He didn’t seem to believe she was going to be fine, and slowly he came into the bathroom. He wet a washcloth and handed it to her, waiting while she wiped her face. Then, gently, he led her back into the bedroom and to the bed. Carol discovered that lying down did seem to ease the dizzy, sick feeling.
Steve took his own sweet time buttoning his shirt, apparently stalling so that he could stick by her in case she was sick a second time, although she knew he would never have admitted he cared. If she’d had the energy, Carol would have suggested he go, because for every minute he lingered it was more difficult for her to bear seeing him. She didn’t want him to care about her—how could he when he believed the things he did? And yet, every now and again she would find him watching her guardedly, his eyes filled with worry.
“When do you see the doctor next?” He walked around the foot of the bed and resumed an alleged search for his socks.
“Two weeks.” Her voice was faint and barely audible.
“Don’t you think you should give him a call sooner?”
“No.” She refused to look at him.
Steve apparently found what he wanted. He sat on the edge of the mattress and slowly, methodically put on his shoes. “How often does this sort of thing happen?” he asked next.
“It doesn’t matter.” Some of her energy returned, and she tested her strength by sitting up. “Listen, Steve, I appreciate your concern, but it just isn’t necessary. My baby and I are going to be just fine.”
He didn’t look convinced. His brooding gaze revealed his thoughts, and when he looked at her, his expression softened perceptibly. It took a moment for his eyes to drop to her hand, which rested on her abdomen.
The change that came over him was a shock. His face tightened and his mouth thinned. A surge of anger shot through her. “You don’t want to claim our daughter, then it’s your loss.”
“The baby isn’t mine.”
The anguish in his voice was nearly Carol’s undoing. She bit her lower lip and shook her head with mounting despair. “I can’t believe you’re actually saying that. But you’ll never know, will you, Steve? All your life you’re going to be left wondering. If she has dark eyes like yours and dark hair, that will only complicate your doubts. No doubt the Kyle nose will make you all the more suspicious. Someday you’re going to have to face the fact that you’ve rejected your own child. If you can live with that, then so be it.”
He twisted around and his fists were knotted into tight fists. “You were pregnant at Christmas and you’re trying to pawn this pregnancy off on me.”
“That is the most insulting thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He didn’t answer her for a long time. “You’ve insulted my intelligence. I may have loved you, but I’m not a blind fool.”
“They don’t come any blinder.”
“Explain the milk?”
“What?” Carol hadn’t a clue to what he was talking about.
“At Christmas, after we’d made love, we had a snack. Remember?”
Carol did.
“You poured yourself a glass of milk and I commented because you used to dislike it. We were married five years and the only time I can remember you having milk was with cold cereal. You could live your whole life without the stuff. All of a sudden you’re drinking it by the glassful.”
With deliberate calm Carol rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Talk about flimsy excuses. You honestly mean to say you’re rejecting your own child because I drank a glass of milk an entire month before I was pregnant?”
“That isn’t everything. I saw your knitting Christmas Eve, although you tried to hide it from me. Later, I asked you about it and you claimed it was a baby blanket. It was the same piece you were working on at Christmas, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but …”
“That blanket’s for your baby isn’t it, Carol? There never was any friend.”
Frustration mounting in volcanic proportions, she yelled, “All right, it wasn’t for any friend—that’s what you want to hear.”
“And then there were the sweet potatoes. Good God, you had six containers full of yams that night … pregnant women are said to experience silly cravings. And that’s what it was, wasn’t it—a craving?”
Standing, Carol felt the weight of defeat settle on her shoulders. No amount of arguing would change anything now. Steve had reasoned everything out in his own mind and found her answers lacking. There was no argument she could give him that would change what he’d already decided.
“Well?” he demanded. “Explain those things away, if you can.”
She felt as if she were going to burst into helpless tears at any second. For six years she’d loved this man and given him the power to shatter her heart. “You’re the only man I know who can put two and two together and come up with five, Steve,” she said wearily.
“For God’s sake, quit lying. Quit trying to make me doubt what’s right before my eyes. You wanted to trick me into believing that baby is mine, and by God, it almost worked.”
If he didn’t leave soon, Carol was going to throw him out. “I think you should leave.”
“Admit it!” he shouted.
Nothing less would satisfy him. She slapped her hands against her thighs and feigned a sorrowful sigh. “I guess you’re just too smart for me. I should have known better than to try to fool you.”
Steve turned and marched to the front door, but stopped, his hand gripping the knob. “What’s he going to do about it?”
“Who?”
“Todd.”
It took every dictate of Carol’s control not to scream that her former employer had nothing to do with her being pregnant. “I don’t have anything more to say to you.”
“Is he going to divorce Joyce and marry you?”
With one hand cradled around her middle, Carol pointed to the door with the other.
“I have a right to know,” Steve argued. “If he isn’t going to help you, something should be done.”
