The Baby Bind

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“That was one of the things that impressed me the most about the Robideaux Agency when we first began looking into the possibility of adopting a child,” Charlotte said. “They have an excellent and well-established reputation for setting up successful legal adoptions of healthy foreign children. They also provided us with a lengthy list of references from other adoptive parents who had used their services.”

Sean shot her a long, measuring look, his pale gray eyes seeming to assess her response in a calculating manner.

“You’ve certainly done your homework,” he drawled, his tone not altogether approving.

Charlotte’s initial response to his comment was to blink at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Then she realized he was once again inferring that she’d gone behind his back somehow by contacting the Robideaux Agency without his knowledge.

“Yes, I did,” she admitted, eyeing him narrowly as she barely controlled her anger. “But that was over a year ago when we first talked about the adoption option and we realized that at our age we had a better chance of adopting a baby from a foreign country. You told me then to be very careful not to get involved with a fly-by-night organization, and I was. In fact, I told you quite a lot about the Robideaux Agency before we had our first meeting with our counselor there, and it was my understanding that you approved of the way they handled their adoptions. Although I’m thinking that you must not have paid much attention to what I told you or you would have remembered it now.”

“There was a lot going on in our lives a year ago, Charlotte,” Sean retorted defensively. “My business had almost doubled as companies around the city and state began to see the need to increase their on-site security following the hurricane. You were in the midst of another round of fertility treatments then, too, and miserable most of the time as a result. You’d end up in tears during just about every conversation I tried to have with you—”

“Probably because you so obviously resented taking any of your precious time to actually listen to me,” Charlotte cut in, no longer able to hide her ire. “How was I supposed to respond when you were constantly rattling the change in your pockets, checking your watch or staring out the window like a condemned man hoping for a reprieve every time I turned to you for comfort?”

“All you talked about was how tired you were, how sick the drugs made you feel and how depressed you were. Then there were the twice-daily reports on how your temperature had either gone up or down, and how we had to schedule down to the exact minute when I’d next be expected to perform sexually. That was really something to anticipate, too,” he snapped sarcastically. “You lying in bed about as relaxed and willing as a terrified virgin, hands gripping the sheets—”

Charlotte looked away from him, remembering how her confidence in herself as a woman had dwindled more and more as one barren month followed another. Then, smiling ruefully, she shook her head as she spoke her next thought aloud.

“Then I find out that the whole time I’ve been beating myself up for my inability to get pregnant you actually weren’t all that thrilled about the prospect of fatherhood.”

“Not the whole time,” Sean insisted quietly.

“So I was only making a fool of myself for what—six to eight months before you finally spoke up? That’s such a relief to know,” Charlotte allowed, taking her own turn at sarcasm as she gathered the forms from the adoption agency and started to stuff them into the envelope.

“I never once thought you were making a fool of yourself, Charlotte,” Sean said, his tone softening unexpectedly at the same moment she felt the touch of his hand on her wrist. “But I was worried about you—the way you kept obsessing—”

“So you left me and now I’m all better,” Charlotte interrupted him bitterly as an unexpected rush of tears stung her eyes.

“Rehashing the past isn’t really getting us anywhere now, is it?”

Again Sean’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

“I have to agree, especially since we’ll be divorced by this time next year.” Forcing herself to get a grip on her roiling emotions, Charlotte met her husband’s gaze again. “But you’ve insinuated twice already that I’ve been less than honest with you about what I might have done to further our chances of adopting a child. I’m not going to sit by quietly and let you get away with it. I’ve always been truthful with you, Sean—always—and I swear to you that I always will be. But if you can’t, or won’t, trust me—”

“I do trust you,” he cut in, tightening his hold on her wrist just enough to help to make his point. “Obviously I jumped to some wrong conclusions earlier and I apologize.”

Charlotte eyed her husband skeptically for several moments. She was still more than a little angry with him, and she was deeply hurt, too. He could say that he hadn’t thought she’d made a fool of herself by trying so desperately to have a child that she’d been completely unaware of his true feelings. But that was how he’d made her feel six months ago and that was how she felt now.

