My Babies and Me (8 page)

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Authors: Tara Taylor Quinn

BOOK: My Babies and Me
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She couldn't believe that after all these months they were carrying on as if they'd only seen each other the day before.
“Stay out here,” he commanded when she would have followed him through the door. “They're going to be pretty damn mad when I start spraying.”
Laura watched him go, trying not to remember all of the scary things she'd heard about bees. “Be careful,” she called. There'd been that article in the paper last year—a kid had died due to a bunch of bee stings. He'd been allergic, if she recalled correctly.
Was Seth allergic to bees? God, she hoped they
didn't get inside that helmet. They'd be trapped. And angry. And—
He'd looked so good. So strong and sure. And he still filled out his jeans as well as she'd remembered. Everything else, too, for that matter. Seth's shoulders used to make people turn around for a second look.
Trying not worry, she paced the yard for another ten minutes, wondering why weeds could grow there and grass wouldn't. But then, that was about the extent of her life, wasn't it? Hard as she tried, she could never get the grass to grow.
And then she reminded herself of the decision she'd made less than a week before. She'd taken the kids to church for Easter and had been moved, herself, by the sermon about faith. About hope. About their power to change lives. And she'd promised herself she'd try to have a little more of both.
So, how long did it take to kill a swarm of bees? Laura approached the kitchen door, trying to hear what was going on inside. Should she go for help? Call 911?
“All done.” Seth held open the door, helmet in hand. “Do you have a broom? It's a mess in here.”
“You got them all?” she asked, amazed, eyeing him carefully for any sign of damage.
“Yep.” He was grinning like a schoolboy.
Laura shivered when she walked past him into that little room and saw the carpet of dead bees on her floor. She'd underestimated the number of them.
“Where'd they all come from?”
Seth was pulling at the vent above her stove. “That's what I'm about to find out.”
While Laura swept, trying to pretend the bees were
dust bunnies, Seth investigated her kitchen for possible entryways. It was almost as if that last horrible scene between them had never happened. Except that she knew it had.
“How's Susan?” she blurted when she started to worry that he'd be thinking about the last time he'd been in her kitchen, too.
“Pregnant,” Seth grunted.
“Pregnant?” She stopped sweeping and stared. She'd never met Seth's older sister, but from all he'd said about her, she'd have found it easier to believe the other woman had flown to the moon.
He snapped the stove vent back in place. “Yep.”
“Did she remarry?” After all, it had been almost eight months since she'd seen him.
“Nope.” He was pulling things out from the cupboard under her sink.
Laura leaned on her broom, watching him. “So who's the father?”
“Michael.”
“Her ex-husband?”
“Yep.” His voice was muffled, coming from somewhere in the cupboard he'd just emptied, but not so muffled she couldn't catch the disapproval in his voice.
“Are they getting married again?”
“Nope.”
“Wow.” She didn't envy his sister, having a baby on her own. She didn't envy her raising the child on her own, either. Laura knew all about being a single mother. And she didn't recommend it to anyone.
“They went into this knowing Michael wasn't going
to have any part in raising the child,” Seth said. “It's all been very friendly.”
“So he's still in touch with her?”
“Some. Not a lot.” He moved farther into the cupboard. “He's on the road a lot. Checks in with her occasionally. Mostly he calls me.”
“At least he cares.”
“Far more than I think he knows,” Seth said, poking around.
“So why don't you tell him that?”
Half sitting up beneath the cupboard, Seth looked out at her. “There's no point,” he said, as though he were making perfect sense. “Wouldn't change a thing.” He lay down, reaching for something Laura couldn't see.
“Nothing under here,” he said, turning to back out of the cupboard.
Momentarily distracted by the tight buns moving straight at her, Laura forgot what they were talking about.
But only for a second.
“Her ex isn't the responsible sort, huh?” she said a little bitterly. She could really feel for the woman by whom Seth measured all other women. Even if she
had
spent the past eight months hating the woman's guts. With Susan as an example, there was no way in this life, or the next, that Laura was ever going to measure up.
