by Joan Kilby
“You haven’t had any problems with it?”
“No.”
“Okay. Undress from the waist down and hop up on the bed beneath the sheet.” Natalie drew the curtains. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
On the wall next to the bed was a poster depicting the cross-section of a woman twelve weeks’ pregnant. Lexie studied it as she undressed even though she knew by heart that at that stage of development the toes and fingers were formed, the fingernails were beginning to grow and, although the mother couldn’t feel it, the baby was kicking his tiny legs and clenching and unclenching his fists.
She set her folded clothes on the chair and lay beneath the sheet. “I’m ready.”
Natalie pulled back the curtain, her manner brisk. She drew on a pair of gloves, got Lexie to position her legs. “I’m going to do an internal examination. It might feel a bit uncomfortable. Just try to relax.” After a few minutes of gentle probing she said, “Have you felt the strings of your IUD lately?”
“I don’t take much notice of it. Sometimes they get stuck inside.”
“When did you say your last period was?”
“I can’t remember. It’s been a while. I must be due for one.”
“That’s odd.” Natalie tilted her face up to the ceiling as she gently probed farther.
Lexie breathed slow, calming breaths, taking herself to the bottom of the still pond.
“I can’t locate the strings at all.” Natalie pulled the gooseneck lamp down and inserted the speculum. She worked in silence for a few more minutes. Then she removed the instrument, pushed away the lamp and pulled off her disposable gloves.
“What is it?” Lexie said. “Is everything all right?”
Natalie moved to the supply cabinet and dropped her instruments in disinfectant. “Your IUD must have fallen out. It can happen without a woman even noticing.”
Lexie propped herself up on her elbows. “H-how long?”
“It’s impossible to tell.” Natalie returned to the bedside and folded her small hands over her dark pants. “But by the looks of things, I’d say at least four weeks.”
Lexie flopped back down and closed her eyes. “I—I’ve been sexually active.”
“I thought you might have,” Natalie said.
Lexie’s eyes snapped open. She gripped the sheet between her fingers, crushing it. “What do you mean?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Then she groaned. Of all the stupid things—
“I take it this isn’t a happy discovery.” Natalie reached for Lexie’s hand. “Are you in a relationship?”
Lexie shook her head. What was she going to do?
“Do you know who the father is?” Natalie probed gently.
“Yes.” She clenched her teeth as Rafe’s image flashed before her. “But he’s only twenty-six. He’s got plans for his life that don’t include children. He doesn’t even like kids.”
“You’ll need to tell him,” Natalie counseled, still holding Lexie’s hand. “But if you don’t want to carry the baby to term you have the option to—”
“No.” Lexie lurched to a sitting position, tugging her hand free. “I will not abort this baby.”
Natalie’s brown eyes widened slightly. “I can see you feel strongly. Is there anything you want to talk about? As a doctor or—” her voice softened “—as a friend.”
Lexie leaned back on the pillow. “No. But thank you.”
“There’s also adoption,” Natalie suggested. “You wouldn’t have any trouble finding a good home for your child.”
“I couldn’t give my baby away.” Just the thought of someone else bringing up her little boy or girl was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But then, tears were always close to the surface these days. At least now she knew the cause was probably hormones.
“Many women nowadays bring up children on their own,” Natalie said. “I’ve gathered from things you’ve told me in the past that you love children. Maybe you can come to see this in a positive light.”
“I do love children but—” She just didn’t deserve to have one. “It’s…complicated.” Lexie hiccupped on a sob.
Natalie patted her hand and rose to draw the curtain. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
Lexie managed a smile.
But she knew in her heart that Natalie was wrong.
RAFE’S RUBBER-SOLED SHOES sounded dully on the wooden wharf at Mordialloc’s tidal inlet, half an hour up the coast road from Summerside. Palm trees cast long thin shadows. Waves lapped at the pilings and the smell of salt and diesel came up from the oily water below.