Taking the time and energy necessary to nurse her grievances against him was a luxury, though—one she couldn’t afford at the moment. Sean’s offer to help her with the adoption had been tentatively made, at best. By continuing to behave toward him in a hostile manner, especially now that he’d eaten a small slice of humble pie, she might just cause him to withdraw that offer altogether.

“Just don’t do it again, okay?” she asked, still refusing to allow her gaze to waver.

“I won’t—I promise.” He finally let go of her wrist after another small, seemingly meant-to-be-affirming squeeze. Then he stood again, looking very weary all of a sudden. “I’d really like to read through the information from the adoption agency more closely, but right now I’m beat. Is there any chance we could pick up where we left off again in the morning, more cordially? I’m not sure how anxious you are to get back to Mayfair, or how you feel about missing a day of work. But I was thinking that since you’re already here, maybe we could try to set up an appointment to meet with our counselor at the agency sometime tomorrow, too.”

Exhaustion had been creeping up on Charlotte, as well, making her much more sensitive than she should have been. A good night’s sleep would better her mood quite a bit. Since she was going to have to spend the night in New Orleans, she didn’t have any great desire to rush back to Mayfair the next day, either.

What could it hurt to stay in the city tomorrow so that she and Sean could go over the paperwork together and, if possible, talk to their counselor at the agency? She might as well take advantage of his willingness to cooperate with her while she could.

“That sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll call the school district’s automated line before I go to bed tonight and arrange for a substitute to take my place tomorrow.”

“The more we can get down now, the better.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Sean smiled approvingly as Charlotte stood, too, the envelope in hand. She thought he would say something more or, at the very least, offer to go upstairs with her as he had earlier. But he stood with his hands in his pockets, apparently content to wait for her to make the next move.

“I guess I’ll call it a night, then,” she murmured after a few more moments of silence passed between them.

Feeling oddly out of place in the once familiar and much loved old town house, Charlotte turned to leave the kitchen, walking alone through the living/dining room to the staircase off the entryway.

She and Sean had shared so many happy times here together. They had visited the town house often, especially over weekends during the fall and winter months, so that they could enjoy the city’s various cultural events. But her memories of those days and nights were now bittersweet.

There would be no going back to the life they’d once had together. Sean had made sure she understood that, and she did. She could mourn the past and the loss of his love all she wanted, but it would gain her nothing in the end.

So she would look to the future, instead, where another kind of life awaited her, and another kind of love would fill the painful emptiness that now made her heart ache.

On her own in the guest room with the door politely shut, Charlotte called to arrange for a substitute to take over for her at the high school the next day. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then turned back the serviceable navy-blue-and-white striped comforter on the bed, slipped beneath the blankets and switched off the lamp on the nightstand.

She could still hear the rain tapping against the window- panes, but more gently as the worst of the storm finally seemed to be over. The steady patter should have lulled her to sleep in short order. She was tired enough to want as well as to need the rest. But her mind still raced along too busily to shut down on her command.

Her own fault, she admitted, remembering how eagerly she had welcomed the mug of coffee Sean had set before her. Revved up by such a hearty dose of caffeine so late in the evening, she would likely toss and turn until dawn. That, in turn, would leave her at a distinct disadvantage when it was time for her to face her husband once again.

With a quiet sigh, Charlotte sat up in the bed and pushed aside the blankets. There was only one antidote she could think of for sleeplessness—a glass of warm milk dosed with a small shot of whiskey. She didn’t want to go downstairs again, especially if Sean was still in the kitchen. But suffering through a restless night would be much worse.

Still debating her alternatives, she switched on the lamp, then cocked her head to one side and looked up at the ceiling. From above came the muted sound of measured footsteps punctuated by a squeak or two as Sean walked across the floor. A few moments later, the pipes gurgled with running water and Charlotte made her decision.

She could run down to the kitchen, heat up some milk in the microwave oven, dose it with whiskey and be back in the guest room in a matter of minutes, all without Sean being any the wiser.

Feeling like a thief in the night despite her equal right to make herself at home in the town house, Charlotte crept down the hallway to the staircase. Ten minutes, at the most, and she’d be back in her bed, door shut, laughing at herself for being so apprehensive.

