With Child

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The house was probably an old one—most homes in West Seattle were. It had been dramatically remodeled at some point, preserving the brick exterior but opening the interior into large airy spaces. The kitchen was separated from the dining room only by a breakfast bar, and a low wall of bookshelves was all that divided the living room from dining room. Open beams above were stained the color of honey, the walls were white, the floors gleaming wood she thought wasn’t oak. Pecan, maybe? Or maple?

  The furniture was scaled for a man and upholstered in leather and sturdy brocades, the colors browns and russets and licks of scarlet. Like a typical man, he’d left the walls too bare, tabletops empty, concentrating instead on shelves for books, an impressive audio system and one of those flat plasma TVs that she’d seen only in stores. Even so, she liked the warm feel of his house.

  Laden with her suitcase and a box packed with her framed photos and albums and a few favorite books and mementos, Quinn watched her turn and survey his house.

  “The bedroom is in here,” he said, after a moment. Three doors opened off a short hall. He turned into the first and set down the carton on a dresser.

  Her eyes filled with tears. All she seemed able to do lately was cry.

  “This is so nice,” she whispered.

  A puffy denim-covered duvet made a bed with a bookcase headboard look comfy. A rug that had apparently been woven of scraps ripped from worn jeans warmed the floorboards. A pair of sash windows looked out on a backyard dominated by a huge, gnarled tree, the kind children loved to climb and hang a tire swing from. The room was plain but…inviting.

  “I know it’s not much, but…”

  “It’s wonderful.” She gave him a wavery smile.

  “The living room couch is a sleeper, too. We can pull it out during the day so you can watch TV if you want. Or you could stay out there all the time…”

  “No.” She sniffed. “You don’t want to be tripping over me all the time. And I like the view in here.”

  He grunted. “At least there’s no mold growing under the bathroom sink.”

  He hadn’t been impressed with her apartment. He’d insisted on packing most of her things while she lounged like a lady of leisure on the bed. After he’d found the mold, he’d kept muttering things about the place not being habitable, and the baby’s health, and cockroaches, which the apartment didn’t have.

  She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t that bad!”

  “Yeah, it was. You’re not going back there.”

  “Quinn! As much as I appreciate your help, I make my own decisions. Remember?”

  He scowled at her. “We’ll argue about it later. Right now, I want you to lie down while I bring the rest of your stuff in.”

  Okay. He was definitely going to get on her nerves. At the moment, though, she was so pathetically relieved to have found a refuge that she was actually touched that he cared enough to be bossy, instead of mad that he thought he had the right to tell her when to stand, sit and brush her hair.

  On the way out the bedroom door, he said, “The bathroom is the next door down. There’s only one downstairs, so we’ll be sharing it.”

  A staircase had risen from the front entry. “What’s upstairs?” she asked, curious.

  “Another bathroom and a bedroom I use as an office. It seemed too small even to be a guest bedroom, and the bathroom doesn’t have a shower or tub.”

  “A house built for one.”

  His brows lifted. “Or two.” Then he disappeared from the doorway, leaving her just a little breathless.

  She didn’t want to be too obedient, but maybe lying down was a good idea. Mindy slipped off her shoes, hung her jacket in the otherwise empty closet and pulled back the duvet to find navy-blue flannel sheets. How like Quinn. Maybe he couldn’t find black sheets. Or maybe he had, but used them on his bed.

  Smothering a giggle, she climbed into bed, lay on her left side, nudged the pillow into shape, and gazed at the dark, gaunt branches of the old tree. In spring, she thought dreamily, she’d feel as if she were lying right under the leafy canopy. Really the tree was too big for the small yard, but she could see why he didn’t take it out.

  This bed was an awful lot more comfortable than the slightly lumpy one in her apartment. It yielded just enough to make lying on her side bearable.

  “I’ll get you a body pillow,” Quinn said behind her, making her start.

  “Oh! I didn’t hear you coming!”

