My Best Friend's Baby

by Lisa Plumley

“Wouldn’t listen,” he said, and it was hideously, unarguably true. He’d been absorbed in his own thing, concentrating on nothing except the goal to be reached.

  Just like he’d focused on his inventions, even at the expense of everything else.

  Your whole point is doing the right thing, Chloe had said. No matter what the cost. Nick hadn’t known then what she meant. Now, he did.

  “Awww, Chloe,” he whispered, reaching for her. “This is never going to work between us. Not this way.”

  Her eyes misted. Her lips wobbled, setting off all the tell-tale, weepy signs. Dammit, somehow he’d done it again… except this time, Nick felt like bawling right along with her.

  Chloe lifted her chin. Her fingertips brushed along his jaw like a fluttery, warm kiss goodbye, and her voice sounded husky when she spoke.

  “Didn’t you know, Einstein?” she whispered. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

  With one last, sorrowful glance, she put her hand to her rounded belly and slipped between Danny and Naomi. An instant later the front door opened and closed, quiet as the whole crowd of partygoers had become.

  Danny’s hand nudged Nick’s, then his small arm wrapped around his uncle’s waist and his voice broke the silence Chloe’s departure had left. “Look at it this way, Uncle Nick,” he said, giving him a man-to-man squeeze. “You know all that nice stuff Chloe was sayin’ about Bruno? It was really about you!”

  “Yeah,” Nick mumbled, feeling forlorn. “That’s really great.”

  “Can we go blow up some stuff now?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I knew Nick would never forgive me,” Chloe said.

  “He’s just mad, hon,” Red replied with a knowing shake of her head. She settled sideways on Chloe’s cushy plaid sofa and reached for the bottle of brilliant red nail polish Chloe held out to her. “That was a real whopper you kept from him. And it’s only been two days. Give the man some time! He’ll get over it.”

  “Get over me, you mean.” Feeling morose, she leaned back against the sofa pillows and extended her bare foot.

  “If you’d gave him half a chance, he’d forgive you.” She twisted open the nail polish and dunked the brush a few times, then squinted up at Chloe. “Are you sure you want to take time for this?”

  “You bet. It’s my last chance to look glamorous.”

  “Raising a child is not a life sentence of frumpery. ‘Sides, glamour comes from within.” Grinning, Red waggled her fingertips over her head like a cowboy-boot-wearing, red-pompadoured fairy godmother awakening Chloe’s Inner Glamour-puss.

  “That’s beauty that comes from within. Glamour comes from the Estée Lauder counter.”

  “You’re turning into a real cynic, Chloe Carmichal. I just might be having second thoughts about selling my pet store to someone like you.”

  “Too late … ouch! You already used the money for the down payment on that retirement place in Sun City.”

  Red laughed, looked closer, and frowned. “Was that another contraction?”

  Chloe nodded, panting as she clicked on the stopwatch in her hand and set it on the coffee table. “They’re coming about fifteen minutes apart now.”

  At the onset of the contractions, earlier this morning, she’d been excited. Finally! It was almost time for the baby to be born. Now the excitement had mixed with fear, and both emotions were roller-coastering through her insides. She wasn’t ready yet.

  Not without Nick.

  “Look, the fancy pedicure can wait,” Red said, getting up from the sofa to put the polish away. “We’re going to the hospital.”

  She made it almost to the fireplace—where the Bruno letters and the “Macho Men of the Military” pinup calendar that had started the whole stupid mess crackled merrily—before Chloe grabbed her hand and eased her back down beside her.

  “No! I’m not ready to go yet, anyway. Not until I finish this.” She tapped the fabric-covered notebook in her lap and gave Red a beseeching look. “Please?”

  “Oh …” Red made a face, rolled the crimson polish bottle between her palms, then sighed. “All right, hon. But I make no guarantees if those contractions speed up.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Almost an hour later, Chloe had ten perfectly polished toenails, one updated and wrapped pregnancy journal, and one very antsy soon-to-be-ex-boss.

