Something must have clued him in, because he looked down at her and saw the tears. His eyes widened. “Angel, what’s wrong?”
“I...I...” she began, but she couldn’t express her feelings or her physical exhaustion without telling him she was pregnant. For one brief moment, she considered it. But she knew that if she did, maybe Stuart wouldn’t bother coming back to Halos Island with her, and she didn’t think she could face going back alone. She wanted to walk along the beach with him again, their hands swinging between them. She wanted to sleep with him at night and wake up beside him in the morning. She wanted to lie on the beach under the stars and make love with him. For as many days and nights as she possibly could.
“Angel?”
“I’m tired, that’s all,” she managed to say.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said, his arms circling her. She rested her forehead on his chest for a moment, and his lips brushed the top of her head. Before she knew what she was doing, she was tugging the buttons of his shirt through their holes and he was unzipping her dress, and his pants fell away and so did her slip, and soon they stood unclothed together in front of the wide window, in full view of downtown Boston.
They had both grown accustomed to complete privacy on the island; it seemed strange to have to worry about people. “I think we’d better get away from this window,” he said, and he swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he tumbled the bed covers aside and laid her down very gently. He straddled her, his lean body seeming to float above her, his dear face so familiar. In that moment, she wanted to pretend that she wasn’t really pregnant, that they weren’t really going to part, that they had just met and all was fresh and new and exciting.
It was precisely because they hadn’t just met that it was exciting, she thought hazily as he touched his lips to each nipple in turn and slid down her body, kissing the gentle curve of her abdomen where the baby was growing. Because they had done this so many times before, he knew exactly how to extract the most exquisite sensations from every part of her body, knew exactly when to increase contact, when to draw back, when to part her thighs and fit himself into her as if that were where he was meant to be.
Tonight he made her lie back and enjoy what he did to her; he expected nothing from her but that she lose herself in pleasure. And she did, giving herself up to him, surrendering her body and her mind and her spirit so that she hardly knew where she ended and he began.
In those moments, she pretended that she was his and he was hers irrevocably. Forever, she thought, even though there was no forever for them. In her moment of climax, she cried out, cried his name, sobbing as though her heart would break, and he soothed her, kissed her, calmed her as he would have a small child.
Afterward, he didn’t fall asleep right away, but lay staring at the ceiling; she was awake too, but neither of them spoke.
The only forever for us, Angel thought, is in the child we have made together. And she curved her hand protectively over her abdomen, keeping her secret, keeping it safe.
Chapter Twelve
Stuart wished he could figure out a way to take precautions.
It would be easy for a woman. She could take birth-control pills. She could use a diaphragm. For women, there were foams and spermicides and gadgets. But anything a man could use would be obvious.
Not that he wanted to renege on the deal. He only wanted more time. He couldn’t leave her yet, not when they were establishing a relationship that meant more to him than anything in the world, even more than the baby-to-be.
After their return from Nantucket, Stuart knew when it was time for Angel’s period to start. He watched for the signs on the day it was due, but Angel didn’t mention it. And on that same day, when she came back from her swim, she walked nude and determined to where he was sitting in the living room and, with one passionate look that seemed to contain a whole universe of longing, drew him down on top of her on the couch. She had never initiated lovemaking before. And this time was exceptional, a sublime blending of two souls. He had never known such lovemaking, had never reached such peaks until he made love with Angel McCabe, his friend, his lover, his wife.
Afterward, still damp with perspiration, Stuart splayed his fingers out over Angel’s belly, imagining what she would look like when she carried his child. He had always thought pregnant women were beautiful, and he knew that she would be more beautiful than any other. He pictured Angel voluptuously swollen, her breasts heavy in his hands, their veins a lacy blue network beneath her golden skin, and it turned him on again, and when he gathered her into his arms she was willing and eager and very, very passionate.
And the next day and the next went by, and Stuart still didn’t mention her period. He thought of asking her if it was time to use one of those six home pregnancy test kits in his dresser drawer, but thought better of it. If Angel were pregnant, he wouldn’t want to know.
* * *
ANGEL’S BREASTS were so enlarged, the areolae so dark, that she thought Stuart must know that something was amiss. But then, he had impregnated her so soon after he arrived on Halos Island that perhaps he’d never really known how her breasts were supposed to look. They tingled, they hurt and she could hardly stand to wear a bra anymore, so she didn’t—allowing her breasts to swing free under her clothes, thinking that Stuart would surely notice, but he never said a word about it. Maybe he thought she did it only to titillate him, and if so, that was all right, too.
He didn’t talk about the baby anymore. He’d mentioned the baby often before they went to Nantucket, but now it was as though he had blotted the idea of having a child from his mind. Maybe he had wanted a child only to show Fitz that he could father one; maybe now that he and Fitz had reconciled, the baby wasn’t important anymore.
