For Baby and Me

by Margaret Watson

  Then, when he’d known the baby was going to be all right, he’d erupted in anger over the way she’d treated him.

  She’d been too tired to think rationally last night, but they would talk now. They’d straighten everything out.

  After tugging the strands of the braid apart, she brushed her hair vigorously, but the kinks from the braid were still there. No matter how long she brushed, they wouldn’t go away.

  The memory of Nick’s tenderness last night wasn’t going away, either. Had it been real?

  He’d said it was, and that she was the one who wouldn’t let him in.

  She’d begged him to love her. To be part of his child’s life. And he’d always refused.

  He’s been different in the last couple of weeks, the voice that sounded like her mom’s reminded her. But have you given him a chance?

  Sierra thumped toward the kitchen to get a cup of tea, then stopped dead in the hallway.

  Nick was sprawled on her couch, wrapped in her mother’s multicolored afghan. His bare legs hung over the end, and the blanket angled over one shoulder, exposing a swath of black hair on his chest.

  What was he doing here? She took a step toward him, then halted. What was she supposed to do? Let him sleep? Wake him up? Ignore him?

  She took another step closer, then another. She’d never seen him sleeping. His aloofness, his cool way of observing the world, was gone. His face was relaxed and appeared much younger.

  What had he looked like as a child? As she tried to visualize it, she wondered, for the first time, if she would see Nick’s face when she gazed at their child. Would the baby have Nick’s eyes? His chin? His nose?

  Would she remember the baby’s father every time her son or daughter laughed?

  If Nick left, how would she bear it?

  When she focused on Nick again, his eyes were open. Watching her. “Nick.” She swallowed. “You surprised me. What are you doing here?”

  He sat up, letting the afghan slip to his lap, and reached for the polo shirt on the floor. It tousled his hair as he pulled it on, and she almost reached out to smooth the heavy waves. She’d never seen him with less than perfectly groomed hair.

  “I wasn’t going to leave you alone.” He picked up his jeans from the floor, tugged them on and let the afghan drop as he stood to button and zip them. She caught a glimpse of dark boxers as he pulled the jeans over his hips.

  Once dressed, he studied her, and she became horribly self-conscious of her own clothing. Her shorts were old and baggy and rode low on her hips beneath the swell of the baby. The T-shirt was flimsy from frequent washings, and since she hadn’t bothered with a bra, the thin shirt clinging to her swollen belly and chest wouldn’t leave much to his imagination.

  “How do you feel?” he asked. His eyes drifted down her body.

  Resisting the impulse to cross her arms over herself, she said, “My leg is sore, and I ache all over. But the baby moved, so I don’t mind.” She took a step backward, and nearly stumbled with the crutches. “Let me go and put some clothes on.”

  “Don’t bother for my sake.” His gaze scanned her again, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “You look fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She glanced in the mirror as she entered her room, and it was just as bad as she’d feared. The shirt could have been painted on, and made it very clear just how big she was. Her breasts were much larger than before she got pregnant, and her nipples were clearly visible beneath the light material.

  She closed the door, tore off the T-shirt and put on a bra and her baggiest maternity shirt. She left the shorts on, since her jeans wouldn’t fit over the bandage, took a deep breath, then returned to the living room.

  Nick was standing at the door. “You have plenty of food in your refrigerator,” he said. “I’ll swing by before work tomorrow. If you need something before that, you can call me.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “We both have some thinking to do. And I think we need to do it alone. I’m not running away anymore, Sierra. I’ll be here for you—and I’ll be here for the baby. But you have to decide what you’re willing to give.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  RAIN HIT THE WINDOWS in a steady beat, making the sky gray and turning the streetlights on early. Sierra’s tea had gone cold on the end table next to the couch when her doorbell rang. Was it Nick, coming back to tell her that he understood why she’d shut him out?

  No. He’d been calm. Sure of himself. He’d told her she wasn’t blameless in all of this, either, and his words had been uncomfortable to hear.

