And then Derek collapsed in her arms.
* * *
Eve never knew afterward how she got through the next few days. The turgid July heat clamped down on the house in Myers Park even more oppressively than usual, intensifying the smell of the flowers disgorged by florists' vans until it seemed that all the flowers in the world had converged upon this spot.
Aunt May was literally prostrate with a grief that, for the first time in her life, she could not assuage with chocolates. Derek was unable to function, and this so surprised and angered him that he wasted no time on the usual bromides or niceties required by the occasion. Heartbroken, he moved through the rituals stony-faced, rigid and uncommunicative. The bulk of what needed to be done fell on Eve's shoulders.
Derek's father came from South America, accompanied by his bejeweled Colombian wife, who was young enough to be his daughter, and Derek's mother arrived from Virginia and remained glassily tranquilized throughout. Derek's sister, an angular woman with no warmth to her and who was clearly there only because she felt an obligation, flew in from Grosse Point on the morning of the funeral and flew out again that evening. Kelly had only one relative, Aunt May. So when people wondered who Eve was, she merely said she was a friend of the family. No one knew, no one guessed, what her true mission in the household was.
Eve's main concern was for the baby she carried. Her mourning was for the baby's mother. And for the baby's father she felt compassion. She had never seen anyone as grief-stricken as Derek Lang.
But she—she must remain strong. For the baby's sake. For Kelly's sake. And for Derek's.
Because when all this was over, when the mourners had gone home, the baby would be all that Derek had left of Kelly.
After the funeral when darkness fell and the only sound in the house was the muted tick-tock of the grandfather clock on the stair landing, Eve knocked on the door of Derek's study.
He didn't answer, so she pushed the door open.
Derek sat at his desk, one small lamp lit. His face was buried in his hands, and he didn't look up when Eve walked in.
She cleared her throat. "Derek," she said softly, "I don't mean to be a bother, but we need to talk."
He raised his head, and his face seemed engraved with new lines of tragedy, his eyes reflecting the agony of loss. He didn't speak for a long moment, just stared at her as though he had never seen her before. For a moment he wondered who she was, what she wanted. Then he remembered, and with the memory came even more sorrow.
"Eve," he said, and his voice was raw. She saw his throat muscles working, and she thought he would break down. But he didn't.
She felt a foreshadowing of doom, but she knew she was headed straight for it and that it was too late to stop.
"Eve," he said, more clearly now that he had regained control of himself. "I've been thinking about it. I think the best thing for you to do under the circumstances would be to have an abortion."
Chapter 3
The air felt leaden. Eve couldn't breathe. Her eyes dimmed, and she had to grip her hands together tightly to keep them from shaking. She sank into a chair across the desk from Derek. Had she heard him correctly? No, she couldn't have! But from the way he was measuring her reaction, she knew she had.
She was taking it calmly. He might have known she would. Hadn't Kelly said that Eve wasn't the type to go into a dither about anything? Eve sat squarely in the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and his eyes lingered for a moment on her hands. Her fingernails had wide half-moons at the base and were cut sensibly short and unadorned by anything but clear polish. Everything about her was neat and precise; she was a symmetrical person. Eve. A symmetrical name, even. He liked symmetry in furnishings, which is why he had chosen this Georgian house, but also in people and in life. Only life wasn't always symmetrical, was it?
"No," she said firmly.
He closed his eyes and reopened them. He was not in the mood for an argument.
"It would be best," he repeated. "For all of us."
Eve shook her head. "I can't believe you mean that."
"I do."
"Derek, you're very tired. You're overwrought. I understand. In fact, it would be better if we talked in the morning." She started to get up, groping for the support of the chair arm. She was falling apart with weariness.
"Yes, I am tired," he acknowledged heavily. "In fact, I'm exhausted. But I assure you that I'm thinking clearly and that I am not drunk or stoned or under the influence of anything that would distort my thought processes."
