A Crazy Kind of Love

by Maureen Child

  “Papa . . .” Oh God. Her throat was tight, her eyes were full, and her lungs were empty. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not yet.

  “I loved your mama.”

  “God, Papa, I know that.” Too hard. Too hard.

  “I love you. And your sisters. I am sorry I hurt you girls. Sorry I failed you.”

  “Can we please not talk about this?” she asked, and her own voice was just a desperate whisper. Slowly she stood up, and her chair scraped loudly against the worn linoleum.

  The scent of Papa’s sauce bubbled in the air and the windows had frosted over, blocking out the cold night just outside.

  “Josefina,” he said again, this time reaching for her hand, “I love you.”

  She pulled her hand back, then lifted it to her mouth as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d done that. Papa looked as though she’d slapped him and she wanted to cry. Not just for herself. For him. For Mama. For the fact that nothing would ever be the same.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, voice breaking as she grabbed her purse and sidestepped to the back door. “I really am. I do love you. But I can’t do this yet.”

  “It’s all right,” he soothed her, as he would a frightened puppy, making no quick moves, keeping his voice soft and even. “Don’t leave, Jo. Stay. Have dinner with your sisters and me. We won’t talk about this again.”

  “Papa . . .”

  “It’s all right.” He walked back to the stove, picked up the wooden spoon, and concentrated on stirring his sauce. “You take whatever time you need. I will be here. My love will be here. When you’re ready.”

  When she was ready?

  When would she ever be ready to tell him about how it felt to have the one perfect man in the world tumble off his pedestal? How it felt to keep a shameful secret from that “perfect man” for ten years—only to find that he carried secrets more shameful than her own?

  • • •

  Three days later, Mike sat on the examining table at her doctor’s office and absently tried to keep the edges of her paper blanket together. No good, though. The damn thing wouldn’t fold and its stiff edges poked out at odd angles, offering periodic peep shows.

  When the door opened, she looked up and smiled halfheartedly. “You know, with the cost of insurance and stuff, don’t you think they could come up with a better blanket than an oversized Kleenex?”

  Dr. Shelley Baker closed the door behind her, walked up to the examining table, and sat down on the wheeled black stool. She studied the chart in her hands, looked up at Mike, then checked her notes one more time.

  “Okay, this can’t be good.”

  “What?” The doctor glanced up. “Oh. Sorry. Distracted.”

  “Great,” Mike said, as a sinking sensation opened up inside her. “Just what a girl wants to hear from her doctor.”

  She swallowed hard against yet another wave of nausea so thick and greasy, she felt sweat break out on her forehead. For God’s sake, she’d been sick for days. Even Lucas was beginning to notice that she wasn’t eating much.

  She hadn’t bothered to tell him that she’d figured there was no point in eating if she was only going to lose it later.

  “So what’s the problem?” she asked. “Flu? Typhoid? Plague?”

  Dr. Baker set the file down on her lap and folded her hands on top of it. “You know, we ran a lot of tests.”

  “Duh. Can’t figure out why you’d ask me to pee in a cup just because I’ve got the flu.”

  “Standard pregnancy test.”

  Mike swallowed hard and said, “Not funny, Shelley. We both know that’s not possible.”

  “We both knew that was probably impossible.”

  “What?” Nausea rolled through her again and this time there were party favors. Her vision got all speckled like bits of confetti were floating in the air and her head went suddenly light.

  “Mike, you’re pregnant.”

  18

  “Have another blanket,” Bree said as she came up behind Justin. Snapping it open, she let the soft dark green spread drift down over him like a cloud. When it had settled, she tucked it in around him, lifting his arms gently to lay on top.

  “Thanks,” he said, tipping his head back to give her a ghost of the smile she’d once known.

  Bree’s heart ached, but she was used to it now. For months, she’d felt every twinge of his pain, every soft sigh, every groan. She’d taken his pain inside her and there it had blossomed until it was all she felt. Now those pains were her constant companions.

  “Cold today,” he murmured, shifting his gaze to the corner hearth where a fire blazed and crackled cheerfully.

  She wiped sweat from her forehead and agreed quietly. “Going to be a cold winter here.” Coming around the edge of the sofa, she sat close beside him and pushed a lock of hair off his forehead with her fingertips. “Reminds me of home.”

  She watched him as though, if she could only keep her gaze on him, she could save him from the passing seconds that measured what was left of Justin’s life from heartbeat to heartbeat. And though her own heart urged her to hold him closer, tighter, to keep him safe, her head knew that there would be no happy ending.

  That with every second she spent with him, she was losing him.

  “I’m glad we came,” he said, his voice so soft, it was nearly lost in the snap and hiss of the fire.

  “As am I,” Bree said, lifting his hand and holding it carefully between her own.

  She’d worried about this trip. Known that Justin would have to face a past that had haunted him for years. Known that in facing his brother, he would be opening himself to even more pain.

  And yet he’d come through it and found the ease he’d needed so desperately.

  For the last week and a half, things had been different in this house by the lake. Justin and Lucas had found their way back to each other—just in time to be separated forever.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Justin said.