  “I’m the labor coach!” Red cried, dogging Chloe’s heels all the way to her bedroom as she pulled on her coat and took one last look around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “I can’t be late!”

  “You can’t be late?” Between contractions, Chloe grinned as Red snatched the packed birthday bag right out from under her fingertips and hustled out of the room. “What about me?”

  On the front porch, Chloe carefully locked the door behind them, feeling strangely calm now that the time to head to the hospital had irrevocably arrived. She hugged her finished pregnancy journal to her chest, gazing across the yard at Nick’s house. The journal, detailing her thoughts and dreams for their baby, described her pregnancy all the way from the contortionist pregnancy test she’d taken to the contractions she’d been having this morning. It was only one of the concessions she wanted to make, just one way to share what he’d missed with Nick. What would he say when he read it?

  Red stopped halfway down the front walk. “What are you dilly-dallyin’ for?” she hollered, jangling her car keys. “That baby’s not waiting all day.”

  Then she turned, saw Chloe’s desperate clutch on the pregnancy journal and her equally desperate watch on Nick’s house, and her expression softened. Her footsteps clomped up the walk.

  “Giving him that is the right thing to do, hon. I know it,” she said, draping her arm over Chloe’s shoulders and squeezing. “He was madder over your keeping the baby a secret than over fathering him, you know.”

  “Or her.” Then I’ll teach her to play football anyway.

  “Sure.” Red held out her hand for the journal. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  Red pulled. Involuntarily, Chloe’s fingers clamped harder onto the vibrant fabric-covered book. “I can’t!” she wailed. “Oh, Red—what if I’m making a big mistake?”

  “You’re just scared ‘cause taking a chance on that man wasn’t something you planned on doing,” Red said gently, prying Chloe’s whitened fingers one by one from the book. “But hon, love never is.”

  Fear clutched at Chloe’s belly. Or maybe that was another contraction. Either way, it hurt like crazy. But sticking with her Bruno alibi hadn’t worked, keeping the truth from Nick hadn’t worked … and fooling herself any longer was impossible. She had to give Nick the chance to love them, her and the baby both. She had to trust him to be the best friend he’d always been.

  And more.

  “Okay,” she said, giving the journal one last squeeze for luck. Then she gave Red her sternest look. “But he doesn’t get this until tomorrow. Not until after his investor meeting.”

  “Now hold on—”

  “Not until Wednesday afternoon, Red. I mean it.” She was willing to try being flexible about things for a change—all except for this one thing. “I won’t wreck Nick’s shot at making his invention a success.”

  Red rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not changing my mind.”

  She rolled her eyes again and clucked her tongue, too. Disagreement personified.

  Chloe wavered and grabbed the porch railing. “Ohh,” she moaned. “I think I feel a sit-down strike coming on. You’d better alert the media and call up the—”

  “All right, all right!” Red yelled, throwing up her hands. She yanked the journal the rest of the way out of Chloe’s grasp, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to the car. “I heard ya’ the first time. Not until Wednesday afternoon.”

  “I’ll look forward to receiving the agreements,” Nick said, smiling at the man who, upon signing those agreements, would soon become his growth accelerator’s first investor. “Thank you for meeting
with me, especially a day early.”

  The man, who looked about as patrician and big-business as he imagined Chloe’s absentee father did, smiled too. “It’s our pleasure, Mr. Steadman. And this—” He nodded, indicating the video camera and remote conferencing set-up Nick had arranged. “—is nothing less than we’d expect from an innovator like yourself.”

  Nick was just glad it had worked. The video conference—his first step toward cutting back his work hours and putting some balance back into his life—had linked him with his California investor in less than a quarter of the time it would have taken to attend the meeting in person.

  Chloe and Danny would’ve been so proud, he thought. Out of camera range, he smoothed his fingers over the soccer finals map while he formally wrapped up the meeting. I’m finally doing the right thing.

  By doing less of the right thing. It had all the makings of a new Steadman family tradition.