She wanted to talk with him about it, but she didn’t dare. What she did dare to do was make love with him day and night, anytime and anywhere, hoping that this physical intimacy would bring about the emotional intimacy for which she was becoming desperate. She wanted to say Talk to me; she wanted to say Love me. Stuart seemed distant and unreachable. And she only grew more and more worried that he would leave.
Maybe it was her own guilty conscience. How could anything be right when she was living a lie? It seemed as if she and Stuart edged around each other now, avoiding each other as much as was possible in such close quarters.
“Your period should have started by now,” Stuart said one night a week after it was due.
“It did,” she said.
Of course, it had not. She held her breath and observed him covertly from under her eyelashes.
He looked surprised—and was that a flash of relief flitting across his face? Perhaps he was thinking that she couldn’t get pregnant, that she wasn’t capable of bearing his child, which would let him off the hook. Did he want to be let off the hook? She began to feel panicky.
These were the weeks during which the baby grew from a mere tadpole swimming and somersaulting inside her into a recognizable human with arms and legs and eyes. Angel could now feel her swelling uterus as a solid little lump riding low in her abdomen when she pressed her fingers right above her pubic bone. And suddenly she had a craving for foods she had never cared about before, like guavas and cilantro and spinach with vinegar on it. It was all so exciting, so wonderful, and she wanted to share her news with someone. No, not just anyone. With Stuart. But the days went by one after the other, and she could never bring herself to even hint at the truth.
Stuart, who drank orange juice every morning, took to bringing a glass of it to her in bed before she got up in the morning. As nauseated as she was, orange juice was the last thing she wanted. Stuart thought she drank it, but what he didn’t know was that as soon as he left the room, Angel poured it out the window. This didn’t help the gumbo-limbo trees growing there.
One day, an oppressively hot one, Angel went outside to inspect the gumbo-limbo trees, wanting to know if their leaves were turning brown because of their daily watering
with orange juice, and she froze when she saw the little female key deer that she and Stuart had spied that night not long ago. The doe was standing in the shadows, panting hard, and for a moment Angel thought that she was hurt. But then she realized what was happening.
She ran down to the dock to get Stuart. He was mending old nets that he had decided to use for casting for bait fish.
“Stuart! Stuart!” she said. “Come quick! The little doe—she’s having her baby outside our bedroom window!”
Together they crept around the house and, transfixed, watched the laboring doe as she heaved to bring her baby into the world. Finally, tiny feet appeared at the birth opening, and then a small head, and finally, as the mother grunted, the whole fawn. It was wet and breathing, and Angel, thoroughly entranced, reached over and took Stuart’s hand.
The doe had a radiant look about her, as if she knew she had produced something really special. She bent and licked the little bundle, which rested for a while before trying to lurch to its feet. Finally it made it, with a helpful nudge from its mother. As the newborn fawn began to root around beneath her for milk, Stuart said, “Let’s let them have their privacy.” Quietly he and Angel crept away.
Inside the bungalow, Angel sprawled on the couch in the living room and brushed her damp hair from her forehead. “Wow,” she said. “Having a baby looks like really hard work.”
“It wasn’t as hard for us as it was for the deer,” Stuart said.
“It makes me think...” she said, and then her voice trailed off.
“Makes you think what?”
“That I’d better attend a childbirth preparation class in Key West.”
Stuart shot her a look that could have meant anything. “Isn’t this discussion slightly premature? You have to get pregnant first.”
That stopped Angel cold. With her living so close to Stuart, sharing so much of her life with him, it often seemed impossible that she hadn’t told him yet. She was two months pregnant. How long could she keep him from finding out?
She knew that in order to maintain the status quo, she shouldn’t rise to his bait, but lately she felt restless and argumentative. “Are you, um, intimating that perhaps it’s my fault that I’m not pregnant?” she ventured.
“Hell, no,” Stuart said, getting up. “It’s no one’s fault. We’ve certainly been trying hard enough. I told you in the first place that it might not be as easy for you to get pregnant as you thought it would be. It could take a long time. A long, long, time, Angel.” He looked fierce, as if daring her to contradict him.
She was unprepared for his combative attitude. What had triggered it? She held her breath, waiting for him to say something else, but he seemed to think better of it.
He heaved an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” he said in bewilderment.
Angel got up and pressed her hand to her back. Her center of gravity was already shifting, which was something of a surprise. Suddenly she was sick of the whole idea of being pregnant.
“I have some household chores to do,” she said abruptly, and went into the kitchen.
Stuart stood there looking confused as she stalked out of the room. Poor guy, he really didn’t have a clue about her condition. And what would she say to him if he happened to guess that she was pregnant, that, in fact, she was already two months gone?
She didn’t want to think about that now. She wouldn’t think about it. She’d keep busy with other tasks, she’d read a book, she’d—
“Have you seen Caloosa lately?” Stuart said, leaning his head into the kitchen with his hands on either side of the doorway. “She was acting kind of funny this morning.”
