From Here To Maternity

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “You don’t understand,” Grant said, staring out the window, watching the avalanche of big, fat, white, blinding flakes fall from bruised clouds. What a mess.

  “Understand what?” Laura persisted.

  Grant turned to her, holding his hands out for the baby. “Never mind. It’s that whole long-story thing. With my parents. Hand him over.”

  “No. You probably can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”

  “Hey,” Grant protested. “I’m not totally stupid, you know. I’m getting ready to head up major corporations—”

  “Uh-huh. Like that counts. Name one living human being you’ve ever cared for. I mean, taken care of.”

  Grant heard her first words, but ignored them. “All right. Me,” was his answer. “I’ve taken care of me. And I’m obviously alive.”

  Laura’s bottom lip poked out stubbornly. “That doesn’t count.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Come on, Laura, I’m a grown man. You women aren’t the only ones with nurturing instincts. I think I can look after one tiny baby. Even in a snowstorm.”

  “Oh?” Laura chirped, a danger signal Grant knew from way back when. “Can you? Then here.” She plopped the startled baby and his bottle into Grant’s arms. “Go ahead. Do it.” With that, she jerked around and walked away. Suddenly she stopped, turned to face him and pointed to the woven grocery bag by the door. “There’s his stuff. Have a nice day.” She flounced off, stomping up the stairs to her bedroom and calling over her shoulder, “I’ll let you know if his parents show up.”

  Grant watched her go, enjoying the view as her bottom bounced enticingly. Then he sighed. Oh, man, he’d gone too far. Grant glanced at the blue-eyed baby—the blue-eyed and ticked-off baby. Who pulled the empty plastic bottle from his little mouth, tossed it as far as he could, grabbed a handful of Grant’s chest hairs…and yanked hard.

  5

  SHE COULDN’T do it. She couldn’t stand one more minute of her workday wondering every single second how Tucker was, how Grant was, how Grant was doing with Tucker. And if she’d ever see them again. After all, she’d told Grant to take Tucker’s stuff with him. And Grant certainly didn’t have anything at her place to come back for. Except me. She sniffed. But why would he? Selfish, hard-nosed brat. You deserve to be alone.

  Yeah, well, I am, okay? So leave me alone. Laura finally admitted that she’d succeeded in making a big fat mess of her workday, too. And it was only early afternoon. She stood at the window in her office, shivering, her arms crossed under her bosom as she watched New York City lose its battle with Mother Nature’s vindictive fury. The storm of the century, they said on the radio.

  Outside, it certainly looked the part. The blinding snow fell thick and heavy, like the main curtains at the Met after an opera’s final act. The wind blew in bone-chilling swirls, bending defenseless trees and people to its will. The narrow streets, a congested nightmare even on the best of days, were treacherous, from what she could see of midtown Manhattan. Traffic was snarled, tangled, wrecked and all but at a standstill. And twice already the power had flickered off and back on. Not good.

  Worse, all her meetings that day had been canceled. More than one of her clients had said they were shutting down early so their employees could get home. It was the only sensible thing to do. In fact, she figured she might as well do the same. Half the people hadn’t been able to make it in, so nothing was getting done, anyway.

  Normally such a scenario would make her happy. After all, this would be a midweek, weather-imposed holiday. She pictured her afternoon, trying to convince herself that being alone was what she wanted. So after she fought the battle outside and got home, she insisted, it would be great. She could put on her sweats and curl up with a good book. There. See? She smiled. That sounded great. That and a nice cup of cocoa. Just her, maybe some soft music and the sofa…

  Still unmade. From where Grant had slept in it. Laura blinked, remembering the battle she’d fought with herself last night She had tossed and turned, burning with his closeness to her, burning with the need to feel his hands on her body. And he hadn’t helped any. She’d heard his restless movements and the squeak of the sofa as he’d gotten out of bed more than once. And she couldn’t resist the temptation. Once again she could see herself squatted behind the railing, her presence cloaked in darkness, watching him staring out the windows. Dear God, the sight he’d made, bathed in moonlight All warm muscle and male perfection.

