Baby, Come Back (15 page)

Jeff jerked his chin up, narrowing his eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'll pay for Georgetown. I'll help support you and Sheri.”

For a full ten seconds Jeff stared at him, obviously nonplussed. Then he shook his head. “I don't get it, Dad. What's the point? Do you want me to owe you? Do you want me to be grateful?”

Hurt overpowered Hayes; he fought to keep the pain from showing. “Has it gotten so bad between us that I can't do this for you? So bad that you can't believe I just might want you to be happy?”

Jeff shook his head again. “You taught me that a man stands on his own two feet. That a man is strong for his family. I'm not going to take your money. I don't want it. I don't need it. And I don't want to owe you anything. Sheri and I can make it on our own.”

Hayes caught himself starting to tell Jeff what a big mistake he was making, then swallowed the words. Instead he gazed at his son, his chest heavy and tight. He'd never felt so at a loss, so out of his depth. He wanted to reach out to his son, longed to tell him something, anything, that would make it better for him. He held out a hand. “Please, Jeff. Help me help you.”

Jeff shrugged off his father's hand and took a step away. He met Hayes's eyes evenly. “It's too late. Just too damn late.”

Hayes watched Jeff walk away, and felt his heart breaking.

He'd lost his son.

* * *

Alice glanced at the phone beside her bed for the third time in thirty minutes. She'd been so certain Hayes would call. He'd been on her mind all afternoon and evening, and now, at nearly midnight, he was still on her mind. So much so, she hadn't been able to sleep.

She set aside her novel and leaned her head back against the proppedup pillows. He'd been busy; so had she. They'd made no special plans; there'd been no special reason he should have called.

But he should have called anyway. They were lovers. When they were together, they shared the most intimate part of themselves.

She rubbed her temple, at the headache that throbbed there. Hayes's silence had been unnatural. It had been ripe with meaning. She had interpreted it a dozen different ways, all bad.

Sighing, she dropped her hand. And what of herself? She'd picked up the phone a dozen times, intending to call him, to break the silence by saying hello or demanding to know what was going on. But each time, her pride had overruled her desire to speak with him.

It was the beginning of the end.

The truth of that hit her squarely in the gut, stealing her breath, the last of her hopeful illusions. She'd known all along that she and Hayes wouldn't last; she'd known he didn't love her, that he never would. She'd felt his distance, his second thoughts, from the beginning.

Still she'd allowed herself to believe in something that wasn't there. That would never be there. She'd put on blinders and happily gone her way.

Happily.
Her eyes filled with tears. When she'd been with him, she'd been happy. Deliriously so. It had felt right between them. It had felt as though it would last.

Calling herself a ninny, she brushed at the tears on her cheeks. So she'd allowed herself to pretend. She'd allowed herself to believe in the future. Had allowed herself to believe in a happily-ever-after with Hayes.

Now it was over.

“Miss A.!” Sheri stumbled into her room, her arms curved around her middle, her expression panicked. “Something's wrong!”

An ugly dark stain spread across the front of Sheri's nightgown. Alice stared at it, horror dawning inside her. Throwing off the covers, she jumped out of bed and raced to Sheri's side.

“I woke up and...” The teenager fought for breath. “It hurt and I...it felt so...wet.”

She took the girl's arm. “Come. I want you to sit down while I call Dr. Bennett.”

Sheri caught her arm, clutching at her. “You've got to help me, Miss A.! Please. I don't want my baby to die.”

“Calm down,” Alice murmured, fighting to stay calm herself. “We're going to call Dr. Bennett, then head to the emergency room.”

“I'm bleeding.” She lifted her gaze to Alice's. “I can't stop bleeding.”

“I know, sweetie.” And she did know. She remembered, so vividly it took her breath. She eased the teenager gently onto the edge of the bed, then pried Sheri's cold fingers from around her arm. “I'll be right back.”

“Don't leave me.” Sheri caught Alice's hands. “I'm scared.”

Alice squeezed the teenager's fingers. “I know. But I have to call Dr. Bennett. You're going to be all right. Just hold on.”

“I want Jeff,” she whispered, her eyes swimming, her expression bleak. “Call Jeff.”

Alice nodded. “As soon as I phone Dr. Bennett.”

Sheri dropped her hands and sagged rag doll-like, curling her arms around herself.

