by Ruth Wind
She ate as she drove, gobbling most of the cookies and all the cheese and the lemonade between trips to the bank, the cleaners and the house of an elderly docent who had made three costumes for the volunteers. She ate one of the apples on the way up the hill to Louise's palatial home.
As she parked, she caught sight of Tyler's blue pickup, and her heart sank. She'd managed very nicely to avoid him over the past couple of mouths, but in a town this small, and especially considering that he was the son of a good friend of hers, there was no avoiding him forever. She'd known that, but it still made her feel oddly queasy to think of actually seeing him again.
Steeling herself, she got out of the Jeep. Curtis, blond and getting lanky, appeared on the front porch. "Miss Anna!" he cried, and tumbled down the steps to fling himself into her arms.
His happiness touched her, and Anna knelt to his level to grab him and give him a big hug. "Good morning, Curtis! Did you come to town for the living history?"
"Yep. I got a raccoon hat and everything."
She chuckled. "Well, if you come by where I'm working, I'll let you churn butter. You want?"
"Sure!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Tyler come out of the house. Instantly, her stomach tightened, and her heart flipped. He looked so good, straight and tall and beautiful in the morning light, his mage's eyes so clear and deep and unreadable. For the most fleeting of seconds, she thought she glimpsed the same upset and hunger in his eyes that she felt, but then her stomach roiled violently. Urgently.
"Excuse me," she said, almost dropping Curtis. She raced by Tyler and into the house, and barely made it to the bathroom before losing the entire contents of her stomach in a quick, violent rush.
"Jeez, girl," she said to herself. "Could you be any more dramatic?" She bent over the sink to rinse her mouth and face, touching her forehead to see if she might have picked up a flu bug or something. Nothing but cool flesh. And the truth was, her stomach felt fine now. Too much junk food.
She straightened, using her wet hands to tame a few wild black curls back into place. And for the first time in days, she really saw herself. The red sweater made her skin practically glow, even without makeup, and her eyes were as clear and bright as a child's. All that sleep had made her look about five years younger than she was and the extra weight didn't disagree with her.
In fact—she yanked at the neckline of the simple scoop neck of the sweater, scowling at the surprising amount of curvy flesh spilling over the neckline—she looked amazingly voluptuous. She scowled, trying to cover the tops of her breasts decently. She was going to look like the town prostitute in her costume, with its square neckline.
It must be the wretched, uncomfortable bra that had rearranged her curves like this, because heaven knew she'd never, ever had cleavage. Not in all her life—
Knowledge fell on her.
"Oh, my God," she breathed, staring at her vivid coloring, the lushness of breasts, the red of her lips. With a hand that suddenly trembled, she touched her breasts, then her belly, thinking back.
There was a joke in her family that the women never grew real breasts until they had a baby who needed them. They were all skinny and rather slimly built until they had children. Anna had seen her sisters go from girls to voluptuous women, one after the other.
And more than that, they had all been dazzling. Her father joked that he'd made Anna's mother pregnant so often because she was so extraordinarily beautiful when she carried a child. One of Anna's cousins, pregnant at sixteen out of wedlock, had been able to hide everything about her condition except that extraordinary Madonna glow.
"Oh, my God," she said again. It was impossible, but it was a fact.
"Anna!" Tyler knocked on the door, hard. "Are you all right?"
She closed her eyes and took a breath, then yanked open the door. "I'm fine," she said, tossing her hair from her face to look up at him. "Just pregnant."
* * *
Tyler stared down at her, fighting waves of furious desire. When she stepped out of her truck wearing that red sweater, her black hair loose and tumbling around her face, he'd been assailed by a vision of storming across the yard, and taking her there on the hood of the car, right there, right now. It appalled him. He didn't feel like this about women.
Not even Kara.
He hated her for it. Hated the surge of bone-deep yearning he felt now, looking at her up close, close to that devourable mouth, the sparkling black eyes, the smell of her hair and her flesh that made him remember all kinds of things he was trying to forget. He stared down at her blankly, until the words finally penetrated. "What?"