  He stepped to the foot where she could see him without looking over her shoulder. “We could turn the bed so you face the door when you’re on your left side.”

  “No, the view out the window is more interesting.” She smiled at him. “A body pillow might be nice. I could sort of drape myself around it.”

  He went very still and his eyes seemed to darken. Or perhaps she’d imagined it, because after that curious pause he only nodded. “I’ve got a small stereo upstairs with a remote control. I’ll bring that down here.”

  “I have some CDs in my car.” She’d driven here, following Quinn’s car. She’d need it to get to her Lamaze classes.

  “I’ll get them later. I’m going to put on dinner right now. Take a nap if you’d like.”

  Was that a thinly disguised order? Again, she tried to muster some irritation and managed only to feel her eyes getting heavy. She was so tired all the time! Despite her exhaustion, worry—okay, fear—had kept her awake the night before. Just a little nap would feel good.

  She woke to delicious smells and the murmur of voices from the television set. Mindy got up, opened her suitcase and found her flip-flops, and went to the bathroom.

  The floor and the walls to waist-high were tiled in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. An enormous claw-footed bathtub was surrounded by a white curtain, and the thick towels were black. Mindy peeked at herself in the oval beveled mirror above the pedestal sink and squeaked in horror. She was lucky Quinn hadn’t run at the sight of her! Or driven her straight to the hospital!

  With wet fingers, she tried to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order, then turned the taps to icy cold and splashed her face. The result wasn’t much of an improvement. She still looked puffy and pasty, and her hair needed a good cut and the help of a hair dryer and some gel.

  The baby chose then to somersault in her belly, and she smiled and splayed her hands over the shimmer of movement.

  “Hey, kid,” she murmured.

  He—she—flipped again as if in response, and she laughed. Ah, well. What difference did it make what she looked like? Quinn had never been impressed anyway, she thought, just a little ruefully.

  When she padded into the living area, Quinn was taking something out of the oven. He glanced up. “I was just going to wake you. Are you supposed to be on your feet?”

  “A couple of hours a day are okay, the doctor said. I figured I’d use them to shower and eat and make my nine million daily trips to the bathroom.”

  A grin lightened his face. “Junior nestled a little too close to your bladder?”

  “Junior,” she informed him, “is using my bladder as a trampoline.” Then she felt heat touch her cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t an appropriate topic of conversation.

  Then again, they lived together now. He’d hear her going to the bathroom every hour, on the hour, all night long.

  They lived together, Mindy thought again. How weird was that?

  She perched on a wicker-and-iron stool and rested her elbows on the counter. “What are we having for dinner?”

  “London broil and baked potatoes.” He deftly sliced the meat. “You’ll discover that my repertoire is limited.”

  “You can serve that every night if you want.” Her mouth watered. “It smells fabulous, and I didn’t cook it.”

  He leveled a stern stare. “And you won’t cook while you’re here. Right? Don’t get any idea about helping out or surprising me with dinner.”

  “Bossy,” she said without heat. Then she gave him a sunny smile. “But, hey, you want to
spoil me, go right ahead.”

  “I intend to make sure you follow the doctor’s orders,” he corrected.

  She bit her lip. “Quinn, I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me. I mean, I know it’s for Dean, but still.”

  “Maybe you’re the one I’m worried about.” Those very blue eyes lingered on her face for a moment. Then his dark head bowed and he went back to slicing meat.

  “Well, I know that, but I just wanted to say that even if it’s because of Dean, I still…” Oh, give it up! she decided. What did she want him to say? No, no! Dean has nothing to do with me sweeping you up and bringing you home with me? Of course Dean had everything to do with it! They both knew that. “Thank you,” she finished. “That’s all I really wanted to say.”

  Quinn glanced up, expression unreadable. “You’re welcome.”

  Just like that. Her own mother wouldn’t take her in, and Quinn, hardly more than an acquaintance, said, You’re welcome, as if what he was doing for her was nothing big and no more than she should have expected.