“I don’t need anything—especially from you.”
“As much as I’d like to walk away from you, I can’t. If you find yourself in trouble, call me. I’ll always be there for you.”
“If you want to help me, then get out of my life. This baby is mine and mine alone.” There was no anger in her words; her voice was low and controlled … and sad, unbelievably sad.
Steve hesitated and his lingering seemed to imply that something would change. Carol knew otherwise.
“Goodbye, Steve.”
He paused, then whispered, “Goodbye.”
The pain in his voice would haunt her all her days, she thought, as Steve turned and walked out of her life.
* * *
The loud pounding noise disrupted Steve’s restless slumber and he sat up and glared at the front door of his apartment.
“Who is it?” he shouted, and the sound of his own voice sent shooting pains through his temple. He moaned, tried to sit up and in the process nearly fell off the sofa.
“Steve, I know you’re in there. Open up.”
Lindy. Damn, he should have known it would be his meddling sister. He wished to hell she would just leave him alone. He’d managed to put her off for the past week, avoiding talking to her, inventing excuses not to see her. Obviously that hadn’t been good enough because here she was!
“Go away,” he said, his voice less loud this time. “I’m sick.” That at least was the truth. His head felt like someone had used it for batting practice.
“I have my own key and I’ll use it unless you open this door right now.”
Muttering under his breath, Steve weaved across the floor until he reached the door. The carpet seemed to pitch and roll like a ship tossed about in a storm. He unbolted the lock and stepped aside so Lindy could let herself in. He knew she was about to parade into his apartment like an angel of mercy prepared to save him from hell and damnation.
He was right.
Lindy came into the room with the flourish of a suffragett
e marching for equality of the sexes. She stopped in the middle of the room, hands placed righteously on her hips, and studied him as though viewing the lowest form of human life. Then slowly she began to shake her head with obvious disdain.
“You look like hell,” she announced.
Steve almost expected bugles to follow her decree. “Thank you, Mother Theresa.”
“Sit down before you fall down.”
Steve did as she ordered simply because he didn’t have the energy to argue. “Would you mind not talking so loud?”
With one hand remaining on her hip, Lindy marched over to the window and pulled open the drapes.
Steve squinted under the force of the sunlight and shaded his eyes. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes.” She walked over to the coffee table and picked up an empty whiskey bottle, as though by touching it she was exposing herself to an incurable virus. With her nose pointed toward the ceiling, she walked into the kitchen and tossed it in the garbage. The bottle made a clanking sound as it hit against other bottles.
“How long do you intend to keep yourself holed up like this?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
“Steve, for heaven’s sake be reasonable.”
“Why?”
She couldn’t seem to find an answer and that pleased him because he wasn’t up to arguing with her. He knew there was a reason to get up, get dressed and eat, but he hadn’t figured out what it was yet. He’d taken a week of leave in order to spend time with Carol. Now he would give anything to have to report to duty—anything to take his mind off his ex-wife.
His mouth felt like a sand dune had shifted there while he slept. He needed something cold and wet. With Lindy following him, he walked into the kitchen and got himself a beer.
To his utter amazement, his sister jerked it out of his hand and returned it to the refrigerator. “From the look of things, I’d say you’ve had enough to drink.”
He was so stunned, he didn’t know what to say.
She pointed her index finger toward a kitchen chair, silently ordering him to sit. From the determined look she wore, Steve decided not to test her.
Before he could object, she had a pot of coffee brewing and was rummaging through the refrigerator looking for God knew what. Eggs, he realized when she brought out a carton.
She insisted he eat, which he did, but he didn’t like it. While he sat at the table like an obedient child, Lindy methodically started emptying his sink, which was piled faucet-high with dirty dishes.
“You don’t need to do that,” he objected.
“Yes, I know.”
“Then don’t … I can get by without any favors from you.” Now that he had something in his stomach, he wasn’t about to be led around like a bull with a ring through his nose.
“You need something,” she countered. “I’m just not sure what. I suspect it’s a swift kick in the seat of the pants.”
“You and what army, little sister.”
Lindy declined to answer. She poured herself a cup of coffee, replenished his and claimed the chair across the table from him. “Okay,” she said, her shoulders rising with an elongated sigh. “What happened with Carol?”
At the mention of his former wife’s name, Steve’s stomach clenched in a painful knot. Just thinking about her carrying another man’s child produced such an inner agony that the oxygen constricted his lungs and he couldn’t breathe.
“Steve?”
“Nothing happened between us. Absolutely nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. The last time we talked, you were as excited as a puppy about her being pregnant. You could hardly wait to see her. What’s happened since then?”
“I already told you—nothing!”
Lindy slumped forward and braced her hand against her forehead. “You’ve buried yourself in this apartment for an entire week and you honestly expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“I’m to blame, aren’t I?”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have said a word about Carol and the baby, but she’d been so sick and I’ve been so concerned about her.” Lindy paused and lightly shook her head. “I still am.”
