Angel's Baby

by Pamela Browning

  The taxi driver stopped in front of the sprawling, weathered gray cedar-shingled house. Its wings stretched out toward the sea, its many porches designed to catch every ocean breeze. A profusion of geraniums spilled from white window boxes, and a picket fence bordered the garden. Stuart saw a baby carriage parked outside one of the open garage doors.

  “Fitz? Are you expecting anyone?” a feminine voice called from inside the garage. Stuart and Angel got out of the cab, and Stuart took Angel’s hand. They started up the slate path.

  A male voice replied with a few indistinct words, and a tall, robust woman with long wavy auburn hair stepped out of the garage. She was carrying a chubby pink-skinned baby, and she smiled uncertainly.

  “Yes?” she said.

  Stuart’s mouth suddenly went dry. He licked his lips. “Is Fitz here?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. May I tell him who...?” She smiled politely at Angel, but when she looked Stuart full in the face, her expression froze. At that moment, Stuart’s brother stepped out the front door of the house.

  “Fitz,” said the woman in a kind of warning.

  The man narrowed his eyes. He walked slowly down the steps, his expression wary. Even Stuart was aware of the close family resemblance they shared. Fitz’s hair was wavier, and he was an inch shorter. Otherwise, they could have been twins.

  “Hello, Fitz,” Stuart said.

  For a moment, Fitz looked unsure of himself, but he quickly covered his reaction and strode forward, his voice too hearty.

  “Well, Stuart,” he said in a booming voice, extending his hand. “Long time no see.”

  Stuart pointedly avoided his brother’s outstretched hand. “This isn’t a courtesy call. I want to talk to you,” he said.

  Fitz faltered, then recovered. Casually he withdrew his hand and slid it into his pocket. “All right, you might as well come in. Jeanne, please tell Rose that we’d like some light refreshment in the study.” The woman with the baby, obviously Fitz’s wife, hoisted the drooling baby over one shoulder and disappeared into the house by way of the garage.

  “Come along,” Fitz said brusquely, leading the way up the front steps and across the wide porch.

  The house was exactly as Stuart remembered it from the old days, only it seemed to have grown bigger and somehow more vast now that he was accustomed to the little bungalow on Halos Island. Their footsteps echoed on the wide oak planking of the hall floor, and the place smelled of the same brand of lemon oil furniture polish that the maids there had used ever since Stuart was a baby. Angel, unaccustomed to such shabby, understated luxury, was looking around in awe, still holding fast to his hand. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze, and she squeezed back. He took heart from her brief smile.

  The carpet in the study was the same faded Kirman that Stuart remembered from the time he was a boy. He and Angel sat on a dove-blue settee in front of the bookshelves, and Fitz lowered his frame onto a hardbacked chair across the room. On the mantel, a clock ticked, reminding Stuart that he had a lot to say and little time in which to say it. He intended to catch the last plane back to Boston in the afternoon.

  Stuart said, “Fitz, this is my wife, Angel.”

  “I didn’t know you were married,” Fitz said in surprise.

  “I wouldn’t have known you were married, either, if I hadn’t read it on the society page of the Boston Globe,” Stuart replied sharply.

  Fitz had the good grace to look flustered. “I’ll introduce you to Jeanne when she returns from the kitchen,” he said.

  “I didn’t come here to meet your wife. I came to talk about the accident.”

  Fitz stood abruptly and walked to the window, where he stood looking out at the garden. “I thought we had put all that behind us,” he said.

  “Maybe you have, but I haven’t. I’m still torturing myself over what happened to Valerie. And to our baby.”

  Fitz remained motionless for a moment or two before whirling around to face them, his face white. “What baby?” he said sharply.

  “The baby Valerie was going to have. My baby, Fitz.” Stuart kept his voice even, and his eyes never wavered from Fitz’s face.

  Surprise flared in Fitz’s eyes. “Valerie was pregnant?”

  “Yes. We were happy about it. We wanted to start a family right away after we were married, and it happened a little too soon, that’s all. I lost both of them when she died.” He stared steadily at Fitz, and finally Fitz sat down again. He still looked stunned.

