As Needed

by Thea Dawson

  He could barely see her face, but he could picture her bright eyes and the dimple in her cheek. “It’s not the middle of the night, silly,” she replied. “It’s not even dinner time. Come on. Just in case you’re about to pass out from a concussion, I’d really like to get you inside.” She tugged on his arm.

  He wasn’t worried. The cold air had soothed the ache in his cheek, and his head felt clear—clearer than it had in weeks, actually.

  “I’m keeping her,” he replied.

  Rachel’s head snapped to face him.

  “Nora,” he said, in case he wasn’t making himself clear. “No adoption. I’m keeping her.” Maybe he was being selfish, but when the panic had hit him, the icy terror that Nora hadn’t survived the car accident, with it had come the knowledge that she was his, his to protect and his to love.

  In response, Rachel wrapped her arms clumsily around him, snugging Nora in between the two of them. He could feel her warm breath on his neck.

  “Just promise me you’ll help me?” he asked.

  She nodded against his shoulder. “Of course. I told you, Nora’s my BFF. Now come on, I need to get both of you warm and dry.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand until they reached the doors of the inn.

  17

  The B&B was an old Victorian house that had been refurbished with every modern convenience. The hostess fussed over them, showing them to a small suite and promising them a good dinner.

  “Your timing was good, at least,” she told them. “We weren’t expecting anyone tonight, and we’d been planning to stay at my daughter’s house until later. We thought we’d better get home before the roads got bad, though, and I’m so glad we did.”

  She’d no sooner shut the door to their room behind her than she was back, bearing a portable infant crib and a first aid kit so that Rachel could continue to fuss over Bryce’s cheek.

  “Ouch!” He flinched as she dabbed on antiseptic lotion.

  “Big baby,” she scolded. They sat at a small table by a lamp. Nora, out of her snowsuit now, was sprawled in the middle of the queen-sized bed, trying and failing to roll over. “Hold still. You really should have a doctor look at this. You might need stitches.”

  “The butterfly bandages will do for now. I’m not going anywhere else tonight.” He gave her a sly glance. “Plus, I kind of like the attention.”

  Rachel snorted. “Well, I’m done, and I get the shower first. You’re on Nora duty. After that, I’m going to call my dad and get his opinion on whether we need to go to the emergency room.”

  Rachel disappeared into the attached bathroom with her purse. Bryce went to lie down beside Nora, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked down at his daughter.

  “You had your beauty sleep, and now you’re ready to party, aren’t you?” he asked, putting a hand on her tummy.

  Nora rolled her head toward the sound of his voice. She gurgled in agreement and kicked extra hard, her face breaking into a smile.

  He smiled back.

  Except for a brief interruption during dinner, when Bryce went out to meet the tow truck driver, it was an uneventful evening. The car was deemed drivable, with the caveat that they wait until the roads had been cleared before heading home, and get it fully checked out by a mechanic as soon as they got back to Haven Bay.

  After a hot dinner and a glass of wine in the living room in front of the large Christmas tree, they returned to their room, ready for bed.

  “I like this little crib.” Rachel examined the contraption carefully while Bryce held a sleepy Nora. Despite two naps, the eventful day topped off with the chilly walk to the B&B seemed to have worn her out. “Look, it folds up completely, and you can pull mosquito netting up over the top.” She demonstrated.

  Bryce chuckled. He’d just gotten out of the shower and was sitting on the bed with his back to the headboard, wearing only his boxer shorts and undershirt, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “She’ll outgrow it long before mosquito weather. But you’re right, something portable like this would be great.”

  Rachel glanced at him. Summertime … they were talking about the future now. “You’re really going to keep her?” she asked, still a little cautious that it had been the smack on the head—or cheek, whatever—talking in the field.

  He nodded. “I really am. That moment in the car when I didn’t hear her crying, and I thought—” He kept his gaze focused on the baby in his arms for a moment then cleared his throat. “The idea of not knowing where she is, or who she’s with, or if she’s okay … Maybe I’m being selfish, Rachel, but I just can’t live without knowing those things.”

  She crossed the room and went to snuggle next to him on the bed. “You’re not being selfish,” she told him. “You’re her dad. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.” She stroked Nora’s velvety head as the baby’s eyes got heavier and heavier. “Oh, I have something I need to tell you.”

  Concern flashed across his face. “Anything wrong? Is it your shoulder? Did you—”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I mean about Nora. Nora’s mother, Nora.”

  She told him what Vera had shared with her about the adult Nora’s desire for a baby. “She wasn’t a victim. Well, of cancer, I guess, but not of you. She wanted Nora, she wanted her on her own terms, and she planned for her.” Rachel cocked her head at Bryce. “So maybe you can stop feeling guilty?”

  He absorbed the news in silence, staring at the drowsy baby in his arms, then looked at her. “Thank you, Rachel. That … that helps a lot.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment, then Rachel sat up.

  “I forgot, I have a Christmas present for you! Or maybe it’s a belated Hanukkah present. I haven’t decided yet.”

