The Baby Agenda (18 page)

Except that her knees almost gave away at the thought
of him leaving. The pain that filled her was nearly unbearable because she knew she couldn't keep him here. Not if he truly wanted to go.

But how did she find out?

W
ILL KNEW THE MINUTE
he walked in the door that something was wrong. Moira was quiet, closed off. Preoccupied rather than upset, he wanted to think. Or maybe Caleb had been cranky today and she was tired.

During dinner he asked a few questions about her work, talked about an aggravating delay brought about because he'd rejected the shoddy cabinetry that had been delivered today.

“Damn, I'm going to be glad to be done with this job,” he said with feeling.

She appeared to be concentrating on her salad, although he couldn't see that she'd eaten much. “I can imagine.”

“Is something wrong?” he finally asked bluntly.

Her eyes, a darker green than usual, briefly met his. “No. I just thought we should talk tonight. Once Caleb's gone to bed.”

A sense of foreboding tightened his stomach. What the hell?

The evening seemed interminable. Moira insisted on cleaning the kitchen while he played with Caleb, who then resisted going down for the night. When he finally did and Moira returned to the living room, Will said, “All right. What is it?”

She sat on what he thought of as her end of the couch, well out of his reach. “I saw the letter from the foundation.”

Well, shit. He hadn't meant to leave it out.

“It's flattering they thought I did such a good job. But I'm not going back.”

Finally, she looked fully at him. Her voice was completely steady. Even cool. “Maybe you should, Will.”

“What?”

“I thought about it all day. I've appreciated more than I can say what you've done for me. I hope you know that. But I don't need you the way I did. Not the same way. We'd agreed in the first place this would be temporary. You gave up so much. And now…now it looks like you don't have to.”

He let loose with an obscenity. Fear clawed at him. “We're married, Moira. I gave up one commitment for another—to
you
—and I'm sure as hell not going back on it.”

“Will, this is your chance.” She sounded almost as if she was pleading with him. “We didn't marry for love. Neither of us was thinking about a lifetime when we did it. You've been wonderful, but you can still follow your dream. I'll welcome you to stay whenever you can get back to the States to see Caleb. And…he'll be here when your two years is up. I promise I won't ever try to keep him from you. I swear.”

“Moira, what I want has changed.”

Her gaze pierced him. “Tell me that you didn't feel longing when you read that letter. Be honest, Will. Please. Please.” For the first time her voice faltered. “You read that and thought, I could go back. Didn't you?”

“I won't lie to you,” he said hoarsely. “I felt a pang. But that's all.”

“You hate the work you're doing right now, and starting your own contracting business isn't what you ever intended to do with your life.” She was relentless. “It's
second best. All of this is.” Her vague gesture encompassed him, her. Them. “I don't want a marriage with a man who came to it reluctantly and stayed out of a sense of obligation. That's…not fair to either of us.”

She did deserve better, and he could give it to her. He loved her. But he had the breath-stealing fear that she wasn't asking for his love. Was she telling him that he wasn't what she wanted and needed?

“When we made love, did it feel like obligation?” Now his voice was harsh. Only anger could combat pain. “Is that what you were offering? Did you think I expected payback because I'd taken care of you when you needed me?”

Finally, color rushed over cheeks that had been too pale. “Of course not. We enjoyed sex. We enjoyed sex a year ago, too, Will. That didn't keep you from going to Africa. Why should it now?”

Now the shock, anger and hurt were so damned knotted together, he couldn't separate them. “Are you asking me to leave, Moira? Is that what this is about?”

“No, I…”

He swore. “I'd have sworn last night—this morning—that you were happy. Is it just the letter?”

The flush had left her cheeks. She was marble-white now, her freckles standing out starkly. He wondered if she was even breathing. “You know I'm…not very confident about some things. And you know how much I hated the fact that you gave up something you'd been dreaming about for years. It broke my heart, when I saw your face that night when you were looking at pictures of Zimbabwe online. I suppose I thought you couldn't have it back, once you made the decision. But it turns out you can, Will. It's not like you can't still be a father to Caleb. He'll need you more later, anyway, when he's older.”

