“This isn’t about whose fault it is. And I am loyal. But sorry, I’m not blind.”
There was a smudge on the counter. Rachel got the sponge and scrubbed at it—hard. “Well. He probably won’t even call again.”
“So call him.”
Rachel tossed the sponge into the sink. “I think we should get back to the subject of Jenna’s baby shower.”
* * *
But Rachel did take her friend’s urgings to heart. She called him—or at least, she started to call him. Repeatedly. She would pick up the phone and begin dialing. Sometimes she’d even dial his whole number. But she could never bring herself to stay on the line until it actually rang.
On Thursday night, six days since the last time he’d called and she hadn’t answered, she started to call him again. But—surprise, surprise—she lost her nerve.
Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she went ahead and called Sears to order the curtains that she and her mother had picked out from the catalog that day. She disconnected the call—and the phone instantly rang again.
Without stopping to think that it might be the very man she didn’t have the courage to call, she hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“Rachel,” Bryce said. “At last.”
CHAPTER 7
Rachel clutched the phone in a death grip. It was the only way she could keep herself from hanging up out of sheer nervous tension.
“Rachel. Are you there?”
“I…uh…”
“Rachel, please don’t hang up.”
She cleared her throat. “No. No, I won’t. I’m here. I really am.”
“You sound so strange. What’s the matter? Is it the baby?”
“No. She’s fine.”
“Your mother, then?”
Her pulse was slowing a little, the feeling of blind panic passing. “She’s better. She’s, um, going home in a few days. I was just ordering her some curtains, as a matter of fact.”
“Curtains…” He sounded puzzled.
Rachel told him the part she’d left out before. “She took a pair of scissors and really went after every curtain in her apartment. Sliced them to shreds. They were unsalvageable, so we’re getting some new ones.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then he asked hopefully, “But she is better?”
“Yeah. She is. And whether she stays better is a lot about the choices she makes. I can go on and on to her about sticking with her medication, taking care of herself, but if she won’t do it…”
“Rachel.”
“Yeah?”
“There are just some things you can’t control.”
“Tell me about it. And the good news is she does have decent insurance, which these days, is a miracle in itself. When she needs the care, she can get it.”
There was a pause. Then he asked, “And what about you?” His voice was so soft. Can you wrap the sound of a man’s voice around yourself?
Rachel longed to do just that. “Oh, I’m…” The words trailed off. She swallowed convulsively and forced herself to say what needed saying. “I’m so sorry I never called. It’s just been…a bad time. And I don’t really…well, I just didn’t expect…”
“What? Tell me. You didn’t expect…”
“You. I didn’t expect you. You’re just so…” Words failed her. They seemed to keep doing that. But he waited so patiently until she finally said, “I told myself it was just that one beautiful night. I was…ready for that. I could…deal with that…”
“Rachel?”
“Umm?”
“That one night?”
“Yeah?”
“It was beautiful.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. But…” Again, he waited until she found the words. “I, well, I told myself you couldn’t possibly want more than that and at the same time, deep down I’ve been thinking that maybe you do. And, well, I don’t seem to know how to handle that…how to just…let it happen.”
“I know,” he said. And she realized she believed him, believed that he accepted her just as she was—imperfect and confused at times, and way too much on her guard. “And Rachel?” She made a small, questioning noise. It was the best she could do with her throat closing up and tears pushing behind her eyes. He said, “I do want more. A lot more.”
“Oh,” she whispered, clutching the phone so hard she was vaguely surprised it didn’t shatter in her hands. “Oh, God…”
“Rachel, let me come over. I won’t stay long. I just need to see you.”
She glanced from her aging refrigerator to the cracked tile on the counter by the coffeepot—and then up at that faint watermark on the ceiling where the roof had leaked last spring. She’d gotten the leak patched, but never quite found the time to repaint the kitchen.
A small, tight laugh escaped her. “Bryce. I have to warn you. It’s hardly Portland Heights around here. No gourmet stove, you know? And the furniture in my living room cries out for reupholstering.”
“I’m not coming to see the furniture. I want to see you.”
“You…sound so sure.”
“I am sure.”
“But…well, you’ve been in People magazine. You’re one of the Armstrongs. Gorgeous women fall all over you.”
“There’s only one gorgeous woman who interests me. I mean it, Rachel. Only one woman. And that woman is you. Give me your address.”
She did—really fast, before her nerve got a chance to desert her again.
“I’m on my way.”
* * *
They sat on her slightly threadbare sofa and kicked off their shoes and she told him about her twelve-year-old patient, the one who hadn’t made it, about how death was hardest to take when they were so young, when there should be a future shining out in front of them—middle school and football and science projects and that first special girl…
Bryce listened as she poured it all out. When her voice trailed off, he held out his arms. She went into them eagerly, with a long, grateful sigh.
He brushed a kiss against her hair and didn’t say anything—not that he was sorry, not what she should do, not how he was going to somehow make everything right.
