A Baby of Her Own

by Brenda Novak

  “Isn’t there a part of you that wants it to turn pink?”

  “Not anymore. I just want to forget that I could ever—”

  “It’s turning pink,” Rebecca interrupted.

  Delaney gripped the sides of the sink. “No, it’s not,” she said, “because if it is, I’m going to go crazy with guilt. And if I go crazy, I’m going to come and live with you and Buddy and drive you crazy. And—”

  Rebecca grabbed Delaney’s arm so tightly it hurt. “It’s turning pink!” she cried again. “Look at it!”

  Delaney leaned closer. What was at first barely a tinge became more obvious as she watched. “Oh my gosh,” she muttered and had to feel behind her for the toilet before her knees gave out. “I’m pregnant.”

  Rebecca stared at her. “Don’t look so glum. This is—”

  “If you say this is what I wanted, I’m going to kill you,” Delaney interrupted.

  “I thought it was what you wanted. You’ve been mooning over the idea of having a baby for the past few years and I…”

  Her voice fell off, and Delaney suddenly realized, only because all her other thoughts were frozen with panic, that it had to be the first time she’d ever seen Rebecca at a loss for words.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” she said, the pronouncement ringing like a death knell in the small room.

  Rebecca’s smile looked forced. “That’s not such a bad thing,” she said. “I hated the idea of leaving you here alone. Now I can get married, knowing you’ll be just as happy as I am.”

  “Happy?” Delaney echoed.

  “Of course you’ll be happy. You’ll eventually forget about Conner and Boise and concentrate on the baby. And I’ll be her godmother, which means I’ll have to come back here for the birth and all the important occasions. It’ll be perfect. What are you going to name her?”

  Name her? Delaney hadn’t thought past Please, God, forgive me for my terrible mistake. She couldn’t even summon the energy to tell Rebecca how ludicrous her question was.

  “Since Aunt Millie could never have kids, it might be nice to name the baby after her if it’s a girl,” Rebecca said cajolingly. “I mean, Millie’s a bit dated and sounds almost as bad as Lula Jane or Myrtle, but—”

  “Do you think you’re helping?” Delaney asked.

  Rebecca sat on the tile countertop and finally abandoned the pretense of “let’s be happy about this.” “Okay,” she said. “So we have a problem. But if you really don’t want the baby, you could always have an abortion.”

  Delaney shook her head. “Are you kidding? That’s the last thing I’d ever do.”

  “Then, what do you suggest?”

  “I need to find Conner. Tell him what I’ve done.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Listen, Laney, it’s too late for that. He’s gone, and he’s better off for it.”

  “How do we know he’s better off?”

  “He’s living the life he wants to live without any interference from you, for one thing. And think about the baby. What if he sues you for custody someday? Would you be able to give up your child? Once he knows about the pregnancy, you won’t be able to cut him out of your life, yet you have no way of knowing whether or not he’d be a good influence. Contacting him would only open a can of worms. What’s done is done. You need to deal with it and move on.”

  Rebecca’s words made sense. Conner wasn’t ready for children. He’d told her that. He was simply a stranger who’d passed in and out of her life. She didn’t know where he lived; she didn’t know his last name. And he didn’t know anything about her, either.

  Getting hold of herself, she nodded. “Okay.”

  Rebecca squeezed her shoulder. “When do you think you’ll let the secret out?”

  “Not for a while,” she said. “I have to come to terms with it myself first.” She closed her eyes. “Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph are going to die when they hear.”

  “What do you mean? They’ve been begging you for grandchildren.”

  “They mean the legitimate kind.”

  “I know, but they’ll get used to this. Come on out of the bathroom. It’s not the end of the world.” Rebecca tugged on her hand until Delaney finally moved woodenly to the living room, where she sank, still numb and incredulous and sick inside, into her favorite easy chair, a cast-off from Uncle Ralph when Aunt Millie bought him a new recliner for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

  “Maybe you should tell them right away and get it over with, so you don’t have to dread it,” Rebecca volunteered.