  He smiled at the excitement in her eyes. “Either way, I’m intrigued. I have something for you too, but it’s back at my house. I think she’s almost asleep. Let me get her down, and then I want to see what it is.”

  Carefully, he stood up and laid Nora down in her crib. When she didn’t protest, he backed away carefully and returned to the bed. Rachel had already retrieved her purse from the table and was back on the bed, her legs curled up underneath her. She extracted a small gift bag from her purse and handed it to Bryce.

  “It’s nothing big,” she said modestly. “Just kind of a … keepsake.”

  He withdrew a handful of gift tissue and a small, well-padded package no wider than the palm of his hand. He unwrapped it to find a small, square silver picture frame.

  When he realized what the photo in it was, he let out a quiet chuckle. “When did you take this?”

  “That day you fell asleep with her on the couch at the office. You both looked so cute. I couldn’t resist.”

  His present for her—a colorful cashmere shawl and a pair of tickets to a Broadway show—was much more expensive but not nearly as personal. He’d make it up for next year, he promised himself. The thought was immediately followed by a rush of certainty that they’d still be together then, that he had an entire year to figure out the perfect present.

  He gazed at the photo in his hand. “I love it.”

  In the picture, Nora’s head rested against his chest, her face to the camera, her eyes closed, and her perfect cupid’s bow mouth open. His own face was tilted toward the camera, but not quite as much. Like her, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was partially open.

  He realized something for the first time. “You know, I think she looks like me.”

  Rachel leaned her head on his shoulder, admiring the photograph. “I hear it happens that way in families sometimes.”

  Epilogue

  He had a year to figure out the perfect present.

  A year in which Rachel quit working for him and found a job in the city as a production assistant for a documentary filmmaker. Bryce hired a pleasant, middle-aged woman named Marjorie to be his receptionist in her stead. She was more fun than Mrs. Willoughby and less distracting than Rachel, and they made a good team.

  A year in which V
era and Wilson sold their farm and moved into a retirement community, and Bryce, Rachel, and Nora made the drive up to see them at least once a month.

  A year in which Rachel nudged Bryce to talk to his mother more often, and she, Bryce, and Nora went to visit her in Florida, where she turned out to be a gratifyingly enthusiastic grandmother.

  A year in which Nora took her first steps, and Rachel and Bryce argued over whether her first word was “Rachel” (“Rah-rah!”) or “Dada.”

  By the time the Cohens’ annual Hanukkah party rolled around again, Nora was deemed old enough for a couple of closely supervised chocolate coins, and no one tried to set Rachel up with an eligible bachelor; her family assumed that it was no longer a matter of if she’d get married, but when.

  And then it was Christmas again.

  They spent the day with Wilson and Vera in their new home, a small but comfortable apartment with a workroom where Wilson could concentrate on woodworking without the stress of managing the farm. Her grandparents made much of Nora and her new-found ability to walk, which went hand-in-hand with a new-found delight in pulling ornaments off the Christmas tree in their living room. Fortunately, Wilson and Vera regarded this as a clear sign of giftedness. To Bryce’s dismay, they positively encouraged her vandalism.

  Bryce, Rachel, and Nora drove home in the late afternoon. It was cold but clear, and the sun was just setting when Bryce suddenly pulled over onto the side of the highway.

  Rachel frowned. “What are you doing? Something wrong with the car?”

  “Do you recognize where we are?”

  She looked around. “Is this where we slid into the ditch last year?” He nodded. “Feeling nostalgic for all that ice and drama?”

  “You could stay that.” He shut off the engine. “Give or take a few feet, this is exactly where I was when I realized I wanted you, me, and Nora to be a family.”

  A smile broke out across her face. “Aww. That’s so sweet.”

  Bryce undid his seatbelt. “I have a Christmas present for you.” He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve a small box.

  “Is it a ring?” she asked before he could get it out.

  He frowned. “You’re supposed to be surprised.”

  “I can be surprised.” She put a pair of mittened hands on the sides of her face. “OH MY GOD, YOU GOT ME A RING!”

  In the car seat behind them, Nora gave a gleeful, incoherent shout in response and clapped her pudgy hands together.

  Bryce conceded defeat and handed her the box, which she opened.

  “Oh, Bryce, it’s beautiful.” She wasn’t teasing anymore. Her eyes softened as she looked from the ring, up to him.

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s make it official. Will you be my wife and Nora’s mother?” he asked.

  She nodded, for once at a loss for words, and took off her left mitten.

  He took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger, watching with delight as she examined it in the light of the winter sunset.

  She sniffed and found her ability to talk again. “I have a present for you too. Sort of,” she added.

  “Sort of?” he asked, intrigued.

  “Well, I can’t give it to you yet … I guess you could say it’s on its way.”

  “When’s it going to get here?”

  She squinted thoughtfully at the roof of the car. “Probably around late July.”

  He looked closely at her. A smile was playing around the corners of her mouth, the kind of smile that said she was bursting with excitement and trying to hide it.

  It was contagious. He grinned at her. “This wouldn’t happen to be a sister or brother for Nora, would it?”

