You're My Baby. Laura Abbot
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delivery, the hemorrhage, the loss. Barbara had, though, apparently steeling herself against any show of affection for her baby sister. Finally Pam had had to make up her mind not to let her sister’s indifference matter. But it still hurt. Big time.
Overwhelmed with helplessness, Pam set the syllabi on the counter. She’d never know the comfort of a mother’s love and advice during this pregnancy. Or a sister’s.
Maybe it would be a blessing when her condition became known. She hated hiding things. Perhaps from her friends would come the support Barbara couldn’t give. Above all, Pam didn’t want the baby to suffer—not from lack of affection and certainly not from stigma. Whatever it took, she’d protect this child.
She liberated the cats from the utility room, then changed out of her jeans into her pajamas. She wanted to get to bed early. She’d need all her strength for the teachers’ meetings tomorrow—and for the days ahead.
Curling up on the sofa with a copy of the English lit text, she yawned as she reread—as she did each fall—the introduction to the first unit of study. Keeping her eyes open was a challenge, and the book slid out of her lap.
When the doorbell rang, she reared up, looking around dazedly. What? Who? Had she fallen asleep? The bell pealed again.
She tiptoed to the door, amazed to find Grant Gilbert standing outside. Again? She reached for the robe lying on the back of the sofa and, glancing in the hall mirror to be sure she was presentable, opened the door.
Whatever Grant had intended to say had been lost apparently. “Oh. I…I’m sorry. You were in bed? I’d better leave.”
She checked her watch. It was only eight-fifteen. “I was planning an early evening, but not this early. Please come in.”
He hesitated. “You’re sure? I don’t want to intrude. I should’ve called first.”
She hid a smile. It amused her to see the normally self-possessed Grant flustered. She resisted the impulse to take his face between her hands and tell him it was all right. “Please. Come in.”
When he stepped across the threshold, Viola emerged from under the couch and twined herself between his feet, purring audibly. The look on his face was priceless. Pam chuckled. “You’re not much of a cat lover?”
“Does that make me a bad person?” His features relaxed into a sheepish grin.
“Not exactly. But you’ll have to demonstrate other redeeming qualities.”
He studied Viola, who refused to budge. “I would if I could move.”
Scooping up Viola and cuddling her, Pam settled cross-legged into the armchair. “There. You’re free. Have a seat and tell me what brings you out on D-Day eve.”
“D-Day?” He plopped onto the sofa. “The invasion doesn’t really start until next Tuesday when the students show up.”
“Okay, then. D-Day minus seven.” Despite the bantering, he seemed uncomfortable, crossing and recrossing his legs, then stretching them out in front of him, his arms spread-eagled along the back of the couch.
“Did you get to the doctor?”
“Not yet, but I will. Soon.”
“It’s important to take care of yourself.”
For some reason, he seemed nervous, plucking the sofa fabric between his thumb and index finger. Surely he hadn’t come over merely to inquire about her health. “How’s the interviewing coming?”
“You don’t want to know. ‘Disaster’ about sums it up. Nannies expect babies, not a hormone-driven fifteen-year-old.”
She leaned forward, clutching her knees. “So what are you going to do?”
“Throw myself on Shelley’s mercy, I guess. Unless…” He shifted his weight and turned to look directly at her.
“Unless what?”
“I don’t quite know how to suggest this.”
“Spit it out, that’s how.”
He rose to his feet. “Nah, it’s a crazy idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
She went to him and guided him back to the sofa, then settled beside him. “Get it off your chest, Gilbert.”
“I didn’t want to do it like this.” He looked miserable.
“Do what?”
He lifted her hand, studying her fingers, then said in a hoarse voice, “Propose.”
Her ears echoed with the word—a preposterous word. Propose? “Come again?” She leaned forward to be sure she had heard correctly.
“I should get on my knees, present you with a rose or something,” he went on lamely. “Isn’t that how it’s done?”
She held up her hand, as if asking for a time-out. “Wait a minute. Are you actually suggesting we get married?”
“I told you it was a crazy idea.” His shoulders slumped. “But I thought maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement. You need a father for your baby, I need a housekeeper. I know it wouldn’t be easy, but…”
Chaotic thoughts whirled in Pam’s head. “Marriage? That’s a pretty extreme solution.”
“It was just a thought.”
For one idiotic moment Pam actually considered the idea. “Why would you be willing to marry me?”
“You’d be a great influence on Andy. Not a housekeeper, really. But Shelley would be off my case. Besides, if we were married, you could keep your job and you’d have a name for your baby’s birth certificate.”
She sat speechless, skeptical, but helpless to ignore the benefits of his idea. Marriage was sacred. It was about much more than mutual convenience.
“We’re friends,” he continued.
“That’s a start,” she conceded.
“I’m suggesting a kind of open-ended arrangement, but it would help me out if we could agree to live together for at least a year. After that, Andy’ll go back to his mother. So, come September, we can terminate our formal relationship. You know, we can—”
“Divorce?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, Grant. It’s a drastic step.” Just then, he put his arm around her shoulder. The embrace made her feel warm, protected—and unexpectedly fluttery, like when she was in junior high and the boy she had had a crush on smiled at her.
“It would be what we make of it.”
She looked up into his eyes, so serious yet hopeful. “Even if I were to entertain the notion, how would we ever carry it off?”
“You’re the drama teacher. The imaginative one. Surely we could think of something.” He massaged the sore spot between her shoulders as he went on speaking. “Somehow we’d have to convince everyone at school that we’re so in love we acted on impulse.”
“What do you mean?
“It would make sense for us to be married this weekend. Before school starts. Before Andy comes. We could pass it off as a whirlwind courtship.”
“But…but…”
“You’re right, they’d suspect. It’s not like we have a dating history.” His hand stilled on her back.
“Weren’t you here in town all summer?” She couldn’t help herself. She was actually playing out the scenario in her mind.
“No. I attended a three-week coaches’ clinic in Austin the end of July and the beginning of August.”
Pam studied the ceiling, wondering why fate was playing into their hands when