From Here To Maternity

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “Evening, Mr. Maguire,” the doorman responded. “Sorry to bother you, sir. But I have a frantic young lady down here who insists I call you. Says her name is—”

  Mr. Dunkel yelped, his cry followed closely by some sort of garbled melee. Then silence. Grant exchanged a look with Tucker, who grimaced. Then a different voice came over the intercom. “I don’t have time for this. Grant? This is Laura. You tell this guy it’s okay for me to come up. I mean it. We’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”

  Laura? Trouble? Synonymous, at best. Grant stared at the speaker on the wall, then at the smug baby tucked under his arm. “How’d you know?” he asked the child. But Tucker wasn’t telling. Grant turned toward the speaker. “Mr. Dunkel?” If you’re still conscious. “It’s all right. I know her. She can come up.”

  Grant heard Laura say, “See? I told you I knew him. As if I’m some thrill-seeking groupie of the Magnificant Mr.—”

  The intercom went dead. Grant stepped back, staring at it. And chuckled. He hoped it had gone dead because Mr. Dunkel had recovered enough to hit the Off button. Then Grant remembered, thanks to his keen sense of smell, the stinky baby under his arm. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he shifted his weight and his grip and successfully manuevered the uncomplaining child in front of him. Staring into the baby’s blinking blue eyes, Grant said, “So, what do you think this big trouble is, huh? It’s just a guess here, but I’m thinking it’s something to do with you.”

  To which Tucker replied, “Damn.”

  THE ELEVATOR CAR couldn’t rise rapidly enough. Its two doors couldn’t open quickly enough. Laura quickly stepped out and strode down the oak wainscoted, carpeted hall. She fought the scarf that all but choked her, and tugged off her woolen cap, then ran her fingers through her hair and looked from one side of the long, curving hallway to the other, looking for Grant’s apartment. About the time she decided she was lost, there it was. Well, there Grant was, anyway, standing in the hall, a doorway behind him. Grant and the baby. A part of Laura slumped in relief. Thank God, the baby. Obviously her fears were unfounded, because man and baby both appeared fine. She focused on Grant. Oh, yeah, so fine. Good job, God.

  And yet, there was another part of her that wanted to cry. Oh, no. Grant and the baby. I could lose them both tonight. Tucker would be returned to his parents. You knew this was coming, Laura, she told herself sternly. But what about Grant? Would he stick around once Tucker was no longer the glue bonding them together? Or would he run? The same way he’d done before, and at a time when their love was an acknowledged thing between them? Unlike it was now. In only a few moments, he could be gone again. Just like Tucker. And she’d be without them.

  “Laura,” Grant called. “Is my doorman still alive?”

  She shrugged noncommittally and quirked her mouth. “I think he’d meet the clinical definition.”

  Grant’s wide and answering grin, the warm expression on his face and his arm held out to her, open invitations for her to walk into his embrace, eclipsed all else. That and Tucker’s squeal of delight upon seeing her. It was like a cruel hoax. Especially given the task she was here to perform, and the conflict warring between her heart and her head.

  But maybe some optimism was exactly what she needed. She’d never seen two more welcome faces than Grant’s and Tucker’s. She put her doubts aside and stepped into Grant’s embrace, hugging him, breathing in his wonderfully warm and masculine scent—along with a diabolically acrid one strong enough to make her eyes bleed. Laura jerked out of Grant’s embrace and held her scarf and woolen cap over her nose. “Oh, my God, what is that?”

  “Your next project,” Grant quipped, jerking a thumb in the baby’s direction. “Come on in. You can help me change him while you tell me about this big trouble we’ve got.”

  Stuffing her cap and scarf in a deep coat pocket, Laura took a step backward. “I don’t think so. About the diaper, I mean.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Grant drawled and grinned, managing to look devilishly handsome in the dim light of the hallway. “It’s only fair. I’ve changed two already. So the joy is now yours, ma’am.”

  “Lucky me,” Laura quipped, her expression as sour as the chore awaiting her.

  Tucker continued to beam and chortle, his pudgy little hands held out to Laura, his blue eyes bright with anticipation as he leaned toward her and chanted, “Mama, mama, mama, mama.”

  “I think he wants you,” Grant said, his eyes warming, his expression softening. “I know I do.”

