Her Best Friend's Baby. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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“I do know that, and if I had any doubt, you’ve reminded me about a hundred times in the past twelve hours.”
“Maybe I have to remind myself, because obviously I wasn’t thinking much about it when we came up with this plan. I was so focused on what I wanted that I’ve been guilty of…well, using you. That’s inexcusable.”
“You make it sound as if I had no say in the matter. As I keep telling you, I wanted to do this as a special gift for Arielle, who’s done so much for me. I’ve never once felt used or taken advantage of.”
“Well, maybe you should have.”
“But I didn’t.” She rested her hand against the gentle swell of her belly. “And it’s a little late to worry about that now, isn’t it?”
His gaze fell to where her hand rested. Warmth gradually replaced the concern in his brown eyes. “I confess that I love looking at you and knowing you’re carrying this baby,” he murmured, glancing into her eyes. “I may be having a real attack of conscience about the sacrifices you’re making, but I don’t wish that baby away. Not for a minute.”
She had the feeling that if he’d trusted himself to do it, he’d have come closer and put his hand on her stomach. The yearning was there in his eyes. She wanted him to touch her there, too, but she didn’t think the touching would end with that, so she’d be better off not encouraging him.
“I guess you should make your call,” he said.
“Okay. I’ll call her from upstairs.” She started to leave the kitchen.
“Are you going to tell her?”
She turned to him. “Not yet.”
“I don’t mean to cut you off from your friends at a time like this. If you want to tell her, if you want to go over and see her, it’s fine with me.”
She was touched that he’d say that when she doubted he’d really want her to desert him today. “There’s time for that after you leave,” she said.
He looked into her eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She wanted to go over and hug him, because he sure looked as if he could use a hug. If last night hadn’t happened, she’d probably be able to get away with doing that. But last night had happened, and a hug was too risky now. Eventually maybe they could be casually affectionate, but it wouldn’t happen today. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and hurried upstairs.
The phone conversation was tricky, and no doubt Lana suspected something was going on, but Mary Jane was able to stall her friend for a few days. From Lana’s teasing reaction, she probably thought Mary Jane had met a guy and had reconsidered her self-imposed ban on dating. Lana had warned her she might be sorry if the right guy came along and she refused to give him the time of day.
Apparently Morgan felt she was making a terrible sacrifice to have given up dating. She thought about that as she combed her hair and put on fresh lipstick. The fact was, she’d been discouraged with the prospects recently. Compared with someone like Morgan, they were…uh-oh. Her lipstick only half applied, she paused and stared at herself in the mirror.
Comparing past boyfriends with Morgan was a bad sign. She could not allow herself to fantasize, even for a second, that there could ever be anything but a strong friendship between her and Morgan. They would always be linked by the baby, but this unusual intimacy they were experiencing was brought on by shared tragedy and wouldn’t last. Besides, he’d been Arielle’s husband. Getting involved with him beyond what had happened the night before would be just too weird. End of story.
Finishing with her lipstick, she headed downstairs, but she hesitated when she saw Morgan sitting on her flowered couch with his back to her. He held a framed picture in both hands, and although he blocked most of it, she could see a corner of the frame and knew exactly which one he had. She’d also have known by glancing at the top of her television cabinet where this particular photo was missing from the collection she had displayed there.
It was a professional portrait that Arielle had had taken when she was twenty-two, the same age as Mary Jane was now and a year before Arielle had met Morgan. The head shot showed Arielle gazing dreamily into the distance instead of looking at the camera. Not a blond hair was out of place. Mary Jane thought of it as Arielle’s Mona Lisa picture because of the mysterious little smile on her face.
Morgan sat quietly, his shoulders still, so at least he wasn’t weeping uncontrollably, but Mary Jane hated to intrude. Yet if she went upstairs, he might hear her retreating and be even more embarrassed. A lump in her throat, she sat quietly on the carpeted stairs and waited for him to put the picture back.
Instead he continued to stare at it. Tears filled Mary Jane’s eyes and dripped silently down her cheeks and into her lap. She felt a raw, jagged hole in the place where Arielle had always been, but she hadn’t lived with Arielle in years. What must it be like for Morgan, who had built his entire existence around this beautiful blond woman? Mary Jane couldn’t comprehend what he must be going through.
Finally he stood, walked slowly to the television cabinet and replaced the picture, tilting it exactly the way it had been before.
Mary Jane had intended to stand immediately and pretend she’d just been coming downstairs, but she was crying too much to pull that off, so she continued to sit on the steps. A small whimper must have escaped her lips, because Morgan turned quickly.
She’d expected to see tears on his face, too. He looked devastated, but he was dry-eyed.
Catching sight of her sitting there, he hurried over and came up the stairs to crouch in front of her. “Poor Mary Jane,” he crooned, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m so sorry for you,” she cried, choking back a sob. “How can you bear it?”
“I can bear it,” he said softly, brushing her damp cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s you I’m worried about. You were closer to her than anyone.”
“That’s silly.” She hiccuped and swallowed fresh sobs. “She was your w-wife.”
“I know.” His eyes searched hers. “And after six years, I still didn’t feel that I really knew her. We shared a house, a marriage, a bed, but she never really let me get close to her.”
She understood the gift he was giving her, to reveal something so stark and hurtful. Placing her hands over his, she mirrored his tenderness, cradling his hands against her face. Effortlessly she sank into the depths of his gaze, connecting with him on that same elemental level they’d reached the night before.
“I have to believe you knew her far better than I ever did,” he said, his tone raw and vulnerable. “So you must be in worse shape than I am.”
“Nobody really knew Arielle,” she whispered. It was something she’d never admitted to herself, let alone said out loud.
Confusion shadowed his eyes. “But surely, in the years when she was like a mother to you, she—”
Mary Jane swallowed. “She was like the perfect china teacups she collected,” she said in a hoarse voice. “No one ever saw a crack or a chip anywhere. I loved her, idolized her, wanted to be like her, but I knew I couldn’t ever make it. I was too…too…”
“Human?”
“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “Way too human.”
“I guess that makes two of us.” The warmth in his eyes shifted subtly, taking on a different gleam. His grip tightened, and his attention drifted to her mouth.
She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d wanted a kiss more. But if she let Morgan kiss her in her present state of mind, or in his, they’d make love right on these stairs. Then they’d continue making love until finally she had to go back to work day after tomorrow. Yes, it would take away the sharp pain they both struggled with, but afterward they might never be able to forgive themselves.
She