by Joan Kilby
Then she remembered that the last time she’d seen him she’d cried.
His eyes went to her painting. “I like it,” he said, nodding to the easel. “The background was a stroke of genius.”
She didn’t need his praise, didn’t need anything from him. “It’s done. That’s all I care about. Now I just need to ship it.”
He pushed off the door frame, jammed his hands in his back pockets. “Can you spare a few minutes? We need to talk,” he repeated. “About the baby.”
Lexie’s gaze dropped to his sock feet. Her defenses nearly crumbled. He didn’t want to be a father but he’d remembered to take off his shoes in her house. “Just let me clean up.”
She slotted her used brushes into the jar of turpentine and wiped her stained fingers with a turps-soaked rag. Then she pulled off her smeared painting shirt and threw it over her stool.
Rafe waited at the door for her to precede him. They walked back to the house across the grass, three feet separating them. Lexie put the kettle on automatically.
“I don’t want anything to drink, thanks,” Rafe said.
“I do.” Lexie opened a tea canister and plunked a herbal teabag in a cup. She rarely drank hard liquor, and of course she wouldn’t now that she was pregnant. But right this minute she wished she had a shot of scotch. “You should have called first.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d see me.” He paused. “How are you?”
She pushed back her hair, her chin high. “Fine. My family has been great. Very supportive.”
He flinched, telling her that her shot had hit home.
“You look like hell,” she added, wanting to wound him.
His hand went automatically to his belly. “I’m fine.”
Fine? She didn’t think so. He needed a haircut and his stomach was obviously still hurting him. She got out another cup and dug around for a peppermint teabag. The silence stretched out, broken by the quiet roar of the water in the kettle as it heated.
Lexie turned away from him to tidy the counter Hetty had already cleaned. Every particle of her wanted to go into his arms, hear him whisper in her ear that everything was going to be okay.
“How’s your mother?” Rafe asked. “Has she found another sex therapist?”
Lexie winced.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was supposed to be funny.”
“It wasn’t.” They were both wound up tight. “She and Dad are working on their problems.”
“I saw my folks on the weekend,” Rafe said.
“Where do they live again?” The mundane conversation felt surreal as they waited for the water to boil.
“Horsham, out in the Western District.”
“I know where Horsham is.” She poured water into the cups and handed him one. “I guess your dad is happy you got your boat.”
“Yeah, he’s happy about that.” Rafe was looking down at his tea as though he didn’t know what it was.
“Come into the living room.” Lexie started for the couch then changed her mind and went to the dining table. She sat on the window side and gestured to the chair opposite.
Negotiating positions.
He’d made no attempt to touch her. And he’d better not. This visit of his was strictly business.
Rafe put his cup down and pulled out his wallet. He took a folded slip of paper and set it in front of her. “This is what I can afford at this time. I haven’t checked what I owe by law. We can work that out later.”
Lexie was tempted to snatch the check and run to the bank as fast as she could. Instead she pushed it back across the polished wood. “You don’t have to pay support until the baby’s born.”
“Just take it. You need it.”
Her curiosity got the better of her and she flipped the check over to read the amount—$5,000.
“How can you afford this?” she asked dully. “Didn’t you just spend all your money on a boat?”
“Never mind that.” He wrapped his hands around his china mug. “Make sure you put it in the bank,” he added.
“I told you, I don’t want your money.” His fingers against the delicate china were long and well shaped; strong. She thought of her drawings…
“It’s for the baby,” he said, his jaw tight.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “It’s for your conscience.” Even as she told herself she despised him, she recalled how he’d eaten her watery two-minute noodles and pretended they were delicious.
“If you need to use it for…your own expenses, that’s okay, too,” he added.
“What happened with your boss after I left?” She had trouble meeting his gaze. “Were you fired?”
“I resigned first.”
Her eyes widened. “But I thought you needed the job…”
“And by the way, thanks for choosing such an opportune moment to make your announcement. You have a real flair for drama.”
She dropped her gaze—her timing had been unfair. But beneath the surface her humiliation burned. She was too old for him to have a relationship with but not to screw.
Rafe leaned forward. “Look, I have to ask you something. Please understand I’m not trying to offend or accuse you. But I need to know—” He broke off, apparently trying to word the question properly. “The thing is, we were only together a week. You don’t know how long your IUD was missing.”
It dawned on her what he was getting at. Her chest tightened painfully. She let go of her rattling cup and laid her trembling hands flat on the table, steadying herself. “I do know who I’ve slept with. And when. There’s been no one else for six months.” She leveled her gaze at him. “Like it or not, the baby is yours. However,” she added coldly, “when the baby is born we can do a paternity test.”
“Agreed. And if it turns out you’re right, here’s what I propose—” He broke off with a grimace. “Let me rephrase that. I provide material support—money—and you raise the child.”
“I’ll allow you as much access as you want—”
“I don’t want it.” His expression hardened. “I won’t be a father to the kid. I won’t take it on the weekends or holidays. I won’t teach little Jimmy to ride a bike or chauffeur little Julie to ballet class. I won’t be part of his or her life.”