  “Thanks for the suggestion, but I don’t think so,” Delaney replied. “I won’t start to show for several months. No need to jump the gun and make a big announcement when something could still go wrong. A lot of women miscarry in their first trimester. Don’t you think I should at least wait until I pass that milestone before opening myself up to the scorn of the whole town?”

  “Makes sense,” Rebecca admitted. “But if you wait too long, I’ll be gone. I’m getting married in June, remember?”

  Delaney folded her arms and leaned back, telling herself to take some deep, calming breaths. “How does your being gone affect when I should tell people about the baby?”

  “If I’m here, they’ll blame me and my influence, and you’ll get off more easily. They’ll say, ‘Just look at Laney now, pregnant without a husband. We always knew what hangin’ around that Wells kid would do, but she wouldn’t listen to us.’”

  Delaney was too emotionally devastated to laugh at her friend’s twangy imitation. And she sensed something serious, and very possibly painful, running beneath the words. Maybe being typecast a hellion in such a small town was as difficult as being typecast a Goody Two-shoes. No one gave Rebecca credit for her positive traits, and the townspeople, by refusing to adjust their image of her, didn’t allow her room to grow and change. If Delaney and Rebecca took the poor kids from the trailer park to see a movie or picked up trash on the streets to help get ready for rodeo season, Delaney received the credit. If they were together and got pulled over for a traffic violation, no matter who was driving, it was Rebecca who took the blame. Life had been that way for so long, Delaney had grown accustomed to it. But something in Rebecca’s voice made her consider the disparity now.

  “Not everyone knows you as well as I do,” she said softly, trying to set aside her own worries for a moment.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Oh, yeah? Well, they’ve had more than thirty years to get to know me. Anyway, I don’t care what they think.” This time her words didn’t ring entirely true. “I’m out of here in four months. But you have to stay behind, and I don’t want them treating you like an outcast.”

  As they’d always treated Rebecca? Delaney hesitated, wondering how to soothe her friend’s heartache, but knew there wasn’t much she could say at this late date. The damage had already been done, bit by bit over the years. And Rebecca would never admit to being hurt in the first place, so they couldn’t discuss it openly. All Delaney could do was reassure her that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate—even though she had no guarantees and feared exactly that.

  “If they do, it’s okay,” she lied. “You know why?”

  Rebecca didn’t answer, but her eyes betrayed her interest.

  “Because this baby was my decision,” she went on. “I let you push and prod, but deep down, I wanted to go to Conner’s room or I wouldn’t have done it. It’s that simple. So, for better or worse, I have only myself to blame, and I’m willing to accept the responsibility.”

  As the worry in Rebecca’s eyes began to clear, Delaney thought of the Assertiveness Evaluation she’d recently taken. Question: When you do something stupid, do you a) blame the person who talked you into it, b) smack the person who talked you into it, or c) take responsibility for your actions?

  Delaney smiled. She’d just chosen c. Maybe she was becoming more assertive, after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “HOLD HIM DOWN, Dwight,” Jona
than whispered, his mouth so close to Conner’s ear that he could feel the air stir. “And cover his mouth or he’ll start crying for his mama like the big baby he is.”

  Conner knew what was coming, but he wasn’t even tempted to cry out. He knew that would only heighten his uncles’ anger, make them more determined to get even with him later. He hadn’t bothered to summon help in over two years, since he was seven. The fighting between him and his uncles upset his mother too much, made her cry, and his grandfather was never around long enough to do anything about it. But Jonathan and his brothers always said that bit about crying like a baby. And they said a lot of other things, too.

  As Dwight pinned Conner’s hands above his head on the floor of his bedroom, Conner heard Stephen laugh. “Come on, rape baby. You think you can get away? You think you can take the three of us?” he taunted. Only he didn’t come too close. The last time he’d called Conner “rape baby,” Conner had managed to squeeze out from under Dwight and bloody his nose, even though Stephen was four years older than he was.

