Half-asleep, Michael felt the bed sag and realized vaguely that Meghan was either coming to bed or getting up again because she couldn’t sleep. His subconscious waited to see in which direction she was going, but when there was no further movement, curiosity forced him to come fully awake to check on her.
Meghan sat on the bed watching Michael sleep. Could anyone mean more to her than this gentle giant who looked so like a little boy when he slept? Could she learn to live without him? Was there the slightest chance he’d forgive her?
Slowly his eyes came open and he spoke, “Are you okay, Meghan?” he asked her softly.
“Yes. I’m fine,” she returned with equal softness.
“Then come to bed, darlin’, and I’ll …”
Michael was cut off mid-sentence when Meghan laid her hand firmly over his mouth. Meghan couldn’t risk his saying something kind or loving and destroying her resolve. She needed to tell him the whole truth and she couldn’t let him stop her this time.
“Michael, I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’m about to tell you,” she started quietly, calmly, “I can only hope you can find it in your heart not to hate me too much.”
Michael mumbled something under her palm and raised his hands in a questioning manner, but made no attempt to remove the seal across his lips.
Meghan simply continued with her cleansing confession. “The night we first met wasn’t part of any divine design, Michael, it was of my design. I planned it. I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand this, but for years now, more than anything, I’ve wanted a child of my own. A baby I could love and nurture. It was a need so deep I felt compelled—driven to fulfill it.
“When you refused to enter my life under normal circumstances, I was forced to go out and find you. I set out that night intending to get pregnant. I interviewed nearly two dozen men before we met. You made it all so easy with your humor and gentleness. You’ll never know how often I’ve regretted interfering with the original design. If I’d waited a few more months, you’d have come to see me at the office and we could have avoided this mess. Instead, I botched the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I used you like a stud horse; I denied you the right of choosing the mother of your baby. I’ve lied and cheated you out of one of the most important events of your life. Worst of all, what I’ve done has been degrading to your integrity and character and … all I can do is say I am most truly sorry for what I’ve done,” she finished on a note so eloquently sincere that Michael was stunned by the force of it.
Never in his wildest imagination had he thought it possible to love one person as much as he loved Meghan at that moment. So overpowering were his emotions, that he was unable to move or speak. When Meghan’s hand slowly fell away from his mouth, all Michael could do was stare at her through the darkness of the night.
After a long, tense silence, Meghan finally stood and said, “I know you’re probably so mad it’s all you can do to keep from killing me right now, and we’re both tired. I’m sure your anger won’t have burnt itself out by morning. Maybe it would be better if we discussed this then,” she offered as a tentative solution to Michael’s silence, and turned to leave.
Michael reached out and firmly grabbed her wrist. “I love you, Meghan,” he uttered.
“Did you hear what I told you or did you just wake up?” she asked, frowning. This wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected.
“I heard,” he said, fighting the urge to draw her into his arms and love her so intensely and for so long that she’d never doubt his love again. But he knew what it must have cost her in energy and emotion to have told him the truth, and they were both exhausted. Morning would be soon enough to tell her he’d known for weeks and that his anger was long ago spent. Her confession only strengthened the bond between them. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Okay. Good night,” Meghan said bewilderedly, as she backed out of the room. Wouldn’t this man ever react the way he was supposed to? Why wasn’t he yelling and screaming at her like he should be? Even Job had his limits.
Confused and a little dazed by Michael’s lackluster response to the fact that he’d been used like a common stud horse, Meghan settled back into the couch and tried to get comfortable. Unable to decipher Michael, she became aware that her own inner turmoil was at last at an end. She had told him the truth.
With her mind and guilty conscience acclimating to the new condition of being right with the world once again, a warm satisfaction seeped into her pores and made her feel cozy and lighter than she’d felt in months. Oh, she knew Michael might very well raise the roof yet, as he ought to. There were a number of ways Michael could vent his anger once her words had finally sunk in, but the freedom Meghan felt induced a strength that made her believe she could survive any harsh criticisms he would eventually dole out.
She slept well, only vaguely aware of the intermittent discomfort in her lower back.
Twelve
THE FIRST TIME the phone rang, Meghan burrowed herself into the pillows and blankets hoping Michael would answer it before she came completely awake. By the fifth ring it was clear she’d have to get it herself. Where was he, anyway? she wondered.
“Hello,” she mumbled drowsily into the receiver.
“You’re home,” stated a familiar voice. “I was worried when I couldn’t reach you yesterday. I thought I’d missed the big event.”
“I’ll refuse to have this baby without you,” Meghan reassured Lucy. “I’ll keep my legs crossed till you get here.”
“Dreamer. You’re not going to have much say in it when the baby decides to be born,” she said with a laugh. Then with more consideration she added, “On the other hand, none of your actions since last summer has been exactly normal or run-of-the-mill. And I must admit, I admire your courage. I thought you weren’t going to tell Michael.”
“Tell Michael what?” Confused, Meghan brushed her hair out of her face and tried to pay close attention to the conversation and less to the pain in her back, which seemed stronger now than it had last night. Maybe she shouldn’t have slept on the couch, she thought, resigned to another long day of discomfort.
