Inside Out (19 page)

“Doesn't matter, Angie. I'm not hers, she's not mine. It doesn't matter.”

“But I'll make it right. I'll tell her that nothing was—”

“Doesn't matter, Angie. She can think whatever she wants. It doesn't change anything.”

“I think she was jealous.”

Rett's head snapped up. “Really?”

Tracey's friends, her mother, and her aunts tried to keep her cheered up, they really did, but Tracey was the most morose pregnant woman that ever existed. Times alone, times when she was left to think about the past year, really did her in.

That's when thoughts of the short but beautiful period with Garrett before the pregnancy crowded in. Those made Tracey smile, but were always followed by memories of their fragile relationship cracking, of Garrett getting angry with her, of the horrible deception that could have led to him believing she was heartless enough to get rid of their child. Then it was usually topped off with a searing pain associated with the idea that he might be out falling in love with someone else.

Tracey tried to occupy herself with baby books and real estate magazines. The time had come to get rid of the house that had been her sanctuary for years but had turned into a place with too many haunting memories. She had already exchanged it for life in her parents' guesthouse. But she wanted to move out on her own, which she could afford if she sold her grandma's house. She had already landed a job that would support her and the baby.

Tracey had a fight on her hands with her parents, though. Neither of them supported her moving out so soon after the baby was born. So she busied herself with trying to convince them that having an independent mother was best for the baby.

But Tracey still had time to think.

The only thing worse than time on her own to think was when Garrett came to check on her and the baby.

He came faithfully two or three times during the week, sometimes Saturday, usually Sunday after church. Tracey knew his church was nearby, but he never talked about it. Instead, he just showed up with armloads and armloads of baby stuff. A crib. Baby bottles. He bought disposable diapers and a car seat for his car. He bought a car seat for
her
car. He bought bags upon bags of undershirts, booties, diaper rash medicine, blankets, etc. He bought toys the baby wouldn't even be able to play with for at least two years. He would spend five minutes unloading, then take off. It was awful.

And there was something there. Something big and terrible and waiting. Something hanging in the air around them waiting to be acknowledged. Part of it was his anger. Garrett hated her because of what she had done. Nearly done. Part of it was her anxiety. They hadn't worked out visitation or what things would be like once the baby came. She knew Garrett was going to have demands, but had no clue as to what they would be. There were so many questions and so many feelings that they just let lie fallow, expecting resolution to flower nonetheless.

He spent more time with her when he showed up to take her to doctor's appointments. He and her mother scheduled the dates between them, never including her in the scheduling. He did not interact with her. Tracey accepted this, his presence and attitude, purely out of guilt because she had erased his smile.

The few times they did talk, he barked orders at her or demanded answers. He asked her for an accounting of her eating and exercise habits. He wanted to know when she planned to move into her own place. He wanted to know where. It needed to be somewhere in the city so if something happened to Nathalie, they could get her help quickly. He wanted to know if Tracey could afford to move into her own place on her salary. Then he dismissed that question. He knew she could afford her own place regardless of what the job paid. And that was another thing that seemed to bother him.

Garrett did buy excessively for the baby, no matter how much Tracey told him it wasn't necessary or to wait until she came. He didn't listen and got indignant when she went out and bought things for herself. The first time Garrett came over to the house, she watched for him from her window. She saw him coming up the winding half-mile-long drive and went into the living room to wait for him. When Tracey didn't see him drive up through the window there, she went outside and saw him reentering the drive. He must have turned around and come back. She turned to take stock of the only home she'd ever really known. Somehow, it transformed right then and there. She saw it as something other than her home. She saw it as maybe Garrett saw it. She thought of her mother's office virtually wallpapered in magazine spreads of the house. She thought of the first time Moni had come over and had gushed about how nice the place was. She remembered talking to Angie and hearing a catch in her voice after something she said about the house.

Angie had breathed, “You have staff?”

“
One
staff,” Tracey grumbled.