“That's just it,” Seth said, frowning. “He is. Very. So's she, for that matter.”
“He just doesn't think being a father requires responsibility?”
Shrugging, Seth turned away. “He travels,” he said, like that was some kind of crime.
“Yeah?” So did Seth. So what?
“He can't very well be a father if he's not around, now can he?” he muttered and left, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
Laura felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Couldn't believe he'd just walked out on her. Again.
She also couldn't go after him. She needed him to leave. Her children would be home soon. So she started to sweep, slow, methodical strokes, collecting her dust bunny bees into a nice neat pile. Picking the pile up was a little bit more of a challenge than she wanted to face, but maybe she'd leave it for Jeremy. He'd think it was cool....
“Just as I thought.” Seth came back inside, pulling off his gloves. “There's a hole in the netting covering the outside end of your stove vent. The grease must have attracted them.”
Laura was so shocked that he was still there—so relieved—she teared up before she could stop herself.
“What?” Seth was there immediately, taking her shoulders in his hands. “Did you hurt yourself?” He glanced around. “Did I miss one?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head. And willed the tears away.
“What's wrong?” he asked again, searching her face.
“I thought you'd gone.” More tears came.
Though she wasn't even sure he was aware of it, Seth's hands were softly rubbing her arms. “I just went outside to—”
“I know,” she interrupted him, tried to laugh.
“Laura...”
“Shhh.” She put a finger on his lips. “Nothing's changed,” she whispered.
She couldn't be the woman he needed, a woman worthy to be his wife, and she couldn't let him any further into the lives of her children without that permanence.
If nothing else, the past eight months getting over him had proved it. His going had practically killed her children. She could only imagine how much worse it would've been if he'd stuck around for a year or two before he'd decided to split.
“Nothing's changed,” she said again.
He didn't even try to argue with her. He lowered his lips to hers, instead, kissing her softly—and then not so softly. Telling her with his body how much he wanted to stay.
And then he was gone. Leaving her with her empty house and her broom and her pile of dead bees.
“SUSAN'S SICK.”
Recognizing Seth's voice, slurred though it was, Michael sat up in bed, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand beside him. It was two o'clock in the morning. Monday morning.
“What's wrong?” he asked, throwing off the covers, mentally calculating how long it would take him to get from Denver to Cincinnati.
“Dunno,” his friend said. “She says nothing's wrong.”
Feeling stupid for overreacting, Michael lay back
on the bed and wondered how many drinks Seth had had. “Then how do you know she's sick?”
“We were all out to Scott and Julie's for Easter dinner a couple weeks ago. She could barely eat a thing.”
“Maybe she just wasn't hungry,” he said, remembering life with his ex. “She probably had a craving for a burger on the way over and stopped for one, thinking she could eat that and dinner, too.”
“She threw up.” It sounded as though Seth had been drinking for hours. Much as he didn't want to stick his nose where it didn't belong, Michael was going to have to have talk with his ex-brother-in-law. Soon.
“She could've had a touch of the flu.”
“She missed work two days this past week.”
“You're sure?” Michael sat up again, his stomach tight.
“'Course I'm sure. I may be drunk but I know when my sister isn't at work.”
Even when she'd had that fever of 103, Susan had gone to work. She'd worked with a sprained ankle, with strep throat, and with a cold so bad she was blowing her nose every five seconds. “Something's wrong,” Michael said, thinking out loud.
“S'what I've been trying to tell you.”
“She won't talk to you about it?”
“Nope, jes tol' me I worry too much.”
“I'll call her.”
 
SUSAN HAD an appointment with her obstetrician at eight o'clock Monday morning. She'd had an amnio centesis, recommended because of her age, at her last
visit and was eager to be reassured that everything was normal. That her violent bouts of nausea amounted to no more than morning sickness. She was twelve weeks along and miserable.