  And that was when Laura lost it. “Oh, Grant,” she moaned as tears stung her eyes. “Why are you saying that now?”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with now? What’s happened, Laura?”

  “Can’t you guess?” she challenged as she grabbed the baby, stinky britches and all, and held him to her. It took a moment for her to realize she’d never seen the sailboat-appliquéd jumpsuit he wore. She pinched the fabric between her fingers and asked, “Where’d he get this?”

  “My noon meeting was canceled until next week. So us guys went shopping. Got a lot of good loot. And about a thousand unsolicited baby-care tips, too.”

  Laura nodded, hoping her expression revealed only interest. Because she was thinking, I missed a shopping excursion? Somehow that hurt. And made her feel out of the loop. Then Grant got quiet and stared at her, as if trying to see into her soul. Or maybe read her thoughts. Uncomfortable with such close scrutiny, she quickly responded, “That sounds like big fun.”

  Grant blinked, then looked into her eyes and said, “Not big fun. In case you’re wondering—” he pointed to Tucker “—not a fun shopping date.”

  Laura finally grinned. “Typical guy, huh?”

  Grant smiled. “I wouldn’t know. But anyway, I guess we need to talk about what brings you here,” he said, sounding as if he already had it figured out and hated it. “I should have called you earlier, but I…well, I—”

  “Really. It’s okay. It’s been crazy,” she said, letting him off the hook. She buried her nose in Tucker’s fat, soft baby neck. And tried not to cry. But it didn’t work. Tucker clutched at her, nosing her cheek and jaw as if trying to bestow innocent little kisses on her. That did it. Laura was sobbing. She felt Grant put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it up and down her coat-covered arm as if in sympathy. Which only made things worse. Because Tucker began bawling, too.

  “All right, that’s it,” Grant pronounced as he herded Laura and the baby into his apartment. Closing the door behind them, making it no farther than the tiled foyer, he put his arms around them both and kissed first Laura’s forehead and then Tucker’s. “So, why is everybody crying?” he asked.

  The baby quieted as Laura looked at Grant Before she could say a word, he bent over her and kissed her on the mouth. It was a comforting little peck, almost as innocent as Tucker’s efforts a moment ago. Laura surprised herself by returning it as if it were the most natural thing. Then she sniffed back a sob and said, “There’s a caseworker—”

  “A caseworker?” Grant pulled back, grimacing. “Oh, no.”

  Laura nodded. “Oh, yes. Anyway, she’s at my place with my mother—”

  Grant stiffened. “Your mother? But why’s she—”

  “Grant, please,” Laura implored, shifting the baby and squeezing Grant’s arm in a gesture that begged him to allow her to finish. “This is hard enough. Just listen, okay?” She took a deep breath…and nearly choked. “Can we change him before I pass out?”

  Grant jumped into action, taking Tucker from her. “Oh, sure. I’m sorry. Follow me.”

  Laura walked after him, shedding her coat as she took in the designer-showroom yet comfortable opulence of Grant’s private world. All high ceilings and polished woods and huge vases and big pictures and overstuffed furniture, right through the carpeted living room, down a short hallway, past a wallpapered bathroom and into the lion’s den. His bedroom. Massive. Rich. Masculine. Inviting. Just like the man. Laura stopped, trying to imagine herself in this world. His world.

&
nbsp; Despite the trouble they were in, despite the heartache brewing within her, she took a moment to look around, to appreciate her surroundings and to assure herself that…I could do this. Wow. She tossed her coat on the thick, gold-quilted bedspread and perched gingerly on the king-size bed’s edge, crossing her legs and pretending to be at home.

  Grant knelt next to the bed and placed the stinky baby on a big maroon towel on the thick carpet. Champagnecolored carpet, no less. Laura sighed, focusing on Grant and seeing that he hadn’t lied. His practiced motions said he’d done this before. And he was armed. Disposable diapers, baby wipes, baby outfits, various toys and a much-squeezed tube of baby ointment were strewn around the towel, somehow making the scene look like a declared disaster area.

  Grant evidently remembered she was supposed to be helping. He looked at her, held Tucker down with a hand splayed across the child’s naked little belly and crooked a finger her way. “Come here.”

