Right by Her Side (7 page)

But that was how Rebecca felt. Miserable. How could she and someone like Trent Crosby, CEO, make things work between them? Her hand crept over her stomach.
Eisenhower, I have to get us out of this mess.

“Come on,” Sydney took her arm and led her toward a nearby table. “You sit down and I'll bring you something hot to drink. It looks as if we're almost ready to start.”

Rebecca noticed the room had filled. She waved to a few friends and then managed a smile for Sydney when she sat down beside her with two disposable cups of fragrant herbal tea. “I'm sorry, Sydney. My mind is scattered today. How are you and my darling friend Nicholas?”

“Darling Nicholas is more darling by the day.” Sydney's sigh sounded bittersweet. “I never knew how much I could love him and—” She glanced over at Rebecca and there was the glint of tears in her eyes. “You'll think I'm silly.”

Rebecca touched her friend's shoulder. “I won't.”

“I get so afraid sometimes that someone will come along and take him away from me.”

“I understand.” Patting the other woman's shoulder, Rebecca felt her own eyes sting. Knowing Sydney's story—the baby had been abandoned by a former college friend who had been staying with her and that Sydney had applied to be the baby's foster mother and then later adopted him—only made the voiced fear
more poignant. “It's common to feel that way, you know that from what we've heard at our meetings here. It's natural and not silly whatsoever.”

Rebecca couldn't imagine losing Eisenhower. The baby was so real to her already. And wanting the best for her child was why she'd agreed to marry Trent. But could they make it work?

“It's worse because of these nightmares that Nicholas keeps having,” Sydney went on to say. “He wakes up screaming and all he can tell me is that someone is taking him bye-bye. When I ask him who, he just shakes his head and starts crying.”

“Someone taking him bye-bye?” Rebecca questioned. Five-year-old Nicholas was usually more articulate than that.

Sydney nodded, her gaze trained on her cup of tea. “It seems strange to me, too, because he hasn't used the phrase
bye-bye
since he was a toddler. It's as if the nightmares cause him to regress…or he's remembering something that actually happened.”

“Oh, surely not, surely—”

“Can we bring the meeting to order?”

Rebecca shot Sydney another sympathetic glance, but didn't continue as the chatter in the room ceased. Morgan, wearing that big smile again, took his place at the front of the room near the fancy cake.

“Are you trying to break our diets?” one of the male PAN members called from the back of the room. “I promised my wife I'd lose my spare tire by the time our baby arrives and you're not helping, Morgan.”

The crowd laughed. Morgan, too. “Today is not the day for diets,” he said. “Today is a day to celebrate, because one of our own is home, safe and sound.”

Rebecca looked around, noting that everyone else was doing the same. Then, from the hallway outside the room, came the plaintive cry of a baby who had been jostled out of sleep. All heads whipped toward the door.

In walked a smiling couple, a baby in the woman's arms. The man turned to grasp the elbow of a teenage girl following behind them, then he brought her forward so he could wrap one arm around the teen and the other around his wife.

“Here they are!” Morgan's voice was jubilant. “Brian and Carrie Summers and Lisa Sanders. And this little guy is Timothy Jacob who was recovered this past week, safe and unharmed!”

The room erupted in sound. Rebecca and Sydney looked at each other, then jumped up to share an exuberant hug. It was unbelievable. It was uplifting. Rebecca knew the entire staff at Portland General would be celebrating today.

With very good reason. At the end of January, Lisa Sanders had given birth early in the morning to the baby boy she'd agreed to let the Summerses adopt. But then, a little over twelve hours later, the infant had been kidnapped from the hospital nursery, despite rigorous procedures and security codes. While cameras had caught the perpetrator on tape, he had likely been disguised. No one had recognized the man. No one had called in about ransom or even a legitimate tip about
where the baby could be. No one had said it out loud, but everyone had doubted that the baby would be found. Until now.