  So what had stopped her? She had a pretty good idea what Grant’s reaction would have been had she gone downstairs to him. So why didn’t she? Well, because of that drawer still sitting on the floor by her bed, mainly. And the baby in it It hadn’t seemed right—even with the myriad other reasons she shouldn’t have aside—to give in to lust with a little innocent right there. How did married people do that? Have sex, she meant.

  Sex. Grant But it was about so much more than sex. It was about—No, don’t say it. Don’t admit to that. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall. Just stop it. You had your chance. And you blew it. Now you don’t know where he is. Where they are. Or if they’ll even come back. And why should they? You walked away from both of them.

  Just as she was about to admit to herself why she felt like crying, the phone on her desk rang. Laura froze. Grant! She ran for the phone. Which had the audacity to be positioned at her desk’s opposite end. All but falling into her rolling chair, with a wall at her back and the heavy wooden desk in front of her, Laura made a grab for it. And knocked it off her desk. It quit ringing. “Dammit,” she shrieked. “Don’t hang up. Hold on. I’m coming!”

  And then, regardless of panty hose and decorum, she hiked her slim skirt to her hips and scrambled onto her desk, lying atop it on her stomach, with papers scattered everywhere, and pulled on the cord until she fished the receiver up to her ear. “Grant? Is that you? Is the baby okay? Where are you? I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—”

  “Laura? Is that you, honey? What’s wrong? I knew something was wrong. Irving? Come here. I told you I know when something’s wrong with one of my babies. I am, too, psychic. You talk to her. She’ll tell you I am.”

  This was not happening. It was her mother. Calling from Rhode Island. Please, God, let her be calling from Newport. Laura slumped like a dead weight across her desk, but managed to keep her hold on the receiver. “Mom? Hello? You don’t need Irving to—Hello, Irving. No, I’m fine. Yes, she’s psychic. Just go with it, Irving. It’s easier. You’ve had six years to get used to—What? It’s snowing there?” Whew. They’re at home. “Yes, it’s snowing here, too. What? Why do you want to know that?”

  Sudden dread. Why was he asking her when she’d be home? Laura sat up. And scattered her work more in the process. “Irving, where are you? This minute. As we speak.” Her insides curdled. “Oh. You used your key. You’re at my place.” Wordless moments passed during which she had time to wonder at the quirky mental makeup of a man who’d wonder if it was snowing only blocks away from where he was. Then, hearing the silence at the other end, she blurted, “Why, Irving? Why are you at my place?”

  Why, Irving, why? What have I ever done to you?

  She listened to his explanation. He and Vivian were fussing, and she’d left him. Well, made him bring her here. This was absolutely the last thing Laura needed. Her bickering family. Could the timing be worse? “Oh, yes. I’m surprised. Very surprised. What? Oh, yes…happy, too. Happy to see you both, that is. Not happy that you’re having trouble. And Irving, why are you guys having trouble?”

  Before he could say a word, Laura ordered, “Listen to me. I don’t care what you did—or what she did—you two make up right now and get back to Rhode Island before you’re snowed in with me.” And I therefore have to end my life in some bloody and dramatic way. “What? You’re fussing about whether or not she’s psychic?”

  Laura raked a hand through her hair and grimaced. “Tell her she is, Irving. Tell her. No, do not leave her here. No, Irving. There’ll be another train.
Don’t leave her. I know you need to get home to Esther. She’s with Cindy? Good. Go. But take Vivian with you, Irving. I—”

  “Hello, Mother. Yes, I heard the door slam. So he’s gone, huh? And you’re still there? Well, that’s just…The last straw, the beginning of Armageddon, a disaster of Titanic proportions. “Peachy, Mother. Absolutely pea—Yes, I know my place is a mess. No, I wasn’t burglarized. Yes, the sofa bed’s out and there’s a drawer sitting by my bed. I know all that, Mother. I had company. Yes, one of them was a baby.” Laura covered her face with a hand. She knew when she was defeated. “I’ll tell you who and why later, okay? Yes, just make yourself at home. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you, too.”

  And then she hung up the receiver, sat cross-legged on her desk and stared at the phone. Just shoot me now.

  GRANT GAVE the taxi driver Laura’s address and turned his attention to the baby perched on his lap.