  Laura edged backward on the bed. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars not to make me.”

  Grant chuckled. “I don’t need the money. Come here.”

  Disgusted, Laura stood, already shoving up her sweater’s sleeves as she kneeled to join him before the baby. “So. What can I do to help?” she said, all saccharine sweetness as she got ready to follow orders.

  Orders Grant was all too ready to give. “Hand me a wipe there. Yeah. Just pop it up. Like that. Thanks. Okay, two more. Whoa. This kid is the champ, isn’t he? Whew. Okay…all clean. Now the ointment…like so. There we go. And then we put the diaper and do the tapes like so. Hold still, Tucker. Okay, there you go. Here. Take this, Laura. Oh, stop it. It won’t bite. Just toss it…hell, I don’t know where—out a window. Damn. Phew.”

  “Phew,” Tucker repeated, grimacing and waving his chubby arms in the air.

  Holding the incriminating evidence at arm’s length, Laura walked stiff-legged to the bathroom Grant pointed to and found more fabulous opulence—gold fixtures and a marble shower and a sunken hot tub—and on the tiled floor a big plastic trash bag. Which she correctly guessed was for the diaper. She dumped the dirty work into it and got the heck out of there, only to watch Grant, still on his knees in the bedroom, finish doing up the leg snaps on Tucker’s outfit—

  While Tucker tried his best to turn over and crawl away. And Grant did his best to grab the baby and flip him onto his back. Time after time. Much to Tucker’s squealing delight. “Looks like a game,” Laura commented, grinning, drawing Grant’s attention. And giving Tucker a chance to escape with one foot still hanging out from the sleeper.

  “A big game. One I keep losing because—” Grant pointed to Tucker “—he won’t tell me the rules.” Her heart warming to this paternal side of Grant, Laura watched as he sat on his haunches, chuckling as he shook his head and watched the madcap baby jet around the bed and pull himself up, hanging onto the gold bedspread. He turned a bright-eyed stare on Grant and then Laura.

  “Yeah, I see you,” she laughingly assured Tucker, before focusing on Grant…only to catch him staring at her. He looked serious. Her countenance sobered. “What?”

  Grant shrugged. “You just look…Well, it’s good to see you again.” Laura swallowed tightly. “I’m curious. About how you found me. Not that where I live is any big secret I’m trying to keep from you. In fact, I should’ve left my address at your place.”

  Laura nodded. Then, raking her hand through her hair and sending a doting glance toward Tucker, who moved with mincing little steps around the bed away from them, Laura said, “Let’s just say that Big Brother is watching you. Meaning having an employee of the state on your side helps. Linda Gibson, Tucker’s caseworker, got on the phone. But only after I’d convinced her that I wasn’t lying when I told her who had Tucker. Well, anyway, it only took about ten seconds to have you pinpointed.”

  Grant frowned. “Doesn’t surprise me, really. The cops keep up with me. I get a lot of harassment. Not that that’s what you’re doing. But you know what I mean. So. Why isn’t this Linda Gibson here with you?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s like you said. You’re Grant Maguire. And now that she believes me, she’s not in too big a hurry to make a scene. Especially given how her official pals have screwed this matter up so far. She’s more concerned that you’ll kick up a fuss. So she’s ‘giving me this opportunity,’ as she put it, to get Tucker back to her on my own.”

  Having told her tale—well, most of it—Laura glanced the baby’s way just in time to see him disappear from view. Quite suddenly. No doubt he’d misstepped and sat down heavily. He didn’t fuss, so she didn’t worry. Turning her attention to Grant, she said, “There’s more.”

  Grant chuckled, somehow lending a fatalistic note to the sound. “There’s always more.”

  “Don’t I know it. Anyway, Ms. Gibson says—” Laura stopped, suddenly overcome. She sniffed, swallowing around the growing lump in her throat and waiting a wordless moment to compose herself before—

  “What does Ms. Gibson say, Laura?” Grant urged quietly.

  Laura met his honey-eyed gaze and inhaled deeply, trying to counteract the emotional tightness in her chest. “She says that Tucker’s mother showed up at the precinct. We…we have to give him back. Tonight.”