At least physically. Emotionally it depended on the day—or the minute. Tired all the time, she found it hard to be positive about single-handedly preparing for the birth of her child. Yet she was floating in a dimension of happiness she'd never known before.
And she missed Michael. Desperately.
“Ms. Kennedy?” A uniformed nurse stood at the waiting room door. “The doctor will see you now.”
Half an hour later, Susan walked back through the waiting room, seeing no one. Stunned, she didn't even respond when the receptionist called out to her to set her next appointment. Just kept right on walking.
She found her car, climbed inside and sat—but had no idea what to do next.
Eventually she started to laugh. And then to cry a little. And to laugh some more. Passing by the car, a middle-aged woman stopped and peeked inside. Susan waved, and kept right on laughing. Smiling, the woman waved back before continuing on her way.
Pulling her lips between her teeth, Susan tried to sober up. But laughter erupted again before she could stop it.
At least now she knew why she'd been feeling so rotten.
Dialing her brother's number on her car phone, she tapped her foot impatiently. She knew he was in town. He had meetings at head office all week. “Seth?” she cried as soon as he answered. He wasn't
the person she'd
really
wanted to call, but he'd have to do.
“Yeah?” She'd woken him. And couldn't feel the least bit sorry.
“It's twins!” She practically screamed her news.
“What? Twins? You're kidding.” He was wide awake now.
“Nope. Twins.” She figured
she
should be daunted by the news. But she wasn't. Twins sounded wonderful. Fun. Two for the price of one. Piece of cake. “Gotta go,” she sang, tossing her cell phone into the seat beside her as she started her car.
She had an appointment in fifteen minutes with the attorney representing a bankrupt padding company Halliday Headgear had done business with. She couldn't be late.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T
HE PHONE RANG and rang and rang.
“Dammit, where is she?” Michael paced as far as the cord would allow in his hotel room Monday morning.
Glancing at his watch, he tried to pretend his tension was because he had a decision to make—and very little time in which to do it. He had a flight booked from Denver to Cincinnati in an hour, and another from Denver to Chicago at the same time. If he could just get hold of Susan, he'd know which of the two flights to take. He'd prefer to go to Chicago first, pick up some more clothes. And his Pathfinder.
“Answer.” He swore again, telling himself there was nothing to worry about. As she'd so often told him, she had five brothers and a father in town. If she was really in trouble, she'd have called one of them.
And if she was in the hospital, Seth would have called Michael back.
He jabbed his finger on the disconnect button and dialed Cincinnati again, Susan's office this time. At least someone there would pick up the damn phone. And they'd probably be able to tell him where she was, too.
Five minutes later Michael hung up, grabbed his bag and hailed a cab for the airport. After speaking
with Susan's secretary he'd decided to take the Chicago flight. With Susan in a meeting, things obviously hadn't reached critical stages.
But he was still going to drive over to Cincinnati. He had a business lead there he wanted to pursue. An insulation company that was on to something. The work in Denver could wait.
 
DAYDREAMING ABOUT look-alike outfits and double strollers, Susan waited for her microwave oven to finish heating a cup of chamomile tea. If she could only get her stomach to settle, she might find the energy to start cleaning out the spare bedroom. There was a lot of work to be done, some of it double, and her doctor had warned her to prepare early. She might not be able to count on herself for much during her last trimester.
Susan opened the microwave door and reached for her cup of hot tea before she realized that the buzzing she'd heard wasn't the oven, but the front doorbell. She wasn't expecting anyone.
Maybe Seth had come by. Maybe he'd help her take apart that bed in the spare bedroom.
It wasn't Seth.
“Michael.” He looked so good to her, it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around him. She hadn't greeted him that way since they were married.
“I've got business in town.” He was making her uncomfortable, studying her closely. “I tried to call, but you weren't home.” Could he tell she'd gained a few pounds? See the slight bulge beneath her overalls?
“Well, come in.” She stepped back, opening the door wider. “I'm just heating up some herbal tea. You want some?”