What was the worst that could happen to her, anyway— getting caught by her husband of ten years with the milk jug in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other?

She made it to the kitchen without a problem, prepared her nightcap and was halfway across the living room, mug in hand, when she realized that she’d much rather sip her spiked milk curled up on one of the upholstered wing chairs tucked between the front windows.

The house was peacefully quiet, the darkness of the room broken only by the pale glow of gaslight coming through the slats of the wooden shutters. The intimate ambience suited her mood so much better than that of the sterile, unfamiliar guest room.

Soothed by the hot drink, Charlotte thought back over her conversation with Sean and the angry words they’d exchanged. He had been right when he’d said rehashing the past was a waste of time, as she’d acknowledged then. Still, she couldn’t help dwelling on some of the harsher accusations he’d made. Not only had they been very revealing; they had also held more validity than she liked to admit.

She hadn’t realized at the time that she’d been so hard to live with all those months she’d been trying to get pregnant. With Sean’s comments fresh in her mind, however, she could look back now and understand how problematic her self-involvement must have been for him.

She had always been successful at everything she’d ever attempted to do. But she had consistently failed at the one thing she’d always been meant to do. So caught up in her own misery had she been that she’d stopped being the fun- loving, affectionate, desirous and desirable wife, best friend and playmate Sean had loved. Instead she had become an intense, emotional, unhappy woman with a mission, not to be diverted in any way, shape or form.

But she had thought that Sean wanted a child as much as she did. She had been so driven, so demanding of herself and of him, because she’d assumed they had the same goal in mind.

If only Sean had said something sooner about how he really felt. If only he hadn’t just packed up and left her…

The tears that had threatened earlier began to trickle down Charlotte’s cheeks as she thought of all the mistakes she’d unknowingly made, and how fatal those mistakes had been to her marriage.

She had been so sure that all she needed was a child to make her life complete. Now she realized, much too late, that her quest had cost her the one thing she would have never willingly given up in exchange—the man she loved with all her heart and soul.

Chapter Four

Never lay out the terms of a business deal unless you’re absolutely sure that you can, and will, follow through with them yourself….

That simple piece of advice, given to him by his father over a dozen years ago, echoed in Sean’s mind as he paced from one end of the master suite to the other. With only one lamp lit on the bedside table, the corners of the familiar room were bathed in dark, not altogether welcoming shadows that suited his mood much more than he would have liked.

Climbing the staircase to the third floor of the town house, he had thought that he would be asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. By the time he’d changed into a pair of fleece pants and a waffle-knit, long-sleeved T-shirt, brushed his teeth and turned back the bedcovers, though, an odd, unforeseen sense of restlessness had settled over him.

First and foremost, Sean couldn’t help but be distracted by the fact that after six long months, Charlotte was tucked into bed within incredibly easy reach, mere moments away.

If he so desired, he could go to her in the guest room, slip into the bed beside her, take her in his arms, kiss her and caress her. He could make love to her as he once had, and as he’d dreamed of doing more nights than he cared to count over the past half year.

And, oh, how he wanted to do that, as his turgid state now reminded him.

But along with his near desperate yearning to make love to his wife had come all the reasons why there could be no satisfying of his baser instincts that night, or any night for as long as he could imagine into the future. Reasons that began and ended with the terms he’d offered Charlotte in exchange for helping her go forward with the adoption of the child she wanted—apparently more than she wanted him.

She had taken no offense at all when he’d said that he would be filing for divorce after the adoption was final. Possibly she’d been a little surprised, perhaps even a little hurt, but only momentarily. With a measure of serenity and pragmatism that had left him surprised and hurt, she had offered agreement and understanding instead of the demurral that he’d fully anticipated.

Sean wasn’t sure why he’d tossed out the fillip of divorce, but the moment he’d spoken the words aloud, he’d been sorry. He didn’t want to end his marriage to Charlotte. He just wanted her to honor his wishes about having, or more precisely not having, a child.

He had thought that faced with the prospect of divorce, she would at least ask for a little time to consider the downside of going ahead with the adoption. But she hadn’t been deterred in the slightest. Which had led him to believe that she’d been pursuing the option of adopting a foreign child even after he’d revealed his true feelings about fatherhood.