  “Son of a—” Grant cut off his words and swiped his hand over his face. He looked away from her, staring at all the new things he’d bought Tucker. A tic in his jaw gave his feelings away. Laura felt sure she knew what was going through his mind. Because the same thoughts were running through hers, too, sitting there watching him stare at the purchases that had fueled his fantasy.

  So, it was true. Grant had no more prepared himself psychologically for the baby’s departure than she had. Weren’t they just two of a kind? And wasn’t it sad? Or perhaps “delusional” was a better word. Because all along, they’d known Tucker wasn’t theirs, known they couldn’t keep him. And yet look at them. Yeah, look at us.

  Laura sat back, observing their situation as a stranger would, and considered their behavior. And realized that, overall, she liked who they were. Gosh, we’re good people to care this much about an abandoned baby, aren’t we? She blinked. They were, weren’t they? And their working together was about the baby, wasn’t it? Or was it more?

  Grant exhaled and swung his gaze—now hard amber—to her. “All right. I guess I’ve just been kidding myself that—Well, it doesn’t matter. Okay, we knew this was going to happen. And it’s for the best, Laura. For Tucker’s sake.”

  Who was he trying to convince? Himself or her? Then Laura realized she was shaking her head and that hot tears were coursing down her cheeks. “No.”

  “Yes,” Grant countered. “He’s not ours—I mean, yours. Or mine.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. Seeming thoroughly demoralized, Grant swung his gaze the baby’s way—well, where he’d been—and his frown deepened.

  “He sat down.” Laura sniffed.

  “Oh,” Grant said simply enough, settling on the carpet. He shot her a glance. “Did I hear you say earlier that your mother’s here?”

  She knew what he was doing. Changing the subject, helping her get through. Bringing up Vivian to lighten the moment, if not the load. And darn him, it was working. Laura let out an audible sigh as she wilted backward on Grant’s bed, flopping an arm over her closed eyes. “Yes,” she whined. “She and Irving are having a tiff. Remember that dumb saying about today being the first day of the rest of your life? Well, that was today. My whole life happened today, Grant. Everything. Just…boom. ‘Hello, Laura, here we are, complication after complication. Are you having fun yet?’”

  Grant’s chuckle—the proximity of its sound to her and the sinking weight next to her—told her he’d joined her on the bed. Her spirits immediately picked up, as did her heart rate. She opened her eyes, turned her head to her left and saw him. He’d stretched out close to her, on his belly, his chin resting on his folded arms as he faced forward and grinned at…Laura flipped onto her belly and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
Tucker. Curly black hair awry. Blue eyes bright His little mouth opened wide in a grin. He’d obviously pulled himself up and was quite pleased with his efforts.

  Seeing him, feeling Grant’s warm body next to her and considering where she was, in Grant’s bedroom with him and this baby, the emotional onslaught was just too much. Elation and giddiness warred with defeat and wretchedness. It was overwhelming. Determined to speak before her internal censor could stop her, Laura elbowed herself onto her side and looked Grant’s way. “There’s just one thing I have to say.”

  Grant edged his heavy-lidded gaze her way and reached out to smooth her cascading hair out of her face. “And what’s that?”

  Her senses fired by his touch, by his nearness, Laura waved a hand in a big lazy arc, indicating the whole scene. “This. It’s right. The whole thing, Grant Me. You. Tucker. Us here like this.” She saw Grant’s slow grin, his nod of agreement, and rushed on. “It is, isn’t it? It’s just…right. That’s how it feels. I don’t know how else to put it.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Grant assured her, cutting off her words by tugging her to him and kissing her speechless. A wet, moaning, openmouthed, kiss that Laura felt all the way from the top of her head, down her body and past her toes. In fact, she felt it all the way back to her fifth birthday.

  When Grant broke away from her, perspiration coated her forehead. Grant’s condition mirrored hers. After a moment during which they stared, shocked, yearning, only inches apart, into each other’s eyes, Grant muttered, “We’ll get through this, Laura. I swear it. We’ll do this. Together.”

  And then? she wanted to ask him but didn’t. In fact, she couldn’t speak at all. Grant seemed to realize that as he slowly rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “I mean it. No matter what, we’ll get through this, Laura. Now, about Tucker. If we—” He stopped, looked grim and tried again. “There’s no if to it, is there? When we give him back—”