"I was three months along when I went in for the tests. They gave me an ultrasound. They said the baby was probably okay, but they couldn’t tell for sure. There was only way to find out. So I agreed.
"And guess what? The baby was fine. It was a boy." She was crying now. "But it didn’t matter." She struggled to talk. She swore she’d never go back to this place again, and here she was. "Did you know that there is a one in two hundred and fifty chance of miscarrying with an amniocentesis?" Silence. "Yeah, neither did I."
Michael ran his hands through his hair. "How—we always used protection—"
"No we didn’t!" He looked up at her. "How could you forget?"
In a moment, he remembered. "Oh, my God." He stood up and walked toward her. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
She stepped away. "Now, let’s see—when should I have done that? Would you have been high or drunk or screwing someone else? Would you even have recognized my voice, Michael?"
"Don’t you dare!" he shouted, enraged. "None of that would have happened if you hadn’t sent me away."
"I didn’t think I had a choice!" she screamed.
"I had a right to know."
"Why? We’d never discussed children, and you were gone. Should I have called you to make everything worse?"
He remembered the beach. "What were you going to do if he hadn’t been okay?"
"Excuse me?"
"It isn’t the Sixties anymore." He said the first thing that he thought. "Why should you have to have a baby you didn’t want, the child of a man everyone hated, when you could have the rest of your life instead?"
Miranda had been happy beyond words when she’d found out that she was going to have her baby. She dreamed of holding him and telling him how much she loved him. She imagined that he would look just like his father. And she’d hoped, even though she’d thought it was wrong, that Michael would someday come back to the both of them. After Miranda had lost her baby, she had given up on life itself. She had no idea how much time passed before her son was gone and she finally opened the door in Richard’s house to Alex Sheldon. He asked what was wrong, but didn’t make her tell him. She’d collapsed into his arms and cried for hours. She let him hold her. She felt how much he’d missed her, and it was the first time she let herself pretend that he was Michael. Ever since she’d lost her son, but even more so since Michael had come back, she’d always hoped, somewhere in the deep of her heart, that he’d find out and he’d hold her and he’d let her cry for their son. She’d hoped that he could take the wrenching grief away, even if they’d never be able to share another child. Losing her son had been worse than losing her mother, her dream about Alex, even Michael. One more ghost, but hadn’t Michael always been able to make the ghosts go away?
She laughed now. Of course not. "Good, Michael. Why don’t we just stop pretending once and for all that you love me more than anything, or even at all? Why don’t you stalk me, why don’t you make me think I’m going crazy? Why don’t you fly into a crazy jealous rage when I talk to someone else and hurt me so badly I need a cane for two weeks? Why don’t you arrange for me to walk in on you with someone else? Why don’t you have sex with me when you know I don’t really want to? That’s not your game, that’s our game. You’re not mean or cruel or controlling or scary. That’s just how you love me. And I don’t really mean no, go away, please stop. I mean chase me until I’m cornered and I can’t get away from you because I can’t get enough of you. I like it when you follow me; I think it means you want me. And it’s so great to be wanted, isn’t it? So why should I have any boundaries? Why should you have to respect me at all?
"But my baby is not part of our game. My baby, my son. He was everything, so much more than you could have been. Don’t you ever, ever, ever question me about him again. When you were gone, I didn’t want to live anymore. But I did. When he was gone, a part of me went too. And it’s never coming back. All he was ever going to have was me, and I needed to know, because you know what? I think I’ve heard of people losing one or both of their parents. And if something had been wrong and he lost me, what would have happened to him? Who would have taken care of him? Hmm? No, nothing? I’m sure you’ll come up with something better than silly, stupid little old me could. You judge me if it makes you feel any better, but while you’re doing that you ask yourself what you would have done if you cared about anyone else but yourself." She grabbed her purse. "Thank you, actually. Because I always thought I loved him so much because he was yours, not just because he was mine. But now I know for sure. You know what? I don’t give a damn what you think. And here’s something else. I am never, ever, ever going to shed one more tear over you, except that I wasted so much time missing you."
