You're My Baby

by Laura Abbot

  All? He felt dizzy, as if he’d stumbled into a crazy movie of his life, sorta like Pleasantville or The Truman Show. “What about Mom?”

  “I plan to call her tomorrow.”

  She would freak out. Would she make him go to Dubai or, worse yet, to that snobby prep school she’d talked about? Andy stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the kitchen chair. “I’m goin’ up to my room.”

  His dad got to his feet. At first Andy thought he was going to lay a fatherly hand on his shoulder, but instead, he kind of shrugged helplessly. Like he didn’t know what to do. “Will you come say ‘hello’ to Pam when she arrives?”

  Andy shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Let me rephrase that.” His father squared his shoulders and fixed him with that schoolteacher glare of his. “I expect you to come greet Pam. I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

  “Fine.” Andy edged toward the hall, desperate to get away. “Fine, you do that.”

  He took the stairs two at a time, stomped into his room, threw himself on his bed and covered his ears with headphones. The driving beat of the heavy metal band matched the angry throbbing of his heart. He’d thought his life couldn’t get much worse. Well, he’d thought wrong. He was screwed. Totally.

  PAM SHOULDERED her overnight bag and started up the walk toward her new home. Pausing on the deep front porch, she wondered for the umpteenth time whether she was doing the right thing. But it was way too late for second thoughts.

  Just as she rang the bell, the door swung open, and there stood Grant, his thin smile betraying the same awkwardness that was rendering her speechless. “Welcome,” he said, taking the bag and holding the door for her. After depositing her bag in the bedroom, he joined her in the living room. They stood staring at each other, as if waiting for a prompter to throw them their lines.

  “Do you suppose this is the first day of the rest of our lives?” she finally managed to say.

  “Maybe. Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

  “Very.” She sat primly on the sofa, watching him as he retrieved an envelope from the top of the bookcase.

  “Here.” He laid the envelope in her lap. “These are the keys to the house and my car.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced around. “Where’s Andy?”

  “In his room.”

  Grant didn’t need to say anything. She knew. “It didn’t go well, huh?”

  He shook his head. “I’d hoped for a more positive response, but he’s pretty hostile.”

  “You can’t expect him to be thrilled. He thought he’d have you all to himself. I’m an intruder.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s that. I—” his voice cracked “—I don’t think he likes me.”

  Pam had never seen Grant vulnerable. “Nonsense. We’ve upset his expectations, that’s all.” She willed him to understand. “Give him time, Grant. Love you can easily give, but patience may come harder.”

  “How’d you get so wise?”

  She chuckled mirthlessly. “It’s a whole lot easier when you’re the observer, not the parent.”

  He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Uh, there’s something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He thinks we’re like honeymooners. You know…” A faint flush highlighted his cheeks.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Hands on, you mean?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you fake it?”

  “We’ll have to. At least sometimes.”

  “Play the part, Olivier. Just play the part.” If only it were that easy. A drama had three acts, five at the most. This was reality theater, 24/7.

  Grant shrugged. “I’ll get Andy. We need to put this first family meeting behind us.”

  Pam stood, laid her hands on Grant’s shoulders and tried an encouraging smile. “Curtain’s going up, Gilbert.” Then she gave him a stage-wifely peck on the cheek.

  ANDY CRANKED DOWN the volume when the doorbell chimed. She was here. He could hear the low murmur of voices, soon followed by the ominous sound of his father’s footsteps on the stairs. He still couldn’t figure it. His dad, married. He guessed he didn’t have anything against Ms. Carver, but the whole thing was weird. His dad was a cautious guy. Going off and getting married—it just didn’t sound like him.

  His father tapped on the door, then opened it a crack. “Son? Pam’s here. C’mon downstairs and join us.”

  “Cool your jets, okay? I’ll be there.” He took his sweet time turning off the CD player, straightening his rumpled bedspread, even lacing up his Nikes.

