.”

  The government office looked like those the world over, although the desktop computer was an antique by American standards. Will had had to wait for over an hour for admittance to see this official, who had then, of course, been extremely cordial. Now, twenty minutes later, they were getting down to the nitty-gritty.

  Which, as expected, was that this particular man couldn’t make that decision. Nobody, Will had long since discovered, ever admitted to being able to make a final decision about anything. The buck was always passed upward. No one ever wanted to look him in the eye and say, “Sorry, no can do.” Or even, “Sure, no problem.”

  He’d been a model of patience until these past few weeks. Become damn good, if he did say so, at these protracted negotiations, all seemingly friendly.

  Today, he seethed, even as he said with hard-won civility, “Indeed, these matters are complex. It’s my hope that a man in your high position can get the needed permissions. It would be unfortunate if we couldn’t proceed before the heavy rains. Building might not be possible until fall, if we don’t start soon.”

  Yes, yes, summer was not the season to build, indeed it was not. Ten minutes of amiable, time-killing conversation later, Will escaped.

  Just for the day, he was in Mutare, Zimbabwe’s fourth largest city and very close to the Mozambique border. Also European in looks, Mutare was beautiful, surrounded on all sides by mountains, green on the slopes and crowned by tumbles of granite. He was working toward building two clinics in the area, one to the south in the rich, agricultural valley below the Vumba Mountains, one not far north in the Nyanga region. Yesterday he’d taken the time to wander the ancient remains of Nyangwe Fort, a stone enclosure built of granite blocks and slabs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Peruvian Andes. He’d driven through the Nyanga Mountain National Park and seen tumbling rivers and wildlife.

  And all he could think about was Moira. He’d been back in Zimbabwe for four weeks, during which time she’d sent exactly three emails letting him know that she was fine and commenting pleasantly on the humorous stories he’d shared of his adventures. The tone of her missives enraged Will, even though he knew damn well he didn’t have a right to expect anything different.

  She was now seven months along. He’d clos
e his eyes and picture her pressing a hand to her lower back, or climbing awkwardly onto that exam table. He saw her sitting in her car, not looking at him, tears thick in her voice as she told him to get lost.

  Will had emailed Clay last week and asked him to check on her. She’d probably be ticked, but he didn’t care. He’d noticed an internet café earlier, and now decided he could walk to it rather than move his truck. A row of red blooming poinciana trees arched overhead, and he passed pedestrians: men in business suits, some teenage boys with a scrawny dog, a pair of women in bright colored western sundresses. Both women had babies slung in equally bright slings on their backs, while one balanced a full duffel bag on her head, the other a tote bag topped with a bulging white plastic grocery sack. Their arms were free, their gaits graceful despite the burdens. Their burst of chatter didn’t register as words with him; although his Shona became more fluent by the day, he still had to concentrate and hope the speaker talked slowly.

  He bought a tea in the café and waited for a computer to become available, then waited longer to get online and finally for his email to load. He immediately sought Moira’s email address; nothing. But Clay had replied.

  I met your Moira. Damn it, Will! She wasn’t in the office, but a man was. Gray Van Dusen, the partner. I had the feeling he was real glad to be able to send me to a new development out by Lake Stevens, built on a hill. Said he’d offered to go in her place and she wouldn’t let him.

  Will’s gut knotted. He wasn’t going to like any of this.

  I’ve gotta tell you, it’s done nothing but rain buckets all week. I’ve had to idle a couple of crews, if that gives you an idea. The house I found her at was down a lo-ong steep driveway. The ground is ankle deep in mud. I mean, sucking-your-feet deep. The walls were up, the inside rough. She’s in there, pissed about the grade of plywood, the foreman is yelling at her, she backs up and damn near falls over an exposed pipe. I flung myself forward to catch her. I don’t know much about pregnancy, but man, her belly is sticking out there. As imbalanced as she is, I don’t know how the hell she got down the driveway. I know how she got up, because I waited around to walk with her. Slowly, me hovering to grab her although I didn’t have to. She’s sturdy, I’ll give her that, but I had to boost her into the SUV she was driving, with it tilted off the road the way it was. She went on to a second house in the development, and I let her go when I saw that the driveway wasn’t as long or as steep, but, crap, she has no business being there in her shape.

  She was friendly enough, but looked surprised when I told her you were worried about her. I half expected her to say, “Will who?”

  So okay. I checked. She’s alive, maybe not big as a house but holy shit she’s getting there, and apparently not willing to cut herself any slack because of it.

  Damn, I wish you hadn’t sent me.

  Clay

  Will felt sick. What was she thinking? But he knew—what she was thinking was that she had to be independent. She couldn’t start letting herself lean on her partner because she might keep leaning. She wouldn’t take any more help than absolutely necessary, because she didn’t feel entitled to it.

  Didn’t she believe that any of them cared?

  He closed the program without reading any of the other messages. He stood and walked out, started down the street toward his Datsun, otherwise oblivious to his surroundings and passersby. He churned inside: stomach, mind, heart. With ruthless honesty, Will admitted to himself that he’d wanted Clay to say, “Yeah, we met. Nice lady, she seems to be doing great.” His anxiety would be quieted, if temporarily. He’d be able to keep justifying having left her.

