by Joan Kilby
“Apology accepted. Thanks for the flowers. Now if that’s all you came for...”
She wasn’t going to automatically invite him in. The apartment, even small and poorly furnished, was her sanctuary, one she’d painstakingly constructed after their divorce. Nothing from their life together existed in this apartment and that’s the way she wanted it. She had to cut out all traces of the past or she would end up reliving it every single day.
“It’s not.” He jammed his hands in his back pockets. “Can I come in so we can talk instead of me standing out here like a delivery man? Or we could go out for coffee. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened.
Reluctantly, she relented. It had cost him something, coming here. A baby wasn’t his choice, but he was trying to make amends with her. Stepping back, she gestured to the arched opening on her right. “Take a seat. I’ll put some clothes on.”
She slipped into her bedroom, tugged on a pair of leggings and threw on the green silk top hanging on the back of the door. Too late she realized he’d given her the blouse for Christmas the year she’d had Holly. What the hell. She tugged it down over her hips. No sense being neurotic about this. Getting rid of all her clothes wasn’t practical. Likely he wouldn’t even remember, or care about the associated memories if he did.
She stood at the dresser to brush her hair. Was she trying to look nice for him? No, her hair was ruffled from the shower cap. She would have done it for anyone. She ran the brush through her hair with her vigorous strokes. She hated second-guessing everything she did. As if she was nervous.
Although if she was honest, she did want to look her best around Darcy. She wanted him to regret that he’d lost her. What did it matter if it was out of vanity or pride? She would hate him to think she’d fallen apart without him.
She was the organized one, the one in control of herself and her life. He was the one who always had projects planned that never got finished. Even though he was a hard worker, he tended to procrastinate. Look at the pub. He should have at least painted when he’d taken over from his dad, but had he? No. He hadn’t changed a single thing regardless of how tired or worn-out the pub appeared.
Not that she cared what Darcy did with the pub or anything else.
He was perusing her bookshelf stuffed with crime novels when she came out. Only because he was too impatient to sit, not because he would ever actually read a book, God forbid. Funny how the things she’d overlooked as being unimportant when they were married had became huge deficiencies once they’d split. How could she have married a man who didn’t read? Who would rather do any activity at all rather than sit quietly with a book?
She perched on the edge of the couch, resisting the urge to tuck her hands between her knees. “What can I do for you?”
He sat in the chair opposite, his legs sprawled and his arms relaxed. “I wanted to apologize for my reaction last week. It can’t have been easy for you to come there and tell me you were pregnant, not after...everything.”
It had taken him a whole week to come around to that conclusion? He had her phone number. He could have called to say this. Or emailed. Or sent her a text message. She supposed he deserved points for saying it in person.
“I hope you’ve recovered from your shock enough to realize I didn’t get pregnant on purpose. I knew how you felt about having another child. I wouldn’t knowingly bring a kid into the world whose father didn’t want him.”
“I believe you.”
A tiny wash of relief took the tension out of her shoulders. Even after all they’d been through, his opinion still mattered to her and she hated to think he believed her capable of something so underhanded and manipulative. Part of what she’d always loved about him was how he looked for, and saw, the best in people.
She leaned back and smoothed out the hem of her blouse. “Why are you here?”
“I was worried about you. I wanted to see how you were.”
“As you can see, I’m fine.” She gestured around the apartment. “I’ve got a nice place to live. I’ve got my job. I’m pregnant. Even though the situation wasn’t planned and I’m going to be a single mum instead of having a family, I’m really happy about the baby. Everything’s working out.” She brightened and leaned forward again. “And I’ve just been accepted into the master’s of nursing program.”
“The master’s program?” He frowned. “Are you still going to have time for that? Even when we were together and you were only nursing part-time you found it hard to juggle work and caring for Holly.”
No thanks to him! She opened her mouth, wanting to snap out that she would have found studying easier if he’d helped out more, taken an active role in baby care instead of always, always going to the pub.
Yes, Darcy worked long hours and she’d been part-time—they’d needed both incomes. But that didn’t stop her from resenting the time he spent at the pub. He loved socializing with customers and his friends who dropped in. Sometimes she wondered if he’d loved the social scene more than her and Holly. And though she could never prove it, and he would deny it if asked, she wondered if he spent more time there than strictly necessary to get away from the chaotic home life with a baby and then a toddler.
But she bit her tongue and said nothing. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. She rested a hand on her abdomen and breathed slowly and calmly. Water under the bridge. Let it flow away and take her anger with it. “I can handle it.”
“If anyone can, you will. But, Emma...” Darcy leaned forward, elbows on knees, as if finally getting around to the reason for his visit. Even then he didn’t speak right away but stared at the carpet. Finally, he looked up. “Are you emotionally ready for a baby? It’s awfully soon after...Holly. Are you doing this for the right reasons, or are you trying to fill a gap in your life?”