  Downstairs his dad was sitting next to Ms. Carver on the sofa. She looked different, younger, than she had at school, what with her hair up in a ponytail and wearing jeans and all. “Hi,” Andy said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like a jackass.

  Ms. Carver had this big smile on her face. That’s one of the things he’d liked about her in class. Her smile. “Andy, I’m so glad to see you again. I know these are much different circumstances, but I’m happy about them. I hope in time you will be, too.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I should say congratulations or something.” He noticed his dad’s arm snake around his teacher’s shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She gestured toward the ugly recliner. “Come sit down, so we can get better acquainted.”

  Uh-oh. The inquisition. “I’ve got a lotta homework, Ms. Carver.” He sat tentatively.

  “Just for a little while. And please call me Pam, at least at home.”

  “I hope I don’t goof up.”

  “It won’t be the end of the world if you do.”

  His father just sat there, letting Ms. Carver—Pam—talk, which she did. “I noticed today that you’re a Stephen King fan. Do you have a favorite?”

  “I like them all, but my favorite is Salem’s Lot.”

  “Have you read the Poe I assigned?”

  He felt a slow burn splotching his face. He hadn’t done any homework. And he didn’t have any plans to. “Not yet.”

  “If you like King, I predict you’ll like Poe. He’s the father of the mystery story.”

  Andy was mildly interested, but darned if he’d let her or his father know it. Maybe later he’d take a peek at his English book.

  “One of his eeriest is ‘The Black Cat.’ Speaking of which—” she grinned at his dad “—the cats are still in the car. Will you help me get them, Andy?”

  “What cats?”

  “Viola and Sebastian. My kitties. You’ll love them.”

  He got up to follow her. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never had any pets. Unless you count goldfish. Which I don’t.”

  “Well, then, you have a treat in store.”

  He helped her lug a big cage inside. When she unlatched the door, a black-and-white fur ball dashed under the sofa, while a silky gray cat with huge green eyes hunkered inside the cage, eyeing him curiously.

  “C’mon out, Viola,” Ms. Carver urged. Finally the cat crept forward, sniffing the air in a finicky way. “Meet Andy,” Pam said, scooping up the cat and gently placing it in his arms. It lay there, all soft and furry. Then he felt the rumble against his chest. The cat was purring. For a moment he felt peaceful. Hey, no way. The woman wasn’t going to win him over with a stupid cat. “Here,” he said, handing the creature back.

  His dad had sidled away from the cage, obviously content to let them deal with the animals.

  “Grant, why don’t you fix us all some sodas? Maybe some chips. I imagine Andy could eat something.” She winked at him.

  He realized he was kinda hungry. After his dad left the room, Pam sat down again, still cradling the cat. She motioned him to join her on the sofa. “Viola is a very particular cat. You should feel honored. She likes you.” Before he could think of an answer, he was startled to discover the cat creeping toward him, then kneading his thigh with her forepaws. “Now, Sebastian, he takes to everybody. But he doesn’t like new places.” She laughed. “He may not come out from under the sofa for days.” />
  He couldn’t freakin’ believe it. He was sitting here involved in a conversation about her pets. He didn’t even like cats. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to change homes.” Crap. He hadn’t meant it to come out like that. He sounded like a big crybaby.

  “I imagine it is.” She hesitated. “Especially when you arrive to find a complete stranger married to your father.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? Damn right?

  She reached over and ran a hand down Viola’s back. “But I’m hoping you and I can be friends and that you won’t be too hard on your dad. I think he’s been lonely for a long time.”

  Her voice sounded sad. Come to think of it, he hadn’t ever considered that. About Dad being lonely. It always seemed like he didn’t need much of anybody, except for his team and stuff.

  “We’ll all just have to work it out. How to become a family. As for school, I know it will be awkward at first to have me for a teacher, but I checked your schedule. There’s no way for you to take driver’s education without having English sixth period. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It’ll be okay, I guess.”

  “I’ll work hard not to show favoritism, and I hope you won’t let our relationship interfere with your learning.”