Granite hard, he said, “I'm not going, Moira.”

Eyes huge and beseeching, she said, “Will you think about this? Please? Don't…don't just be stubbornly set on sticking it out because you think you promised. That's not enough. We'll both be miserable later. I need you to be honest. Please,” she repeated. “Please don't lie to me.”

“Moira…”

She shook her head and stood suddenly. “I can't talk about it anymore. I've said what I had to say. Just…think. Now I'm going to bed. No,” she said, when he started to rise. “I'd rather go alone tonight. I'm not in the mood—” Moira stopped as if her throat had clogged, then rushed away.

Frozen halfway between standing and sitting, he heard the quiet snick of the bedroom door shutting. His knees gave out, and he sank into the chair. That damn door hadn't been shut in a long time. Should he be grateful that she trusted him to hear Caleb?

At the thought of their baby, Will felt a huge crack in his almost-numbness, one that let him glimpse such agony he couldn't bear it. How could she know him so little that she'd think for an instant he'd want to spend two years half a world away from his son? From her?

He sat there for hours, the house quiet and almost unbearably lonely around him. Once Caleb did awaken and cry. Knowing he couldn't be hungry yet, Will rocked him back to sleep. The small weight nestled against his chest felt so sweet, Will only reluctantly laid him back in the crib and retreated from the softly lit room. The door across the hall stayed closed. Either Moira hadn't heard Caleb's cries, or was lying there tensely hoping she wasn't needed.

What if she did kick him out? Will tried to imagine
going home to his brothers' house—and he thought of it that way. It wasn't home anymore.
This
was home now, with Moira and Caleb. And he sure as hell couldn't talk to anybody about what had gone wrong, not even his brothers. Clay was becoming a friend, but still, Will had never in his life talked about his feelings with any of his siblings. With anyone, really, before Moira.

And this… No, he needed to wrap his mind around everything she'd said first. She'd asked him to think, and he would.

He eventually laid down on the couch, not even bothering to convert it into a bed. It was too short, but he wouldn't have slept well, anyway. He waited in the morning until he heard Moira go in to Caleb, then he showered and dressed for work. Thank God for work, he thought, with an edge of desperation. When he came out, Moira had already fried bacon and was scrambling eggs. He ate, they were civil, but he didn't kiss her goodbye. It was the first time they'd parted in a long time when he hadn't kissed her.

The morning was too busy for much brooding. One of the tenants came by to inspect the work and discuss some minor changes. Will's crew was doing finish work, and on impulse at noon he said, “You're on your own this afternoon. Call my cell if you need me,” and left.

He drove over to Forest Park and found a bench with a view of the playground. The day was chilly but clear and several well-bundled mothers pushed their kids on swings or watched them scramble on climbers. As he'd be doing someday with Caleb.

Had
he been lying to Moira? To himself? If he weren't bullheadedly determined to make their marriage work because he viewed this commitment to the mother of his
child as the right thing to do, would he want to take up where he'd left off in Zimbabwe?

He sat for a long time, imagining himself getting back on the airplane, ending up in Harare. Walking into his house there to the smell of cooking, sitting down in solitude to his
sadza,
served by Jendaya. He remembered his last trips in the country, the lengthy negotiations with regional officials, the open-air meetings with villagers, the glimpses of wildlife and ancient rock art. And gradually he relaxed, because what he remembered best was how colored his every day had become by his worries about Moira, his memories of their one night together.

It would be a thousand times worse now. There wouldn't be a minute when he wasn't haunted by thoughts of her and Caleb. He'd enjoyed what he was doing there, he'd found it satisfying, but it didn't compare to being a husband and father.

How could she think…?

He groaned, remembering the night she'd walked in unexpectedly when he was online looking at photos of Zimbabwe. He sat without moving, aching when he pictured the stricken expression on Moira's face as she'd hastily retreated. She'd tried to talk to him, and he'd shut her down. But she'd been right, and he was wrong.