"But to destroy the life that Kelly wanted so much, part of her and part of you—"
"That's enough!" he said sharply. And then, more kindly, he said, "Look, it's not your fault. You were dragged into this by us, and I apologize for that. You—"
"I was not dragged into anything!" Eve protested, her temper flaring. "I wanted to have this baby for you and Kelly. I wanted to help you and—"
"You wanted the money," he said wearily. "I read the application. Look, you'll get your twenty thousand dollars. I'll pay you anyway."
Eve swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. "I did it partly for the money," she said slowly. "But that wasn't the whole reason. Derek, I loved Kelly. She was like a sister to me."
Derek leaned back in his chair and blinked at the ceiling. A sigh tore from his body. "Don't talk about her," he said brokenly. "I can't stand it." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, then lowered his head to look at Eve.
Tears dampened Eve's lower eyelashes. She looked so hurt, so vulnerable. God, what a scene to put her through! First Kelly and now this. Eve had suffered too many shocks lately. Derek knew in that instant that he could have handled the matter more sensitively, and he wished he had.
He stood abruptly and walked to the window, gazing out over the moonlit terrace with its memories of his wife. Just a few nights ago the two of them had stood there.... He clenched his hands and stuffed them deep in his pockets before he turned to face Eve, who was surreptitiously brushing at her damp cheeks with the edge of one hand.
Through this whole ordeal, Eve had been a quiet, comforting presence, handling all the details that he and Aunt May had been unable to manage. Derek hadn't seen her cry at all until now. Too late, his heart flooded with gratitude. He was ashamed of himself for hitting her with this at the wrong time.
He walked slowly to where she sat staring down at the carpet.
"Eve, look at me."
Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, those soft brown eyes. Deep inside them he saw the hurt.
He spoke gently. "Eve, this isn't the time to discuss this. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have startled you with it. But time is important. If it's going to be done, it should be done soon. You're how far along?"
"Six weeks," she whispered, sick at heart.
"Six weeks."
She squared her narrow shoulders. They looked so fragile, as though any burden would be too great for them. But when she stood, he realized suddenly that he had miscalculated her reaction.
"There will be no abortion, Derek," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "Even if I have to raise the child myself."
Now her shoulders rose in anger, and she reminded him of a fierce black Australian swan that had spread its wings and attacked him with a frightening hiss when he, a boy of eight or nine, wandered too close to its nest. But Eve simply stared at him, her eyes glinting with determination, and then she rose from the chair, turned swiftly, and walked out of the room.
Bring the child up herself? It was out of the question.
Slowly, Derek returned to his chair. He had made a mess out of this; no doubt about it. He asked himself in anguish, What would Kelly do? And because he knew the answer right away, he let his head sink to the desktop, the cool polished walnut surface soothing his hot forehead.
Oh, Kelly, Kelly, he thought. And then, finally, now that everyone had gone, he felt alone enough to loose the floodgates of his own grief.
* * *
"Neve
r," Eve muttered to herself as she flung off her clothes and slipped into her nightgown. "Never."
She slid between the sheets and stared up at the ceiling. There was no way Derek could make her get rid of this baby. Ultimately, it was her body. She'd examined her copy of the contract with the Langs, and although their attorney had not foreseen this contingency, as far as Eve could determine, the contract they'd signed gave Derek no right to insist that she terminate the pregnancy.
Abortion was against Eve's principles. She would never, as long as she still drew breath, allow anything to hurt this baby, the baby Kelly had wanted so much.
For now Eve knew that she wanted the baby, too. The baby was part of Kelly, and that part of Kelly deserved to survive.
Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes, and she pressed the palms of her hands to her abdomen as if to shield the unborn child. In wonder she realized that her abdomen was beginning to swell ever so slightly with the baby's presence. Suddenly she was overcome with an emotion that she recognized as unmistakably maternal: she loved this baby, this baby that was part of her and yet not, and this baby needed her. As much as Kelly and Derek, she was responsible for its existence. Without Eve, this baby could not have been.
No matter what Derek said, the baby would be born.