He’d been filled with remorse as soon as his words had left his mouth. He couldn’t move when she walked to the door, but he flinched when it slammed. He looked at the coffee table. He sat down before his legs buckled out from under him.
A baby. They’d never talked about children, she was right. He’d never believe he could be a husband, much less to the woman he had dreamed about since he was a little boy. Getting her was a miracle, no matter how hard he’d worked. That he could be anything more, that he could have had more with her—he’d never entertained the possibility when they were married. When he’d been doing his research these last few weeks, it had all been so theoretical, would that work, what did they need to worry about. But the idea of a baby, in the flesh—he still hadn’t really been able to wrap his mind around that.
Now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Would he have looked like Miranda, with her beautiful clear blue eyes and curly hair? Or would he have looked like Michael’s father, with red hair and dark blue eyes? Or would he have been dark like the Hendricksons, just like Michael was? Maybe he’d have been tall and thin, just like Richard. Michael smiled as he thought about that, then realized that it was a question of would have been, not would be. He could have had a two-year-old son right now. He’d be walking and talking and holding Michael’s hand as he toddled down the street. A little boy who wouldn’t have expected Michael to be the guy who never quite got it right. In fact, he’d be the only one who expected Michael to never do it wrong. Michael had gotten a taste of acceptance since the accident, and he still didn’t quite believe it. It took his breath away to imagine that all the time from someone who wasn’t Miranda.
He wished he’d asked her last night. He wished he’d talked to her about it. He wished he’d been gentle with her when she would have tried to squirm away. He wished he’d put together all of the little clues she’d dropped since he’d been back, because now it seemed so clear. He wished he could tell her that he loved that little boy who would never be, but that he loved him so much more because he was Miranda’s too. But she’d left, and he’d let her. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate what a sacrifice it had been to let her.
What would the old Michael do? He’d have a drink, he’d call a dealer. He’d plot something to hurt someone. He’d hate himself for what he’d said to Miranda and come up with some way to hurt her to punish himself. He looked at the door. He wasn’t the old Michael anymore. He was the guy who wanted to run out and find her and tell her how sorry he was. He wanted to tell her that he understood everything now.
But now Michael wanted to be even more. He wanted to be the father that the little boy he would never meet deserved. He looked at the coffee table and put the envelope and its contents onto his bed. Then he picked up his phone.
CHAPTER 16
Richard found Emily sweeping at nine-thirty. "Nice of you to stroll in," she said grumpily.
"I had a bit of a late night," Richard said as he rubbed his forehead. "Ari wanted to stay here until one, and then insisted we talk for a little bit longer, at that all-night bar in the North End."
Emily smiled as she remembered going there with Mitch years ago. "Sorry, I know you were hoping the evening might turn out a little differently."
Richard sighed, remembering that Zainab ha
d let him kiss her goodnight before she left. "Well, it wasn’t entirely a loss. Something to build on, right?"
"That’s up to you." She dumped the last pan of dust into the garbage can. "I hope you knew enough to let Ari do most of the drinking and you most of the talking."
"It was probably evenly split."
"So...?"
Richard smiled. "So I think you have some great ideas sometimes."
Emily squealed as she hugged him. "Careful, now," he laughed. "You don’t want to make Mister Schonenfeld—I mean, Mitch—too jealous."
"Shut up, Richard!" Emily said.
"I saw him kiss you goodnight too."
"On the hand! Boy, I hope your kiss was a little more satisfying."
"No comment. But I think he’s quite taken with you. Your name came up a few times after you left."
"You don't think that has anything to do with me working like a crazy person to set this up?"
Richard shook his head. "No. You might have to come to dinner with us when we go out to celebrate."
"If you can make sure Michael behaves while we’re out, I’m there. Speaking of which, where is Hades now?"