Charlotte had been so hurt and so angry with him when he’d accused her of going behind his back that she’d convinced him that he had made the wrong assumption. Yet she hadn’t denied her happiness at the opportunity she’d been given to have the child she wanted, even knowing their marriage would be over as a result.

Her jibe about his lack of attention had stung him, as well, causing him to reciprocate in kind—not the wisest move he could have made under the circumstances, he now admitted to himself.

He had said a lot of things to her that he probably should have kept to himself. But continuing to hide the pain he had suffered those last few months before he’d moved out of the house in Mayfair, not to mention the sense of abandonment that had overwhelmed him at times, had no longer been possible for him to do.

Charlotte hadn’t been the only injured party in their relationship— he had been hurt, too. His tears hadn’t been shed, though. They had been swallowed along with his sense of loss, his damaged pride and his constant awareness of how powerless he was to give her the baby she wanted.

Charlotte hadn’t been the only one faced with failure on a daily basis. How had she thought he’d felt each month when she’d come to him, sobbing, to announce the start of another menstrual period? Had she never once imagined that, looking in the mirror, he saw someone so deficient that he couldn’t provide his wife with the happiness she deserved?

Sean had always hated knowing that he was at least partially to blame for Charlotte’s sadness and depression. To his way of thinking, ending their baby chase had seemed as good a way as any to go back to those days when they’d been able to laugh together, to play together, to be each others best friend and loving confidant.

But his wife hadn’t wanted that. She’d only wanted a child—a child he hadn’t been able to give her…until now.

That, Sean knew without a doubt, was why he hadn’t been able to refuse outright to help Charlotte with the adoption.

He wanted to resent everything about the orphaned little girl waiting for them in Kazakhstan, but he couldn’t be that hard-hearted. For one thing, the child would make his wife happy in a way he obviously no longer could. And for another, he liked the idea of being the one to provide the little girl with a safe and loving home where she would be nurtured with Charlotte’s love, and care and kindness.

He had no doubt that Charlotte would be a wonderful mother, and though he wouldn’t subject the child to his lack of parenting skills, he would see to it that she never lacked for anything, whether it was a secure home, clothes, toys, trips abroad, the best education available—

Not a minute too soon Sean caught himself in mid- fantasy and gave himself a firm mental shake. He’d allowed himself to get carried in a direction he’d already made clear to Charlotte that he wasn’t going. He wasn’t about to become the child’s father—at least not in any way but name only. He would provide for her, though, and for Charlotte. After all, he wasn’t selfish or cruel or mean-spirited.

Having settled that bit of business with himself, Sean sat on the edge of the bed and assessed his chances of finally being able to sleep. Still zero to none, he admitted after a minute or two, his brain buzzing in six different directions.

He thought of the contract that he had to review; a fairly simple agreement to provide a security guard for a small trucking company in Baton Rouge that had been having problems with not-so-petty theft at their warehouse. It was in the briefcase that he’d left on the dining-room table when he’d first come home, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to go down and get it. If anything was likely to put him to sleep, it was thirty-odd pages of legalese.

Sean only hesitated a moment or two on the second- floor landing. From there, he couldn’t tell whether the guest-room door was open or closed—the narrow hallway was much too dark. Not that it would have mattered to him, one way or the other.

Charlotte hadn’t seemed upset about his decision to file for divorce and she hadn’t asked him to reconsider. Their marriage must already be over as far as she was concerned, in which case, it was unlikely that she’d welcome any advances on his part. Better to keep his distance than risk the most hurtful kind of rejection he could get from her.

At the bottom of the staircase, Sean halted again, head tilted to one side. Something about the quality of the silence surrounding him gave him pause, but he wasn’t sure why. While the rain had stopped, he could still hear water dripping from the branches of the trees lining the street just outside the front door. He was sure he’d heard something else, though—a shuffling, or perhaps a snuffling sound that he couldn’t quite place.

When he heard nothing more after a minute or two, he finally moved into the living room, only to stop again, his heartbeat accelerating, not with fear but exhilaration. Charlotte was sitting in one of the wing chairs between the front windows.