  “I called my friend Selene, too,” Mindy said. “You met her at the funeral?”

  He nodded.

  “She has a new roommate. Selene would have let me have her bedroom, but the couch in the living room where she’d have had to sleep isn’t even a pullout, and she has a boyfriend who stays over a lot.” Mindy traced the grout between the tiles on the countertop. “Me being there would have been awfully inconvenient.”

  “Your situation is life and death. What’s convenience compared to that?”

  “She did offer.” It seemed important for him to know that she had a friend who cared enough to do that much.

  “Accepting help doesn’t seem to come easy to you.” Quinn opened the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink?”

  Surprised by the mundane question on top of his observation, she said, “Milk, if you have it.”

  He set a quart on the counter and reached in the cupboard for glasses.

  Watching him pour, she burst out, “Are you suggesting I don’t want anyone to help me?”

  He gave her one of those glances she found to be infuriatingly impassive. “I’ll bet it just about killed you to ask your mother and Selene for help.”

  “Not Selene,” she heard herself say, then pinched her lips together when she realized what she’d admitted.

  “But you couldn’t accept her help unless giving it meant she wasn’t making any sacrifice.” He picked up the platter of sliced London broil and a second one with two baked potatoes, and carried them around the end of the breakfast bar to the table. “Time to eat.”

  Mindy carried the glasses of milk to the table while he went back for a bowl of steamed broccoli.

  Sitting at the place he indicated, she said, “I could tell she felt obligated to offer but was relieved when I didn’t take her up on it. I didn’t turn you down, did I?”

  A glimmer of a smile showed in Quinn’s eyes as he sat across from her. “But you wanted to.”

  “Of course I wanted to!” she snapped. “I’ve already spent enough time on the receiving end of your ‘help.’ You were always irritated with me and impatient when I didn’t do things the way you’d have done them. I couldn’t cope in my own way. Oh, no, I had to cope your way. So, yeah, I’m a little nervous about throwing myself on your mercy again!”

  The minute she finished her tirade she was appalled. He was being wonderful and what did she do but lob grievances that should have been forgotten.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry! That was really low of me.”

  Into the silence he said, “No. You’re right. I was a jackass.”

  Her eyes popped open.

  “Being in charge, controlling, might have been my way of coping.” His breath sounded ragged.

  “You mean, so you didn’t have to grieve. So you were too busy to grieve.”

  His shoulders jerked. “Something like that.”

  Mindy bit her lip. “I should have seen that.”

  “How could you?” he said simply. “I didn’t.” He turned a table knife over and over between his thumb and finger. “Once you kicked me out…” Quinn cleared his throat. “That’s when it hit me.”

  “He was gone,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He tried to smile. Almost succeeded.

  Damn it, her eyes were watering again. “I was even more sad after you were gone, too. You were the only other person who loved him. Without you around, it was as if Dean had never even existed. You know? Sometimes I’d have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to look through a photo album. Just to…to make him seem real.”

  They looked at each other across the table without the defenses they usually erected. She saw that Quinn looked older than he had four or five months ago. The lines between his eyebrows and carved from nose to mouth were more pronounced. She had always thought of him as solitary by choice; now she saw through his aloofness to the loneliness beneath.

  Or perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

  She gave him a crooked smile. “This is going to sound awfully self-centered of me, but… Can we eat?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m starved.”

  A brief laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I’d hate to waste the effort.”

  They served themselves and ate in silence but for Mindy’s murmurs of pleasure and appreciation. Not until she was full did she say, “You know when I told you to get lost? I wasn’t that mad at you.” She made an apologetic face. “I knew I’d start showing any day. I didn’t want you to notice I was pregnant.”

  “Why?” He frowned at her. “Did you think I’d try to snatch the baby?”

  “No, I thought you’d undermine my confidence in being a mother. I was afraid you’d disapprove of everything I did.”