She pushed by him. "You heard me. I think maybe that doctor of yours didn't do such a great job."
"What?" He grabbed her arm, having trouble working his mind around to what those words meant. "You're pregnant?"
She sighed. "I'm as surprised as you are. I haven't had a test, but I can tell you it's for sure."
"Wait. You mean it's mine?"
"Tyler, I'm late. I have to go." She pulled away. "We'll talk later."
"Damn it, Anna, talk to me. This is impossible."
"Not impossible. It happens, you know." She backed away. "I'm sorry, I have to go right now."
She rushed out, leaving Tyler staring after her in stunned bewilderment.
His mother rushed past him. "Anna, don't forget the brittle!" she cried, carrying the neatly wrapped plate. She gave it to Anna, who took it and bolted.
Louise came back through the hallway, wiping her hands on her apron. He could tell by her expression that she'd heard the whole exchange, but she didn't say a word, only looked at him.
"Is that possible?" he finally asked.
"That she's pregnant?"
"No, that it's mine." He couldn't work his mind around the revelation. "I had a vasectomy. I thought—"
Louise narrowed her eyes. The cornflower-blue irises glinted dangerously. "If you're telling me you slept with her and she's pregnant and you're not sure if it's yours, then you'd better get yourself to a doctor and have them run one of those tests to check your sperm count. Because if you didn't do it, it's an immaculate conception, and while I think she's a fine woman, I don't think she's quite ready for sainthood."
Tyler flushed, in anger and confusion and embarrassment. A man didn't talk about things like this with his mother, for Pete's sake. "I didn't mean I doubted her. I just didn't know that it could happen."
"You had a vasectomy, son?"
He nodded.
"When Kara got pregnant, I suppose." She sighed and put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I wish you'd told me. It would have made things make a lot more sense."
"What things, Mama?" He turned away. "Kara's desperation to have Curtis, maybe?"
"Your guilt," she said simply. "Come on in here and sit down. Let's have a cup of tea and talk for just a minute."
"No." The word came out harshly. He took a breath.
"It's not you. I just need to think about this." He shook his head. "Do you see what happens when you butt in where you don't belong, Mama? Will you please stay out of other people's lives?"
That hurt her. Tyler saw the shine of tears in her eyes before she turned away, lifting her chin. "I was wrong," she said. "I'm sorry." She looked at him. "If there's anything I can do to help put things right, just say the word."
"Ah, damn." The wounded expression in her eyes made him bend down and hug her close. "What am I going to do?"
She squeezed him tight and pulled back to press a kiss to his cheek. "You'll work it out, son. I have faith in you."
"Can Curtis go with you to the museum for a little while? I need to do a couple of things. I can pick him up in an hour, two at the most."
"Sure. You know where the booth is. I'll be there all afternoon."
"Thanks."
From a corner of the dining room where they stood, Curtis piped up, "Miss Anna's going to have a baby?"
Tyler looked at his son blankly. He hadn't realized the boy
had been anywhere around, and even if he'd realized it, he wouldn't have expected Curtis to know what pregnant meant. "How do you know what that means, kiddo?"
"Cody's kitty got pregnant and she had babies." Of course. The kittens had been the center of Cody's life for weeks now. "Well, Miss Anna isn't going to have kittens."
Curtis rolled his eyes. "I know. She hath to have a real baby. Like Auntie Ramona."
"What?" Tyler looked to his mother for confirmation.
"I was going to tell you. She just confirmed it. She's due in September."
A curious pluck of sorrow struck Tyler's chest, plaintive and sad. And as if he felt it, too, Curtis said wistfully, "I wish Miss Anna was my mommy."
A hundred responses rose to Tyler's lips, but he didn't dare utter a single one of them. "Well, she's not, so you'll have to make do with Grandma." Ruffling his son's hair, he said, "Be good. I'll see you in a little while."
* * *
He went straight to the clinic. Before anything else could be decided, he had to know the physical facts.