As quickly as she could, Alice found Sheri a clean gown and some sanitary pads, then grabbed several bath towels from the linen closet. From the bedroom she heard Sheri's whimpers, mewls not of pain but of despair.

Alice's heart turned over. If only she didn't understand how Sheri felt. If only she didn't fear that it was already too late.

She shook herself. Just because she'd lost her baby didn't mean Sheri would lose hers. Sheri was young. And healthy. In the twelve years since she herself had miscarried the advances in medical technology had been staggering.

They would be able to save Sheri's baby, she thought grimly. Everything was going to be all right.

Holding on to that hope, Alice phoned the doctor. As she expected, Dr, Bennett told her to take Sheri directly to Saint Mary's emergency room. Hanging up, she took a deep breath and dialed Hayes's number. He answered immediately, but she'd awakened him—she could tell by his thick, sleepy voice.

For a moment she couldn't find her voice. She felt choked, impotent. In that one moment she felt nineteen again and helpless to stop the loss of the life inside her.

She had wanted her baby, her little girl, so much.

“Hello?” he said again. “Is anyone there?”

She cleared her throat. “Hayes, it's Alice. There's no time to talk. Sheri and I are heading to the emergency room. I think she might be...it doesn't look good. She's going to need Jeff.”

For a fraction of a second he said nothing, and she wondered if he'd even heard her. “Hayes, are you—”

“We'll be there,” he said tightly, then hung up.

Alice stared at the phone for a moment, hurt spearing through her. She hadn't spoken to him in two days. And just now his voice had been devoid of warmth, devoid of emotion.

He felt nothing for her.

Hands shaking so badly she feared she wouldn't be able to drive, she dropped the phone back onto the receiver and hurried back to Sheri. She found the girl exactly as she'd left her, hugging herself, bent over in pain.

“Jeff's on his way,” she said quickly. “So is Dr. Bennett. They'll meet us at the emergency room.” Alice handed her the fresh gown and pads. “Put these on. I'll help you.”

Sheri lifted her gaze to Alice's. Alice saw every one of her own fears, past and present, mirrored back at her. “Promise me, Miss A. Promise me I won't lose my baby.”

She wanted to reassure Sheri, wished she could more than anything in the world. But she couldn't say the words because she didn't believe them. She covered Sheri's trembling hand with her own. “Dr. Bennett is really good. She's going to do everything she can.”

Alice helped Sheri change, then helped her to the car. She drove the winding roads to the interstate faster than she ever had before and, when she reached the highway, accelerated to a speed that left her breathless.

Alice cut Sheri a glance from the corner of her eye. The teenager huddled in the seat, her robe drawn tightly around her. She looked so young. So vulnerable. Her heart turned over. “Just a couple of more minutes. You're going to be fine.”

Sheri started to cry then, the tears slipping silently down her cheeks. “I don't want to lose my baby. But I am, aren't I, Miss A.?”

Alice swallowed past the lump in her throat. “We don't know that, Sheri. Nothing's certain yet.”

“I want her to live. So bad I...” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “I want her to hunt Easter eggs and go to first grade and wear a pink dress with lots of bows and ruffles.”

Alice tightened her fingers on the wheel. She'd had wishes like that once. She had dreamed of a daughter and a too-frilly dress. A beautiful child who would love her without reservation. She swallowed hard.

“I never had a dress like that,” Sheri continued, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “But I remember seeing one in a window downtown. And I remember gazing at it and thinking that someday...when I had a little girl...”

The teenager drew in a quick, pained breath, and Alice reached across the seat and covered her clasped hands. “Hold on to that thought, Sheri. It's a really nice one.”

She curved her fingers around Alice's. Sheri's were as cold as ice, and Alice fought back her alarm. “I want...her...to have a good life. A happy life.”

“I know, sweetie.” Tears choked her, and Alice cleared her throat. “You'll be a good mother. I know you will.”

Sheri shook her head. “I'm going to...give her up for adoption.”

Stunned, Alice took her eyes from the road to look at the teenager. Sheri's expression was determined. She swung her gaze back to the highway. “When did you—”

“After I saw Maggie's kids. After I saw how happy they are and...” Again she shook her head, but this time, Alice knew, in an attempt to ward off tears. “Jeff's not ready to be a parent. I know he loves me and that he wants to do the right thing, but it isn't the right thing. Not for him. He hasn't been happy, not really, since this whole thing started.”

