The Baby Agenda. Janice Johnson Kay
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her cheeks. “It’s past time I take up the slack at work. It’s you I’m worried about.”
On the verge of major blubbering, she gulped and leaped to her feet. “I’m sorry, I—” She hurried to the bathroom, a small, unisex one where she could lock the door and sob without embarrassment.
It didn’t take her long; heaven knows, she’d cried enough lately, and should have had it all out of her system. Even though she splashed cold water on her face, she was blotchy when she returned to the table.
Gray gave her a comprehensive look, but all he said was, “Eat. Your soup’s getting cold.”
She sniffed and picked up her spoon.
“Do you mind if I tell Charlotte?”
“Of course not. I’ll be showing before I know it anyway.”
He nodded, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Moira was hungrier than usual, she was surprised to discover. Maybe something had loosened inside her, now that she’d told Gray.
As though his mind was following a similar path, he asked, “Does your mother know?”
Moira groaned. “No.”
His mouth quirked. “Unless she’s planning a visit, you have six months to work yourself up to it.”
“She’ll be supportive.”
“Then…?”
“This isn’t the way I ever imagined starting a family,” she heard herself telling him. “I hated not having a father. It seemed like everyone else did. I always swore—” Her throat closed up.
Once again, his hand enveloped hers. “You know I’ll be there for you as much as I can.”
“Yeah.” She felt her smile wobble. “I do know. Thank you, Gray. But we’ll be fine.” Unconsciously, she laid a hand on her belly. “Mom and I were fine. It’s not as if I grew up unloved.”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze perceptive. “Your baby does have a father.”
“I haven’t told him.”
“I’d have been pissed if a woman I was involved with kept that kind of secret from me.”
Admitting something like this was hard, but… “It was a one-time thing, Gray. We weren’t involved. He doesn’t even know my last name.”
His eyes narrowed. “But you know his.”
After a moment she nodded. “Damn, Moira.”
Heat swept over her face. “I’ve never done anything like that. Doesn’t it figure I’d get caught, big-time, when I did.”
“You know I love you.”
She nodded again. “I’ve cried enough, okay?”
Gray gave a low chuckle. “Okay. But let me say this again. Unless you know the guy’s a creep, I think you should tell him. If I had a kid out there, I’d want to be part of his life. Give the man a chance.”
She sighed. “I think…I’ve been trying to pretend it didn’t happen.”
His eyebrows rose. “An immaculate conception?”
Once again he’d managed to make her laugh despite everything. “Something like that.” She folded her napkin, then folded it again. And again. “I’m embarrassed to talk to him,” she mumbled. “And…it really doesn’t seem fair to me to ask anything of him.”
“He was there.” Gray’s voice was hard.
Yes. Will Becker definitely had been there.
“Give him a chance,” Gray repeated.
After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I know you are.”
He smiled then, satisfied, and reached for her hand. One quick squeeze conveyed plenty. “Let me know what I can do, all right?”
There wasn’t any point in saying more, not yet. She hated to think he wouldn’t be able to finish his term in office, that he’d have to resign early, but they’d have a better idea later when she found out how she was affected by the pregnancy. His term ended the first of the year, and her due date was the middle of January, so they’d be okay as long as she could work until the end.
She should feel better, having gotten this out of the way. And in a way she did. He’d reacted exactly the way she had expected he would: with understanding and affection.
But she still felt guilty, and panic still whispered at the edges of her awareness, prepared to engulf her if she let it.
No matter what, her life would never be the same again.
And now she’d committed herself to calling Will and saying the unthinkable: “I’m pregnant with your baby.”
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE TIME HE REACHED the outskirts of Harare, Will was weary and grateful to be back. He’d spent the past two weeks in rural east Zimbabwe, negotiating with workers, suppliers, local officials, town leaders, hell, even the community n’anga, or healer, who seemed to be particularly influential in that district.
The job had turned out to be nothing like he’d envisioned. When he’d first arrived, it hadn’t taken him two weeks to discover that the architectural renderings drawn by a firm in Providence, Rhode Island, were useless; that nothing near as elaborate as the original plans was required; that, if these community hospitals and medical clinics were to be useful, they needed to spring from local needs and with local approval. He’d made the mistake, too, of believing he could conduct most business in English, the official language. Zimbabwe had been, after all, a British colony when it was Southern Rhodesia. But, while road signs and the like were in English, it was mostly spoken in the cities. In the countryside where he was working it was another matter. He was now learning Shona, the language of the majority tribe. He still needed a translator, but was gaining confidence in his ability to understand discussions before they were sanitized and translated for his benefit. He was already adept enough to conduct the ritual conversations that preceded any real business.
“How is your mother? Your father? Your son? Good, good,” he would say with grave nods. Then, in answer to the requisite polite questions for him, “I don’t often speak to them, but my brothers and sister are well.”
Nothing happened rapidly, and getting frustrated did no good.
He pulled his ancient Datsun pickup truck into a curb-side parking spot in the block adjacent to the foundation offices. As he got out, his mouth quirked as he imagined what Clay would say about the irony of Will, the strong, silent member of the Becker clan, having to spend his days and weeks and months in seemingly never ending conversation. Or—most delicious irony of all—being good at it. But these first months, Will had realized, would build the bridge of friendships strong enough to see a dozen medical clinics and two community hospitals built in the next two years. Or it wouldn’t happen.
Harare was Zimbabwe’s largest city. It had a surprisingly European look, to his eye, and a population of over a million people. Every time he reached the outskirts of the city after days’ or weeks’ absence, tension melted away. He was American enough to feel most at home here. There were Western-style grocery stores. He could dine out on Italian food, Greek, Chinese. Hold conversations with American businessmen and women.
He felt rueful amusement when he thought of the last cocktail party he’d attended. He wasn’t any better at that kind of socializing. Lurking in a dark corner, he’d wished for his mysterious redhead.
In the first week Will had rented a small house less than half a mile from the office. Even though he seemed to be away more than he was here, he needed a base. And he’d somehow acquired a full-time housekeeper-cook.
At home in the U.S., the closest thing to a servant he’d ever had was a woman who came in to the Becker