Shutting the front door, he hung his jacket on the rack. “You never used to drink that stuff.”
“The doctor says it might help settle my stomach.”
“Seth told me you've been ill.” He followed her into the kitchen.
“Just morning sickness.” She looked away as she said the words. She'd rather not mention the pregnancy in front of him.
“You're sure that's all it is?”
“Positive. I just saw my doctor today.”
Susan dumped a couple of spoonfuls of sugar in her steaming cup in an attempt to camouflage the taste, took a sip and grimaced.
Leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, Michael watched her.
“How long are you in town?” she asked, trying desperately to think of what she'd be saying had she not been pregnant with his child. With his children, she amended.
“I'm not sure.” He turned to help himself to a can of soda from the refrigerator. “I'm investigating a company here in Cincinnati. They've come up with a new form of spray-in foam insulation that's not just fire-resistant but eighty-nine percent fire-proof.”
Putting ice in a glass, pouring his soda, Michael had his back to her.
“Fire-proof insulation—can you imagine how that'll take off?” she asked him. “A fire that started in one room of a home might burn the drywall, but
the wall itself would still stand,” she went on. “And the room right next door might not even be touched.”
“Exactly.”
“How much is it likely to cost?” She'd have to look into getting some. After all, she had to protect the babies who'd soon be sleeping innocently in their cribs, relying on their mother to keep them safe.
Michael shrugged, coming to sit with her at the table. “That all depends on production and distribution costs.” He wiped condensation from his glass with one lean finger. “If everything checks out as the preliminaries seem to indicate, this will be a whole new niche in the market. One I'd like to see Coppel pursue.”
Blood stirring in spite of her admonitions to be careful, Susan sat back and listened. This was vintage Michael, the way he'd been in their college days, his mind churning with plans, his entire body buzzing with energy. She'd fallen in love with him during just such a conversation.
“Miller Insulation is the only company that's got the technology at the moment, but it won't be long before others are figuring out what they've done,” he continued. “Miller doesn't have the capital to hit the market big, but we do. So we buy Miller Insulation, put up plants in a few strategic places across the United States to keep distribution costs in line, and then, when everyone in the country's demanding the product, we own the niche.”
“I'm impressed.” She smiled at him. Wanting him.
His eyes, so alight with intent, broke contact with hers. “By the time I do a complete analysis, figure profit margins, meet with Miller Insulation officials—
well, I'll probably be tied up here for a couple of weeks. Or more.”
She tried not to be excited about the prospect of having him in town for so long. Considering their current circumstances, it wouldn't be a good idea for her to expect anything.
“Will you have time to go out for dinner or anything?” Should she ask him to stay with her? Four months ago she wouldn't have had to ask.
No answer. Susan told herself not to be hurt. Her pregnancy was bothering Michael far more than she'd ever thought it would. How could she possibly have imagined she could carry the man's child and not have it affect their relationship? Such as it was.
He broke the silence. “I'm worried about Seth.”
Susan looked back at Michael, taking way too much comfort from the concern in his eyes. “Me, too.”
“You have any idea why he's drinking so much?”
“None.” She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. “I asked him about it and got my head bit off for my trouble.”
“So you have noticed it,” he said. “It's not just my imagination.”
Shaking her head, Susan related the last few times she'd met Seth for lunch. Her brother seemed to drink more than he ate.
“Do you think it's affecting his work?”
“Not at all.” Susan shook her head again. “From what I can tell, he's better when he's on the road. Hasn't missed any work at all. He only seems to drink when he's in town.”
“Seth told me you missed a couple days of work.”
What was Seth, anyway—his sister's keeper as well as a lush? “Just that morning sickness I told you about. It's no big deal.”
“You've never missed a day of work before.”
And, that quickly, he was a polite stranger again, awkward, finding it difficult to meet her eyes. Love, fear, despair. They all rolled into one mass of emotion that threatened to consume her.
“I've never been pregnant before.”