Sheri's eyes widened, and she made a sound of pain, squeezing her hands into tight fists. “And I...I want her, but...what do I have to give her?”

“You have love, Sheri. And that's the most important thing of all.”

For a long moment Sheri was silent. Then, she turned her tear-soaked eyes to Alice. “That's why I decided to give her up,” she whispered. “Because I love her so much. I want her to have parents who'll love her no matter what. Parents who'll think she's the...best thing in the whole world. Parents who won't have any...regrets. And I want her to have that pink dres—”

Again she caught her breath in pain. “Miss A.!”

“I'm hurrying, sweetie. I am. Hold on.”

They drove the rest of the way without speaking. Tears trickled down Sheri's cheeks and her lips moved in what Alice suspected was a silent prayer for her baby's life.

Tears built behind Alice's eyes, and she struggled against them, frightened for Sheri, sorry for herself. Twelve years ago she had whispered the same prayer. Only hers hadn't been answered. Her little baby hadn't been meant to be.

She hoped—and prayed—that Sheri and Jeff's little one was meant to be.

She couldn't squelch the fear that it was not.

W
ithin minutes they arrived at Saint Mary's emergency room, and a nurse with a wheelchair rushed out, Jeff and Hayes close behind him. Dr. Bennett arrived on their heels and whisked Sheri into an examining room, leaving the three of them behind to wait. And worry.

Hayes said nothing. As he had their last time there with Sheri, he stood by the window, staring out at the night, his expression tight and unreadable. He seemed lost in his thoughts, unaffected by his surroundings or the impending tragedy.

Didn't he feel anything? Alice wondered, clasping her hands together. Didn't it matter at all to him that he was in danger of losing his grandchild?

She drew in a deep, painful breath. Why should it matter to him? Why should it touch him? It hadn't mattered when he'd lost his own child. Their child.

Pain ripped through her. She'd been such a fool. Such an idiot. Twelve years ago she'd promised herself she would never forget how much Hayes had hurt her. But she had not only forgotten, she had allowed herself to become involved with him again.

And once again, he would hurt her.

The minutes ticked past. She paced. Jeff brooded. The tension in the waiting room thickened with each moment, until Alice found it difficult to breathe. Just as she thought she would scream if they didn't hear something, Dr. Bennett strode into the waiting room, crossing to where Jeff sat. Her expression said it all, and Alice clenched her fingers into fists.
Please, Lord, let it not be true. Please let this baby be safe.

“I'm sorry.” The doctor jammed her hands into the pockets of her white coat, her eyes and voice full of sympathy. “Sheri is fine, but the baby—”

“No.” Jeff jumped to his feet, his expression twisted with pain. “No!”

“I'm sorry,” the doctor said again. “I know it's small consolation, but I see no reason Sheri won't be able to conceive again. She's young and in good health. This baby...just wasn't meant to be.”

Alice brought a hand to her mouth to muffle her own sound of pain. Of grief. Twelve years earlier, her doctor had said those same words to her, in exactly the same way. They had been branded on her soul, and for months afterward she had tried to comfort herself with them.

This baby...just wasn't meant to be.

But those words hadn't comforted her then, and they wouldn't comfort Sheri or Jeff now.

She swung her gaze to Hayes. Although he'd turned his attention to the doctor and Jeff, he hadn't moved from his position at the window, his expression hadn't altered with the news of Sheri and Jeff's loss. Just as his expression hadn't altered all those years ago when he'd heard of their loss.

Hayes hadn't needed comforting. Those words had meant nothing to him.

As if from far away, she heard Jeff ask to see Sheri, heard the doctor give her approval and the two of them leave the room.

Alice didn't shift her gaze from Hayes, his image blurring as her eyes welled with tears. Suddenly she saw the truth. Suddenly she saw what Hayes had been trying to tell her for so long.

He was the wrong man for her. He would never make her happy.

She drew in a quick, tight breath. Hayes would never be there for her. Not the way she needed him to be, not with his heart. He refused to feel. He refused to live by and with his emotions. Whether it had happened with Isabel's death or long before, he'd disconnected himself from his heart.

She shook her head, stunned. He'd seen that so long ago, and yet, until this moment, she hadn't been able to see it.