  Struggling to her feet, she went to the door and opened it. Jen stood at the bottom of the stairs, a rain-spattered cardboard box in her arms.

  Sierra pushed the door lock and watched as Jen maneuvered through the door and up the stairs. When she walked in, she said, “Food. I cook when I’m nervous, and I’ve made a lot of meals in the last couple of days. Okay if I put this away?”

  “Uh, sure. Thank you.”

  She began to follow her into the kitchen, but Jen shook her head. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”

  A few minutes later, she carried the empty box into the living room and dropped it by the door. “You want some company?”

  “I’d love some.” Sierra didn’t want to be alone with her misery and the creeping realization that Nick had also been right. “Have a seat.”

  Jen sank into the chair. “Maddie is coming home tomorrow. I made a bunch of stuff for her, too. It’s hard to think about meals when you have a new baby.” She rested her hand on her abdomen. “I’ll be freezing a lot of meals in the next several months.”

  Jen drew her legs beneath her and studied Sierra’s face. “How are you doing?” she asked softly.

  Sierra lifted one shoulder. “I’m okay.” She was falling apart and trying hard to hide it.

  “Everything okay with the baby?”

  “The doctor said it was. No problems with the placenta.”

  “Then it must be Nick. You look like you’re about to cry.”

  The lump in her throat swelled, and she gazed down at her hands, gripping the afghan in her lap. The same one Nick had used, which now carried his scent. “He’s angry because I ran after Kyle Cameron. That’s why I fell. I should have let Nick or Mark chase him down, but I wanted to do it myself.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?” Jen said softly. “To ask for help when you’re used to doing things yourself. It’s one of the biggest adjustments in a relationship.” She leaned forward. “Nick has to figure that out, too.”

  “I think we will.” She wasn’t so sure. Nick had been pretty angry. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, though. I’ll start crying and not stop. Tell me about Kyle. What’s going on with him?”

  “He’s sitting in a cell at the police station. Mark caught up with him and dragged him there, then refused to pay his bail.”

  “I didn’t want it to be Kyle,” Sierra said quietly. “I knew Mark would be devastated.”

  “Apparently, Kyle has a gambling problem. He borrowed money from some scary people in Milwaukee, and they want it back. He was responsible for those pieces of concrete you tripped over, too. He took money to let a construction crew dump them there.

  “Mark came by and offered to quit. He even gave us names of other contractors who would do a good job.”

  “Did you fire him?”

  “Of course not.” Jen looked surprised that she’d ask. “It wasn’t Mark’s fault. He wasn’t stealing from us.”

  “What’s going to happen with Kyle?”

  “I suspect Mark will let him sit in jail for a few days, then bail him out. Walker and I probably won’t press charges. We’d rather see him get help. Walker is researching good programs for gambling problems.”

  “You’re very generous,” Sierra said slowly.

  “Kyle’s basically a good kid. Sending him to jail would ruin his life, and we don’t want to give up on him.”

  Like Sier
ra had given up on Nick. “Thank you, Jen,” she said.

  “For letting the kid responsible for you falling and hurting yourself off the hook?” Jen smiled.

  “No. For making me see something.” It had been more than giving up on Nick. Sierra hadn’t given him a chance in the first place. From the beginning, she’d been determined to raise her child herself. She’d looked at Nick and rejected him as a father for her child, and his horrified reaction to her pregnancy only made her decision seem right.

  “Glad I could help.” Jen stood. “Call if you need anything. I’ll be right downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Jen. I will.” She rose and hugged her friend, then watched her walk down the stairs.

  Alone again, Sierra flopped into the big chair by the window with her mom’s afghan and watched the rain sheet down. The street below was empty of people, and the few cars that drove by had their wipers going full speed. Tiny lakes of water were arcing out from the curbs.

  “I need you, Mom.” Closing her eyes, Sierra curled into a ball. “I need your help.”