  But Dwight was prepared for him this time. And Jonathan was helping out, anchoring his feet. “Kick him, Steve,” he told his younger brother. “Kick the stupid rape baby. He thinks he’s got as much right to live here as we do.”

  Conner winced at the explosion of pain in his ribs and began to fight in earnest. He knew the whole episode would end much more quickly if he remained inert and let his uncles have their fun, but he’d never been able to do that. The anger inside him was too great. Scorching hot, it seemed to erupt like a volcano. And then he was suddenly free of Dwight’s and Jonathan’s grips and swinging and swinging. But he couldn’t hit anything….

  Conner woke in a tangle of sheets, drenched in sweat and, at first, didn’t know where he was. The Bahamas? Hawaii? Europe? He loved spending his uncles’ inheritance, loved knowing how much it bothered them that he was out playing while they were back in Napa, working for their father and trying to make good. Maybe he was a rape baby. But because of that, his grandfather gave him certain latitude the others didn’t get. And Conner was determined to ram it right down their throats.

  He blinked at the ceiling, the modest furnishings in the room, the bronze sculpture of a horse and rider on the bureau, the dogs, who’d taken to sleeping in his room. He wasn’t in the Bahamas. He wasn’t even in California. He was in Nowhere, USA, where his past had finally caught up with him and the pain he’d felt in his dream was only the soreness of his muscles from having worked all day. Over the past few weeks, he’d tossed bale after bale of hay to hungry cattle. He’d sat a horse in the bitter dawn, hunched against a chill wind, and helped move the herd closer to the streams and creeks that weren’t frozen over. He’d gone out searching for strays, the snow falling so thick he could hardly see Ray’s horse in front of him. He’d even learned to shoe horses and run a small tractor. Then, after spending his daylight hours outside, he’d used the evenings to work on the computer or the telephone, looking for information that might lead to possible salvation for the ranch, a fourth-quarter, come-from-behind victory.

  But he hadn’t found anything very promising, and on quiet, lonely nights like this, the old nightmares mingled with memories and crowded in, as though they were conspiring to tell him that Dwight, Jonathan and Stephen would eventually win.

  Slugging his pillow, Conner groaned and rolled over to face the window, listening to the wind and to the leafless trees outside clawing at the glass. He felt like he was one of those trees, as if Dwight, Jonathan and Stephen were tugging and pulling at him, trying to uproot him and blow him away….

  Don’t think about it, he told himself. Give it a break.

  Closing his eyes, he forced all thought of the ranch, his grandfather, his mother, his uncles, his past—everything—from his mind and rejoiced in the only positive thing that had happened to him since he’d arrived in Idaho. Delaney. Now, that had been a night in a million. She might not have given him her number, but she’d left him plenty to remember her by, and thinking about her never failed to put a smile on his face.

  But she wasn’t the only woman in Idaho, right? Now that he’d spent some time learning his way around the ranch, he needed to get out and start meeting people. Surely Dundee had a singles scene that was at least mildly entertaining.

  He finally drifted off to a more peaceful sleep, dreaming that Delaney was suddenly in his arms, once again a warm and willing partner. But when Conner opened his eyes in the morning, he realized dreaming wasn’t enough. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted Delaney. At least, he wanted the chance to get to know her, to be with her again. Which meant the only thing he could do was go to Jerome to find her.

  THE NOTICE, WHEN IT CAME, looked innocent enough. It was just bad timing that Aunt Millie happened to call the moment Delaney slid the typewritten page out of its envelope.

  “Oh, no!” she said as she read the two short paragraphs written on the city’s embossed stationery. Her involuntary cry interrupted Aunt Millie, who was asking whether or not Delaney wanted to participate in her Bonco group this month.

  “What it is, dear?”

  “The city finally has the funds to remodel the library and expand the book collection,” she said.

  “That’s good, isn’t it? You’ve been wanting to expand the book collection for a long time.”

