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“No!”
Well, that was clear.
“I…just…”
For the first time since she’d arrived, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Frowning, John sat forward. He’d thought dinner would be nice, but not if it was going to get complicated. He just didn’t have what it took to deal with complicated.
Hell, based on the way he’d broken his promise to himself and run back to his memories of Meredith the other night, he didn’t have what it took to deal with living.
“Well, it was nice of you to stop by.” He hadn’t really intended the words but was relieved when he heard them. Yes, better just to end this and get on with the boring evening ahead. There were no surprises in boring.
“John, I’m pregnant.”
He sat back, the half-empty can of beer resting on his lap, loosely cupped by both hands, and looked at the bare wall opposite him. He was mistakenly caught in someone else’s life.
“Did you hear me?” The woman’s voice, though soft, seemed to grate.
“I’m sorry.” He turned to look at her. “What did you say?” The beer can was soothingly cool to the touch. He lifted it, drank. And kept drinking until it was empty.
“I said I’m pregnant.”
Uh-huh. Well. What did he do now? The beer was gone. He crushed the can between his fingers, just to confirm that.
“I, uh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve never been in this position before. I don’t really know what to say.”
Mostly, he didn’t know how to make sure he didn’t feel.
“I had to tell you,” she said. “You have a right to know.”
This was a right?
“Aren’t you going to ask if it’s yours?”
His eyes met hers. Their green depths were as luminous as he remembered them. Her slim, strong, perfectly curved body was pretty impressive, but it was those eyes that had captivated him that cold December night in Kentucky. What, six weeks ago?
“I’m assuming you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
He couldn’t breathe properly. The cords in his neck tightened; his skin was hot. He wanted her out of his house. Now.
He wanted her never to have arrived. He wanted never to have met her.
“I could be lying. Or I could have done this on purpose, to trap you. I orchestrated our meeting, after all. I could’ve had a carefully thought-out plan—you know, the lonely widow trying to get out of a tiny little town that’s suffocating her.”
Some small part of him that was outside, watching the horrific scene unfold, could almost have smiled—if he hadn’t been so terrified.
“Yes.” He looked her straight in the eye. “You could have.”
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think you had. You aren’t the artificial type.”
She nodded, her lips tremulous as she lifted the still-full glass with a shaking hand. He hoped she didn’t spill the drink. He didn’t think he was up to standing at the moment, let alone going for paper towels.
He’d never felt so awkward in his own home. Or helpless. Lost, yes. Hopeless, yes. But not this.
There were things he should be saying. He just had no idea what they were. He sat there watching her, drawing a complete blank.
“I’m not here to ask anything from you,” she said, after excruciating seconds had turned into even more excruciating minutes.
He appreciated that. John passed the remains of the beer can back and forth between his palms. Her focus followed the movement.
“I just had to tell you.”
It was the second time she’d said that.
She stood, set the glass on the low, square wood table in front of the sectional. “I guess I’ll go, then. Thanks for seeing me.”
He was suddenly looking at her back.
“Wait!” John didn’t move. He couldn’t.
“What?” Her eyes were wide.
“Can you come back? Sit down? It seems like we should talk.”
“Okay.”
She sat.
She wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Different than he was used to. She didn’t wear makeup. And her clothes were baggy and without any discernible style. But they were clean. And she wore them with a curious and understated grace that was no less powerful for its unobtrusiveness.
“You’re pregnant.” John found himself back at the beginning.
“Yes.”
“With…my baby.” The words were so completely foreign to him that he felt stupid saying them.
“Yes.”
Her hand slid down to cradle her stomach.
Oh, God.
She had a baby in there.
His chest cramped as he tried to draw in a breath.
His baby.
He jumped up. Tripped over the table. Threw away his beer can and missed the trash bucket. Leaving the can crumpled on the hardwood floor, he pulled another from the mini refrigerator behind the bar. Popped the lid and drank.
He looked over at her. Tried to figure out his next move. What was right. And best.
All he wanted to do was run. As far as he could.