  It’s not so difficult, honey. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Don’t always believe what people say. Trust what they do. You’ll be fooled once in a while, but most of the time, you’ll see the truth.

  Her mother had spoken those words so many times when Sierra had been hurt by the careless words of friends, or teachers, or colleagues. Trust what they do.

  “I want what you and Dad had, but I don’t know how to get it, and you left before you could tell me. I’m afraid to take Nick at his word. What if I let myself love him, and he leaves?” The words fell into the silence of the tiny apartment, and there was no answer. How could there be?

  As she huddled in the chair, thinking about her parents, the way they’d trusted each other, loved each other, Sierra remembered her mother’s journals, sitting on the bookshelf. She had brought them with her to Otter Tail, but hadn’t looked at them. Reading them had seemed like an invasion of her mom’s privacy, but having them close by was like having a small piece of her mother still with her.

  Unwinding the afghan, Sierra retrieved the box of journals from the shelf of the bedroom closet and settled on the couch. A faint hint of her mom’s scent drifted up to her as she opened the box.

  She trailed her fingers over the stack of brown and black leather notebooks. Then, hand shaking, she picked up the one on top.

  SIERRA CLOSED THE LAST journal and replaced it carefully in the box, then stared out into the darkness. It was almost morning. Rain beat against the window, and thunder boomed in the distance. How had she not known?

  Her father had had an affair, back when she was a teen. Her parents had come close to divorcing. How could she have been so blind?

  Her parents had been desperate to keep the truth from her. Desperate to maintain the facade of a happy family. They had wanted her to be secure. To know she was loved. When they’d all been together, everything had seemed fine.

  But her mother had written about arguments behind closed doors, about her and Sierra’s father shouting at each other in whispers. Tears that had soaked her pillow. The careful politeness of strangers in front of their daughter.

  How had Sierra missed all that?

  It had been easy, she realized. She’d been a teenager, consumed with her own life. Her own problems. She’d seen what she wanted to see.

  And her parents had been very careful to hide their pain and anguish.

  The perfect family, the parents who never fought, never disagreed, had been an elaborate facade. A lie.

  Her mother hadn’t loved her father during that horrible time—she’d been very clear about that in her journals. Any love she had for him had been destroyed by his affair.

  Her parents had been happy the last several years. Like kids in love again, her mother had written. It hadn’t been easy. But they’d done it. They’d worked at it until they rediscovered their love for each other.

  Was that any different than Sierra and Nick, working through their problems? If her parents could find their way through adultery and come out on the other side, happy and in love again, people could get through anything.

  If they loved each other enough.

  She loved Nick.

  He said he wanted to be with her, but she wasn’t letting him in. Could she let down all her barriers and take a chance?

  Her parents had done it.

  Could she?

  HER EYES BURNED FROM hours of reading, and she was thirsty. As she pulled a pitcher of water from the refrigerator, Sierra saw a box she didn’t recognize on the counter. As she drank, she opened it and peered inside.

  From the hospital, it held the jeans they’d cut away from her leg, the green shirt, rusty and stiff with dried blood. She tossed them in the trash.

  There was a small, square box of tissues, the ones Nick had used to dry her tears. The tissues were coarse and uncomfortable, but she set the box to one side.

  A pair of booties that they’d given her to keep her feet warm in the emergency room.

  A copy of the last sonogram, where the baby seemed to be looking right at them.

  A battered leather wallet.

  It wasn’t hers. The smooth leather caressed her fingertips as she slid it open and looked at the driver’s license. It was Nick’s. He must have taken it out to give the hospital insurance information, then tossed it into the box. She’d make sure he got it back.

  She picked it up again. This was snooping. Snooping was wrong. But she wanted to see what he kept in there.

  His address. She didn’t even know where he lived.

  Did he keep pictures of friends? People who were important to him?