She hugged him close and listened to the steady beat of his heart and then whispered, “Thanks.”
He kissed her hair again. “For what?”
“For just listening and holding me. For not offering one single word of advice.”
He chuckled, the sound a low, lovely rumble against her ear. “I see you’ve noticed I’m a man.”
She grinned against his chest. “Hard to miss.” He hugged her closer. “And men give advice.”
He tipped her chin up with a finger. “I think I read somewhere that it’s genetically programmed.”
She stared into those wonderful, warm blue eyes. “But you didn’t give me any advice just now.”
“I didn’t think you needed any. Your patient died. It’s a hard thing to deal with, but you’re doing it. I can’t see any quick fix. If I could, I promise you, I’d be laying it on you.” She sat up straight again. He let her go with obvious reluctance.
“As usual, I’ve been yammering on and on.”
“Fine with me.”
“So nice of you to say that. And obviously, I could yammer away at you all night—but if I did, I wouldn’t learn anything I didn’t already know. And there’s so much you haven’t told me…”
“Such as?”
“Well, your life story, for starters.”
“Oh, that.” His expression was deadpan, but there was no mistaking the smile in his voice.
“Please. I want to hear it all.”
He chuckled. “You say that now.”
“Honestly. I do want to know about you. You can start with your childhood…”
“Got a week?”
“Quit stalling.”
“Okay, okay. My childhood was…” He thought for a moment, then finished, “Busy.”
It seemed an odd word to choose. “You were a busy little kid?”
“I was a
n Armstrong. I was brought up to excel. There was always pressure to do well—at sports and especially in my studies. I look back on being a kid and what I remember is that I never really felt like one. There was too much I had to do and not enough time to do it in. It was understood from the first that I’d take over the business from my grandfather someday.”
“But what about your dad? Wasn’t he the next in line?”
“My dad had no interest in working. Didn’t have the drive for it, he’d always say. It was one of the few things he and my grandfather were in complete agreement on. My grandfather didn’t believe my dad had it in him to run a major corporation and my dad was perfectly willing to live off the income from his massive trust and support my grandfather in his dream to make me the next head of the company.”
“And where was your mother in all this?”
“Good question. One I’m still not sure I have the answer to. I remember my mother as beautiful and unavailable. Like some rare bird or an exotic butterfly. She seemed to be always flitting into rooms and then flitting out again. If I tried to get near her, she’d just…fly away.”
“You didn’t feel close to her?”
“Close is not a word I would use in conjunction with either of my parents. They weren’t close to their children. And they never seemed particularly close to each other. They made their perpetual mutual estrangement official when I was fifteen.”
“Meaning they divorced?”
He nodded. “My mother promptly moved to Tuscany to be with some Italian guy she’d met at a wine-tasting. My father moved to L.A. She’s been married twice since and he’s been married three times.”
“What about you? And Chelsea? Did you go with one of them?”
“No. We stayed here—under the care of our grandparents. I lived with them when I wasn’t at school. Chelsea had special needs. She was at school most of the time.”
“Special needs…”
“My sister’s developmentally disabled.” He grinned when he saw her surprise. “Your mouth’s hanging open, Rachel—and yes, as ideal as the life of an Armstrong might seem to the casual observer, there has been a challenge or two.”
“Chelsea…” She said the name and then didn’t know what to say next.
But Bryce did. “She’s a fighter, my sister. She’s as brave and strong as they come. She’s fortunate that she’s what they call ‘high-functioning.’ She does have the capacity to live on her own, after painstaking training in the basic stuff: personal care, cooking and all the other daily living skills. Thanks to the family money, she’s always had the best care and the best teachers, people who not only knew how to help her become more self-sufficient, but also gave her the love, support and encouragement our parents never provided.”
“And…now she’s married?”
“That’s right. His name is Thad Grover. He’s also DD and high-functioning. They both went to the same special-needs school. Their marriage caused a major uproar in the family—at least with the grandparents. Our parents weren’t here and didn’t care.”
“Oh, Bryce…”
But he wasn’t looking the least upset. “And when I say uproar, I mean strictly within the family, of course. Nothing was allowed to leak to the press. My grandmother likes to think of herself as open-minded, but she’s way old-school. She saw Chelsea as someone to be hidden away. God forbid my little sister should want a real life.”
“That’s terrible.”
Bryce didn’t seem to think so. “You don’t know Chelsea. She never gives up. She finally broke even our grandmother down. And now, since Ariel was born…”
Rachel saw his point. “A great-grandchild. What grandmother could resist?”
“Exactly. Especially a great-grandchild like Ariel. I swear to you Rachel, she is so special.”
“Spoken like a doting uncle.”
“I don’t deny it,” he said and she turned to lean back against him, hoisting her feet up onto the couch in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Anyway, so now, both the grandparents are busy rewriting history. To hear them tell it these days, it was their idea that Chelsea and Thad should get married in the first place.”
“So. It all…worked out, then?”