“I have to take responsibility.” The words came of their own volition, but as soon as he said them, he knew they were right.
“No, you don’t. Really. I’ll be fine. I have plans. A little money put aside. I wasn’t just talking when I said I don’t want anything from you. I really mean it.”
The sincerity in her eyes was unmistakable. An open sincerity that was all the more remarkable because of its contrast to her usually unrevealing expression.
“I’m sure you do,” he said. “But you misunderstood. I don’t have to take responsibility because of you, I have to do it because of me. The point is not negotiable. As you said earlier, I have rights.”
Her chin dropped to her chest.
“Is there another man in the picture?”
“No!” That brought her head up. She looked horrified by the very idea.
He shrugged. “You could’ve met someone between then and now.”
“In six weeks? Over the holidays? In Grainville, Kentucky?” She shook her head with a self-deprecating laugh. “I haven’t met anyone new in my hometown in years! And certainly not a male in my age bracket.”
He wasn’t sorry to hear that. It uncomplicated things a bit.
And then, suddenly, he was hit with a thousand complications at once. Everyone in this town knew him. Would know about this. He was going to have a baby to consider. In his home—at least part-time. In his life.
While he stood there, his mind wandered to the Little League field he’d become familiar with when he’d been friends with Martha Moore. Her only son, Tim, was one of the town’s best hitters.
Would he have a son?
Or a daughter?
He felt a pain that was harsh and physical. He’d said goodbye to this moment six years ago. And before that, had imagined it. He and Meredith holding each other. She had tears in her eyes. He’d touch her belly reverently. They’d kiss….
“John? Are you okay?”
No. He wasn’t okay. John wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand there without climbing out of his skin.
“What are your plans?” he asked. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Anger flooded through his pores. But he didn’t want to lash out at her.
“I have a computer printout of possibilities. Shelter Valley appears to be a lot like Grainville in that there are plenty of people with big houses who are willing to rent out a room.”
He nodded. “There are a couple of boardinghouses, too.”
“I saw that. They’re more expensive. And really, for now, one room’s all I need.” She shrugged. Smiled a sad kind of smile. “It’s not like I have much stuff.”
“Did you sell your house?”
“No.”
He let out a relieved breath. That would have made everything so final.
“My folks are going to take care of the farm for the rest of the year. I’ll decide what to do after that.”
After the baby came.
“Do they know?”
“About the baby?”
What else could there possibly be? John nodded.
“No. My enrolling in college was enough for them to digest.”
He frowned, leaning against the bar as he sipped on the remainder of his beer. “Didn’t they wonder why you came so far just to go to school?”
If, when she’d first appeared, his mind had been functioning, it would’ve occurred to him to wonder the same thing.
Caroline glanced up at him and then immediately away, and John tensed.
“I…spend a lot of time on the Internet—checking out different places.”
Eyes narrowed, John studied her. She’d told him she was pregnant, looking him straight in the eye. And now she wouldn’t look at him at all. Was there another reason she was here? Something her parents knew that he didn’t? Something she didn’t want him to know?
He guessed that if there was, it had to do with him.
And she had been pretty forward about their meeting.
“You told me you couldn’t get pregnant,” he remembered suddenly, straightening.
She nodded, looked at him fully. “I hadn’t had a period since my husband died last summer. The doctor said it wasn’t all that unusual. My system had simply shut down because of the stress. He said it might start back up again. And it might not. In any case, at the time, as far as I knew, it wasn’t working. Chances were pretty slim that it would choose to resume normal activity again a day or two before I met you.”
Her face was dark red when she finished. But during those words her gaze had never wavered.
John crushed his second beer can. Tossed it in the direction of the garbage pail. Thought about taking himself out to the golf course to beat the hell out of some balls.
He felt strangely like crying, something he hadn’t done since the night his beloved wife had died in his arms.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked. “Some way I can reach you?”
Caroline fumbled in her homemade purse for a scrap of paper and scribbled the number on it. Then she rose and handed it to him.
He set it on the bar. “Thanks.”
She headed for the door.