Even, as she had told Derek, if she had to raise the baby herself.
* * *
"Did you sleep well, Aunt May?" Eve asked Kelly's aunt the next morning.
Aunt May trickled another spoonful of sugar into her coffee and stirred it lackadaisically. "Need curls?" she replied. "I should say I need curls. In fact, I have a hairdresser's appointment this morning."
"Not need curls, Aunt May," Eve said more loudly. "I asked if you slept well."
"Oh," Aunt May said in a slightly disappointed tone. "That pill the doctor gave me put me right to sleep. Do you have anything to take at night, dear? You're looking tired."
Eve hadn't slept last night, not a wink. "I wouldn't take any medicine, because it might affect the baby."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. You do have to be careful, don't you?" Aunt May raised blue eyes to Derek as he entered the breakfast room. "Good morning, Derek. Did you know Eve can't take any sleeping pills because of the baby?"
Derek shot Eve a sharp look, which she returned levelly. Eve did look tired, he thought. But she wasn't taking sleeping pills because of the baby. What was the point when soon the baby wouldn't exist anymore?
Louise, her eyes downcast and swollen with crying, brought a serving dish of scrambled eggs and retreated to the kitchen. Derek helped himself before handing them to Eve, who passed them on to Aunt May without taking any.
"Aren't you eating breakfast?" Derek asked sharply.
"I'm not hungry," Eve hedged. She was barely managing to keep morning sickness at bay.
"I'm not hungry, either," Aunt May declared, pushing her chair away from the table. "Anyway, Louise is driving me to the hairdresser in an hour or so, and I want to get dressed." She smiled wanly at Derek and Eve before weaving off down the hall in a pair of impossibly high heeled satin bedroom slippers.
"Eat something," Derek ordered, pushing eggs in Eve's direction.
The very sight of them sickened Eve.
"I—I can't!" she managed to gasp before lurching to her feet and running for the nearby powder room where she slammed the door and proceeded to be sick to her stomach.
"Eve? Eve!"
Eve ran the water in the sink and dashed some over her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked back at her, a chalky gray-white. If only Derek would stop making that ungodly racket outside the door, she would feel much better. Trembling, she threw the door open and with a great deal of effort walked out with her head held high.
"Are you all right?" Derek didn't like the look of her, and he didn't want to worry about her. Didn't he have enough to worry about with his wife dead and Lang Industries to run and poor old Aunt May? And yet he was worried about Eve, her skin so pale that he could see the minute blue veins threading her eyelids like a natural eye shadow. Did her eyelids always look like that? He couldn't remember.
"Morning sickness," she explained unnecessarily. "It started about a week ago." It gave her hope that he was so upset.
"Can I get you anything? Are you all right?"
Surprisingly enough, she was hungry—ravenously so.
"I think I'll eat breakfast after all," she said, sounding stronger than he expected. To Derek's utter disbelief, she devoured not only a huge mound of eggs but also sausages and biscuits complete with butter and orange marmalade.
"You said you didn't want me to skip meals," she said by way of explanation.
"That was before—" And then he stopped because of the warning look in Eve's eyes.
"Before you decided that this baby wouldn't be born?"
"I'm hoping you'll come to your senses."
"No, Derek, I meant what I said."
Louise came in to clear the table, and they remained silent until she left.
"Eve, you're adding to my grief by being stubborn."
"And you're adding to mine by being stupid."
No one had ever, in all his life, called Derek Lang stupid. He flushed, and then he rose from the table and threw his napkin down. With one last unfathomable look at Eve, he slammed out of the house, and in a few moments Eve heard his car roar out of the driveway.
Eve sat in the toile-papered breakfast room and stared grimly out the bow window at the woodpecker that was finding its own breakfast in the bark of the tree outside.
She managed to remain numb for five minutes. Then the phone rang.
* * *
Stupid. Was he being stupid?
As he drove to work, Derek forced his mind to flip through the gut-wrenching scene in his study last night.