"He called and said he was going to be late today." He couldn’t stop smiling. "I got the impression he might have had a late night as well, and I can’t help but notice that Miranda isn’t in either."
Emily shrugged. "Maybe her night was even later, because she called to say that she was working from home today." Maybe there was hope yet that Miranda had come to her senses.
~~~
Michael arrived at twelve. He seemed uncharacteristically apologetic, then helped Richard and the engineers put the final touch on the workstations. When he was done, he asked about Miranda. Richard mentioned that Miranda was working from home. Michael could tell that Richard wanted to ask about the night before, but he just mumbled a thanks and dialed Miranda’s number.
She didn’t pick up. He sent her an email about work. Ten minutes later, Emily called out from her desk. "Michael, Miranda said you need the information on Ari’s projections? I’ll send you a link, and I’ll also send you the executive summary."
"Thanks," he managed.
The next day, Michael was still staring at Miranda’s empty desk. Richard came over at twelve. "Do you want to get some lunch with us?"
"Nah, I’m not very hungry right now."
"How about I pick something up for you in case you change your mind?"
"Sounds great. Thanks."
Richard nodded and looked at the desk. "Do you want to talk?"
"I wouldn’t know where to start, and right now I’m not sure yet what I should say."
"Mm hmm. Tell you what. The game is on tonight, and I was going to watch it at Martin’s place. I think you should come."
"Martin? The guy who was attached to Jessie at the party?"
Richard still didn’t like the age difference, but he liked everything else. "That one. But Jessie, apparently, is going to Emily’s house tonight. Something about pasta and cupcakes—I don’t know."
At least he knew where Miranda was going to be. "I know what you’re trying to do—"
"So let me do it. Come on Michael—try a little normal for a change. You can go back to doing your Methuselah impression tomorrow."
"Fine, fine, fine." He smiled at his cousin, but before he could say anything, his phone rang. He looked at the number and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I really need to take this."
"Okay," Richard said as he tapped his desk. "But I’ll grab you before I leave."
Michael nodded his head as he picked up the phone. Richard wrinkled his brow, then shrugged and caught up with Carlos.
CHAPTER 17
Martin opened the door that night to hear Michael grumbling to Richard. "Why am I the one always carrying things? Gunshot wound, hello!"
Martin shook Richard’s hand, and took the bag of chips and soda from Michael. Michael looked at him a little warily, but Martin smiled. "Hey, glad you could join us."
Michael had seen Martin only once before, at the party, and Martin had been too busy to get an introduction. Michael had been relieved. Surely Jessie’s boyfriend, who apparently was also Mitch’s best friend, knew the story. But Martin was friendly and easy going, just as Richard had assured him he would be. "Yeah," Michael said quietly. "Thanks for having me."
"I have the entire weekend off, honey. Yes, I promise. You should go out with me tomorrow. What do you mean you might have other plans?" Mitch said into the telephone as he came out of the bedroom. He saw Michael and his jaw dropped. "Yeah, I have to call you back." He hung up and looked at Martin. "You neglected to mention he was coming."
"I could have used a warning myself," Michael said to Richard. "And by the way, I don’t think this falls under normal."
"You caught me," Richard said. "I thought it was time you guys buried the hatchet."
"Great," Mitch said. "Do you have one?"
"Dude, take it down a notch, okay?" Martin said. "I think we can all agree that Michael may have been a little anti-social before—"
"Or just plain psychotic."
Michael turned. "Maybe I should go."
"—But that’s in the past," Martin said as Richard blocked Michael’s exit. "I’m pretty grateful, actually, and I want him to stay." He turned to Mitch. "And excuse me, but aren’t Emily and Michael working together now?"
"It was sort of her idea," Richard said, then ignored Michael’s sideways glance.
Mitch frowned. "I continue to be amazed by the lengths she will go to for her friends."
"What I’m saying is, if she can be in the same room with him, so can you." Martin tapped Mitch’s arm. "So do you think you could give it a rest for the night?"