  Silently apologizing, she opened it up and glanced at his driver’s license. He lived on Lake Shore Drive. That wasn’t a surprise.

  There were no pictures of any kind. Nothing personal. Just a few credit cards and some cash.

  Something hard with the bills made it difficult to close the wallet. She tugged it out and examined it—a gray plastic rectangle that looked like a hotel room key.

  She turned it over in her fingers and stilled.

  It was a room key from the hotel they’d stayed at in Los Angeles.

  The number 15 was written in black marker. So was the date: 1-23.

  It was the key to her room. The room where he’d helped her undress, put her in the shower, taken care of her.

  Held her while she cried.

  Made love to her.

  She turned the key over, looking at it again, as memories came flooding back. He’d been so gentle. So tender. He’d told her he wouldn’t make love with her, wouldn’t take advantage that way, but when she’d begged, he’d kissed her. She’d wrapped her arms around him and refused to let go.

  And he’d kept the key.

  Trust what he does.

  She sank onto the kitchen chair. There was only one explanation for why he’d kept this key in his wallet all this time.

  Only one thing that made sense.

  Clutching the key in her hand, she hurried into the living room and put on her boots. The boots he’d given her. She searched her briefcase frantically, taking a deep breath when she found what she needed. Then, without taking the time to get a jacket or her crutches, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

  THE LIGHTS OF THE BIDE-A-WEE Motel were dark, except for the No Vacancy sign. She climbed out of the car at the office, not caring that she was getting soaked. She tapped the bell twice, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as she waited. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Myrtle opened the door at the back of the office.

  “No vacancies,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “Ms. Sanders, it’s me. Sierra Clark. I stayed here a while ago. Remember?”

  Myrtle’s eyes softened. “Yes, I do. Sorry, honey. I’d give you a room if I had one. I’m all filled up tonight, though. There’s a wine festival.”

  “I don’t need a room. I need Nick Boone. I know he’s staying here. W
hat room is he in, please?”

  “I’m not supposed to give out that information,” Myrtle said. “Never know who’s looking for a person.” She rocked back on her heels as she studied Sierra. “You don’t look real dangerous, though.”

  Sierra thought her eyes twinkled, although it was hard to tell in the dim light. “Please, Mrs. Sanders. I need Nick.”

  Myrtle nodded. “He’s in 119. First floor, other side.”

  “Thank you,” Sierra said. She hobbled out to her car and drove to the other side of the building. There were no parking spots close by, so she parked on the far end of the lot and walked through the rain. By the time she got to 119, her hair was soaked and her shirt clung to her skin.

  She knocked on the door, listened. Didn’t hear a thing, and panic stirred. Had he left? Gone back to Chicago?

  She knocked again, harder, in time with the beat of her heart. Finally, she heard a noise inside. Around the edge of the curtain, she saw a light come on. The sound of a chain sliding through its holder, then the door swung open.

  Nick stood there in jeans, the top button undone, his chest bare, his hair tousled. His face was drawn and his eyes were weary. He held himself carefully, as if everything hurt.

  “Sierra. What are you doing here?” He grabbed a polo shirt and slid it on.

  “May I come in, Nick?”

  “You want to talk? At this time of night?”

  She pushed past him. “This can’t wait.”

  He closed the door behind her. It was impossible to read the expression on his face. He was the Nick he used to be. Cautious. Guarded. Wary.

  Her wet shorts stuck to her legs, and she had to yank at the material to loosen it. Her body wobbled as she lowered herself to the floor and onto one knee, careful of the cut on her leg.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. Some of the weariness faded, replaced by concern. “Get up, Sierra. Are you all right?”

  “I’ve never been better.” She took his hand and held it tightly. “Nick Boone, will you marry me?”

  “What?” His fingers curled around hers. “What are you talking about?”

  “Marry me, Nick. Please.” She clung to his hand. “You said I was shutting you out, and you were right. I don’t want to do that. I love you, Nick.”