  “So, Tucker, at least the whole day hasn’t been a complete bust, huh, buddy? Imagine a snowstorm shutting down the Big Apple,” Grant continued, as if expecting Tucker to hold up his end of the conversation. “Yes, the airports are closed. You want to know a secret?” Grant leaned in close to Tucker and whispered, “Before now, I thought even the weather bent to my father’s will.” He straightened. “But I guess not, huh?”

  Tucker gave him the raspberries.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Grant soberly assured him. “See, if all the players couldn’t make it into town, then there couldn’t be any coronation. So we’re off the hook until this time next week. As it stands now, I don’t work anywhere, Tucker. You and me, we’re free men. Now don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to go see my folks at the Plaza. Why rattle that cage?”

  Why, indeed. Grant huffed out his breath. Why spoil a fun afternoon by spending it answering countless questions about Tucker? And about Laura. A fun afternoon? Out in a blizzard with everything shutting down? You bet. He’d had a great time after learning the meeting had been canceled. And this from a guy who’d done some pretty adventurous things in his life. Skiing in the Alps. Yachting in the Mediterranean. Backpacking across Europe. Carnivale in Rio. To name a few. But none of those things could compare to the soulsatisfying afternoon he’d spent outfitting Tucker in the latest styles.

  He laughed just thinking about it. The staff at Bloomie’s had been more than happy to put off closing early to help him out And the saleswoman had been pretty amused at his awkwardness with Tucker, although the baby didn’t seem to appreciate it. But they’d totally bought his story of leaving home without making sure the diaper bag—Laura’s woven grocery bag—had been fully packed to explain why he had no coat or clothes for the baby with him.

  At the end of it all, they’d assured him that they would keep his visit with his godson hush-hush. Yes. Godson. A quick lie forced on him because Tucker had insisted on calling him da-da…repeatedly.

  Even so, Grant knew there was little hope of the sales staff keeping quiet They’d tell everyone they knew. Oh, well, another Grant Maguire sighting to add to his list, he told himself as he pushed over the ton of shopping bags and settled Tucker more comfortably on his lap. He focused on the fat, fuzzy, bunny-looking creature Tucker now was, outfitted in his new sky-blue snowsuit. A suit he hated. And he’d let everyone in the store know in no uncertain and howling terms. Only the baby’s rosy-cheeked little face was visible. And his expression wasn’t pretty.

  Grant couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, you hate this suit, don’t you? Well, it serves you right. Call me dada, will you?”

  Tucker pursed his little lips and said, “Da-da.”

  Grant nodded. “I hear you. What’s wrong? Don’t like fifty females fussing over you? Better get used to that. Because I think you’re going to be a lady-killer.” Tucker screwed his face up even more. “You look just like Laura when you do that.”

  At the mention of Laura, Tucker’s blue eyes brightened. “Mama.”

  Grant slumped, hugging the boy to his chest. “I know how you feel. I perk right up, too, when I think about her. We’re a couple of saps, aren’t we? And here we don’t even know if she wants either one of us.”

  As he held Tucker to him, Grant felt the baby snuggle sleepily against him. He settled himself, providing the little boy a still place to rest his head. Then, with his mind troubled and yet at peace—never had Grant felt so close to some sort of resolution in his life, only to have it stolen right out of his grasp—he exhaled and watched the people and the traffic struggling by. After a few minutes of that, he looked at Tucker and saw he was asleep. Grant’s heart melted. Could this be any harder? His arms automatically and protectively encircled the baby bundle on his lap.

  What was going on here? He meant with this baby. The abandonment scenario he and Laura had come up with, while certainly the most logical, didn’t explain everything. Like that Tucker the Bear logo on the boy’s sleeper. How did that get there? And why had Tucker taken so readily to Laura and to him? And them to him? Maybe Laura was right. Maybe Tucker had dropped out of the sky—part of some grand design. And for some good and cosmic reason that had to do with fate, with the two…well, three of them belonging together.

  It wasn’t the first time Grant had considered the idea. But it was the first time he’d wanted it to be true. He did. He wanted Laura. He wanted all of her. The good, the bad, even the morning grumpy. He chuckled and gave up. He was ready to walk over hot coals for her. Or through a blinding blizzard, given today’s weather. He grinned again. So maybe it was true about Tucker. Maybe the baby was heaven-sent, as outlandish as that seemed. Outlandish maybe. And yet completely possible. If you believed.