  “Have you now?” Bree leaned in toward him, inhaling his scent, trying to lock it deep within her. “What about?”

  “About getting married.”

  She went perfectly still. “Is that right?”

  He turned to look at her, meeting her gaze with his. Only months ago, she’d first seen those dark eyes and fallen in love—now, in those fathomless depths, she read “goodbye.”

  And her heart broke neatly in two.

  “If you’re sure you still want to,” he said.

  “I am, yes.”

  “Then marry me, Bree.” He leaned toward her, until his forehead met hers. “Marry me tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Can we do it that fast, then?”

  “Changing your mind?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting.

  “No,” she said, smiling now despite the swirl of anguish churning within. “Not a bit. But can we? Licenses and—”

  “Lucas arranged for the paperwork to be done.”

  “He did?” Fondness for Justin’s twin surprised her. How that man had changed, too. The coldness that had set him apart, kept him from reaching for his brother, was gone now—as though he were trying to make up for the years lost.

  “Yeah.” He let his head fall back against the couch, exhausted from the effort of holding himself upright. “But be kind to me on the honeymoon, okay?” He gave a brief smile again. “Don’t want to die early and miss something interesting.”

  “Ah, Justin . . .” Happiness and despair coiled together inside her, twisting, tangling. She fought them both down and concentrated solely on this one moment. Even the promise of the wedding she’d wanted so badly couldn’t eclipse the beauty of this single moment in time, with Justin close beside her, their child nestled within, and the promise of one beautiful tomorrow.

  For right now, that was enough.

  • • •

  “Breathe.”

  “I’m . . . trying . . . can’t . . .”

  No air. No air. No air.

  Breathebreathebreathe . .
.

  Mike felt the doctor’s hand on the back of her neck, pushing until her head was firmly between her knees. Slowly, the swirling patterns of bright lights faded enough that she figured she wouldn’t be passing out anytime soon.

  But still, air was hard to come by.

  “Better?” Shelley asked.

  “Than what?” Mike’s voice was muffled against her paper lap robe.

  Shelley laughed and let her up slowly. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

  “Happy?” Still woozy, still wishing air was a part of her current lifestyle. But happy? Didn’t even come close to describing it.

  Slowly straightening up, Mike took a quick look around the examining room, just to ground herself. Yep. Still pale blue walls, dotted with posters showing detailed and completely gross pictures of internal organs. Blood pressure monitor hanging on the wall beside the tiny desk fitted into a corner.

  Normal.

  Everything was the same.

  Everything but her.

  Shifting her gaze to Shelley, Mike looked hard at the doctor she’d been coming to for three years. Shelley’s short, stylishly spiky hair framed her heart-shaped face and her dark green eyes were filled with understanding.

  “Are you sure?” Mike asked and cleared her throat when her voice sounded unsteady.

  Shelley laughed. “It was a urine test. Trust me, I know how to read the results. I’m sure.”

  “But . . . how . . . ?”

  “I’m guessing, the usual way.”

  “Good. That’s good. Doctor humor.” Mike shoved her hair back out of her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Ohmigod.” She sucked in air, blew it out again, and muttered, “I’m pregnant.”

  “Just barely,” Shelley said. “But yeah.”

  “And it’s okay?” She slapped one hand to her tissue-paper-covered abdomen. “I mean, it’s doing what it’s supposed to do?”

  “Yes, Mike. The baby’s fine. Tiny, but fine.”

  “I can’t believe this. I thought it couldn’t happen. They told me . . .”

  “You always had a four-percent chance of conceiving.”

  “Funny,” Mike whispered, more to herself than to Shelley. “Never thought of it like that. Only considered it from the ninety-six percent chance of not conceiving.”

  “Surprise.”

  Mike’s jaw dropped. How many times had she said that word to Lucas?

  Oh God.

  Lucas.

  How was she going to tell him? What could she possibly say? He probably wouldn’t believe her. He’d think she’d tricked him or something. Blood drained from her head to pool in the pit of her stomach.

  “Whoa. You’re looking pale again. Problem?” Shelley always had been quick to pick up on things.

  “No,” she said firmly, with a shake of her head. “No problem.” Well, none that she was going to sit here and tell her doctor about.

  “Okay, then,” Shelley said, a little unconvinced but willing to back off. “I want to see you in here next month for another checkup. Make sure everything’s as it should be.”

  Fear spiked through her in a flash of heat. “It will be though, right? I’m not going to lose it or something?”

  “See no reason why you should,” Shelley said. “Your condition made conceiving difficult. Not carrying the child.”

  Relief chased the fear away and though Mike’s stomach was still doing a great impression of a roller coaster, she felt better. Weird, though, how fast her mood was shifting. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She was pregnant. And the baby was fine.

  “Good. That’s good.”

  Still cradling her belly, Mike realized that in the last few seconds a decision had been made. Not that there’d ever been a doubt.

  She was having this baby.

  Didn’t matter what Lucas had to say about it.

  It wasn’t every day someone handed Mike a miracle.

  “She said yes.”

  “Did you think she wouldn’t?” Lucas sat down on the sofa opposite his brother.

  He sighed. “Not really.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Justin grinned. “Sure, every man’s glad someone else is getting married.”