  Left? Abandoned. That’s what he’d done. Will reached his pickup and laid both hands flat on the rusting roof, bowing his head and surprised to discover he was panting. No, they hadn’t had a relationship, not really; he hadn’t promised her anything, she didn’t expect anything of him. But no matter how it happened, she was carrying his baby, and he had goddamn abandoned her to do it alone. He’d heard the heartbeat, felt his child move beneath the hand he’d spread over the firm swell of Moira’s belly. He’d seen fear on her face and taken it as a ticket to go. Nope, she didn’t need or want him.

  But she did, whether she knew it or not. And while the commitment he’d made here could be fulfilled by someone else, the one he owed her couldn’t be.

  Will was scared as he hadn’t been since Sophie fell off the monkey bars during recess at school and remained unconscious for three terrifying hours. He had the sudden, unreasoning conviction that Moira would fall, that she’d lose the baby if she kept plodding on alone. Maybe just as bad, he couldn’t imagine that she’d ever believe in any man again. The scumbag hadn’t dealt the deathblow; Will had. And yeah, he knew that was irrational, too, but he still believed it.

  There might be a blurry gray area between right and wrong, something like the eternal drizzle of a November back home, but he wasn’t standing in it. Will knew what was right, and he knew he’d been wrong.

  No, he didn’t love Moira Cullen. He didn’t know her well enough to feel anything like that for her. But the possibility had been there from the moment he first saw her in that ballroom, dancing with another man. There was a reason he hadn’t been able to forget her, even before he learned she was pregnant.

  Will straightened at last, clearheaded for the first time in months. His choice made, he wished he could head straight to Harare this minute, but it was too late in the day for the drive over mountainous country. He’d find a room here instead of going back to Nyanga as he’d intended. Tomorrow morning, Harare. He could be home in the U.S. within the week.

  Whether his redhead liked it or not, she’d have him beside her as long as she needed him.

  Because he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t there.

  “NO, I’M GREAT, CLAY.” Moira managed a chuckle into the phone. “I’m pregnant, not disabled.” She was trying, damn, she was trying, not to sound sharp, but she was getting awfully tired of everyone fussing. For Will to have sicced his brother on her was the last straw.

  “I just don’t like the idea of you taking a tumble,” he said. For the second time. “That driveway was steep and slick.”

  Yes, it was. And, unfortunately, he’d seen her struggle up it. By now he’d probably reported back to his big brother, who would likely then send his other brother to check on her, too, and maybe his sister and an aunt and who knew who else. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t already have Gray on her case.

  “You can reassure Will,” she said, “that I’ll be careful. I have every intention of cutting back on anything physical these last couple of months. Okay?”

  Eventually she had him soothed. She was just banging the phone down when the office door opened and Gray walked in. Her glower honed in on him and had him pausing.

  “Problem?”

  “I’m mad at you all over again. I didn’t need another nursemaid.”

  He grinned. She’d torn a layer of skin off him last week because he’d had the nerve to tell Becker’s brother where to find her. “That was Clay Becker on the phone?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good. Seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Seemed is the word for it. Neither of us knows him. I don’t want to know him. I resent Will making him come here. I’ve told Will repeatedly that I’m fine, and he refuses to believe me.” She was shouting, Moira realized in surprise. She never shouted. But frustration and, yes, fear had swelled in her chest until she felt like she could burst with it.

  She didn’t want to admit that Gray might be right, that Will’s brother might be right, and that she shouldn’t have gone out to Lake View Heights last week. It was her job. What good was she if she couldn’t do the follow-up work on her own plans?

  But she’d been scared when she parked and walked to the top of that damn driveway, when she’d teetered there on the edge of the drop-off and wondered how she could get down. She’d felt a sharp kick in her belly, as though her anxiety had awakened
the baby, and she’d gulped as she took the first couple of steps, figuring out how her ungainly weight should be balanced over feet that were trying to skid out from under her despite the deep tread of her work boots.

  Maybe next time she’d accept Gray’s offer to go in her stead. But how could he do that very often and keep up with his own schedule? They were both hoping he could hang on until his term of office expired in January. It was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to run for reelection, but if he had to quit early because of her, she didn’t know how she could live with it.

  Gray dropped his briefcase on his desk and strolled over to hers, where he half sat on a corner she kept clear for him. Smiling, he said, “You’re a stubborn woman, Moira Cullen. Must go with the red hair.” He reached out and fingered an escaped curl.

  She slapped his hand. “That’s a stereotype.”

  His smile widened. “Maybe.”

  “Once upon a time, a woman would work in the fields until the baby dropped out, then sling it on her back and keep working.”

  “Now, why do I suspect that’s apocryphal? Probably no more true than claiming all redheads have tempers and a tendency to dig in their heels.”

  She felt like tearing at her hair. “I have two more months to go. What do you suggest I do, take a lot of bubble baths and watch soap operas?” Moira let out an annoyed puff of air. “No, forget the bubble baths. I’m not allowed to take a hot one, and who wants a tepid bath?”

  Gray listened to her indignation with clear amusement, but his gray eyes held a glint she recognized as serious. “Will is right to worry about you,” he said bluntly. “Nobody has suggested you sit around and watch Days of Our Lives. All I’m asking is that you use some common sense.”

  Interestingly, his voice had begun to rise there toward the end. What temper Gray had most often came out in quiet, steely orders.

  “Men,” she muttered.