The emotional seesaw in Emma’s heart that continually teetered between love and resentment tipped sharply toward the latter. What right did he have to even ask these questions? They were divorced. How dare he act as if he still cared or even had a say in her emotional welfare?
“Soon? It’s been a year and a half. I’m thirty-five, not getting any younger.” Emma got to her feet and paced the small space between the couch and the coffee table. “As for a gap in my life, yes, there’s a huge gap that I want to fill. I had a family. Now I don’t. I want children. You don’t give up just because tragedy strikes. Or, rather, some people don’t.” She ignored his slight flinch. He wanted to be blunt—she would be, too. “Are you talking about me or yourself, because you can’t handle the thought of being responsible for another baby?”
“I’m talking about you, of course. According to you, this doesn’t affect me.” His voice held a trace of bitterness.
“Only because you’re adamant you don’t want another child. If I thought for one second—” She broke off. Their marriage was finished. There was no point holding out hope for reconciliation simply because she was having his baby. Especially when their conflicting desires regarding babies had torn them apart in the first place.
“I’m not ready for another child. I haven’t gotten over Holly yet.” Quietly, he added, “If I ever will.”
“You won’t unless you work through your guilt.”
He pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t on the spot. There’s nothing I could have done.”
In other words, she was to blame. Is that what he was saying? “Go ahead...you keep telling yourself that. But just ask yourself, why have you given up drinking?”
“I wanted to lose some weight, get healthier.” He shrugged, apparently bewildered at her question. “Alcohol dependency is an occupational hazard in my job. I didn’t want it to get the better of me.”
“You weren’t an alcoholic.” She turned away, breathing out the tightness. “You haven’t got a clue. And yet you come here and lecture me.”
Silence settled over the room.
“You still cry over her,” he said at last, gently.
> “I will cry over her for the rest of my days.” The words tore out of her. “It doesn’t mean I can’t love another child and have joy in my life.” Her throat closed and she had to take a breath, clearing away the huge ache in her chest. Of course she was still emotional about Holly. Who wouldn’t be? A mother didn’t forget, ever, losing a child. But that didn’t mean there was something wrong with her, as he seemed to think.
“I don’t want to have these conversations anymore,” she continued, her voice stronger. “I’m happy for the first time in eighteen months. I get that you don’t want to be part of this. That’s fine, believe me. More than fine.”
“What does your family think?”
“Alana’s thrilled for me.”
“Really?”
“With a few reservations,” Emma admitted. “But you know how cautious she is. She doesn’t like any sort of risk.”
“Alana, cautious? I think you’re mixing her up with yourself. You don’t do anything without having all your ducks lined up and ironclad safeguards that nothing will go wrong or fail. Why else do you think I’m worried about your mental and emotional state? Lots of women have a baby on their own, but for you it’s risk taking. It’s out of character.”
He was right. Before she embarked on any new course of action she did her research. And she had. She knew babies back to front. But no amount of research could alter the fact that life had thrown her a curveball. Her baby’s conception hadn’t been planned, and everything that happened next would be unknown and therefore very scary.
“Doesn’t that show you how much I want this baby?” The tremor was back in her voice. “What can I be but a single mother? I’m pregnant, with no partner.”
He got to his feet, took a few paces and stopped in front of her. “Have you thought about—”
“Oh, no. You better not be about to say what I think you’re going to say.”
“You could consider it. It’s not a bad solution.”
“Not in a million years would I do that. If you say another word, I’ll throw you out.”
“Don’t reject the idea out of hand. I know you’re a private person but having other people around, especially a woman in the same situation as you, can be a support.”
“A woman...?” She frowned. “Wait. What are you talking about?”
“Sharing a house with another single mother and her kid or kids. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and sank onto the couch. “I thought— Never mind.”
He stared at her. Then shook his head as he got it. “Oh, Em, I know you better than that.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” Darcy said quietly. “I thought you knew me better than that, too.”
She turned to the window and gazed out at the view of the bay, the merest glimpse of blue between the trees. Okay, the thought of terminating the pregnancy had crossed her mind—once—in the dark hours of the night when she was feeling scared and vulnerable and alone. She’d lain awake wondering how she was going to manage on her own. But that was just night terrors. By morning her fears had evaporated and she’d once again felt happy knowing she would be a mother again.
Darcy picked up a plush teddy bear from the carpet. The bag of baby things she’d bought earlier had fallen open. Emma hadn’t been able to resist even though it would be months before the baby was born. All Holly’s toys had gone to a church bazaar. He smoothed the bear’s fur. “I want you to be happy, Em.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. His good wishes meant a lot to her. But she was so mixed-up, one minute angry with him, the next minute wishing they could still be a family. She had to get that notion right out of her head.
“What did your parents say?” Darcy asked.
“I sent an email but I haven’t heard back yet. They’re on the road, somewhere near Darwin, out of phone range.” She sighed. “You know them. No doubt you can predict their reaction.”
“Your mother will be excited but your father will worry about you. He didn’t have anything good to say when your cousin had a baby on her own a couple of years ago.”
