Dream Keeper (Indigo)

by Gail McFarland

  She tried to read his face and saw nothing. “With a surrogate, the baby would be ours, truly ours, even if I didn’t carry it.” Her lashes fluttered and she felt the tears begin to build. “What do you think?”

  He pulled the oxford cloth shirt over his long arms and rolled the sleeves. “I don’t,” he told her. “I don’t even see where it’s an issue. We’ve been trying this long, no success, maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

  Not meant to be? Her mouth dropped.

  “Maybe we’re putting too much pressure on ourselves, making a new start and all. Maybe if we just let things happen in their own time,” he shrugged, “it’ll just happen like before.”

  “It took four years for it to ‘just happen.’ ”

  His fingers moved over the buttons on his shirt, stopping when her words ended. “Rissa, look, we’ve been through the testing. We’ve been through all the pregnancy and loss drama. Hell, I was the one who had to pull you out from under your desk, remember?”

  The first tear fell and she hated it for opening the way for all the others that followed.

  “Rissa, I’m not trying to talk about your…your…” Words failed and, reaching out to brush her tears with his fingertips, he floundered.

  “Insufficient cervix,” she finished for him, brushing his fingers away.

  “It’s not like anybody is challenging your femininity, is it?” He shrugged and looked at her. “There’s so much more to you than having babies. It’s not like having a baby has anything to do with keeping us together, right?”

  Her chest was too full. The words were squeezed away from her.

  “Having a baby doesn’t have anything to do with making you who you are, not for me. A baby won’t make you a whole woman, right?”

  She felt the words wheeze through a crack in her heart. “Would you say the same thing if the doctors determined that the problem was with you and not with me?”

  She brushed his fingers away again when he reached for her, and a small muscle jumped when he set his jaw. “Is that what this is about? You’re not being perfect? Rissa, I always thought you were perfect for me, and I’m willing to put in the work it takes to keep us together, but I don’t want to keep having this same argument about something we can’t control.”

  “Women have babies every day, Dench. Women who aren’t me.”

  “Damn it, I didn’t marry you just to have babies. I married you because I love you—you, not your eggs or your cervix. You.”

  Jamming the last of his clothes into his traveling bag, he zipped it closed. Grabbing it, Dench silently collected his keys and wallet from the dresser and headed for the door. “I’ll call,” he said, and couldn’t even look her in the face when he said the words.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat at the foot of their bed, but long afternoon shadows stretched across the room when the telephone rang. In the empty house, the ring was shrill and disturbing when Rissa lunged across the bed to grab it.

  “Hello?”

  Should have known it wasn’t him. I wouldn’t call me, either. Closing her eyes, Rissa willed her voice clear and cursed her stupidity for not checking the caller ID first. “Hey, Connie, what’s up?”

  “Girl, Jeannette found a man! Found him on the internet, but when you’re looking, and you’ve been looking for as long as she has, a man is a man!” Connie cracked herself up and Rissa tried not to scream with frustration. “She’s going to meet him tonight and we were thinking that you and Marlea could come along, kind of ride shotgun—you know how we do.” She cracked up again. “Okay, so you’re in, right? Unless Dench is…”

  “Away,” Rissa said. She dropped the phone to its base, not caring whether Connie heard her or not. “I drove him away. He tried so hard, and I drove him away with my obsession.”

  The phone rang again and, walking from the room, she ignored it.

  The bathroom she shared with her husband looked like a small tornado had passed through it. Collecting damp towels from the vanity, she moved Dench’s shaving supplies and ran water in the sink, but her heart wasn’t moved by the urge to clean.

  Looking up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. He’s right, you know. Having a baby is not going to make you any more of the woman he keeps telling you that he loves. And you can’t very well hate Marlea for offering you what you don’t have. She sighed and almost smiled at her mirror self. Maybe a shower. She looked down at her ravaged blouse and wrecked skirt. Couldn’t hurt.