A heat wave had thrown them back into summer and above the water the air shimmered. His shirt was sticking to him as he wiped his forehead, searching out the fishing boat for sale.
Ah, there it was, at the end of the pontoon. The For Sale sign was propped in the port of the main cabin. The vessel was fifty feet long, painted white with an aqua-blue stripe below the gunnel, and a flying bridge.
It looked perfect, big enough to handle a weekend charter chasing tuna and mackerel on the open ocean. But small enough to take day fishers out on the bay to catch flathead and snapper. He could see himself sitting on his deck at the end of the day with a beer, watching the sun set over the water. At night, the waves lapping at the hull would lull him to sleep.
He figured he needed to work at the tax office another year. He would run fishing charters on weekends and build his business up before he was ready to take the plunge and fish full-time.
A stocky, weathered man wearing a navy fisherman’s cap over his gray hair came out of the cabin onto the deck. His faded blue T-shirt hung untucked. “G’day, mate. You looking for something?”
“Are you the owner?” Rafe walked down the narrow pontoon between berths and extended a hand. “I called this morning. Rafe Ellersley.”
“Dom Costopolous.” He shook Rafe’s hand then gestured to the mounting block on the wharf. “Come aboard. Welcome.”
Rafe climbed up and over the rail onto the large flat back deck. He noted the coolers, hoses for washing, the twin diesel engines, then glanced back to Dom, who regarded him with piercing black eyes.
“What do you think?” Dom said. “She’s a beautiful boat.”
Rafe kept his poker face in place. Thank goodness Dom couldn’t see how fast his heart was beating. Over the past two weekends he’d looked at three other boats. This one was fifteen years old and a bit worn, but it was in the best condition, by far. With a new paint job and covers on the seating, it would be just fine.
“Can I take a look inside?”
“Of course.” Dom smiled and gestured. “Be my guest.”
They stepped over the threshold into the main cabin. Rafe took in the eating area, the galley and a settee. Off to his left were tucked a couple of bunks. “How many does it sleep?”
“Eight comfortably. Ten in a pinch.” He opened a narrow door. “In here’s the head, complete with a shower. The handle on the toilet is a bit sticky but it works. Everything works.” Wheezing a little, he moved on. “More bunks up forward. Back here’s the captain’s cabin. Come, now we go to the flying bridge.”
Dom led the way back outside and up the gangway to the control center of the boat. There was radar, depth sounder, fish finder…everything Rafe was looking for.
“Did you use it as a fishing charter?” Rafe asked.
“Yep.” Dom took a blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose. “I’m too old now to fish. I want to sit in my backyard and drink wine and play with my grandchildren. My sons, they’re not interested.” He shrugged, palms upraised. “What are you going to do?”
“How old are the engines?” Rafe asked. “Is the servicing up-to-date?”
“Practically brand new,” Dom told him. “Two years ago I replaced both of them. I’ve got all the service records. I’ll show you later. Right now we’ll take her for a spin. Okay?”
Rafe grinned. “
You bet.”
With the turn of a key, Dom started the powerful engines. Rafe felt the throb of the motor right through his breastbone.
“You want to cast off?” Dom said.
“Sure.” Rafe descended to the deck, sliding both hands down the handrails, his shoes barely touching the rungs of the gangway. He leaped onto the dock, lifted the thick looped lines off the bollards and sprang aboard as Dom slowly pulled away.
Back on the flying bridge Dom was chewing a toothpick between his back molars. “It’s not easy to get a permanent berth in the marina, eh? If you buy the boat, you can take over the lease.”
Rafe nodded noncommittally as Dom chugged slowly through the marina’s narrow waterway lined with sailboats and fishing boats. They passed beneath the bridge into the mouth of Mordialloc harbor.
On the depth sounder Dom pointed out the shifting bar of sand at the entrance. “You gotta look out for the current on the ebbing tide.” He pushed the throttle forward, increasing speed as they headed into open water. “You buy my boat, I’ll show you the best fishing spots in the whole bay.”