  The room was too warm and still, Justin was shivering. Lucas kept the smile on his face, but worry slithered through him. Worry, chased by regret. Why had they waited so long? he wondered now, when it was too late. Why had it taken death to make them come together?

  And what good was it to think about it now?

  “Is everything arranged?”

  “Yeah,” Lucas said, glad to have details to fall back on. He’d arranged for a license and had talked a minister into coming to the house tomorrow afternoon. “Everything’s set. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be a married man.”

  “Weird,” Justin said softly. “I used to think that getting married was a fate worse than death.”

  “Now?”

  “Now, turns out death is way harsher.” Justin laughed and the soft chuckle became a cough that wracked his too thin body like a spoiled kid shaking a toy.

  When the coughing jag eased, he winced and gasped as pain rushed through him, stealing his breath, stabbing at him, slicing deep. Every day, the pain got a little worse. A little sharper, a little stronger.

  The pills weren’t doing the trick anymore. Like putting a Band-Aid on a gaping chest wound. He knew he could change things. Go to a hospital. Get morphine in a drip. Get hooked up to machines that would allow him to control his own medication. Keep himself doped so thoroughly that the pain wouldn’t be able to reach him anymore.

  Nothing would reach him.

  But he didn’t want that.

  He wanted to be alive while he was alive.

  Focusing his will inward, Justin battled the pain, pushing it down, down, until it became an almost livable presence.

  Across from him, Lucas fisted his hands and gritted his teeth. But he stayed where he was and Justin was grateful. He didn’t want to be hovered over. Didn’t want the people he loved torturing themselves by not being able to help. All he wanted to do was be here. For as long as he could.

  He wanted to love Bree. He wanted to touch and be touched. He wanted to be a part of the world he was leaving—so that when he was gone, at least his memories would be clear.

  And please, God, he’d keep those memories with him wherever he ended up.

  Summoning a halfhearted smile, he looked at his brother and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Don’t look so panicked,” he whispered. “I’m not dying right now.”

  “Thanks for that,” Lucas said softly, his fists relaxing. “Wouldn’t want to face Bree and tell her the wedding was canceled.”

  “I’ll make it.” The words came firmly and Justin repeated them to himself like a mantra, willing his body to hold on. He couldn’t die.

  Not until he’d done this one last thing for Bree.

  • • •

  An hour later, Mike walked into the Leaf and Bean and nodded at a few of the familiar faces. Funny, none of them had ever looked so . . . comforting before today.

  But then maybe it was just her. Maybe she was looking at the world around her and feeling just a little bit more . . . sappy about everything.

  And who could blame her?

  “Mike?” Stevie slapped one hand on the glass countertop and the sharp sound jolted Mike out of her thoughts and back to reality.

  “Geez . . . take it easy, will ya?” Mike wondered if adrenaline surges were good for the baby—then figured it was half Italian, so adrenaline was probably a good thing.

  Stevie grinned. “You were zoned out. Welcome back to earth. Where were you? Was it nice?”

  “You know,” Mike said smiling, “it really is.”

  “Okay, now you’re being weird. Something up?”

  “Something’s always up in Chandler,” Mike said, covering neatly. No way could she let her little secret slip onto the gossip train before she’d had a chance to tell Lucas.


  Oh God.

  Telling Lucas.

  “Okay . . .” Stevie shook her head and said, “Glad you showed up. Your sisters wanted coffee and I wasn’t looking forward to climbing that ladder to take it to ’em. And when I saw you coming, I poured a latte for you, too. On the house,” she added, “since you guys are making my ceiling safe from rain.”

  “Right. The job.”

  Her sisters were up on Stevie’s roof right now, trying to get it ready for reshingling. And they weren’t real patient when waiting for their coffee.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Mike snapped to attention. “Yeah. Fine.”

  She took the tray Stevie handed her. Lattes for her and her sisters. Good. She could talk to them. Marconi solidarity. That’s what she needed right now.

  She wasn’t ready to face Lucas yet.

  Oh God.

  Lucas.

  Mike’s brain took off like the space shuttle. How could she tell him this? She’d sworn to him that she couldn’t have children. Oh, he was never going to believe her. She could feel those dark, scientific eyes pinning her right now. He’d probably think this was a big setup. Like she was trying to trap his rich, cute self into marriage.

  She gripped the tray a little tighter as she headed for the back door and the alley beyond. Her mind raced with thoughts of Lucas and how he was going to take all of this and she could feel her blood pressure spiking.

  Joe Franklin was coming out of the restroom as she stomped by and he did a quick back step—probably reacting to the fury she knew was stamped across her features.

  Trap him?

  The more she thought, the madder she got. Why would she trap Lucas into marriage? How could he possibly think she’d be desperate enough to sink so low as to trick him into making a baby? Did he really think he was that hot and tasty?

  “Who does he think he is, anyway?” The nerd prince should have been grateful she’d gone out with him at all. Thinks he’s such hot shit just because he knows what the hell Pleiades is.

  Pleiades.

  Just like that, fury drained away and warmth reached up and curled around the base of her throat. She swallowed a hot flood of tears along with another wave of nausea.