  Sliding the shirt from her shoulder, she let it fall slowly along her arms. He got out of here before we could finish talking about it. The shirt joined the towels she’d dropped at her feet. I can’t keep making him crazy like this. Opening the clasp between her breasts, she released her lacey bra and missed the pressure of his hands.

  He doesn’t deserve it, and neither do I.

  Watching herself, evaluating her image, Rissa unbuttoned her skirt and managed to slide it, with the tattered remains of her panties, down the curving length of her body. Catching her image in the ambient early evening light, she straightened. Letting a hand run across the taut skin of her belly and hip, she sighed.

  Marlea said she didn’t get any stretch marks with either of her pregnancies, but she did get indigestion. Rissa remembered all those saltine crackers and the gallons of ginger ale Marlea drank during both pregnancies. Jeannette said she didn’t get the stretch marks because she used cocoa butter to keep her skin supple, but she didn’t have a lot to say about the indigestion.

  Twisting, Rissa tried to see behind herself. I could live with a few stretch marks and a little gas. If…She closed her eyes, pushed out her stomach, and imagined.

  When she opened her eyes and looked at her mirror self, she couldn’t help the escaping sigh. Her hands moved over the small mound of smooth skin made lustrous in the waning light. Turning, evaluating, she couldn’t temper or control the urge to see and touch her own potential. Dench is right, it could happen again.

  Being pregnant, actually delivering a child, that part would be my heart’s desire. Relaxing, watching her mirror self, she let her body flatten. But if it doesn’t happen…She let her mind flip the thought and found it heavier than she wanted it to be. To raise a child with love…that’s what I want for us.

  Naked, Rissa moved to the shower and adjusted the water. Raising that child with Dench, that’s what I really want. I want toys under the Christmas tree, family vacations with AJ and Marlea, and a chance to watch Dench teach his son to throw a football or his daughter to ride a bike, she thought. I want to join the PTA and bake cookies for the Scouts. Someday, I want to wind up with a cranky, resentful teenager who can’t wait to date and drive.

  How that child gets here is not the issue.

  Turning off the water, Rissa grabbed a towel and walked back to her bedroom, wrapping it around herself. The phone was exactly where she’d left it and she dialed quickly.

  Coming into his kitchen, AJ heard the phone; he just didn’t feel like rushing to answer it. Marlea was out running, or at least that’s what her note said. Mrs. Baldwin was in the playroom with the children. He could hear them laughing over the cartoon music. Probably can’t hear the phone over that little video game they like to play.

  Grabbing a handful of grapes from the bowl on the counter, he loosened his tie and tossed his suit jacket over the back of one of the high stools at the granite counter. As good as he looked in the business suit, he was so much more willing to don sweats, and he had every intention of doing so—until he pressed the play button on the answering machine and heard his sister’s message.

  “Hey, Marlea,” Rissa sounded seriously convicted. “I hate to admit that you were right, but I’m swallowing my pride and I guess Dench’s, too. Um…I want to take you up on your offer. Call me.”

  What kind of offer? AJ‘s stomach cramped and he stood staring at the phone. Aw, my damn. That can’t be right.

  “Hey, good lookin’.”

  Marlea’s cool fingertips at the back o
f his collar made him jump and AJ turned to find her standing close enough to kiss. He jumped again when she popped to her toes and kissed him.

  “Hey, Silk.”

  “Messages?” She leaned to look around him, then hesitated. “Anything special on there?”

  “Yeah, the last one, I think.” He pressed play, triggering the message and they listened to Rissa’s words. AJ looked into his wife’s eyes and knew the answer before he asked the question. “Is that what it sounds like?”

  She licked her lips and nodded. “I told you that it could come to this.”

  “But I thought we decided…”

  She shook her head. “You decided. I chose Rissa’s side. I told you I would, AJ, I did.”

  His head began to throb and he passed a hand over his close-cropped hair. The pain behind his eyes made him step away from her. “Silk, how could you? Why would you?”

  “Are you about to yell at me?” She planted a hand on her hip and looked up at him.