  At that moment, a woman came in with a tray. She set it down on the small table beside Fitz’s chair and scurried out again. No one touched the food; no one even looked at it.

  “I didn’t know about the baby,” Fitz said.

  “No one did. It was our secret. We were going to share it during that vacation, but only with you. We never got the chance.”

  A long silence, and Fitz finally spoke. “It was a tough break, Stu. I miss Valerie as much as you do,” he said.

  “I doubt that,” Stuart said, his tone harsh.

  Fitz looked at Angel. “Well, you have a beautiful wife,” he said inappropriately.

  “Yes, I do.” Stuart paused and cleared his throat, deciding he’d better take the bull by the horns. “Why did you lie, Fitz?” he said.

  “Lie? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fitz treated Stuart to the Adams stare, a tactic they’d both learned to use when upstarts needed to be put in their place. It didn’t work on Stuart; he knew that stare all too well.

  Stuart leaned forward in his seat. “You told the police I was driving. It was you, Fitz. You were the one who was driving.” He spoke with a deceptive calm, but there was menace in the set of his chin and in the way he punctuated his words with jabs of his fist. He wished Fitz’s face was in front of his knuckles.

  “No, Stuart. Valerie got a piece of sand in her eye and asked you to take over the driving. You accelerated too fast over the rise, and the rocks tore out the bottom of the Tsunami.”

  Hearing the blatant lie once more was too much for Stuart; he began to shake with rage. He leaped from his place on the settee even as Angel cried out, and he hauled Fitz out of the chair and jacked him up by his collar.

  “You’re a damned liar, Fitz! You rode in the front seat with her, and she slid over onto the passenger seat and forgot to put on her seat belt! You were driving recklessly, the way you said I was driving when you told the police about it afterward, and you flipped the Tsunami over. I’ll never forget her scream that night when the car rolled over on her. It’s too bad it wasn’t you, you son of a bitch!”

  Fitz tried to remove his hands from his shirtfront. “Let me go! Are you crazy, Stuart? You have amnesia! You don’t remember! You can’t prove anything!”

  “I remember! I remember now, and I remember it all! I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life, the life that you tried to steal from me!”

  Stuart drew his fist back and punched Fitz in the stomach, even as Angel screamed. He caught a glimpse of Jeanne’s horrified face as she rushed to her husband’s aid. As Fitz went down, his head pitched forward, his shoulder catching the edge of the food tray. Sandwiches and glasses of iced tea went flying across the highly polished floor and the carpet.

  Angel leaped from the settee and threw her arms around Stuart to pull him away from Fitz, who was slumped on the floor and gasping for breath amid the broken glass and the remains of several sandwiches.

  “Fitz? Oh, my God, what have you done to him?” his wife cried, tears streaming down her face. She tried to help him up.

  “I’m all right, Jeanne,” Fitz managed to say. He was gazing up at Stuart, hangdog and pitiful, not a shred of the proud Adams stare left.

  Stuart moved a few steps away and wrapped his arms around Angel, feeling nothing like the vengeful satisfaction he had anticipated. Instead, he felt an immense sense of letdown, and sorrow, and a mental anguish that was even greater than what he’d felt before. This was his brother, not a total stranger, and no matter ho
w much he’d thought he wanted revenge, it was suddenly clear to him that taking it would be anything but sweet.

  His brother heaved himself to his feet. “All right,” Fitz said heavily. “Maybe I deserved that.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Jeanne said, letting go of Fitz and reaching for the phone.

  “No,” Fitz said, restraining her. “Stuart is my brother. We have to talk.”

  Everyone stood uncertainly, looking from one to the other.

  “Sit down,” Fitz said.

  Stuart found his voice. “I think we’d better go. I told the taxi driver to wait.”

  “Jeanne, tell the driver to go away,” said Fitz, but Jeanne looked incapable of movement. Fitz seemed exhausted, and he closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Jeanne? Will you please do as I ask?” This seemed to galvanize her into action, and after one last mute glance directed at her husband, Jeanne left.