I was stupid, he realized with a start. Stupid to have thought that Eve would fall right into his pattern of thinking, stupid to have flattened her so suddenly with the idea of an abortion. He was grieving for his wife, and perhaps he hadn't been thinking as clearly as he thought. If he'd been thinking clearly, he never would have approached Eve in that manner, never.
He parked the car and fielded the startled gaze of the parking attendant as he set off at a swift walk for the nearby entrance to his office building. Probably no one expected him to come to work the morning on the day after his wife's funeral. Well, why shouldn't he? There was nothing to stay home for now.
"Good morning, Mr. Lang," was the subdued but surprised greeting of the receptionist in the lobby.
Derek nodded briskly. A group clustered near the break room murmured morning greetings, which he returned a bit too heartily. He walked on, aware that they were all staring at his back. He clenched his teeth.
"Good morning, Derek," said his personal assistant, Maisie Allen, as she hung up the phone. Obviously she had been forewarned that he was on his way, probably by the goggle-eyed receptionist.
He nodded, less briskly this time, and fairly ran into the sanctuary of his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. He stopped for a moment, feeling oddly out of breath as he stared at the wide-window view of Charlotte below. He wondered why there was no fresh cup of coffee on his desk. Maisie always had coffee waiting when he arrived.
"They didn't think I'd come in," he said out loud. He startled when the door behind him opened unexpectedly.
"Delivering your coffee," Maisie said, trotting to his desk and setting his cup beside the computer screen.
"Thanks," he said in as normal a tone as possible.
Maisie, a no-nonsense matronly woman with an immense bosom and an equally huge derriere, trotted back out again. Derek walked slowly to his desk and sat down on the chair with a sigh.
Well, why shouldn't he come to work today? Work was the only thing that would take his mind off Kelly and the accident. Work and its attendant problems would occupy his mind, if not assuage his grief.
He ventured a tentative sip of the coff
ee. It was very hot. He set the cup down. In the summer the weather was too hot to drink coffee. That's what Kelly always said. Kelly—
With difficulty, he forced himself not to think about her. Think about something else instead. Perhaps he should give up coffee; someone else had given up coffee recently. His brain fogged up like a windshield on a rainy night, and when the fog cleared, he could hear Eve, as distinctly as though she were sitting beside him. In fact, when she'd said it, she'd been sitting at the dining-room table. "I'm giving up coffee until after the baby's born because I'm worried about the effect of caffeine." Kelly had smiled in approval, and so had he. Eve had smiled back, revealing that one bicuspid, turned slightly sideways, the only feature that offset the symmetry of her face and only showed when she smiled.
Eve smiling, Eve crying. Eve sitting across from him in his study last night, the glistening tears drooping momentarily from her lower lashes before spilling down her cheeks.
He knocked his coffee cup over and jumped up before the brown liquid could stain his clothes. Swearing, he blotted at the mess with a monogrammed handkerchief. He could have called Maisie to help clean it up, but—well, he didn't want to talk about anything right now. He snatched an oval gold picture frame up before the coffee inundated it, then dabbed ineffectually at the desktop. The picture he'd rescued, of course, was of Kelly, an exuberant Kelly on the day they had climbed Mount Mitchell, the highest peak in North Carolina. It had been one of the happiest days in their lives, the first day of a wonderful vacation they'd taken six years ago, right after she'd found out for sure she was pregnant. He had snapped the picture himself.
Six years ago. That baby would have been almost five and a half by this time if it had lived. Five years old and no mother. But would Kelly have been in her car at that precise time four days ago, in the path of the other driver, if she'd had a five-year-old child at home? Maybe not. Then again maybe the child would have been with her, in which case he would now be mourning both his wife and his child. Who was to say what would have happened had some turning point in life arranged the choices differently? Who knew beforehand what twists of fate would affect us? The myriad possibilities loomed before him in a kaleidoscope of combinations: you travel this road, and other roads branch off; you select a different road, and you're presented with other choices.
Ever Since Eve (The Keeping Secrets Series, Book 1) Page 4