There was a reason he had only gone online after she'd gone to bed, or when she wasn't home. Face it: he'd been trying to deceive her, to convince her that he wasn't thinking anymore about the job and dreams he'd given up. He'd deceived even himself, because what he'd done was leave that door cracked open.

With what she saw, with his refusal to talk about it, he'd confirmed Moira's belief that he'd chosen duty over heart. That wasn't true, but it also hadn't been quite honest of him to pretend he had no regrets.

Had a part of him, hidden inside, still thought maybe he'd help Moira out for a while, then go back to what he'd been doing? He couldn't be sure, but he was ashamed of himself that his commitment hadn't been as absolute as he'd believed it was. He felt sleazy, as if he
had
been looking at big-breasted naked women online.

The door was shut now, but maybe too late. He'd hurt her, and he had refused to see that that's what he was doing.
Please God,
he thought bleakly,
don't let me be too late.

No matter what, he was done. She and Caleb mattered more than anything else in the world to him. That
was
the truth. He'd finally been finding his way to a life that would satisfy him in other ways, too, he realized. He wouldn't like to disappoint the people at Bright Futures. He'd committed to them, too. Nor would it be hard to keep finding projects like that, ways he could do good here.

But…what if he couldn't convince Moira? The fear devastated him. Just thinking about losing her, he knew how much he loved her. Her, and Caleb. How could he go on without them? He couldn't conceive of being an every-other-weekend father to his son. Seeing Moira only to hand off their child would be hideous.

If she didn't believe in his commitment, would she believe he loved her? Will didn't know.

He kept searching through her words for clues, and not finding them.

I don't want a marriage with a man who came to it reluctantly and stayed out of a sense of obligation.
The question was, did she want marriage with
him?

Leaving that aside, he began to think about why she'd had such a hard time from the beginning believing he would want her enough to give up anything for her. He'd always known that she was strong, but even that first night
Will had seen the vulnerability beneath. He'd peeled back layers since, and could see the scars she tried to hide even from herself. The father who hadn't given a damn. The years she'd seen herself as fat and been rejected socially. The sense she'd always had of being likable, but not… desirable.

Hands shoved in the pockets of his parka, legs stretched out in front of him, Will stared at the playground without seeing a soul. It might as well have been deserted. All he saw was Moira, only Moira. Her face that time he'd told her how much sadness he saw in her. He remembered her telling him once that he was a good man, so good she was afraid he'd lie to her to keep her from thinking she was taking advantage of him.

She had never believed he would want to stay with her. He'd
known
that, without letting himself understand how deep her fears ran. In her memory, she'd had to beg him to make love to her in the first place. The pregnancy was all her fault because all he'd done was be kind to her. His enthusiasm in bed was…hell, who knew? A man getting laid?

That's what I always think, you know. That no guy could be interested in me.

Making love at least once a day this past week, waking up next to her, eating breakfast with her, coming home to her, had been so good, like an idiot he'd believed that her fears about him had been laid to rest. Of course it wasn't that easy. Moira's deep-seated belief that he had made a huge and terrible sacrifice for her and for his baby had only dozed, waiting to be reawakened by that letter he'd so carelessly left out.

Carelessly, because it hadn't meant that much to him. A sound escaped him as he exhaled. Had he really even felt a pang? Reading the letter, he
was
flattered. Sorry
the clinics weren't being built as quickly as they had all hoped. He'd had a moment of renewed guilt at having failed to keep a promise. But he hadn't been tempted at all. He'd tossed the damn thing aside without a second thought because he'd found something a hell of a lot more important. Love.

Had Moira really not seen how happy he was? How much he needed her? How many times had he told her he lived to get home to her and Caleb? Will was still baffled that she could really think it was all a lie, him making the best of an obligation he'd reluctantly shouldered…but she did.

What an idiot he'd been, not telling her he loved her. He had known for a long time what he felt. But…that door had still been cracked open behind him, too, and he guessed that's what had kept the words unsaid. Yeah, Moira had plenty of self-doubts. What had she said?
After a while, you sort of give up.
But she'd been married to a man dumb enough not to say, loud and clear, “I love you,” and keep saying it. And she wasn't a woman able to hold on to faith in the face of his silence.