  She grinned at him, eyes dancing. “You were supposed to be surprised.”

  He leaned over the gearshift to pull her into a clumsy but very happy hug. “I’m thrilled, Rachel. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

  She laughed in his arms. “And you’ve made me the happiest woman, so I guess we’re even.”

  He pulled away to look at her. “You think it’s a boy or a girl?”

  She shrugged. “One of the two. Unless it’s twins and we get one of each.” She smiled at him. “Either way, it’ll be an adventure.”

  —THE END—

  Thank you for reading!

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  Mr. Positivity—Sneak Peek

  Coming soon!

  “I think we both know it’s not working out.”

  Steve’s words hung in the air between them. Holly could hear the sound they made, but somehow it wasn’t coalescing into meaning.

  After a pause, Steve tried again. “I think it’s better we figure this out now than in a few years. I will totally understand if you’re upset for a while, but I hope we’ll be able to be friends. I still have a great deal of respect for you.”

  Holly squinted at him. It was like he was speaking a different language or underwater, and she was only able to pick out a few of the words.

  Respect?

  Friends?

  He’d picked her up and taken her to a nice restaurant. They were supposed to be discussing the wedding plans.

  They were supposed to be on a date.

  He was breaking up with her, in public, after three whole courses and a half-drunk cup of coffee?

  Now that she thought about it, Steve had been evasive about anything wedding-related all evening, instead regaling her with some drawn-out story about a merger that his office was in charge of and some marketing executive who’d almost scuttled the whole deal. She’d smiled politely through the appetizers and the main course. Over dessert, he’d asked about her newest script and she’d eagerly filled him in while he, in turn, smiled politely at her.

  And now … he was breaking up with her?

  The worst part was that she didn’t even have a ride home.

  No, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that her engagement was off. She was no longer Mrs. Steve Wilson-to-be, life partner to a handsome, successful man; she was back to being plain old Holly Weld, celebrity brat and TV writer.

  Her eyes darted around the room. No one was looking at them, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t recognized her.

  She groped for the right thing to say in this situation—Is there someone else? How long have you felt this way? Was it something I did?— but Steve’s words seemed to have sucked her own vocabulary right out of her head.

  Steve cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to give back the ring. I think it’s traditional that you get to keep it if it’s me who does the breaking up, but …” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine why you’d want it.”

  Her gaze dropped to her left hand and the diamond solitaire that gleamed in a band of platinum. She loved that ring.

  Well, not so much the ring itself, which was a little on the gaudy side. Steve hadn’t picked up on her hints for a simple, tasteful solitaire, but that was okay. She loved what it represented. She’d been so thrilled when he’d proposed on her birthday last October at a restaurant in the city, one of those revolving ones at the top of a skyscraper with a live band and dancing.

  It had all been so perfect.

  The waiter came by and placed a black faux leather folder on the table with the check in it. Steve picked it up.

  “I’ll get this,” he said kindly, as if he were doing her a favor.

  He flipped out his wallet, placed a credit card in the folder, and set it on the edge of the table before looking at her expectantly.

  Oh, right. The ring.

  No, she didn’t want it. She wanted what it represented—or had represented, anyway—but she didn’t need it for anything else. And the sooner she got out of here, the better.

  “Okay,” she mumbled, tugging on the ring. She pictured herself pulling it off and throwing it dramatically in his face before storming out of the res
taurant, leaving him behind forever, but the ring refused to cooperate.

  She tugged a little harder.

  She’d put on some weight since Christmas; maybe that was why the ring suddenly felt so tight. Or maybe her fingers were swelling from humiliation crossed with embarrassment that she couldn’t—she tugged harder—get the damn ring off.

  Were people starting to notice?

  Steve’s expression was a mix of concern and discomfort. “Maybe a little butter would help?”

  “It’s fine,” she said through gritted teeth, twisting the ring violently as if she could unscrew it from her finger. “Just give me a moment.”

  The waiter came by to pick up the credit card and Steve asked for a pat of butter. Holly prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears. Her face was hot with shame. She just wanted to get out of here, to get away from Steve, out of the public eye, and she couldn’t do that until she’d gotten this stupid ring off her rapidly swelling finger.

  Maybe she’d gained more weight than she’d realized. Oh God …

  “Are you breaking up with me because I’m fat?” she whispered, tears pricking the back of her eyes. Please don’t let me cry, please don’t let me cry.

  “No!” Steve’s denial was swift but unconvincing. “That’s not it at all. I just think we want different things out of life.”

  She was confused. Two kids and a nice house and family vacations to Europe and Disneyland. You said that’s what you wanted. She nodded anyway as if she understood.

  Her entire body felt flushed now, and she could feel sweat starting to trickle down her back. Everyone in the restaurant had to be staring at them by now, at the chubby, red-faced girl on the verge of tears trying to pull her finger off and the tall, handsome man who sat across from her, radiating embarrassment on her behalf.

  The waiter placed a small, elegant dish with a single pat of butter in front of her. She didn’t look up, just dug a bit off with her fingers and began rubbing it around the ring.