She felt a spurt of anger. Deep down she’d hoped he would come around once he’d had time to get used to the idea of being a father. Not to marry her because she didn’t want that, but to be a father to their child.
“I’m not asking for anything for myself,” she said. “But how can you turn your back on your own flesh and blood?”
“I don’t want this baby. I wouldn’t be a good father.” Shadows shifted in his dark eyes. “But I don’t want to be a bad one, either. I don’t want the kid to look at me and see resentment staring back at him.”
Lexie stared at him, not comprehending how anyone could feel that way. “You don’t give yourself much credit.”
“You see, the thing is, I already resent it.” Rafe’s grip on his cup tightened, whitening the pads of his fingertips. “It’s not the baby’s fault he was conceived. But I don’t have a job. Soon I’ll have no home. I’ve bills to pay, responsibilities coming out of my yin yang.”
“Yin yang,” she said with a scoffing laugh. “Do you even know what that term means?”
“Oh, God. Not this New Age crap.” He took a sip of his peppermint tea and made a face.
“Opposites,” she told him even though he hadn’t asked. “Light and dark. Hot and cold. Soft and hard. Morning and night….”
“Like us.” Rafe dragged a hand over his face, then settled his chin in his palm. “We’re opposites.”
“We—” She broke off. A cramp caught her by surprise. She clutched her abdomen with both hands.
“What’s wrong?” he said, sitting up straighter.
“I don’t know.” Another stabbing pain doubled her over.
“Are you…? What do you call it—miscarrying?” He got to his feet and started around the table toward her.
“What?” She couldn’t believe he’d leaped so quickly to that conclusion. Had that really been a note of hope she’d heard in his voice? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? That would solve your problem.”
“No, I meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant.” Bent at the waist, she backed away from him. “Get out of my house.”
He pulled his phone out. “I’ll call Emergency.”
But even as he was punching in numbers, the cramp eased off. Slowly Lexie straightened. Waited another few seconds. “Never mind. It’s gone. The pain is gone.”
Rafe hesitated then clicked off his phone. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Gathering up their cups, she glared at him. “And now you can leave.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
LEXIE HELD HERSELF together until Rafe was gone. Trembling, she eased herself onto the couch and called the clinic.
“Come in right away,” Bev, the receptionist, said when Lexie explained the situation. “Natalie will squeeze you in between patients. Is there any bleeding?”
“I…I had some spotting a week or so ago. Hang on.” Lexie pulled up her skirt and checked. “Yes, I’m bleeding.” A tremor rocked her voice. “Am I going to miscarry?”
“Dr. Higgins will be able to answer your questions,” Bev said. “Just come in as soon as you can.”
Lexie hung up and grabbed her purse. She slipped on her sandals. Then stopped dead.
The portrait. She still had to frame and crate it.
For a moment she wavered. The pain was gone….
No. What was she thinking? Spotting, cramps. She had to get checked out by the doctor.
Without any more delay she drove to the clinic. Bev called the nurse, who ushered Lexie into an empty examination room to lie down while she waited for Natalie.
Natalie came through the door in dark pants and a V-neck sweater. “How are you doing?” She slid her fingers around Lexie’s wrist to check her pulse. While Lexie filled her in on what had been happening in halting words. Natalie released her wrist and squeezed her shoulder. “Get undressed and we’ll see what’s going on.”
Lexie did as requested, checking her underwear, relieved to see there was no fresh blood. She told Natalie that when the doctor returned to do the examination.
Natalie confirmed what Sienna had told her previously and reassured her that it didn’t necessarily mean she was miscarrying. “But I want you to take it easy for the next few days. Get plenty of rest. Lying down improves the blood flow to the uterus and helps the placenta attach itself more firmly.”
Lexie gripped the sheet. “I don’t have time to rest.”
Natalie stripped off her latex gloves and disposed of them in the bin. “You want to do everything possible to keep your baby, don’t you?”
“Of course I want to keep my baby.” A tear seeped from the outer corner of her eye.
“Everything will be fine,” Natalie reassured her, patting her arm. “Get dressed and we’ll talk some more.”
A few minutes later Lexie sat in the chair next to the doctor’s desk, twisting a tissue in her hands. Her breath hitched. “I—I’m not sure if this has anything to do with the cramping but it happened after I’d been on my feet painting for several hours.”
“As I said, it’s better if you rest,” Natalie told her. “But miscarriages generally aren’t caused by anything the mother does, or doesn’t do. Don’t blame yourself.”
“And then I was talking to the father,” Lexie went on. She heard what Natalie was saying but it was hard not to try to think of reasons this could be happening to her. “It was pretty stressful. He’s not interested in having a role in bringing up the baby. I’m going to be doing this on my own.”
“But you’re not alone,” Natalie assured her. “You’ve got your family. Do they know?”
“I told them. The reaction is…mixed. But you’re right, they are supportive.”
Natalie studied Lexie. “Your situation isn’t ideal but you’re usually so calm and upbeat. Is anything bothering you? Anything else you want to talk to me about?”
“I’m okay,” Lexie said with a small shrug. “Working too hard.”