  Grant shook his head in wonder. Well, then, so be it. And it was then that he knew, somewhere deep in his heart, that his life, his happiness, rested in Laura’s sweet hands. But beyond that, his life was also tangled up with this baby, too—for the rest of his life, no matter how it ended. And end it would. Reality crashed around Grant. Face it now, the voice said.

  For despite how much he wanted it to be otherwise, the reality was Tucker had at least one parent out there somewhere. One who could come and claim him at any moment Well, if that was the case, Grant vowed, his heart sinking at the very thought, he’d do his best to stay close to this child, just as he’d wished all his growing-up years for someone, a loving adult, to be there for him. Well, he hadn’t had that. And he’d gotten over it.

  But—and this Grant swore then and there—Tucker would know what it was like to be first He’d know what it was like to be loved by the most important people in his life. And he’d never have to get over it Nor would he be a statistic. Or a cliché. Never would he wear a label, a tag. Poor little rich boy. Underprivileged youth. No. Not this child. Not if it was in Grant’s power to prevent it. And he felt sure it was, that he could prevent it. How?

  One word. Money. Grant had learned that early on. It didn’t buy happiness, but it had insulated him from some of life’s harsher realities. He’d never had to wonder where his next meal was coming from or where he’d rest for the night That security was what he’d give Tucker…should the baby’s real mother show up to blow Grant’s whole heaven-sent theory. At the very least, he told himself, he could do some good with his money. He could make sure that the boy had everything he needed.

  Just as this snowsuit insulated and protected the baby physically, Grant vowed to do the same for the boy emotionally. But not only with money. Money was a means. Nothing more. What Tucker needed in his life was Grant’s love, his involvement and his influence—Wait. Suddenly an idea swirled in Grant’s mind. The idea was so simple, and yet so right, that it made him damned sorry he hadn’t been able to sign on the dotted line today just thinking of the good he could do. Not only for Tucker, but for a lot of children.

  Amazed at his idea, Grant sat up straighter, seeing the world as a brighter place. And himself as a better person. All because of one baby. He looked at Tucker, helpless, trusting, asleep on his lap. Grant’s heart to
re with the tenderness he felt. So, no matter whether the baby was heaven-sent or Earth-born, Grant would be there for him. No matter who he lived with.

  Who he lived with. That thought brought Grant around to Laura again. As much as he wanted to—as much as he wanted to smell her womanly scent, see her smile, hear her voice—why was he going to her place? For one thing—and a practical thing it was—what made him think she’d be home? If she wasn’t, he didn’t have a key. Well, he supposed he could call her office on his cell phone to see where she was. He felt the phone’s weight against his hip as it rested in his overcoat pocket. To get to it, he’d have to disturb Tucker. Grant looked at the angelic sleeping little boy. No, thank you. He would just as soon have poked a stick at a rabid rottweiler.

  And what about Laura? Despite his feelings for her, he didn’t really know where he stood with her. You can love someone all you want, but if they don’t return your feelings, what good does it do you? Hell, he didn’t even know if she wanted to see him again. Or the baby. After all, her plan had been to take Tucker to the authorities before they got nailed for keeping him. Grant again looked at the trusting little boy on his lap, leaning against his heart…in more ways than one. Well, put that way, knowing what to do was easy, wasn’t it?

  Because what he felt for Laura was one thing. And what he felt for Tucker was another. His responsibilities to the one weren’t the same as what he owed the other. Laura wasn’t helpless, but the baby was. So, Grant, what’s so easy about it? Nothing, he admitted. Why was he thinking of taking care of Tucker by himself for the next few days? What did he know about taking care of a baby? Into his mind flashed yesterday’s diaperchanging fiasco at Cohn and Draper. Hell, he’d almost dropped the kid twice.

  And then there’d been the fiasco this morning after Laura left them alone and trotted off to work. It had taken him two horrifying hours to get himself and Tucker ready to go out. And still he wasn’t sure if he’d permanently warped the kid’s little psyche by sitting him in his infant carrier and putting him in the shower with him. What choice had he had? Where else could he put the little scooting machine while he bathed? And who knew that, when wet, babies were as slippery as greased seals? They’d both ended up sudsy and sitting—and laughing—on the shower’s tiled floor before it was all done.