Both Rebecca and Sydney rushed over to join the others thronging the newcomers. Shouts of excitement and congratulations rang throughout the room, along with the startled cry of the baby. Rebecca noted that Carrie Summers was trying to comfort the sleepy, fussing child as well as take in all the congratulatory hugs and kisses. Catching her eye, Rebecca made a little “gimme” gesture. “I'll stay right beside you,” she said, moving closer to the other woman. She knew the Summerses wouldn't want the baby out of their sight.

After a brief hesitation, Carrie gave her a grateful smile and then passed over the bundle of warm, agitated baby. Rebecca tucked the child's head beneath her chin, holding him close to her chest, and began to rock with slow movements. The baby let out another cry, dug his forehead against her neck, then snuffled into quiet as his thumb found his mouth.

Rebecca kept her breathing calm and even, in time with her side-to-side movement. Timothy pushed his head one more time against her throat, then settled into sleep.

Carrie Summers looked over and rubbed the baby's back with one hand while reaching for the teenager with the other. “We're going to be okay now,” she told the group. Her gaze met her husband's. “Our family is going to be okay.”

Rebecca continued holding the child as Brian sketched out the goings-on of the past few days. A man
had turned himself in to the police and subsequently told them where they could find Timothy—at the home of a woman who lived in the countryside outside of Portland. At that remote location, the baby had been found in the care of a woman who had other children of her own. Timothy, thank God, had been well cared for and was in excellent health. The few details Brian was at liberty to share were quickly wrapped up as big squares of cake were being passed about the room.

“Lisa will continue living with us for as long as she likes,” Brian said. “She's enrolled in the summer session of college right now, and we'd like her always to be as much a part of our family as Timothy.”

Now even Lisa managed to address the smiling crowd. “Thank you, thank you all for your support and belief that the baby would be found and returned to Brian and Carrie. To us.”

Brian reached for the baby, and as Rebecca handed him over she stepped back to appreciate the view of the reunited family. Brian and Carrie finally together with the child they had longed for and thought lost. Lisa, who now had people to love her, a family who wanted to take her as well as her baby into their lives.

It wasn't the traditional family setup, but it looked like a happy ending to Rebecca.

Later, she walked out of the meeting room and down the corridor with Sydney. They glanced at each other and grinned. “A good day,” Sydney said.

“A very good day,” Rebecca replied. “I feel as if I've hitched a ride on an ascending balloon.”

Sydney nodded. “Families can begin many different ways, but the happiness always feels the same, doesn't it?”

Those words didn't leave Rebecca's mind as she headed for Trent's home. After today's PAN meeting, optimism and joy filled her heart. She refused to let her doubts hold her back any longer. It was time to start her life as Trent's wife.

 

Trent spent his first day as a newly married man not thinking about being newly married. Every time it crept into his thoughts, he booted it out with a kick worthy of David Beckham. At some point he was going to have to mention the change in his marital status to his coworkers and family members, but he decided that giving himself and Rebecca a few days to settle into the idea themselves was fair.

By the time he drove home, it was after seven o'clock. A mix of pride and relief coursed through him as he realized that, though his schedule had been full, newlywed or not, he'd accomplished everything on it and more. As he pulled into his driveway and caught sight of Rebecca's car, it was good to know that being married to her hadn't affected him at all. And that was the way it was going to stay, he decided.

The notion of sleeping with her had been a natural one, but he would put that on the back burner. The crucial step had been to get her married to him so that their baby was cemented into his life. He'd get through the next indefinite period of time the same way he'd gotten
through today—by not letting this change in his marital situation affect his life or his routine.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was totally moved in—in one of the spare bedrooms.

He locked up the car, contemplating the evening ahead. A cold beer, and then he'd call the restaurant on 16th Street that knew his standing takeout dinner order—medium-rare T-bone steak, baked potato, hold anything the least bit green. There was the latest
Sports Illustrated
in his briefcase and he'd peruse that over his meal.

The smell was the first thing he noticed when he unlocked the front door. It seemed to grab him by the tie and tug him through the pristine dining room and into the kitchen.