  On his computer screen, his new investor’s image beamed with satisfaction at a job well done. “And that just about wraps it up,” he said.

  “Good doing business with you,” Nick said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He signed off and shut down the equipment, then looked around the empty room. He slapped his hands on his thighs, grinning like an idiot. He’d done it!

  And news this momentous was meant to be shared. Still smiling, Nick tromped down the hallway to his bedroom and lifted the mini-blind slats with one hand. He’d never spotted Chloe gazing across their adjoining yards the way he did, but it was the fastest way to find out if she was at home.

  And the fastest way to make a good mood plummet, he realized when he saw her lights were out and no curvy, Chloe-shaped shadows moved behind her dusky windows. Should he go over anyway? He’d been waiting—since she’d been the one to walk out on him at the baby shower—for her to let him know she was ready to talk things out. It had seemed the best way to make sure he didn’t make her, the woman who never cried … cry.

  Again.

  Nick waited a few minutes, then looked again. Okay, mixing business with pleasure he could take. Maintaining a balance in his life he could handle. Waiting for Chloe to make her move was another story altogether.

  He was going in.

  He opened his front door and stepped onto the porch, and nearly squashed the package waiting there for him. The name and address written on it in purple ink confirmed it was for him—whatever it was—and the minute Nick recognized Chloe’s squat, round handwriting, he knew his make-up mission was going to have to wait a little longer.

  He ripped open the wrapping and pulled out the vivid, color-splashed notebook inside, then slowly sank to a seated position on his front porch steps. Nick started to read.

  He was hooked from page one.

  But it was the final entry—dated earlier today—that made him thrust the journal into his coat pocket and sprint toward his motorcycle. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Try to get some rest,” the nurse told Chloe, reaching beside her shoulder to affix the call-button more securely to the hospital bed’s mattress. She pulled up the crisp white sheet and tucked it in snugly, then smiled and squeaked toward the door in her super-pumped cushioned athletic shoes. “We’ll let you know just as soon as baby Carmichal wakes up.”

  “Thank you,” Chloe whispered as the nurse left, pulling the thick hospital room door halfway closed. “I’ll try.”

  She’d never felt more deeply tired, more utterly relieved, more proud of herself then she did right now. Looking around her flower-bedecked, private room—arranged, somehow, by her father’s number-two secretary Lucinda—Chloe had also never felt more lonely.

  Because Nick wasn’t coming.

  Naturally, the baby looked just like him. Except a little more squashed. Also smaller, pinker, and slightly more adorable. But otherwise, their child looked exactly like his father. Sighing, Chloe gazed out her window at the velvety, starless night … until suddenly the view blurred and she had to look away. Funny how tears made everything look soft-focused and a little more sparkly.

  She sniffed and blinked and her hospital room came back into focus. It would’ve looked just like home—if home was a really, really antiseptic log cabin. Okay, concentrating on ambiance isn’t helping. Chloe closed her eyes and thought about the baby instead. She felt pretty sure no one else in history had ever had a more perfect child.

  A ghost of a smile quirked her lips. If only Nick were here, everything would be wonderful. Maybe it had been a mistake not to call him. She reached for the phone.

  Before she could dial, someone knocked on the door. “Ms. Carmichal?”

  Hallelujah! The baby must have woken up, and one of the nurses was bringing him in. Chloe bunched the pillows in the small of her back and sat up higher so she could hold him again.

  “Come in,” she called, fiddling with the neck of her gown.

  A hospital worker entered, carrying … something that wasn’t the baby. It looked like …

  A length of white picket fence, about as high and as wide as her hospital bed, and just as dazzlingly bright. The worker unfolded it, magically erecting a three-sided white picket fence beside her bed.

  She blinked. It was still there. Chloe whipped her gown closed again. This situation definitely didn’t call for the football hold the nurse had suggested for breast feeding.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I’m just delivering it like the fella asked.” He jerked his thumb toward the doorway and shrugged. “I guess some folks don’t think flowers are enough.” He looked around. “You got plenty of those, though.”