“I thought you weren’t going to tell Michael how you planned your pregnancy,” explained Lucy.
“What?” Warning signals started to go off in Meghan’s mind. She felt the blood drain from her face as her heart began to pound and her hands became clammy. How did Lucy know she’d told Michael the whole story?
Lucy, picking up on Meghan’s alarm, began her story cautiously. “When I couldn’t reach you for so long yesterday, I thought maybe you’d gone into labor. I called the hospital, but you hadn’t been admitted, so I tried the pub, hoping Pop knew where you were. Connie answered. He said I shouldn’t worry because Michael was with you and he’d take good care of you. Well, one thing led to another, and in the course of the conversation we decided Michael was a good man for you and I mentioned that I wished you could be completely truthful about the baby with him, and … well … Connie said Michael’s known for weeks.”
“What?” Meghan repeated, panic evident in her voice.
“That’s what Connie said. He said Michael knew all about the baby’s conception and that he was taking it very well.”
“But how? I didn’t tell him. Did Connie tell him?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Connie said he knew, and I just assumed you’d gone crazy and told him,” Lucy explained.
Meghan vacillated between gross humiliation and wild, furious anger. The two emotions grew until they merged into overpowering rage. Her grasp on the phone turned her knuckles white and her muscles trembled in response to her wrath.
“Meg?” Lucy called into the silence. “Meghan? Are you there? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” came her terse reply.
“What are you going to do, Meghan?” an anxious Lucy asked.
“Before or after I kill Michael?”
“Meghan …”
“He’s been toying with
me. Taunting me! Playing on my guilt,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m going to kill that man.”
“Meghan. Don’t do anything stupid. I called to let you know I got some extra time off; Jeff is with my in-laws and I’m on my way. I’ll be there by noon. Don’t do anything until I get there,” Lucy pleaded.
“If you think I’m going to stay here so he can torture me some more, think again. I’m on my way to Boston,” she shouted impulsively. She heard the beginning of Lucy’s protest about traveling so close to her due date, but she hung up the receiver determinedly. She knew she would never be able to handle logically anything that Lucy had to say, especially if it meant staying in New Bedford. Boston was less than two hours away and she felt fine except for the incessant backache. She still had two whole weeks before the baby was due, and it was practically penciled in stone that first-time mothers had a tendency to be overdue. She’d be fine. Lucy worried too much anyway. All Meghan knew for sure was that she couldn’t face Michael—not now, not today. She had to get away, she decided more firmly, as she stomped back into the living room to gather her things.
She found Michael’s note propped neatly against the planter on the coffee table.
Morning, my beauty,
Didn’t have the heart to wake you. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you sleep? Eat something decent for lunch, and I’ll bring dinner home with me. I love you.
Michael
P.S. About last night … I think we ought to include the first night as part of the design. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been at the Essex looking for a man, and I wouldn’t have been there to be found. Think about it.
M
“Yeah, right,” she said dismissively, wadding up the note and throwing it on the floor. “That’s why you didn’t flinch a muscle when I told you last night, you heartless fool,” she concluded disgustedly.
Then the phone rang a second time.
“Good. I’m glad you’re up. I hope you slept well,” came Michael’s cheerful voice. “I’m just calling to check on you and to see if you want me to stop by your apartment and pick up anything?”
“Michael Ramsey,” Meghan ground out, her voice increasing in volume, “you can go straight to hell.”
Michael stood frowning at the receiver after the line suddenly had gone dead.
“What the hell was all that?” he wondered aloud.
Either she got up on the wrong side of the couch, or something was grossly amiss in New Bedford, he determined. And having been around the block several times with Meghan, he knew exactly who to turn to to find out what was wrong.
“Damn,” he said several minutes later, as his forehead came to rest on the arm he was dangling over the pay phone. “Now what is she going to do, Lucy? And where does she get off making me the heavy in all this? I thought it would be easier on her if she told me herself.” With his own anger rising to the surface, he added hotly. “She’s damned lucky I didn’t light into her the night I found out.”
“I know, Michael,” Lucy sympathized with her new friend. “I think she’s more angry at herself than she is with you. To tell you the truth, this is very unlike her. She might run away to keep from hurting you, but she’d never flee from a good fight.” She hesitated briefly, then went on. “Look, I was just leaving for the airport. I’ll be in Boston by noon. I’ll talk to her … try to explain things for you. She’s just full of pride, but she’ll come around.”
Michael had interrupted with a surprised “Boston,” but Lucy hadn’t stopped to explain. When she finally stopped speaking, a pensive Michael spoke softly. “Thanks anyway, Lucy, but I think it’s time Meghan and I had this out between us, once and for all.”
Meghan had packed and was laboriously loading up her car before the steam generated by her anger finally evaporated and cleared her vision. It wasn’t Michael she was angry with, but herself.