When he stopped in front, Tracey knew Garrett felt uncomfortable. He'd known her family was wealthy. But she could hear him saying, not
that
damn wealthy.

“Drive around back and park on the right side of me in the garage.” He paled and Tracey tried to figure out what was weird about what she'd said. Then she thought of the garage. She put a hand to her face and went back into the house. It wouldn't help that her father's cars and truck were already parked back there, too. Never before had she felt that her family lived to excess. Never had she thought her surroundings ostentatious. And never had she been as embarrassed of the way she lived as she was at that moment.

Then it started, the checking, the questioning, the
buying
. Was Tracey all right? Did the baby need anything? Did she need anything? Was she doing exactly as the doctor had instructed? Garrett was driving her crazy. He really was. Mainly, because with his obsession to show her and her parents he was worthy, he never really treated her as anything other than a vessel carrying his child. Whenever he looked at her as a person independent of the baby, it was with an undercurrent of anger and that damn hovering, awful
something
that waited in the background. Since he knew she had to stay calm, he tried valiantly instead to make sure he didn't see her as anything but a human incubator. Morbidly, she thought of him worshipping next to a shrine of test tubes, wishing his baby was in one of them. All this care he took was so intimate and yet so thoroughly impersonal at the same time. He never said anything to Tracey that didn't have direct relation to the baby. That conjured an image of him trying to accomplish something by talking into her navel. It was probably his next step.

She had to find out from Angie when he passed the bar. She had to find out from Angie that he'd had some sort of accident while exercising a month or so ago and had to get stitches on his leg and arm. Tracey had noticed the fading scratches on the side of his face, but they didn't talk about it. That's the way it was.

Only once, very, very late in the pregnancy, did he show her anything other than that cold impersonal side or that stunted, angry side. It had been so hot Tracey had been sweating like a pig. Just that morning, the air conditioning in the guesthouse had gone out. Her father was having someone come out to fix it, but it wouldn't be until the next day. She could have gone back to the main house, but she didn't want to be in the presence of her worrying parents any more than was necessary. As she stared at the window fan chopping up the world beyond, she was burning. She needed something to cool herself down. Unfortunately, the pool was off limits. She wasn't sure why but her mother had a fear of mixing pregnancy and pools. Tracey didn't think there was any scientific basis, but still she respected her mother's wishes and relied on cool showers.

She turned on the water that day and went to get a change of clothes. She massaged the aching muscles at the base of her back. The bigger she got the more she could barely walk, the pain was so persistent. She forced herself to continue, though, because if she was going to manage a shower, she was going to have to at least be able to walk.

In the bathroom, she sank down on the toilet with her head in her hands. She was miserable. The bathtub looked so inviting. She listened to the water stream in the large, glassed-in shower across from her. She needed to adjust the plastic stool. Tears, ever-present, always plentiful, started in her eyes. The sobs welled up from deep inside, caught somewhere between her heart, her throat, and her backbone. She tried to cut them off but this hormone tantrum was not to be denied. She sat there bawling with water splashing onto her floor from the shower.

That's how Garrett found her.

“What's wrong, Tracey? Is it the baby?”

She hiccupped, trying to stop crying in front of him. “Th-the baby's fine.”

“So what's wrong?”

Tracey shook her head.

“What were you doing?”

“Shower. I was going to take a shower.”

He squatted in front of her so they were eye to eye. He watched her with a gentle expression. “Your back isn't still hurting, is it?”

Like crazy
. “No.”

“Are you gonna go ahead and take your shower?” The tears were rolling again as Tracey considered this question. “Tracey?”

“I'm too big, Garrett! I can barely stand and with that stool, it's too awkward and I can't reach everything and—I can't take a bath 'cause God knows it'll be centuries before I can get out again and I can't even reach my knees, let alone anything else.”

He contemplated her in silence for a moment. She turned her attention to a loose spot in the bath mat. His hand entwined with hers as he helped her stand. When she stood, he kneeled in front of her.