  Fitz shot Stuart an apprehensive look. “Look, Stuart, I might as well get this all out of my system—I’ve felt guilty ever since it happened. I’ve always feared that you’d someday remember that night. I knew that when and if you ever did, I’d be the one reviled by our relatives, and I’d be the one teaching boatbuilding to disadvantaged youth, and I’d be the one taking a leave from the company. I’d be the one, not you. I couldn’t face up to it, Stuart.”

  “You’re an Adams. You’re supposed to face up to things,” Stuart said woodenly. He still couldn’t understand why Fitz had abandoned the code of honor that had governed their behavior ever since they were kids.

  “That made it even worse. I panicked in the clinch, Stu. When that policeman came over to me in the hospital emergency room, I blurted out the first thing I could think of—that you were driving. You were in a coma, and I thought you’d never wake up. When you did, I was overjoyed—until I realized that you’d tell everyone what really happened. You can’t imagine how relieved I was when I found out that you couldn’t recall anything about the accident.”

  “How convenient for you,” Stuart said. “My amnesia got you off the hook, didn’t it?”

  Fitz looked down at the floor, his expression drawn. “I guess you’ll never understand, Stuart, but I—I couldn’t face the disgrace of owning up to being the one who...the one who...”

  “You can’t say it, can you? You killed Valerie. And our child.”

  “I killed them,” Fitz whispered.

  Stuart wasn’t going to relent, even though Fitz looked shattered. “You’ve never faced up to anything before, have you? I always came along and got you out of trouble. I suppose it seemed natural to you—let good old Stuart take care of it, even if good old Stuart didn’t have a clue.”

  “I’m not proud of what I did,” Fitz shot back.

  “I lost everything that was important to me—Valerie, our child, my place in the family firm, even you. You didn’t care, did you?”

  Fitz leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling for a long time. “I cared,” he said softly, when he could meet Stuart’s eyes again. “I felt so guilty and so afraid that you’d find me out that I couldn’t deal with seeing you anymore.”

  “I protected you too much. I should have made you suffer the consequences of your acts years ago, when we were kids. I should have made you grow up, but it’s too late to change any of that now,” said Stuart.

  Fitz lifted his head. “What do you want from me, Stuart? I can’t bring them back. I can’t say anything that will make you feel better.”

  “I want to hear one thing from you before I leave this house, Fitz,” Stuart said steadily. “I want to hear your apology.”

  Fitz’s face flushed. “If it will help, Stuart, I am sorry. Honestly.” He hesitated. “I feel like a jerk for asking, but now that you know the truth and now that I’ve admitted what I did, what are you going to do about it?”

  Stuart stared down at his shoes. He could go to the police. He could demand that charges be brought against Fitz as they had been against him two years ago, a lifetime ago. But what good would it do?

  Jeanne chose that moment to come back into the room. She was carrying their baby, a little round butterball of a child with bright blue Adams eyes, exact replicas of his and Fitz’s. When Stuart looked at Fitz and Jeanne and the baby, he saw a family like the one he had always wanted with Valerie, but, strangely enough, it didn’t matter that Fitz had achieved this for himself, nor did he feel any longer that his brother had achieved it at his expense.

  “Well? What are you going to do?” Fitz said. He stood and pulled the still-perplexed Jeanne to him, and the three of them faced him, waiting to hear what he would say.

  “I’m not going to do anything,” Stuart said, looking down at Angel. He was rewarded by her smile, a smile that outdazzled the sun.

  “What?” Fitz said, as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “I don’t condone what you’ve done, but you’ve lived an exemplary life since the accident, with your attention to the Maritime Charitable Trust and your marriage and...oh, a lot of things.”

  “I’ve tried,” Fitz said. “I’ve really tried. All this time, while I’ve had to live with my guilt, I’ve wanted to be like you. To model myself after you, the way you were... before.” Tears shone in his eyes, and he blinked them back.

  In that moment, Stuart made his decision. “Exposing what you did won’t bring Valerie and the baby back. What I really need is my brother,” he said, and he offered Fitz his hand.