  “But they can’t do it right now!”

  “Why not?”

  Delaney sank into a kitchen chair, feeling numb and even a little frightened. “Because on April fifteenth, they’re closing it down for three whole months. And they’re putting me on half pay.” Half pay—when she needed to be saving as much money as she could for the baby…

  “You can find something else to help you get by, can’t you?” Aunt Millie responded. “You won’t need much if you’re living here.”

  Delaney caught the not-so-subtle hint, but didn’t have the energy to comment on it or even worry about it. She had bigger things on her mind—like buying groceries and feeding her baby. “Dundee doesn’t exactly have a booming economy.”

  “So, what will you do?” Aunt Millie asked, her voice starting to reflect Delaney’s worry.

  “I’ll come up with something,” Delaney said as calmly as possible. She couldn’t deal with the prospect of Aunt Millie getting upset; she was too upset herself.

  “I know you will. You’re a mature, responsible person. Good things come to good people, Laney. I’ve always told you that.”

  Guilt assaulted Delaney, stabbing her right in the heart. She lied to Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph every time she saw them by pretending nothing had changed. She’d never felt like such a fraud, and was finding it increasingly difficult to get through the day without blurting out her secret for everyone to hear—for better or worse. Especially when Aunt Millie started describing her as a saint.

  “I’m too old to be living at home,” she said suddenly.

  “What, dear?”

  “I said I’m too old to be living at home. I want to take care of myself. I’m going to take care of myself.”

  “I wasn’t trying to steal your independence, Laney. I only thought—”

  “I know what you thought. And it’s sweet and wonderful and I appreciate it. But I just can’t do it.”

  Silence.

  Delaney closed her eyes, knowing this wasn’t going well. But she was still reeling from the news about her job and didn’t know how to improve her methods. Those stupid role-playing things never panned out the way she envisioned. She wasn’t supposed to lose her job, for one thing.

  “You and Uncle Ralph have a nice routine worked out and lots of peace and quiet, which you need at your age. I’m not going to disturb all that.”

  “You wouldn’t disturb us, Laney. We want you here. Goodness knows how lonely it can get….”

  Oh God, now the guilt. “Aunt Millie…”

  The edge in her voice checked the flow of Millie’s words. “What?”

  Delaney sank into a kitchen chair, put her e
lbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to move back home. I like being on my own.”

  Another silence. Then Millie said, “But you need to be sensible, Laney. You’ve lost your job.”

  “Not exactly, and it’s only for three months.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out. I’m thirty, Aunt Millie, not eighteen.”

  “You’re sounding more and more like that friend of yours.” Aunt Millie always referred to Rebecca as “that friend of yours.”

  “That friend of mine is getting married and moving out. There’s no point in bringing her into this.”

  “I’ve never liked the fact that you two have been so close. She’s not a good influence.”

  Delaney hated the split loyalty she felt whenever Aunt Millie spoke of Rebecca. She loved them both, but they didn’t care for each other. “I don’t want to talk about Rebecca.”

  “Anyone who dyes her hair that ungodly purplish color—”

  “It’s a dark shade of auburn,” Delaney corrected.

  “—is no kind of lady. I, for one, will be glad when she’s gone.”

  Delaney felt exactly the opposite, but she didn’t answer. She was too busy staring down at her notice from the city, wondering why they were talking about purple hair when she didn’t know how she was going to buy diapers thirty-five weeks from now. She was barely making a living as it was. If she fell behind while she was pregnant…

  “Poor Mayor Wells has sure had his hands full with her,” Aunt Millie was saying.

  “What’s she ever done to you?” Delaney finally blurted, her irritation getting the best of her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then, what do you have against her?”

  “You mean besides the time she ran away with that biker? She stayed in his room at the hotel for three nights before they left. And they weren’t even engaged.”

  Delaney squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about Millie’s reaction once she learned the truth: I don’t know why I ever took her in. I should’ve known, what with her mother and all….