“Put your hands on my shoulders so you don't lose your balance.”

Tracey complied.

He pulled down her big white shorts and huge, unappealing cotton bloomers. When they reached her ankles, she stepped out of them. Garrett stood and turned her around to unsnap her bra. She gave a silent prayer he wouldn't notice how ugly the big white cotton harness was. He turned his back to her to adjust the water and the stool.

She stood there waiting on him, completely naked and more than a little self-conscious. For a minute when he turned back to her, he stared at her body. She wondered what he saw: big, fat Tracey with stretch marks? Or did he just see the beach ball attached to her middle? Did he just see his baby? She got her answer when he rested his hand on her bloated stomach.

Damned if that child wasn't already in love with her daddy. Nathalie started moving beneath his touch and he started to smile big. She kicked and he laughed as if it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. It didn't occur to Tracey at the time that it probably
was
the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

Then, with a much more sober expression, Garrett reached out his hand again and she allowed him to help her into the shower and onto the stool. She puzzled briefly over how he was going to accomplish this without getting wet himself. Would he take his clothes off, too? The very thought made her shiver.

“You need warmer water?”

Tracey shook her head. Hot water would have suffocated her for sure in the summer heat. Even at night it was stifling. He took off his shirt and she was surprised with a full view of his broad shoulders and lean chest with its light sprinkle of sandy-colored hair. The familiarity of his strong arms assailed her senses. For a moment, she was beset by a memory of those very muscles beneath her fingers when they strained above her to give them both pleasure. Her whole body heated and she couldn't wait for him to touch her.

He took off his jeans, but left on the long shorts he wore underneath and stood beside the shower.

As one hand cleansed, the other massaged tight muscles strung between her shoulder blades. He helped her stand a little and moved the towel down and over her bottom until she barely felt the towel anymore, but soft, slippery, warm hands. Then he moved to her thighs and she felt his arms encircle her as he washed the fronts of them. She twisted until he was in front of her again and he moved the towel up, soaping her belly. The hand with the towel slipped down beneath her stomach to slide between her legs. The feeling made her jerk and he quickly moved his hand up again whispering, “Shhhhhhh.” His hand traveled up to her sensitive breasts. The towel made a loud splat as it hit the ground, forgotten. His hands on her breasts were soon joined by his lips when he stepped into the shower and leaned over her. Her arms moved to circle his neck, to never let him go again. Finally, his eyes, opaque amber and green by then, came to meet hers before he laid a devastating kiss on her lips.

Completely drenched, he kissed her senseless. When he stopped, they were in her bedroom, kept cool by a few fans.

“Can we?” he asked.

“Normally, I think it would be okay, but I'm not supposed to.”

He nodded slowly. Still, he laid her damp body down on the bed. He slipped his shorts off and settled next to her, nuzzling her breasts. His tongue slid softly over her moist skin and his hands touched gently because he knew how sensitive she was. He made love to her in all the ways he could.

* * *

In her sleep, Tracey shifted and the moisture between her legs startled her fully awake. Garrett's arm, cupped around her tummy as he curled up behind her, tightened. She was lying there trying to figure out how to get up without waking him when she heard a soft hiss.

Reluctantly, she looked toward the bedroom doorway. Quickly, she stifled the adolescent urge to jump up when she saw her mother standing there. Instead, Tracey silently shooed her away with her hand. Tracey slid out of bed slowly, trying to worm her way from Garrett's protective arm, not an easy task for a pregnant woman. She donned a robe, a huge purple piece of terrycloth, and went into the living room. Her mother was sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed.

“I knew I should have had the locks changed when I moved out here,” Tracey mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Tracey,” her mother started but stopped. She must have been in mild shock. “Tracey,” she tried again. “What did I just see?”

“I should hope you'd know, Ma,” Tracey griped, in a sour mood because she was having serious cramping. “Honestly, how do you think I got this way?”