She had no right to take her humiliation out on him. He hadn’t been nearly as cruel as he could have been when he met her again at the office. He hadn’t blinked an eye when he so unceremoniously discovered he was going to be a father, and had easily forgiven her for not telling him sooner. Michael must have also found it in his heart to pardon her initial deception, or she surely would have heard about it before this. And he’d given her plenty of opportunities to tell him herself.
No, Michael had been nothing if not loving and forgiving. She owed it to him to stay and wait and hear him out, but, to use his expression, she felt lower than a snake’s belly.
Shays never ran from a problem; they faced it head on. Well, she was a Shay and she’d withstood Michael’s anger when he’d tracked her down before—twice! She had mustered the courage to tell him about his baby and about its conception, but all she wanted to do this time was to find a nice, safe hole to crawl into. She didn’t have the strength to face Michael now. She planned to eventually, but just not today.
The safest hole she knew of was in Boston. She left Michael a letter telling him where she was and explaining that she knew they had a lot to talk about and that she’d be back in a few days.
Meghan had reached the outskirts of Boston before she realized how tense and anticipatory she was. What was she waiting for? Michael to show up in the rearview mirror? No, it would take hours before he discovered her whereabouts. If he stayed true to form, though, he’d show up eventually. Then what?
Well, it didn’t matter now. She’d be on solid ground with Pop and Connie and Donald to back her up and keep Michael away from her.
Her body gradually tensed once again. Slowly, the pressure in her lower back increased to a very uncomfortable, but not painful degree, then ebbed away.
She was aware that while her mind had been drenched in self-pity, her body had been monitoring the intermittent spasms in her back. She glanced at the digital clock on the dash. Twenty minutes later she felt the familiar tensing in her body and the intensifying pressure along her lower spine. After another twenty minutes the experience repeated itself.
“Oh, Lord,” she prayed aloud, as she pulled up outside the private entrance to the pub. “Not now. Not today.”
Although her father and brothers were glad to see her, they were obviously concerned with her pallor and the lines of exhaustion in her face and were even more distressed, it seemed, with the absence of Michael, who, by way of Connie, had become a frequent topic of discussion between the three Shay males.
“He shouldn’t have let you come all this way alone this close to your time. He shouldn’t let you travel at all,” her father chastised Michael.
“He’s not my keeper, Pop,” she offered. “He’s not my husband, or my brother, or my father. He has no say in my life.”
While the three Shay men passed cautioning glances at one another, recognizing the first signs of one of her thunderstorms, she announced, “I’m going up to lie down for a while. Send Lucy up when she gets here … Please.”
With that she turned on her heel and marched to the foot of the steps that led to the living quarters above. She stood evaluating the challenge for several seconds, then straightened her shoulders in determination and proceeded up the stairs, stopping frequently to catch her breath.
When she was out of sight, Connie turned toward the kitchen at the rear of the building. “I’ll call Michael. If they’ve had a fight, he’ll need to know where she is so they can clear things up.”
He was no sooner out of sight when Michael Ramsey walked through the front door.
Michael stood on Temple Street, not far from Boston Common. Normally a very busy street, it was relatively quiet for that hour of the day. With an apprehensive eye, he surveyed the little Irish pub before him and noted the “open” sign in the window.
It was definitely an Irish tavern. The stained glass windows held a hundred shamrocks displayed in various positions throughout the colorful glass. Inlaid in the artwork on the door was the name “Shay’s,” the tavern’s only advertisement.
Moving inside, Michael was
n’t surprised to find it clean, quaint, and well kept. The place was decorated in dark, vibrant colors from the glass in the door to the deep, warm wood tones of the furnishings. Pewter tankards and mugs hung from several beams in the ceiling. The wall behind the main bar was constructed of more stained glass, lit softly to produce a warm glow. It was a very pleasant, charming little pub.
The barroom was practically empty. A few patrons were scattered about at tables. An older gentleman sat at one end of the bar reading the morning paper as he drank his coffee. At the other end were two of the men Michael was looking for. He recognized them instantly from the photo he had seen in Meghan’s living room and from their distinctive red hair.
Michael could hear them speaking in low tones to one another as they nursed their own cups of coffee. He took a seat at the middle of the bar and watched as the older of the two men moved toward him.
He greeted Michael with a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”
“Just coffee, please,” Michael replied, feeling oddly anxious and awkward at meeting Meghan’s father.
“Need a little hair of the dog in it?” Sean Shay asked absently, as he poured his customer a cup of coffee.
“No thanks. I wasn’t bitten last night,” he answered. “You’re Mr. Shay then,” inquired Michael politely, already sure of the answer.
“The one and only. Unless, of course, you count my boys.” He motioned vaguely in Donald’s direction. “And a few hundred others in these parts. Shay is a pretty common name around here.”
“But you’re the Shay with the daughter named Meghan, correct?” Michael asked with a smile.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware that Donald had come to life and was waiting at attention for his father to speak.
The old man’s countenance had undergone a rapid change. Gone was the friendly bartender with the easy manner. He was now tense and suspicious.
“I am Meggie’s father. What’s it to you?” he asked guardedly.
“I’m a friend of hers,” he said casually, acutely conscious of the fact that the burly brother had moved closer.
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