  Voice gravel that was painful on the thin skin of her guilt, Quinn asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “Of course I was!” She paused. “After he was born and I knew what I was doing.”

  Quinn’s gaze lowered to her belly. “Is the baby a he?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know. It’s just awkward to always say ‘he or she.’”

  “Do you have a preference?” he asked with seeming interest.

  Mindy shook her head. “I like babies. And kids.”

  His expression was brooding. “I’ve never been around either.”

  “They’re not some weird, exotic species, you know. Kids want to like you.” She shrugged. “Mostly, they give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  His eyes met hers again, and she was surprised to see humor in them again. “Unlike me?”

  “Um…I didn’t say that.”

  His grin stole her breath. “You didn’t have to.” He nodded at her plate. “Are you done?”

  “I’m stuffed,” she admitted.

  Quinn pushed back his chair. “Maybe you’d better go back to bed. Or I can pull out the sofa bed if you’d prefer.”

  “I can’t let you clean up, too.” She stood and reached for her plate. “At least let me…”

  He circled the table and took the plate out of her hand, then firmly turned her and gave her a nudge. “No. Bed rest. Remember?”

  “But you’ll be waiting on me hand and foot,” she protested.

  He shook his head. “Am I going to have to cuff you to the bed?”

  Once more, her mouth ran away with her. She teased, “That sounds kinky,” before her brain could put the brakes on.

  Quinn only laughed. “So it does,” he agreed, sounding lighthearted.

  As she fled, Mindy realized that she’d heard his laugh before—floating up the stairs after she’d gone to bed, leaving him and Dean alone. Feeling oddly gratified to have succeeded in making him laugh herself, she went to get her toothbrush and toothpaste.

  FUNNY HOW DIFFERENT LIFE was when you had someone waiting for you at home.

  Mindy had eaten breakfast with him that morning, refusing his offer to scramble eggs or make pancakes.

  “I always have
cereal anyway. Maybe this weekend, when you don’t have to go to work.”

  She took a section of the morning newspaper and read with concentration that furrowed her brow while she ate her cold cereal with a banana sliced on top. Pretending to read the front page of the Times, Quinn watched her.

  She hadn’t bothered to get dressed—and why would she? Instead, she had thrown her terry-cloth robe over her pajamas. The pajamas had probably come from a maternity store; the robe hadn’t. It refused to meet over her belly, leaving a three-inch gap through which he could see a powder-pink knit top. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in pink before.

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Did I say something?”

  “You’re staring.”

  He came damn close to blushing. “I just had the thought that I’ve never seen you in pink.” He nodded at her front.

  Mindy glanced down, then made a face at him. “It’s the maternity clothes! Most of them are cute.” She said the word with loathing. “You know. Baby on Board with an arrow pointing at the stomach. I mean, you can find more elegant stuff, but it’s expensive. Mostly I got my maternity clothes at the thrift store. It’s not like I’ll be wearing it for long.”

  “You’re cute.” Okay. Where the hell had that come from?

  “Me?” She blinked at him.

  “Yeah. I mean, you’re little and blond and…” He shrugged helplessly. “You can do cute.”

  “But I don’t want to.” She frowned severely at him. “I’d rather be…quirky.”

  He thought of some of the getups he’d seen her in and said, “I guess you’d qualify.”

  “My mother is big on pink,” Mindy admitted. “She dressed me like a doll. She didn’t take it well when I started wearing T-shirts with skulls on them and torn jeans.”

  He grinned. “Did you really?”

  Clearly offended, she scowled at him. “That’s funny?”

  “Only if you dyed your hair black and wore a dog collar with spikes.”

  “I put a temporary dye on my hair once.” Her face relaxed at a memory she obviously relished. “Freaked Mom out.”

  “You never mention your father.”

  “He died when I was fourteen.” Subject closed. She bent her head again and immediately became engrossed in the newspaper—or pretended to become engrossed.