Steve hated the way his heart reacted to the news that Carol was still sickly. He didn’t want to care about her, didn’t want to feel this instant surge of protectiveness when it came to his ex-wife. For the past week, he’d tried to erase every memory of her from his tortured mind. Obviously it hadn’t worked, and the only thing he’d managed to develop was one hell of a hangover.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Lindy repeated.
“It wouldn’t have made one bit of difference; I would have found out sooner or later.”
Lindy’s hands cupped the coffee mug. “What are you going to do about it?”
Steve shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? But Steve, that’s your baby.”
He let that pass, preferring not to correct his sister. “What’s between Carol and me isn’t any of your business. Leave it at that.”
She seemed to weigh his words carefully. “I wish I could.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Carol looks awful. I really think she needs to see her doctor. Something’s wrong, Steve. She shouldn’t be this sick.”
He shrugged with feigned indifference. “That’s her problem.”
Lindy’s jaw sagged open. “I can’t believe you. Carol is carrying your child and you’re acting like she got pregnant all by herself.”
Steve diverted his gaze to the blue sky outside his living-room window and shrugged. “Maybe she did,” he whispered.
Ten
Carol sat at her desk and tried to concentrate on her work. This past seven days had been impossible. Steve honestly believed she was carrying another man’s child, and nothing she could ever say would convince him otherwise. It was like history repeating itself and all the agony of her divorce had come back to haunt her.
Only this time Carol was smarter.
If Steve chose to believe such nonsense, that was his problem. She wanted this baby and from the first had been prepared to raise her daughter alone. Now if only she could get over these bouts of nausea and the sickly feeling that was with her almost every day and night. Most of it she attributed to the emotional upheaval in her life. Within a couple of weeks it would pass and she would feel a thousand times better—at least, that was what she kept telling herself.
“Hi.”
A familiar, friendly voice invaded Carol’s thoughts. “Lindy!” she said, directing her attention to Steve’s sister. “What are you doing here?”
“Risking my job and my neck. Can we meet later? I’ve got to talk to you. It’s important.”
As fond as Carol was of her former sister-in-law, she knew there was only one subject Lindy would want to discuss, and that was Steve. Her former husband was a topic Carol preferred to avoid. Nor was she willing to justify herself to his sister, if Lindy started questioning her about the baby’s father. It would be better for everyone involved if she refused to meet her, but the desperate worry in Lindy’s steady gaze frightened her.
“I suppose you want to ask me about Steve,” Carol said slowly, thoughtfully. “I don’t know that any amount of talking is going to change things. It’d be best just to leave things as they are.”
“Not you, too.”
“Too?”
“Steve’s so closed mouthed you’d think your name was listed as classified information.”
Carol picked up the clipboard and flipped over a page, in an effort to pretend she was exceptionally busy. “Maybe it’s better this way,” she murmured, but was unable to disguise the pain her words revealed.
“Listen, I’ve got to get back before someone important—like my supervisor—notices I’m missing,” Lindy said, scribbling something on a pad and ripping off the sheet. “Here’s the address to my apartment. Rush is on sea trials, so we�
�ll be alone.”
“Lindy …”
“If you care anything about my brother you’ll come.” Once more those piercing eyes spelled out his sister’s concern.
Carol took the address, and frowned. “Let me tell you right now that if you’re trying to orchestrate a reconciliation, neither one of us will appreciate it.”
“I …”
“Is Steve going to mysteriously arrive around the same time as I do?”
“No. I promise he won’t. Good grief, Carol, he won’t even talk to me anymore. He isn’t talking to anyone. I’m not kidding when I say I’m worried about him.”
Carol soaked in that information and frowned, growing concerned herself.
“You’ll come?”
Against her better judgment, she nodded. Like her ex-husband, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, and especially not to someone related to Steve. The pain of his accusations was still too raw to share with someone else.
Yet she knew she would be there to talk about whatever it was Lindy found so important, although she also knew that nothing Lindy could say would alter her relationship with Steve.
At five-thirty, Carol parked her car outside Lindy’s apartment building. She regretted agreeing to the meeting, but couldn’t see any way of escaping without going back on her word.
Lindy opened the door and greeted her with a weak smile. “Come in and sit down. Would you like something cold to drink? I just finished making a pitcher of iced tea.”
“That sounds fine.” Carol still wasn’t feeling well and would be glad when she saw her doctor for her regular appointment. She took a seat in the living room while Lindy disappeared into the kitchen.
Lindy returned a couple of minutes later with tall glasses filled with iced tea.
“I wish I could say you’re looking better,” Lindy said, handing Carol a glass and a colorful napkin.
“I wish I could say I was, too.”
Lindy sat across from her and automatically crossed her long legs. “I take it the medication the doctor gave you for the nausea didn’t help?”
“It helped some.”
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