Rafe just smiled and shrugged. He’d believe that if it happened. But if the old geezer was on the level…
When they were clear of small craft traffic Dom glanced at Rafe. “You wanna take the wheel, see how she handles?”
Standing with his feet planted wide, Rafe opened the boat right up. He could feel the thrum of the motor. The wind blew his hair off his face. Gulls wheeled up and away from them. His grin spread till his cheeks felt sore. So much for a poker face. He turned the boat in a wide circle, the hull bouncing over the choppy waves. On the shore people were sunbathing and swimming in the shallows.
After a good twenty minutes putting the boat through its paces, Dom guided the fishing vessel into the marina and up to the dock. Rafe jumped off and hauled on the lines, pulling the boat in close before tying it off on the bollards.
Back on board, Dom brought all the documentation associated with the vessel to the table in the main cabin. “You look,” he said, showing Rafe the engine specifications and maintenance records. “Then we talk.”
Rafe studied the papers. Everything seemed to be in order. He glanced up at the older man. “It’s more than I wanted to pay. Are you willing to negotiate?”
Dom gave an elaborate shrug. “Maybe I can drop a little. But not much.”
Despite his easygoing nature, the fisherman drove a hard bargain. Rafe had to be cagey, too. He’d been to the bank and they were willing to lend him only so much money. He’d cashed in his term deposits to raise the money for the down payment.
After going back and forth, Rafe finally said, “I want the boat.” He named a figure. “That is what I can spend.”
Dom planted his elbows on the table, his jaw out-thrust as he pondered the matter. He named another figure. They went back and forth a few more times.
Finally Rafe leaned back. “That’s my last offer. I can’t do any more.”
Dom nodded, looked up at Rafe, and then held out a callused hand. “It’s a deal.”
Grinning, Rafe pumped his hand. “Anytime you want, you can come fishing with me.”
“We drink to that!” Dom slapped the table. He went to the galley and brought out a bottle of ouzo and two small glasses. He poured them each a shot. Holding his aloft, he said, “To the good fishing.”
“To fishing!” Rafe clinked glasses and drank. The sharp licorice-flavored liqueur burned down his throat.
Dom immediately poured another shot. He pushed aside the engine maintenance records and brought out a navigation chart of the waters of Port Phillip Bay. With a gleaming smile he said, “Now, I’ll show you my secret fishing places.”
LEXIE LEAFED through her mail as she walked from her front gate up the path to her door. It was the third day of an unseasonable heat wave and her steps were slow. Cicadas buzzed in the gardenia bushes lining the path.
Bills, flyers, a letter from her local MP addressed to Householder. A square purple envelope with an American stamp promised to be a late birthday card from her cousin living in California.
A business-size envelope with the Australian Taxation Office logo made her stop where she was in the blazing sun, her heart palpitating in dread…and anticipation. Here it was, at last. She entered the relative cool of the house, kicked off her flip-flops and went into the living room. On the couch, Yang raised his head, blinking sleepily, and stretched out a paw.
Sitting next to him, Lexie left the rest of the mail in her lap while she turned the tax office envelope over. No handwritten return address, nothing to suggest Rafe had sent the letter. She bit her lip, wondering if he’d enclosed a personal note.
She pressed a hand to her flat stomach. A baby.
She hadn’t had time to fully process the wonder of it. She didn’t deserve another baby. And yet a child was growing inside her. Despite what had happened twenty-one years ago, despite her financial problems and her lack of a partner, despite the fact that she could barely look after herself let alone a child…
She was glad.
But she did have financial problems. Serious problems. How could she paint and take care of a child? Sally, in the first months after Chloe was born, had had trouble just finding a few minutes to shower and wash her hair. How would Lexie find the time and concentration necessary to paint? Hetty might help out but she had her own life. Lexie had argued with her father that Hetty deserved time to pursue her interest in yoga and meditation. It wouldn’t be fair then for her to foist babysitting on her mother.