  “The other kids’ll prob’ly call me teacher’s pet.”

  She chuckled. “We’ll have to be sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She had a nice laugh, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad having her around. But of course she was sucking up now. She needed her stepson to like her.

  “Here we go.” With a bag of chips clutched under his arm, Dad juggled three glasses of soda. While they drank, they worked out when they’d bring over Pam’s boxes and furniture. Dad seemed kinda nervous about her plans for sprucing up the house, but Andy thought they sounded okay. Dad was a tan-and-gray kinda guy, but Pam was red, orange and yellow. After he’d scarfed down the last of the chips, he excused himself. Maybe he’d actually read “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

  Later he sprawled on his stomach across his bed, the lit book propped on the pillow. This was good stuff. He could almost hear the beating heart. Whoa. He could hear it. Then he realized it was Viola. Purring. While he’d been absorbed in the short story, she’d nudged his door open and now snuggled beside him on his bed.

  Cool.

  GRANT HELPED PAM bring in the rest of her stuff, including litter boxes, one of which she placed beside the tub in the downstairs bath they would share. And he’d thought wet panty hose would be the most offensive addition to his bachelor quarters! He’d made room in his closet for her hanging things. Now, though, he could see he’d probably have to move his wardrobe to the upstairs spare bedroom, at least if he had any hope of leaving any space between garments. It had been a startlingly swift and complete invasion of his space—her robe hung from a hook beside the shower, the kitty nest was wedged between the bureau and the wall, assorted colognes were aligned on the dresser top and shoe boxes too numerous to contemplate were stacked on the floor. On the bedside table, as if it had always been there was a dated photograph of a smiling young couple, her parents he presumed.

  He could hear Pam in the bathroom, rearranging the medicine cabinet to make room for her cosmetics and medications. He flopped on the bed, hands cradling his head. In retrospect how simple it would’ve been to ensconce a housekeeper in the guest room, close his bedroom door at night and relax in his masculine sanctuary. Now he was practically going to have to make an appointment to step into his own shower.

  Then there was Andy. Not only understandably upset and confused, but also on the lookout for evidence that he and Pam were behaving like a horny teenager’s version of newlyweds. He rolled over on his side, sat up and grabbed the bedside phone. No point postponing the inevitable. He punched in Shelley’s phone number, steeling himself for her reaction.

  Which was every bit as histrionic and patronizing as he had anticipated. Ten minutes later, after hearing how disappointed Shelley was that now Andy wouldn’t receive all of his father’s attention and being berated for putting his new wife’s needs ahead of his son’s, he managed to beg off and call Andy to the upstairs extension. That conversation had been pure Shelley! The very accusations she’d tossed at him were what she’d been guilty of for years. With her, men came first. Andy, second.

  He sat, head down, hands dangling between his legs, the weight of the day’s events cowing him. A few minutes after he heard the shower shut off, he mustered the energy to rise and knock on the bathroom door. “Pam? Are you about finished in there?”

  When she opened the door, a misty cloud of steam hit him in the face, along with a smell like June roses. His vision cleared, and he gawked. Standing before him in a fluffy peach-colored terry-cloth robe was Pam, her head wrapped in a towel, her smooth, clean skin flushed from the heat, her tawny eyes fringed with long lashes. “I’m done. Do you need in?”

  He gulped. “In a while. I thought maybe we ought to settle a few things before we turn in.”

  “Like?”

  “Our morning routine, for starters.”

  She edged past him toward the bedroom, where she sat at the foot of the bed toweling her hair dry. “As you can see, I’m an evening shower person. I’ll need about fifteen minutes in the bathroom in the morning.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. When she raised her arms to massage her scalp, the robe gaped, revealing a sheer nightie it would be folly to think about. Tendrils of hair trailed down the nape of her neck, and he wanted nothing more than to throw off the towel and plunge his hands into her hair and…

  “What about you?”

  Me? “What about me?”

  “The bathroom,” she prompted.