  At first it seemed that Fitz wasn’t going to take it, but that was only because Fitz was too stunned to move. Then his brother was moving toward him, clasping his arms around him, embracing him.

  In that moment, Stuart could have cried. But any tears shed would have been happy tears, because the worst chapter in his life was now closed. Closed and locked, and the next and perhaps the best chapter was just beginning.

  The baby reached out and touched the tip of Stuart’s ear with a tiny fingertip. When he and Fitz broke apart, Stuart said, “Maybe you’d better introduce me to this little tyke.”

  “This,” Fitz said, unsteadily but with great pride, “is my daughter. Candace Jeanne Stuart Adams, meet your uncle.”

  “Mfgmph,” said his niece, and Stuart thought, Perhaps soon I’ll be able to introduce Fitz to my own little son or daughter.

  * * *

  THAT AFTERNOON, despite being invited to spend the night at the house on Nantucket, Stuart and Angel flew back to Boston, where Stuart checked them into an elegant room at an expensive hotel.

  Angel was glad they hadn’t stayed with Fitz and Jeanne. It had given her pause to see Stuart on Nantucket, in surroundings where he so clearly felt at home. The big house had bespoken permanence and old money, Stuart’s usual milieu. Now that she had seen him there, she couldn’t imagine how he could possibly feel comfortable in the broken-down bungalow on Halos Island.

  Stuart ordered a big dinner from room service, complete with candles and a carnation-and-baby’s-breath centerpiece. They sat down across from each other and stared at the food, unable to do more than pick at it.

  “What did you think of Fitz?” Stuart asked.

  Angel shoved a black bean into her rice pilaf. “Do I have to say?” she said.

  “No,” he said, but he looked wounded, as if she had compared them and found Fitz more attractive. That wasn’t the case, but she ate a forkful of carrots and considered her answer.

  “I think I could like him in a limited way,” she said finally.

  Stuart lifted his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?” he said.

  “I could never trust him after what he did to you.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

  “I could exchange Christmas cards, see him once in a while for dinner and to catch up on family gossip, and talk on the phone occasionally, I suppose,” she said.

  “If you were me, you mean?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And if you had to get along with him—you, yourself—could you?”


  “He’s likable enough. Maybe I could eventually learn to trust him. But it’s not going to come up, is it, Stuart?” More than ever, Angel knew now that she was not part of Stuart Adams’s world.

  Stuart threw down his napkin and stood up. “I guess not,” he said, walking to the window. It overlooked downtown Boston, including Boston Common. It was dark, but the Common was well lit, and they could see people strolling along beneath the trees on the winding paths, enjoying the balmy summer night.

  Angel put down her fork and got up from the table. She went to Stuart and linked her arm through his. “I can’t imagine growing up like you did, Stuart, among people of wealth and privilege. Seeing that house, those people—I couldn’t help but realize how different our child’s life will be. How do you feel about that? About your son or daughter’s growing up far away from here and not attending the right schools or learning to dance at Miss Beatrice’s Junior Cotillion and...well, all the other things you took for granted?”

  Stuart considered it for a long time before he spoke. “The things I took for granted aren’t the important things. What a child needs—and what I want my child to have—is a full-time parent.”

  She noticed that he didn’t say “a full-time mother and father.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, so solid, so strong. Was she mistaken, or was there a faraway glint in his eyes, a light that bespoke other places, other dreams? For a moment, she thought about what it would be like to travel with him, to leave her island and her bees, to let the four winds carry them away to some special place where all they would have to do was eat and sleep and make love, never worrying about the world they’d left behind.

  But she could never do that. Not now. She was going to have his baby, and babies tied you down. And besides, he had never hinted that she could go with him when he left.

  Suddenly she needed to be reassured. She was the one who had provided all the support he needed; she had been cheerleader and hand-holder and friend, and all at a time when she wasn’t feeling tip-top. And he wasn’t paying any attention to her, and she was tired, and her head ached. All she wanted was for him to put his arms around her, and here he stood staring out into the night, ignoring her completely. Tears flooded her eyes and began to drip down her cheeks, falling to the pale gold fabric of her dress, where they left dark, ugly stains.