“Yeah. Well, as long as you don’t count my parents. They’re both still more or less wandering in the wilderness. Last I heard, my dad checked himself into rehab. Again. And my mother’s got a new boyfriend, though there’s no rumor of a wedding. Yet.”
He felt so warm and solid at her back. Really, he was a great guy for leaning on. He’d laid one arm along the top of the couch. The other he rested, lightly, on the swell of her stomach. “There,” he said and felt for her hand so he could press it against the right spot. “Feel that…”
She smiled her secret mother’s smile and didn’t remind him that the movements were happening inside her and of course she felt them—whether she had her hand at the spot or not. “Umm…”
He brushed his lips over her ear. “It’s getting late…and I said I wouldn’t stay too long.”
With a happy sigh, she snuggled in closer. “Let’s sit right here, forever.”
He smoothed her hair aside and kissed the pulse at her temple. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, so?”
“You need your sleep.”
She sighed again. “You may have a point.”
He nuzzled her hair. “But how about tomorrow evening?”
“Hmm. I could be available…to the right guy.”
“It’s only fair to warn you, I’m talking about a big step here. A major step. A very scary step…”
Her mouth felt dry enough that she had to swallow. And then she elbowed him in the ribs.
“Hey! Watch it.” He chuckled in her ear.
“Stop teasing. What are you getting at?”
“Dinner with the family…and relax. I only mean Chelsea and Thad and Ariel. My grandparents are out of town until next week. You can meet them then.”
“Dinner with the family?” she gulped again. “Already?”
He whispered in her ear, “Please don’t start talking about how we should take things slow…”
“But I…well, isn’t this all just happening really fast?”
“And didn’t I tell you that first day that fast was fine with me?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And we can stop by for a quick visit with your mom on the way.”
“My mom? But—”
“Come on.” He guided her to sit up and reached for his shoes. “Walk me to the door.”
She went out on her tiny square of porch with him and he pulled her close for one last kiss. She concentrated on the strength in his arms around her, on the sweetness of his mouth playing over hers.
“Tomorrow,” he said, as he turned to go. “Six o’clock. Be ready.”
CHAPTER 8
Rachel slept poorly. Second thoughts kept her awake.
Bryce said he was just fine with things happening fast. Good for him.
She wasn’t fine with it. She simply didn’t have his guts, his go-for-it attitude—at least not when it came to giving her heart.
Her heart was a tender thing, thank you. And she just wasn’t up for having it broken again.
Oh, and what about the baby? Could he really be ready for that?
As she lay there, curled around her burgeoning stomach, staring at the shadowed wall a few feet from the bed, she found herself thinking of her father, remembering the times he was supposed to come for her and didn’t show up. How she’d sit on the creaky front porch step and wait.
And wait some more…
Until the door behind her would open and her mother, standing inside the screen, would coax, “Come in now, Rachel. Just come on inside.”
And Rachel would argue, “But I can’t. I have to be here when he gets here.”
The screen door would screech open and her mother would step outside. Arms wrapped tight around her middl
e, she’d loom over Rachel, scowling down. “If he was coming, he’d be here by now.” Her mother’s lips were always a thin, pressed-together line at those times, as if she was barely holding in a lot of very mean words.
“Mommy, I can’t go in. What if he comes and sees I’m not here and thinks I didn’t wait?”
“Rachel. For crying out loud. If he was coming, he’d have been here three hours ago. He’s not coming for you. Get that through your thick little head…”
Rachel squirmed in the bed, flipped to her other side, then flopped right back to where she’d started.
Oh, she was just a classic case, wasn’t she? A manic-depressive mother and an absentee father had made her into someone who was really bad at giving her trust.
And now she was a grown-up. Thirty-four years old. Wasn’t it about time she stopped living by the emotional limitations so painfully acquired in her childhood?
She thought back on the two serious relationships she’d had—one with a guy she’d met at a party while she was still in nursing school, the other, more recently, with a pharmaceuticals salesman. Both men had broken up with her in the end. But if she were honest, she’d have to admit that she’d never let either of those guys get too close. Danny Davison, the salesman, had even bought her a ring and asked her to marry him. She’d put him off, said she needed more time….
Danny had grown tired of waiting. And so had Tate Connor, the guy she’d dated while she was in nursing school. In both cases, she’d blamed the men for leaving her.
But now, lying here wide awake in the middle of the night, terrified to go ahead and take a chance on Bryce, she was seeing things in a different light.
She’d made Danny and Tate wait, hadn’t she? Just like her dad had made her wait all those years before.
And now, here she was, three months away from having a daughter of her own. What lessons—consciously or otherwise—would she teach her child? Would her little girl grow up as afraid of trusting a man as she seemed to be?
Rachel pressed a hand protectively over her belly and the new life inside her. “I’m going to do better,” she whispered to her little one. “I’m going to…put myself out there, put my heart on the line. Sweetheart, I want to be able to show you what love really is. I want to be ready, to be the best mom I can be.”
Rachel's Bundle of Joy Page 6