Which wasn't the least bit pristine. He stared about the granite countertops—what he could see of them, anyway—taking in all the items scattered about. The least surprising item in the kitchen was Rebecca herself, who had one foot on a chair and one knee beside the sink as she reached for something on the upper shelf of a cabinet.

“Good evening.” Looking down at him from her perch, her face was flushed and her waist was wrapped in one of those thin towels used to dry dishes. “How was your day?”

“My day was…” He shook his head. “What do I smell?”

“Apple cobbler.”

“Apple cobbler.” He repeated the words to himself. “And what's that?” He pointed to a covered pan atop the stove.

“Chicken casserole.”

“And that? And that? And what about that?” His finger roamed around the room.

“Parsley. Broccoli. Green beans. The remains of them, anyway. They all went into the casserole.” Her face flushed deeper. “I'm not one of those clean-as-you-go cooks.”

“You made yourself dinner.”

She climbed down from the counter holding a clear glass pitcher in her hand. “I made
us
dinner. I, uh, wasn't sure when you'd be home, so I made something that I could warm when you arrived.”

“You didn't need to cook for me. I was going to order a takeout steak from DeLuce's.”

“Oh. Well.” She turned her back and hustled toward the refrigerator. “If you'd prefer that—”

“No, no. It's just that I didn't expect—I didn't think—” Apple cobbler. Chicken casserole. He'd died and gone to Leave-it-to-Beaver heaven.

“I've been thinking a lot today. About our marriage.”

His gustatory delight slipped down a notch. She'd been thinking a lot about their marriage, while he'd been working on not thinking about it at all. “Listen, Rebecca, I've been giving it some thought, too.” About two seconds' worth. “I don't want our…arrangement to, uh, overly impinge on either one of our lives or routines.”

“Exactly!” She beamed a smile that had him thinking about heaven again. “Why don't you wash up for dinner and we can discuss it over our meal?”

So much for
Sports Illustrated.
When he made it
back to the place that she'd set for him at the kitchen table, he realized that she poured him a glass of ice water instead of the cold beer he'd been dreaming of.

“Does everything look okay?” she asked.

What was he supposed to do—complain? “Everything looks great,” he assured her, pulling out her chair so that she could sit down. The green stuff in the casserole he could pick around, right? Plus, he would say anything to get cobbler at the end of the day.

They ate the first few bites in silence, except for his effusive compliments to the cook. This marriage thing might affect his life, after all, he conceded, but a woman making him good meals was nothing to worry about.

He was enjoying his second helping of chicken casserole when she reached beneath her place mat and pulled out some notebook paper. “So, as I said, I did a lot of thinking today and here's what I came up with.”

“Hmm?” He cocked his head to try and read her handwriting upside down.

Laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparation and housekeeping duties,” she said.

She did
laundry
, too? He'd cheerfully forego making his weekly haul to Hagan's Dry Cleaning and Laundry, though he supposed expecting her to starch and iron his shirts was too much to ask. “This sounds—”

“I've written it all up. I thought you could make dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. I'll take Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. That leaves Saturdays for whatever.”

He just stared at her, so she continued.

“On to laundry. I'll wash all my personal things, but I can put both of our other stuff, jeans and that sort, through the washer and dryer if you'll fold them and put them away. Sundays are good for that.”

Sundays are good for the morning newspaper and ball games on TV.

“I've posted a grocery list on the refrigerator and I stocked up on a lot of things today, so I think we'll make it until we can get back to the store on Saturday. Now, I don't mind getting the trash into the can if you don't mind getting the can onto the street. What day does the garbage truck come? And would you prefer to dust or vacuum? I think we can each take care of our own bathrooms, right?”

The garbage truck? Dusting? Vacuuming? Cleaning
bathrooms?
“I, uh…Rebecca, I think you don't understand the, um, setup here. I have a housekeeper who comes in three times a week. I, uh, we, don't need to worry about any of the cleaning. She'll do the laundry, too, if you leave it out—though most of the time I forget and end up dropping it over at Hagan's.”