  She had, thanks to her father and Tabitha and her mother and her new bingo partner. They’d all sent gorgeous bouquets, and her mother had even phoned. Twice. And at length. With advice. Clearly, grandparenthood hadn’t effected any drastic changes in her family yet. Certainly none that would call for delivery of a white picket fence.

  Chloe stared in amazement at it. From Nick? But Nick was probably in California for his meeting by now, come to think of it. Maybe Red had thought …

  “Ms. Carmichal?”

  “Y—yes?”

  A tall, thin man entered, carrying a black velvet box on a silver platter. Without a word—but with a grin wider than his waistband—he took up a position beside the bed, just inside the fence.

  “Chloe?”

  “Red? Do you know what’s—”

  “Hang on, you’re about to find out,” Red interrupted, calling over the sudden murmur of voices coming from the hospital corridor.

  Visitors? Chloe pulled up the covers and patted her rat’s-nest of a hairdo. How could she have enough visitors to create an audible murmur?

  Looking flushed and excited, Red came into the room, followed closely by Jerry. “And don’t kill me over delivering that journal, neither,” she added, but Chloe was too busy staring at the paper banner they carried between them to question what she meant.

  As they neared the bed, Sun City’s newest retirees-to-be unfurled the paper. And here he is, it said in fancy foot-high block letters. A man who loves you!

  Chloe gasped. It couldn’t be …

  “Hiya, blondie.”

  Nick.

  He came into her room carrying a white-wrapped bundle of snoozing baby. His face was luminous. If Joy wore faded blue jeans, it would’ve looked just like Nick. And as he neared the bed and slipped inside the white picket fence, Chloe knew she must look exactly the same way. That radiant feeling shimmered all through her, leaving her trembling beneath his smile.

  “I got here as fast as I could,” he said. “I had some things to arrange first.”

  A silly, nervous giggle burst from her lips as she looked at the fence, the banner, the man with the silver platter. “I—I—so I see.”

  Nick folded back a portion of the blanket and gazed down at the child in his arms. His child. Their child. His smile could’ve lighted the midnight outside her window.

 
; “He’s as beautiful as his mother,” Nick murmured, stroking his finger along one pudgy baby cheek. “Only a little less well-coiffed.”

  Laughing, Chloe swept her palm over their baby’s sweet-scented swirls of fine blonde hair. “Give him time. He’s just getting started.”

  “So am I.”

  Nick nodded to the platter-bearer, who opened the hinged black box and displayed its contents to Chloe with a flourish of silver. Glittering back at her, both fragile and timeless, was a gold and diamond engagement ring.

  “Oh, my!”

  Carefully holding the baby against his chest, Nick bent to one knee beside the bed and reached for her hand. His fingers quivered as they touched hers, then squeezed.

  “Chloe, I brought you the white picket fence, the ring, and the man who loves you … that’s me, by the way—”

  “I know.” Tears prickled her eyes. Suddenly Nick was all soft-focused and sparkly, and Chloe didn’t care, just as long as he was with her. “Oh, Nick! I love you, too,” she whispered.

  His hand clasped hers tighter. “There’s only one thing left, and the fairy-tale ending will be complete.” He smiled, kissed the baby’s forehead, and hugged him close. “And that’s you. I need you, Chloe. I love you so much I’m crazy with it.”

  “You’re not crazy, you’re brilliant.”

  “And you’re beautiful.”

  “Brainiac.”

  “Blondie.”

  “Beloved,” she murmured, and the tenderness in his gaze sent her smile into overdrive all over again.

  “Aww, Chloe,” Nick said. “Please say you’ll marry me.”

  She looked up at him, just long enough to really let his words sink in—Nick wanted to marry her! Then Chloe raised her hand and spread her fingers to get ready for the ring.

  “Just try and stop me.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Laughing, she put her arms around his neck and held on tight, careful not to jostle the baby. “Yes,” she peeped, just in case he hadn’t gotten it yet.

  Danny’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Yay! I told ya’ my banner would work!”