  “Oh, yeah. I get up at six. I’ll be cleared out of there by six-thirty.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets to have something to do with them.

  “You know I’ve been thinking,” she went on. “If we’re to pull this off, we need to know a little more about each other. Our histories, likes, dislikes, that kind of thing.”

  It made sense. “We haven’t had much time to consider stuff like that, have we? But what about Andy? He’ll suspect, if we talk around here.”

  “I was thinking maybe we could slip off campus for our lunches this week.”

  Now her hair fell to her shoulders and she worked on drying the ends. Without makeup, she looked younger. Something about the intimacy of her sitting on his bed in her nightwear tangled his tongue. “Sounds good. Tomorrow then?”

  She nodded. “Also we have to think about how to make the announcement of our marriage.” She lowered her hands and spanned them across her abdomen. “The sooner the better,” she whispered.

  That made sense. You didn’t have to teach in the math department to compute nine months. “What about the all-school assembly day after tomorrow?”

  “That would certainly kill all the birds with one stone.” She looked up, her eyes holding a spark of humor. “Or we could just tell Geraldine Farley.”

  He grinned. Mrs. Farley, one of the school patrons, was notorious as Keystone’s number one gossipmonger. “The assembly’s far safer. Besides, we wouldn’t want Andy to think our marriage is a secret. I’ll tell him in the morning that we’re making the announcement Thursday.”

  Pam stood, her bare feet unaccountably arousing. Grant resisted the urge to let his gaze lift to her bare knees. “Tonight went better than I expected,” she said. “With Andy.”

  “I wish I could say the same for my conversation with his mother. No telling what poison she fed him when they talked.”

  Pam moved closer, the heady fragrance of rosebuds disarming him. She laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t borrow trouble.”

  “I’ll try not to.” He stepped around her to turn down the bedspread. Then he hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want this bed?”

  “I’m sure. See you in the morning.” At the door, she paused and turned back to him. “Thanks, Grant. For everything.”

  Later, lying in
bed, he longed for the oblivion of sleep. It had been an exhausting day—school starting, telling Andy, moving Pam, calling Shelley. Heck, Pam was right. He didn’t need to borrow trouble. He already had plenty.

  The ex-wife from hell.

  A son who barely tolerated him.

  And a pregnant wife-for-a-year. One who aroused in him emotions long dormant and potentially dangerous.

  “HEY, GILBERT, wait up.” A string bean of a kid with a blond buzz cut and hands the size of fielders’ mitts grabbed a notebook out of his locker, slammed it shut and loped after Andy. “Aren’t you Coach G.’s son?”

  This guy was only about the thirtieth jerk who’d asked him that same question. As if he didn’t have an identity of his own. “Yeah, I’m Andy.”

  “Hey, welcome to Keystone. I’m Chip Kennedy. Are you a sophomore?”

  Andy grunted assent, wishing the creep would leave him alone.

  “So am I. I’m hoping to start this season. I’m a forward. How about you?”

  “I don’t play basketball,” Andy said, frowning.

  “No kidding? You look like you’d be a natural. What are you? Six-one?”

  “Six-two.”

  “How come you don’t play?”

  Chip was a regular Regis Philbin with the questions. What answer would he buy? “I’ve been living with my mother. She’s not into basketball.” That was an under-statement. Last year she’d made it to only one of his games and had been more interested in flirting with their center’s divorced father than in watching him score nineteen points.

  “Maybe you could come out for the team here. Give it a try.”

  “No.” Andy didn’t even bother to be polite. Chip was bugging him. Gratefully, Andy realized he was at the door of his English class. “Gotta go.”

  “Good to meetcha. See ya tomorrow.” Chip moved on down the hall and Andy slipped into his seat at the back of the class. He opened his textbook at random and pretended to study a chart called “Elements of the Short Story.” It was getting harder and harder to be anonymous around here, and after tomorrow’s assembly, there’d be no hiding, especially in this class where all the kids would figure he was getting special attention from the teacher.