So early on a festival day, there was no one in the clinic, and Tyler found Ramona filling out forms at the front desk. Her abundant hair was swept into a loose knot on top of her head, and as she glanced up, her spectacles slipped down on her nose. "Hi, Tyler!" she said with a smile. "How are you?"
"I'm not sure," he said honestly. "But I hear congratulations are in order."
An expression of almost blissful happiness crossed her face, an expression so ripe it made Tyler want to sit down and weep. "Yes. I've had my tests, so we know it's going to be a boy. Jake is over the moon."
Tyler hugged her, and gave her tummy a little pat. "I guess you're going to name him for me, huh?"
She chuckled. "Lance said the exact same thing." She took off her glasses. "I have a feeling this isn't a social call, however. Is there something wrong?"
"Yeah." He frowned. "No. I mean, I don't know."
With the gentle touch that made her so beloved by her patients, Ramona gently guided him to a chair. "Tell me about it."
He hated this stuff. It embarrassed him. He hated going to the doctor, hated having to discuss anything with people who poked and prodded. He especially hated discussing something so intensely private. "I had a vasectomy when Kara was pregnant."
"I remember," she said, smiling. She'd made the referral to a doctor in Denver.
"Can they come undone?"
Ramona said nothing for a moment, and Tyler saw that he'd managed to surprise her. Questions rose in the dark brown eyes, but she said mildly, "Yes, unfortunately, it does happen. Do you have reason to believe that has happened to you?"
He laced his fingers together. "Yeah."
"Only one way to find out. I need a sample."
He blushed to his toes. "Oh, God."
Lightly, Ramona laughed, and put a container into his hand. "I'm a doctor, Tyler. I won't tell." She rubbed his shoulder for a minute. "You know the drill. The sooner you get it done, the sooner we'll know."
Mortified, he simply sat there, heat radiating in red waves up his face and over his ears. Ramona pushed him gently. "If you're a good patient, I'll give you a lollipop."
He sighed, a reluctant smile on his mouth. "Do you have any chocolate ones?"
She plucked a round brown sucker from the dish on the desk and held it up.
"Okay." Tyler rolled his eyes and went into the examining room and closed the door.
* * *
Anna managed to make it through the day without having a panic attack. On the way home, she stopped at the grocery store and bought a home pregnancy test. It told her what she already knew. She was pregnant.
Her apartment took up the second floor of an historic Victorian house, part of the employment package offered the curator of the museum, since housing was at such a premium in the valley. Her rent was far below market rate, and she loved the charming rooms, with their old-fashioned wallpaper, the claw-footed bathtub, even the quaint, small kitchen. Most of all, she loved the long windows overlooking the splendor of the valley on one side, a view of treetops on another, the mountains on the other.
Tonight, she stood in the living room, leaning against the wall to look at the mountains. Where Tyler lived in the woodcutter's cottage, where enchantment had stolen over them and left her with a child.
It would make a nice fairy tale, but the truth was, Anna was frightened. Her mind whirled with a dozen different considerations—how she would be able to provide for the baby, how it would change her career aspirations, how Tyler was going to react and how much he would want to participate in the child's life.
A part of her felt exuberant and excited and dizzy with happiness. Sipping her tea, she smiled and put her hand on her still-flat belly, imagining a child with his blood, with that noble beauty on its face. And she loved children; she'd always wanted some of her own. It wasn't as if she were some young, naive girl with no options. She was well educated and established in her career, and there was no reason she could not simply raise the baby by herself, as millions of other single women had done. She trusted her ability to be a good parent. She'd had very good training, after all.
And that was the biggest problem of all. She felt tonight an unexpected need to run home to the bosom of her family. She ached to cry on her mother's shoulder, and have her grandmother cook something sinful and cluck over the ways of the modern world. She wanted her sisters to be exclaiming over the blessed event and offering herbal potions that kept their morning sickness at bay, and give her tips on everything from drugs to breast-feeding. She didn't know how she could bear to go through this alone.