“Oh, that’s because she’s going into heat,” Angel said distractedly. “Happens all too often. I should have her spayed, since there’s not a tomcat around.”
“Why don’t you advertise for one in the personals ads?” Stuart asked mildly.
“What kind of a crack is that?” she said, annoyed with him.
“Nothing. It was a joke.”
“That’s not something I care to hear jokes about,” she said.
“What’s the matter, Angel? Lately you’re always making mountains out of molehills.”
That almost made her laugh. A mountain was what was growing right in front of him, and he hadn’t even noticed. Suddenly she wanted him to notice so that she could abandon this whole silly charade. She wanted him to bring her saltines in bed for her nausea in the morning, not orange juice. She wanted him to hold her when she felt tired, rub her back when it ached. What had ever made her think that she could handle being pregnant all by herself? Her cheeks burned with resentment, resentment not toward him, but at her condition.
“Leave me alone, Stuart. Just leave me alone,” she said, bearing down hard on the sponge she was using to wipe the countertop.
“I only asked you what’s the matter,” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“Nothing,” she said viciously.
He was too close behind her; she felt his breath on her neck.
“Don’t touch me, Stuart. I’m not in the mood,” she said.
“Who said I was going to touch you? I only want to get the ice cream scoop out of the drawer. Would you mind moving over?”
She moved over, but she was suddenly overwhelmed by her deception and remorse and the fact that she was going to lose her figure. And now Stuart crowding her at the sink. Everything seemed wrong; nothing seemed right. Tears welled up in her eyes, and one dripped down her cheek and fell on the back of Stuart’s hand.
“What the... Now what’s wrong?” He sounded exasperated.
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, his beautiful blue and very puzzled eyes. She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Angel? Have I done something that upsets you?”
“Yes, you upset me!” she cried, slamming a pot lid into the sink.
“How? Why?”
“Oh, God, can’t you tell? I’m pregnant, Stuart! Pregnant!”
He stared. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and turned back to the sink, letting the tears come full force.
It was a long time before he spoke. “How pregnant?”
“It happened on our wedding night, I’m pretty sure.” She didn’t dare look at him.
“You can’t have a baby. You had your period,” he said. “Twice.”
“I didn’t. I made that up. I didn’t want you to know I had missed it.”
“You lied? You lied?” He sounded incredulous.
She nodded, ashamed to look him in the eye. “Yes,” she whispered.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t know for sure that you’re pregnant. You haven’t been to the doctor. Or have you?” His eyes narrowed.
“No, of course not. But I know I’m pregnant.” Now she looked at him; his face was ashen.
“I’ll have to think this over. I don’t know why you would... I don’t know what your game is. Your purpose. Oh, hell, I don’t know anything anymore!”
“You know that I’m going to have your baby. Isn’t that enough?”
“My baby. You’re going to have my baby.” He spoke in a voice of wonder, then shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I can’t deal with this. I want to think about it.” Without another word, he wheeled and rushed out of the room and out of the house.
Angel slumped against the refrigerator and covered her face with her hands. He was leaving her. What else had she expected?
Why, oh, why, had she told him?
* * *
PREGNANT. Angel was pregnant.
Stuart had to admit that women were mysterious, with their cycles that waxed and waned with the moon. But there should have been signs! Belatedly, in shock, Stuart realized that he had seen the signs but hadn’t recognized them for what they were.
Nausea. Morning sickness. Irritability. He’d hardly given Angel’s symptoms a second thought.
And here he had been thinking abo
ut dropping birth-control pills in her orange juice. The only thing that had stopped him was that he couldn’t obtain the pills without a prescription; he’d discarded the idea as impractical.
He had to get away from her, had to think. The air on the island hung thick and heavy today, stifling him with moisture. He thought about heading inland, where the breeze was minimal, then decided against it. Instead, he walked down to the dock and stared into the water. When at last he looked up, he saw Angel watching him from the porch, and that annoyed him. It occurred to him that the perfect escape was right in front of him; Angel’s Wings was tied up at the dock. Why not go for a sail?
The sea was rising and falling in powerful swells beyond the reef, making him think that it would be a rough ride. Rough water had never deterred him in the least, however. He was in the mood for a struggle, and it would be better to fight the sea than to fight with his wife. She would ask him to leave Halos Island for good now, he was sure of it. And he didn’t want to go.
It was only after he cleared the reef that Stuart noticed the high-flying mare’s-tail clouds advancing from the west. Taking note of them, he pointed the bow toward the east.
* * *
ANGEL THREW HERSELF into a fury of housecleaning after she saw Stuart guide the boat through the cut. She hated herself for blurting out the truth. Of course Stuart would leave Halos Island now; that was their agreement. Anyway, who would want to live with a woman who acted the way she did? He didn’t even seem happy about the baby. Maybe that was because of his shock at her announcement. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want the baby anymore.
“Well, I want you,” she said to the baby. And then she burst into tears again. Were all pregnant women so temperamental?
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