She hadn't wanted to. Because despite everything, she'd loved him. She loved him still.

Her tears brimmed and spilled over.
If he doesn't love you, he isn't worth having,
Maggie had said. At the time she hadn't believed it. At the time she'd thought she could settle for whatever he had to give her. That being with him would be enough.

She cocked her chin, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. Not any more. She needed love. She needed a man with a whole heart. She needed a man she could cling to. And one who would cling to her.

What a sham their last weeks together had been. She had tried to make him love her by hiding her true feelings. By trying to become like him. It would never work. She could never live a lie.

Hayes turned his gaze to hers, and for long moments they stood unmoving, silently contemplating each other. A muscle worked in his tight jaw; something in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings. She called herself a fool.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and turned back to the window and the deep, dark night. Her heart shattered into a billion pieces. At a time like this, when they should be clinging to each other, when they should be able to share their deepest sorrow, they couldn't even find one word of comfort to exchange.

He
couldn't find a word of comfort. She had hundreds, pressing to spill out of her heart and off her tongue. Anger and frustration rushed over her in a hot wave. She wouldn't let him hide.

This time he would know exactly how she felt.

And no matter the outcome, she would know what he did—or didn't—feel for her.

She crossed to where he stood, stopping so close he would have no choice but to look at her. “We need to talk.”

Hayes met and searched her gaze, the cold in his tearing at her. “Yes.”

She clasped her trembling hands in front of her. “It's not enough, Hayes. I love you, and I can't go on this way.”

Except for the slight tightening of his mouth, he didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. It hurt to look at him, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Do you love me? Are you willing to make a commitment to me?”

“Alice, now's not the—”

“The time?” She shook her head. “I think it's the perfect time. Do you love me?”

He hesitated. “I don't want to let you go,” he said softly. “I can't...imagine my life without you in it.”

Disappointment, so keen she could taste it, spiraled through her. “But that's not love, is it?”

His silence told her more than any words could, and she made a sound of pain. “You don't want to let me go, but you will. Just like that.”

“I won't make you happy.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I'll want to, but I know what kind of man I am. I know what my strengths are. And my failings.”

She covered his hands, discovering they were wet with her own tears. “Why did you come back into my life? Why did you allow me to hope for something more with you?”

“Did I do that, Alice?” He drew his eyebrows together. “I've always been honest with you. Always.”

“Have you really?” He tried to draw his hands away, and she tightened her fingers. “Is this what you feel for me? This cold? This emotionless control? Are you showing me everything that's in your heart?”

He laughed, the sound tight and humorless. “Look who's talking about honesty. Have you been honest with me, Alice? All these weeks you've been hiding your feelings from me. How was I supposed to know what was going on inside you? How was I supposed to know what you needed? You told me no emotional complications. You told me you didn't expect anything from our relationship.”

She wished she could deny his words, but she couldn't. She hadn't been honest. She dropped her hands and spun away from him. Crossing to the window, she gazed out at the night. “I said those things because they were what you wanted to hear. And because I wanted to be the woman you needed me to be.”

“So who's dishonest?”

She didn't turn. “Would it have made a difference if I'd told you, Hayes? Or would it have made you pull even farther and faster away from me?”

“I don't know.” He closed the distance between them, stopping directly behind her. He touched her hair lightly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He eased her against his chest. Beneath her shoulder blade she felt the steady beat of his heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, despair a living thing inside her. “You say that, yet you keep hurting me.”

“That's not fair, Alice. And you know it.”

“Do I?” She turned and, placing her hands on his chest, tipped her face up to his. “On the way to the hospital, Sheri told me about a little girl's dress, a frilly pink one with ruffles and bows. She dreamed of her daughter wearing it someday.” Alice curled her fingers into the soft fleece of his sweatshirt. “I could picture that dress so clearly because I had imagined the same one for our daughter.”

Something moved across his expression, something sad. Something full of regret. He started to pull away from her; she tightened her fingers, stopping him. “If she'd been born, she would have been eleven in March. Do you remember?”

Beneath her hands she felt him stiffen. “I remember.”

“I named her, you know. After Maggie.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked against them. She wanted to say her piece without crying. She wanted to share her feelings and walk away without breaking down. “To me, she was always little Margaret.”

“You never told me you'd named her,” he said, his voice choked. “Why didn't you tell me? Why?”