His eyes, when they finally met hers, were troubled. “I'm sorry, Susan.”
“I'm not,” she said, then added, “At least, I'm not sorry I'm pregnant.”
“What
are
you sorry for?”
“Sorry I put you in this position, sorry I didn't see what my asking you to play a part in this was going to do to you. To us.” She reached for his hand across the table. “I wish it didn't have to change things.”
Michael turned his hand over, threading his fingers between hers. “There doesn't seem to be any way around it,” he finally admitted. “How can I see you and not see that child you're carrying?” He didn't give her a chance to respond. “And seeing that child, how can I not find myself grossly lacking?”
. “I went into this with my eyes wide open; Michael,” she reminded them both. “We had a very clear understanding that I would take, that I
wanted
to take, complete responsibility for this baby.”
He pulled his hand away, sitting back, his expression stormy.
“You very generously did me a favor, Michael. Why can't we just leave it at that?” It had all sounded
so simple to her when she'd first come up with the idea.
“Because you're sick, for one thing.”
“It's normal. It'll pass.” She hoped. With twins, chances weren't as good, but either way, she'd manage.
No matter what she said, though, she couldn't seem to wipe the lines from his forehead.
“I guess I'd better go.” He stood up. “I've still got to check into a hotel.”
Taking a deep breath, Susan told herself not to push, not to be a fool. “You could stay here,” she said.
“Not this time.” He retrieved his jacket from the rack by the front door. “I'll be in touch.”
And, once again, he was gone.
 
THE NEXT NIGHT, with some half-formed thought that he'd be doing Susan a service, Michael made plans to meet Seth at the bar around the corner from Seth's apartment.
Two drinks into the evening, he wasn't sure who was helping whom.
“Is there something that says a man has to be a father to be a decent human being?” Michael asked, studying the amber liquid in his glass. He'd never found any answers there, but he kept looking just the same.
“Not that I've ever read.”
“Then how about something that says a man can't be decent if he doesn't want children?”
Seth gazed at him across the scarred wooden table, his eyes tired. “Isn't that the same thing?”
“Hell, I don't know, man.” Michael downed the last of his drink. “I can't figure what in hell's the matter with me that I've never wanted kids.”
“You don't like them?” Seth asked. “There might be something wrong with a guy who can't like kids.”
“It's not that,” Michael was surprised to discover. “I like them well enough—at least I think I do. I love my niece a lot.”
He waited while another drink was placed in front of him, thinking he was going to have to take Seth up on his earlier offer to bunk down at his place for the night.
Seth was having another drink, too, staring down into his glass just as Michael had done.
“You find anything in there?” Michael asked.
Raising his head, Seth appeared to ponder that for a moment. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”
“You looking for something?”
Seth just shrugged. And then glanced across at Michael. “So how do you know you don't want to be a father if you think you like kids?”
Meeting the other man's eyes, Michael wished like hell he could explain. “Every time I even think about the possibility, I get claustrophobic, like I gotta run as far and as fast as I can,” he said, wondering if he sounded as stupid as he felt. “You ever feel that way?”
“Maybe,” Seth said. “I guess that's how a guy feels when he knows he should do something, and knows he shouldn't at the same time.”
“Exactly.” Michael couldn't have said it better himself.
“Like, a man's gotta work, and sometimes what he does just doesn't allow him to be other things.”
“Exactly.” They drank to that.
“Sometimes his work is all he
can
do, all he's trained to do.”
Well...not exactly. Michael didn't have to take that job in Chicago seven years ago. He could've stayed with the firm in Cincinnati, could have grown old and died there.
“But what if it isn't?” he asked, trying to focus on his ex-brother-in-law. This was too important to slur his way through. “Is it wrong for a man to want to love what he does?”
“Hell, no.”
Thank God for that. But... “Does it make him a self-centered bastard to pursue his goals?”
“It shouldn't.”
“But it might.”
“I guess it could, depending on how he goes about it.” Seth nodded, as though pleased with his answer.

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