“What about your family? What’s their reaction?” He was silent. “Oh, my God. You haven’t told them yet.”
“It’s only been a week. I haven’t seen them.”
“Your father is in the pub every week.”
“Yeah, well, I need to think about how to tell them. They took our divorce pretty hard.” Darcy ran a hand through his hair. “This whole situation is unexpected.”
“It’s not going to get any easier. Just tell them.” She paused, suddenly understanding his reticence. “You know they’ll be thrilled. You’re just afraid they’ll pressure you to reconcile with me.” Was he also afraid he might be tempted? “Don’t worry. I’ll set them straight on that score.” The last thing she wanted was to reunite only because their families wanted it.
“I’ll talk to them soon.” He studied her face. “You look tired. I’d better go.” Then he paused. “Before I do, is there anything you need?”
Oh. The electrical outlet in the nursery wasn’t working. But she couldn’t ask... “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Your eyes flickered. What is it?”
“It’s all right. I’ll call an electrician—”
“Those guys charge an arm and a leg and take a week to come. Where is it?”
“If you really don’t mind... The socket in the spare room sparks when I plug something in.”
“I’ll have a look.” He offered without hesitation which was to his credit, given she hadn’t exactly welcomed him into her home. That was the great thing about Darcy; he was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. Including her.
“This way.” Emma reached for the bags and carried them across the foyer and down the short hall to the second bedroom. She was practical but some things, like electrical problems, were beyond her. His steady footsteps behind her were comforting. She shouldn’t like that he was taking charge. But she did.
* * *
DARCY FOLLOWED, half wishing he hadn’t agreed to look at the outlet because he had to get to the pub. But Emma needed his help. She was one of the most competent people he knew, but like a lot of women she didn’t know how to handle tools. That wasn’t being sexist, simply stating a fact. Even though they weren’t together he still felt responsible for her. Holly had tied them together and now this baby was another link. He had mixed feelings about that. He couldn’t imagine life without Emma in it. On the other hand, how would he ever move on if he kept seeing her?
The new-paint smell hit him as he stepped in the doorway. He stopped dead, his gaze sweeping the room. The walls were a pale yellow below a frieze of colorful balloons. He took in the white-painted cot, matching dresser and changing table.
This wasn’t a spare room. It was a nursery.
He hadn’t been prepared for baby furniture. Or for the tightness in his chest. Or the flash recall of Holly, her bright hair and gurgling smile, as she played peekaboo through the bars of her crib.
He didn’t usually allow himself to think about her. Holly was gone. Never coming back. There was no point in torturing himself. Love and happiness were ghosts. They flitted in and out of his life, haunting him with memories and taunting him with unfulfilled dreams.
“Darcy?” Emma was looking at him strangely.
He shook his head, banishing the image. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
“It’s this socket next to the dresser. I want to put a lamp here for when the baby wakes in the night.” Emma dropped the bags on a toy chest with a padded lid that doubled as a bench seat. “When I tried to plug it in, the outlet crackled.”
“Have you got a screwdriver?”
“In the laundry room. Hang on a tick.” She hurried out of the room.
Darcy pushed aside the bags and sat on the toy box. Though he tried to block the memory of Holly, traces lingered like cobwebs in the dark corners of his min
d. In the weeks before she’d died, she’d started climbing out of her crib. Emma had wanted to get her a child’s bed. She’d been after him to go look for one. He hated malls and had put her off, and put her off. In the end, he’d gone shopping with her—not for a bed but for a coffin.
He pressed fingers to the inner corners of his eyes.
“Will these do?” Emma entered and handed him a set of screwdrivers in a folding plastic case.
He grunted, not trusting his voice, and kneeled to unscrew the faceplate. Carefully, he prodded the wires with a fingertip. “The connection is loose. If you can turn the power off, I’ll tighten these wires.”
“I think the switchboard is in the residents’ garage. Tell me which switch to flip and I’ll do it.”
“The main breaker. It should be labeled. I’ll go.” Anything to get out of this room so he could breathe. He was on his feet and heading out the door in seconds.
“You’ll need the key to get into the garage.” She came after him and fished in her purse for a set of keys. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He swallowed, hating that she’d seen him react to the baby things. It made him feel weak.
He went to the garage, flipped the breaker then came back up, using her keys to get into the apartment. Tightening the wires took only a few minutes. He’d learned a few basic skills of the trade from his older brother Dan, an electrician. They came in handy when things needed fixing around the pub.
As he worked, he could hear Emma in the kitchen, moving around, running water. It was almost like the old days, at their home. Doggedly he pushed those thoughts away, too, and turned on the flashlight Emma had set on the carpet by the outlet. Nostalgia was a trap that would be easy to fall into, but it didn’t make the bad stuff go away. The fighting and the tears, the words that could never be unsaid. Those memories were burned into his brain, too.
He put the faceplate on and put away the screwdrivers. Then he went out to flip the breaker on and returned a few minutes later to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.