“There were so many things I didn't tell you. Because we never talked. Not about losing her. Not about the way we went on after.”

“We talked, Alice. We—”

She shook her head. “A few awkward exchanges, a mumbled word or two.”

He cupped her face once more. “What do you want me to say now, Alice? I'd like to give you what you need, but I don't know what it is. I don't know how.”

Her breath caught on a sob; she forced it back. And that was the crux of the problem. It was the reason their relationship would never work.

This was goodbye. Again.

Only this time, she let him go willingly.

She eased regretfully away from him. Tears slid down her cheeks. “I love you, Hayes. I don't think I ever stopped. I know now that loving you is why I didn't marry Stephen. I'd never gotten over you.”

She brushed at her cheeks, at the tears. “But it's time. Loving you isn't enough anymore. I do want a family. A husband and children. And it's not too late for me.” She looked him straight in the eye, even though hers were filled with tears. “You were right, Hayes. You are the wrong man for me. You won't make me happy. I see that now.”

Hayes flinched, her words slicing through him like a dull, ragged blade, ripping, tearing. He drew in a deep breath.
How would he go on without her?

He tightened his jaw, even as he acknowledged the ache that would never leave him. “I don't know what to say.”

“Unless you can tell me you love me, there is nothing to say.”

He fisted his fingers. Against the emotion charging through him, against the urge to tumble her into his arms and never let her go. The urge to fight for her. He had no right; he couldn't give her what she needed.

“Then go,” he said, his voice thick. “We're not doing either of us any good standing here.”

She hesitated one moment and his chest tightened with unreasonable hope. Then, eyes brimming with tears, she turned and walked toward Sheri's room. She stopped when she reached the door and looked back at him. “It's too bad, Hayes. We could have had something really great together. If only you had a heart.”

Hayes watched as she tapped lightly on Sheri's door, then disappeared inside, the door snapping shut behind her. Snapping shut on their relationship.

He brought the heels of his hands to his eyes. She'd told him everything he'd already known. He wouldn't make her happy; he was the wrong man for her.

So why did he hurt so bad? Why did watching her walk away feel so wrong?

Jeff emerged from Sheri's room, his head bent and shoulders hunched. He paused outside the door, then crossed to where Hayes stood, stopping in front of him, fists and jaw clenched, spoiling for a fight.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Jeff said, his voice choked with emotion. “You win.”

Hayes met his gaze evenly, although it hurt to do so. “This isn't what I wanted. And I'm terribly sorry. I know how much you must hurt.”

“Right.” Jeff took a step closer, a muscle working in his jaw, his eyes dark with emotion. “You never wanted this baby to be born. You don't care now that it's...” His throat closed over the words, and his eyes filled. “Don't pretend with me that you give a damn. Because I don't buy it.”

“All I've ever wanted is the best for you. What I thought was the best, anyway.” Hayes laid his hand on Jeff's shoulder. “And I never thought of it as a competition, son. Never.”

“Bull!” Jeff knocked Hayes's hand away and brought his fists up. “It always had to be your way or no way. Not this time!”

Hayes narrowed his eyes, battling remorse, regrets so strong they stole his breath. “If it'll make you feel better, take a swing at me. But I warn you, you'll only take one.”

Jeff drew his fist back and Hayes braced himself for the blow, then with a cry of pain Jeff dropped his fist and pushed past him. Hayes let him go. He understood his son's grief. His anger. He understood why Jeff had directed it at him. But understanding didn't make it any less painful.

For the second time tonight, heart breaking, he watched a piece of himself walk away.

A lump formed in his throat. He'd lost everything. Alice. Jeff. The grandchild he would never know.

Minutes ticked past. He didn't move. He stood in that sterile, uncomfortable waiting room, unable, or unwilling, to walk away. He had no reason not to leave. And every reason to stay.

Alice stepped out of Sheri's room. Her eyes met his; they were wet with tears. He longed to cross the hall and sweep her into his arms, longed to love and comfort her. He couldn't. Only minutes ago, he'd lost his right to touch her ever again.

Without speaking, she turned and walked away. The lump in his throat became a boulder; he shifted his gaze to Sheri's closed door. He swallowed, the reflexive action painful because of the emotion choking him. He crossed to Sheri's room, stopping in front of it.