But she also could not bear the thought of leaving Colorado. Not after so long a time trying to get here, not after all her dreams and scheming had finally paid off. The idea of leaving now gave her a physical pain, as if some part of her body had become rooted.
The phone rang, and Anna answered it without much energy. To her great relief, it was her sister Mary Frances, calling to chat and complain and gossip. Jack had been caught with another woman, and his wife was divorcing him; Teresa's teenagers were driving her crazy; Catherine was going to have another baby. "You'd think she had enough, already!" Mary Frances exclaimed with a snort.
Anna smiled. Mary Frances had always prized her attractiveness above all things, and had stopped with one daughter, who was as prissy and pretty as her mother. "She loves them. She's a good mother." A pang arrowed through her. If she went home, she could share her pregnancy with her sister. "When is she due?"
"Thanksgiving. You could come home for a visit then, maybe."
"That might be a good time, actually. Or Christmas." Little did they know what she'd be bringing with her. The thought gave her a chuckle, which she swallowed.
"Jack is in so much trouble, he's threatening to move out there with you."
"That would be nice." One or another of them was always threatening to come to Colorado. None of them had yet. If it was Jack, at least he'd keep her secrets.
Mary Frances talked a little longer, then hurried off the phone to greet her husband, just home from work. Anna sat beside the telephone, feeling blue and lonely. She desperately wanted someone to talk to, but the only person in town that she would feel comfortable spilling her guts to was, unfortunately, the mother of the man who had made her pregnant. Awkward, to say the least.
Her stomach growled and, with a chuckle, Anna headed for the kitchen. At least she knew why she was so hungry all the time lately. "Come on, kid," she said aloud. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm thinking a pastrami sandwich."
* * *
Louise cooked when she was upset. By the time Alonzo came home from work that night, there were piles of fried chicken, a huge vat of potato salad, enough brownies for an army, and her special green beans with bacon.
Alonzo took off his hat, hung it on a hook and sat down at the table. "Do you wish to tell me what tragedy made all this food appear?"
Until that moment. Louise had managed
to remain calm, but the simple sound of the man she was falling in love with unraveled her calm. She put her hands on the counter, bowed her head and burst into tears. "I've made such a mess of things."
Gently he stood up and rubbed a hand on her back. It was an awkward, but welcome, gesture of comfort. "Tell me."
Haltingly, she spilled the small duplicity she had practiced when she sent Anna to the mountain, knowing the storm would likely trap her there. "Now she's pregnant, Tyler's furious, and poor Anna is going to pay the price. In other words, I was just being my usual busybody self, and may have ruined three lives in the bargain."
"I told you this would happen," he said, shaking his head. "You can't do this."
"Thank you," Louise said with a scowl. "That's very comforting."
"Ah." His eyes narrowed. "Now you can't fix it, and you want somebody to tell you it is okay. I'm not gonna do it, Louise. You have to learn a lesson now. Now you have to do what you can to make it right."
"What can I do? The die has been cast."
He took his hat from the hook. "Stop cooking and start thinking," he said. "I am going to my house now. This makes me mad at you, and I don't want to fight."
Stunned, Louise watched him go. Then she clamped her mouth shut. Fine. He was just like all the rest. He could just eat in his own house forever, for all she cared.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Even after the sandwich, Anna felt guilty and sad and alone. Finally, she put on a skirt and a warm coat and walked to the small Catholic church downtown. It was a satisfyingly old place, built in the Spanish mission style, and she loved it. The congregation was small, but devout, and had welcomed her warmly upon her arrival.
The doors were always open, unlike those of many of the churches in cities now, and Anna let herself in quietly. The floors were clay tiles, and could not hide her footsteps, and although there was only one other person in the small nave, she did not want to disturb anyone. She slipped into a pew near the middle and knelt.
Somehow it helped just being here, smelling the incense and candle wax and the church smell that she could never quite identify—mothballs and dust and cleaning products. She had felt a particular love for this church from the beginning, with its Spanish art and the stylized santos and the brightly embroidered altar cloths.