  “No.” Cold-fired anger, wielded like a sword, sliced deep as he turned from her. Long strides carried him down the hall and into their bedroom. Undressing, changing into running clothes, he tried to put her out of his mind and forbid her re-entry. It didn’t work, and became impossible when Marlea walked in to stand across from him.

  Hair pulled back in her usual sleek ponytail, wearing Adidas shorts and shirt with matching shoes, she jammed her hands against her hips and stood, looking powerful. “Why, AJ? Why are you so determined to be against this?”

  “Because it’s wrong. Now Rissa’s got her hopes up. You had no right to offer to do something this drastic without my agreement.”

  “What?” Marlea blinked and for a second stood open-mouthed, watching him change clothes. Recovering, she took a step toward him. “What do you mean, without your agreement? We already had this conversation.”

  “No, apparently, we had two different conversations.” The shoe in his hand flew across the room and bounced off the wall. “Damn it, we’re married, and I married all of you—your womb included.”

  Crossing her arms tightly, Marlea leaned against the wall and refused to flinch. “So now you’re the keeper of the family womb?”

  “No, that would be you, and you’ve got jokes.” AJ kicked his other shoe under the bed and walked away, leaving her standing with her mouth open again.

  Chapter 13

  Walked away from her and now where the hell are you going? Barefooted, AJ stalked through the house. Now I look like a fool walking around in shorts and a T-shirt, with no shoes. Looking down at his hand, he discovered that he was still holding a sock. One sock? His wounded pride was still gushing arterial anger when he shoved the sock in his pocket and kept walking. I’ll be damned if I’m going back in there to get the other one.

  Passing through the kitchen, he pulled open a door and headed for the lower level of the house and almost settled in the family room—but that was for families, wasn’t it? And she’s damned and determined to change ours forever.

  Why can’t she see that we ought to be her priority? Why doesn’t she understand that if she’s going to go through morning sickness and cravings and labor pains, I’m the one who’ll be there with her? Damn it, I’m the one she married, and every time that baby moves, I’ll be there. I’m the one who’s going to worry about her every time she…and if something happens…but no, she’s already made up her mind.

  Fuming, he kept walking until he reached what Marlea liked to call the big kid’s playroom. The wide room was actually a game room that AJ had added to the house because it sounded like fun to him. Part of the fun was the pool table, the card tables, and the home theater setup—but that was a lifetime ago. For now, it was a refuge. Crossing the room, he dumped himself into a barrel-backed leather chair at one of the card tables. Throwing one long leg over the arm of the chair, he slouched with an arm draped over his face, determined to breathe and figure out a way around this mess.

  Five years it took us to get this far. Five years of trust. I thought she knew that I was with her every step of the way. That ought to be worth something.

  With his sister’s hopeful message and his stubborn wife’s angry eyes echoing in his head, AJ closed his eyes—and got nothing but a headache. Dropping his feet to the floor, he straightened in the chair and debated going for aspirin or ibuprofen.

  She keeps it in the bathroom where the kids can’t get to it. I go up there, we’ll have to talk. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He sighed. I’ll survive, but I can at least rest my eyes for a minute. Determined, he stood and walked over to the small sofa in front of the windows.

  Stretching out, struggling to be comfortable, he twisted and tried to fit his full length onto the cushions of the six-foot sofa. On his back, trying not to hang off the end, he settled for bending his knees and closed his eyes. He felt his breathing deepen just before the sharp tapping sound roused him. Bleary eyed and disoriented, he sat up and looked around the dusky room.

  Must have fallen asleep. He yawned and stretched, remembering where he was and how he’d come to be there. Marlea. Rissa. The phone call.

  The insistent tapping came again. Standing, he walked toward the window and found Dench peering in.

  “Why are you out there? Why are you knocking on the window?”

  “Dude, how ’bout you let me in and I’ll tell you.”

  “Side door.” AJ pointed and Dench nodded. Opening the door, AJ was surprised to find the sun had gone down, leaving the sweet velvet of a steamy July night in its wake. Must have slept longer than I thought.