Natalie hesitated then said gently, “This isn’t your first pregnancy, is it?” She waited. Lexie didn’t reply. “I can tell, you know. Do you want to talk about it?”
Lexie reached for another tissue. No, she didn’t want to talk about it.
But…Natalie was her doctor. And if the information could help this baby… “I—I had an abortion when I was seventeen.”
“How far along were you?”
“Twelve weeks,” she said in a small voice.
Natalie glanced at her with compassion. “Lexie, I’m not judging you. Twelve weeks is a little late but lots of young girls don’t even realize they’re pregnant at first.”
Lexie didn’t reply to that. “Are you sure my baby is all right?”
“To give you peace of mind I’ll order a sonogram.” Natalie reached for a blank request form and scrawled a few words. “Get this done as soon as possible. The sonographer can check the placenta attachment. When you see your baby’s heartbeat you’ll feel a lot better.”
RAFE WAS HEADING east on the freeway, halfway home to Sassafras when his conscience started bothering him. He shouldn’t have left Lexie like that, even if she’d ordered him to go.
He may not care about the baby, but she did.
She had family and friends, he told himself.
But he’d been there when she’d felt the cramping.
Rafe had his phone connected to the hands-free car set and Lexie’s number on speed dial. He hit a few
buttons and waited while it rang. No answer. Could she have gone to the hospital? He didn’t know a damn thing about pregnancy. What if the pain turned out to be serious?
And then there was her Archibald Prize portrait. She’d talked about crating it and having it shipped to Sydney. It would be just like her to try to lift a heavy framed canvas and strain a gasket.
Face it, he wasn’t going to feel good until he made certain she was all right. He put on his indicator and took the next exit, crossed the overpass and got back on the freeway heading south again.
Now he felt a sense of urgency. The speedometer climbed to the maximum speed limit and beyond. Where would she be? He didn’t have her brother or sister’s phone numbers. Anyway, they’d be at work—
The doctor. If Lexie was worried she would have gone to the clinic to get checked out.
Rafe got the number of the Summerside Medical Clinic from directory assistance and made the call. He explained the situation to the receptionist, a woman named Bev.
“Lexie was in to see Dr. Higgins a short time ago,” Bev admitted cautiously. “She’s not here now.”
Relief and fear washed over Rafe simultaneously. “Is she all right? Is her baby okay?”
“I can’t give out information about patients,” Bev said.
Rafe thumped the steering wheel. “I’m asking because…” Damn, this was hard to say. “My name is Rafe Ellersley. I’m the father.”
“Why didn’t you say so!” Bev’s manner became warmer. “When she left here she was going to get a sonogram in Frankston. I called ahead for her. They said they could squeeze her in at two o’clock.”
Rafe glanced at his watch. It was 1:45 p.m. If he didn’t hit any road construction or traffic accidents he could make it. He got the address of the diagnostic center from Bev. “Thanks. I’ll head straight there.”
Twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot. Instead of getting out of his car, he sat paralyzed with indecision.
Lexie might get the wrong idea if he went charging in there. Might think he’d changed his mind, that he was ready to act like a father.
To hell with it. He flung himself out of the car and slammed the door, locking it with the remote as he hurried inside. He found the ultrasound department and pushed through the frosted glass door. Lexie was sitting on the brown vi
nyl couch, drinking from a plastic cup.
She lowered the cup, her fingers indenting the soft plastic. “What are you doing here?”
He took a seat beside her. Stopped himself from touching her shoulder, her knee. “Are you okay?”
“I guess.” Her eyes were wide, frightened. “There was some bleeding.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” He felt awkward, not sure what he was doing here.
“My doctor isn’t too worried. But she thought I should get it checked out just to be sure.” She glanced at her watch. “I hope they hurry. They made me drink a gallon of water.”
The nurse, a middle-aged brunette in a pale green uniform, appeared in the doorway next to the reception desk. “Lexie Thatcher? You can come in now.”
Lexie rose, glancing back at him.
“Your partner can come in, too,” the nurse told her, smiling. “The dads love this.”
“He’s not—” She broke off, glancing at him in confusion. Because of course, he was the dad.
“I’ll wait out here,” Rafe said.
“Come on in,” the nurse encouraged him with a wave of her hand. “You’ll regret it afterward if you don’t see the first images of your baby.”
Rafe met Lexie’s gaze. She shrugged. Reluctantly he got up and followed her. The nurse led them to a small room dominated by a narrow bed and an ultrasound machine much like the one they’d used on his wrist when he’d injured it playing football.
He sat on a chair out of the way while Lexie lay down. Following instructions, she pulled up her top and unzipped her skirt, tugging it over her still nearly flat stomach to her hips.
Rafe eyed the dip of her waist, her smooth bare skin, and the gentle flare of her hips. He swallowed and glanced away. He didn’t have any right to look.
The sonographer, a slim dark-skinned woman in her thirties, came into the room. “Hi, I’m Celine.” She smiled as she squirted gel onto Lexie. “Is this your first pregnancy?”
“N-Y-yes,” Lexie said.
Rafe cocked his head at her slight hesitation.
“No,” she amended. “That is, I was pregnant once, years ago but…it didn’t go to term.”