"Depends," Mitch said after a moment. "Did you guys bring any spinach dip?"
Richard threw the bag of chips at Mitch. "Just put these in something, will you?"
Ten minutes later, they were sitting on Martin’s floor. Mitch, Richard and Martin were drinking beers, and Michael was drinking an Izzie. Mitch smiled when he saw it. "That’s Hellie’s favorite flavor," he said quietly. "Emily won’t let her drink soda."
"That seems reasonable," Michael said cautiously. "She seems like she’s a good mom."
Mitch picked up a bottle and looked at it longingly. "The best. And Hellie’s just like her. She’s so smart and pretty." He put his lips against the bottle cap. Everyone else in the room heard him say how much he missed them both. "Of course, she has my sense of humor."
"But we’re all confident she’ll be able to outgrow that," Martin said as he took a swig.
"You were pretty young when she was born, weren’t you?" Michael asked.
Mitch shrugged. "Not too young."
"Weren’t you...scared?"
Mitch smiled to himself. "I didn't have a chance to be afraid of a little baby. I was still marveling that Emily had married me."
"And what made you forget that?" Martin said as he grabbed a handful of chips.
"Martin, is there a reason you don't think I feel bad enough about what I did?"
"Yes, you moron. Do you remember all the coffee I got you in Ireland so you could stay up for two and a half days and get your finals in and get away from that girl Kyra?"
"Thanks, that’s sort of hard to forget."
Michael raised his eyebrows and looked at Richard. "Who’s Kyra?"
"Old girlfriend, I think."
"That’s a nice word for it," Martin said.
Mitch rolled his eyes. "Thanks, buddy."
"What? Weren’t you one of four guys she was dating—or whatever—at the time?"
Michael looked surprised. "You don’t mean Kyra Allen, do you?"
Mitch and Martin were stunned. "Do you know her?" Martin laughed.
"Um, yeah. I used to see her around when I was in town." He glared at Richard. "Not like that!" He turned to Mitch and couldn’t help smirking. "I guess I can see what you liked about her. She was pretty popular."
Martin shook hi
s head. "What a surprise, but his wife is much better looking."
"Oh, yeah," Michael said, taking another sip. "What?!?" he said when he saw Mitch’s expression. "We can’t stand each other, but she definitely is. And even I can have a longer conversation with Emily than I could with Kyra."
"Of course she’s better looking," Mitch grumbled. "And every time I see her it’s like she’s going out of her way to torment me by looking even better."
"Emily is going out of her way?" Richard asked, amused. "By what, not putting her hair in a ponytail? Using cherry Chap Stick instead of clear?"
"She’s just so...radiant! She has the best hair, body, skin. She looks worse when she goes to any trouble. And speaking of pregnant..." He sighed. "Never mind."
Martin looked at Richard and Michael, who both seemed a little scandalized. "Oh no, man—you have to finish that thought now."
"No, she’ll kill me."
"She already wants you dead anyway, what’s the difference?"
Mitch looked into his beer, trying not to grin. "She was so hot when she was pregnant. That was some of the best sex of my life."
Richard nearly spat out his beer. Michael sighed, but no one caught it. "Is that a good idea?" Martin asked, fascinated.
"Oh yeah!" Mitch said, forgetting his reserve as he recalled Emily’s pregnancy. "There is a little ‘hmm, should I be doing this’, but that just adds to it. And plus," he laughed, then drank a little liquid courage, "she was very, very easy to please then."
Martin was howling. "Okay, your wife is hot—"
"For the last time, shut up about my wife!"
Martin grinned. "But she was, you know, pregnant. Didn’t that get difficult after a while?"
"Nothing a little creativity couldn’t solve, and that was just one of many fringe benefits."
"You need to stop right now," Richard said after he wiped his mouth. "I don’t know how I’m going to look at her next week if you don’t." He was too busy laughing to notice Michael’s pained expression.
"I’ll stop," Mitch said. "But then you have to admit, once and for all, that you had a crush on my wife."
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