  AJ took a good look as Dench passed him. “I thought you were headed up to camp.”

  “I was, but my heart wasn’t in it. I got a few miles down the road and turned around. I was going to try to talk to Rissa again, but I couldn’t make myself do it.” His shoulders lifted and fell. “I saw a light over here and thought I’d see what you were up to. I parked in the driveway and came around the side—didn’t know I’d find you down here in the dark.”

  “Yeah, guess we could have some light.” AJ touched the wall panel, filling the space around them with light. “That better?”

  “At least now we can see.”

  The shirt and jeans Dench wore looked like he’d slept in them, and when AJ looked closer, he saw lines of tension and fatigue wearing into his face. “Well, you look like hell.”

  “That’s a step up from how I feel.”

  “Must be going around.” Leading the way back to the game room, AJ walked over to the small kitchen area. Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out a couple of beers. “Sit down and talk. How bad can it be—considering that you’re talking about my sister, of course.” The look on Dench’s face made AJ stop and sit. “What is it?”

  Dench sat in one of the barrel-backed chairs and twisted the top off his beer. Tilting the bottle, watching the amber liquid move against the cold glass, he had no taste for it and set the full bottle back down on the table between them. “Dude, she’s…It’s the baby stuff, again. She can’t let it go, man. And I don’t know how to make it any better for her. She’s still hurting, dude. She’s hurting bad.”

  “You both are,” AJ said. Looking at his friend, he twisted the cap off his beer. Shaking his head, he tapped the beer cap against the table and waited.

  “All she wants is a family. Some of that is my fault, I admit that.” The rich red tones of his skin seemed to heat and burn brighter as AJ watched. The green and gold flecks of his eyes synched their burn to the intensity buried beneath his words. “You know what ‘covet’ is, right? Desire, longing, yearning, craving—that’s how it was for me growing up and watching you and Rissa with your All American family. I loved my Aunt Linda, but dude, I would have given my right arm to be you.”

  AJ raised his eyebrows.

  “Right,” Dench grinned. “I would have given my right arm to be you, right up until I realized how I felt about Rissa, that I loved her, that she was crazy enough to love me back. She’s known
me long enough to know how much I always wanted what you two grew up taking for granted.” The grin died.

  “It’s what she wanted, too.”

  “Right. You know, that’s why she’s still stuck on that ‘no more big Christmas trees’ pledge of hers. The big trees are for toys, traditions, and family gifts, not for couples on their own. She figures we can come over here and enjoy your tree—and your kids. Unless we have our own—and so far, it ain’t happening.” Dench lifted his hands, trying to convey more, then dropped them to the tabletop when nothing else came out.

  Damn, AJ realized, my boy is hurtin’ big time. Maybe Marlea was on to something. The headache was back—smaller this time, kind of like a slow-beating snare drum instead of a big bass drum, but definitely back.

  Every man who wants a family ought to have one. Raising his eyes to Dench’s face, AJ read the loss. It’s not just Rissa that he’s missing. He thought of his own children, bright, healthy, and strong. How they filled his heart, how he almost hurt with love for them, how it felt to hold them, and how much Dench wanted to feel that same boundless, aching love. He wants this as badly as she does.

  Marlea said I was selfish, and I’m thoroughly pissed with her, but however all this turns out, we’ll be okay. I know we will. AJ turned his beer bottle between his fingers when Dench heaved a gigantic sigh and slumped lower in his chair. I once told Silk that Rissa and Dench didn’t have the sense to know that they were in love. He knows now.

  Sitting in silence, each holding his own thoughts, the two men moved the bottles of untouched beer around the table, contemplating the wet rings the bottles left behind.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Dench’s head came up, the green and gold flecks in his eyes almost lost in the darkness of his troubled gaze. “Guess I’ll go home—eventually.” He sighed and moved the beer bottle. “Got any suggestions?”

  “Yeah.” AJ sat up in his chair. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where a man’s thoughts might stand a chance.”