If she went back to teaching she could afford child-care. But she’d have to say goodbye to her dream of being a painter. And what good was having a child if she never saw him? Or her?
Other women coped with these issues. She would, too.
She still had to tell Rafe. The thought filled her with dread. He was going to run a mile—from a woman twelve years older than himself, from a baby he didn’t want.
Lexie didn’t have to tell him right away. Let herself get used to the idea first, figure out how she was going to handle it.
She glanced at the tax office envelope again. It was going to be bad news. She didn’t want to read it before she’d finished painting for the day.
Tossing the letter onto the side table along with the flyers, she opened the purple envelope and pulled out a cartoon birthday card. It showed a woman who was mutton dressed as lamb blowing out about a hundred candles.
Lexie burst into tears.
So much for staying positive until she finished painting. She might as well get all the bad stuff over with at once. Choking back sobs, she picked up the letter from the tax office, her hand shaking. Before she could lose her courage, she opened it, heart racing.
She bypassed the covering letter to look for the summary of her income tax return. Rafe had averaged it over five years. Including interest, the amount owing was $21,390.
Her heart sank. It was worse than he’d said it would be. Then she recalled he’d said something about a fine. She turned the page and what she found made her feel ill.
$10,000.
She sank onto the couch, the letter falling from her trembling fingers. Ten thousand dollars in penalties added to the twenty-one thousand in tax added up to…
An impossible amount of money for her to pay.
Her mind scrabbled for solutions. Her family would help her. But no, they couldn’t. Jack had just started a business manufacturing his GPS for small aircraft. Renita had taken out a second mortgage on her house to help Brett refurbish his fitness center. Her mother and father were on a fixed income. She couldn’t ask them to advance her a huge sum which she had no guarantee of being able to pay back.
She would have to sell her house. But that would mean leaving her studio. How would she paint? How would she raise her baby?
Rafe would pay child support. He had to by law. Lexie had only known him a week. She had no idea how he’d react in this situation. He hadn’t asked to be a father. But then, she
hadn’t asked to be a mother.
But all that was beside the point. Child support wouldn’t kick in until the baby was born. And Rafe would be helping pay for the baby’s needs, not hers.
Lexie wrapped her arms around her waist. She couldn’t breathe. How could the fine be so much?
Then she noticed a small piece of notepaper on the couch that must’ve fallen out. Rafe’s strong slanting handwriting jumped up at her.
Lexie, The government is cracking down in this election year, making examples of tax evaders. I was given no choice but to issue the maximum fine. Sorry. Rafe.
Sorry? He was sorry? How did he think she felt?
Lexie jumped to her feet. How did he think she was going to come up with thirty-one thousand dollars?
She spun back to the couch and snatched up the letter, looking for the letterhead and the phone number. She would call him. Surely there was some citizen’s right of appeal.
She reached for her phone but halfway through punching the number in, she stopped. It was too easy to put someone off over the phone. She’d have better luck going to his office to speak to him in person.
Yes, she would see him in person. Lexie dropped her head in her hands. And after they worked out how she was going to pay her fine, she would tell him about the baby.
CHAPTER NINE
RAFE STEPPED OFF the elevator, swinging a deli bag with his cheeseburger inside, and whistling a tune. Thank God it was Friday. Tomorrow he would head to Mordialloc and take possession of his boat. He’d been carrying the photo of it in his pocket all week, showing it to everyone.
“Hey, Pat. How’s it going?” Rafe breezed past the trim, forty-something brunette at reception.
“Larry wants to see you in his office,” Pat said. Her next words stopped Rafe in his tracks. “And you’re to bring Lexie Thatcher’s file.”
Oh, hell. Two weeks had passed since he’d filed her return. The letter had gone out a couple of days ago. Rafe had thought he was home free.
“Sure. Thanks, Pat.” He made his way more slowly to his desk and riffled in his filing cabinet for Lexie’s folder.
