You're My Baby (23 page)

Pam laid aside the pillow. “There's no easy way to say this, but the truth is—” Grant watched her falter,
before going on “—your dad is not the father of my baby.”

Andy's whole body stilled and his eyes widened in shock. Again he looked from Pam to his dad and back. “Wait a minute. I don't understand. You guys are married.”

Pam hung her head. “I was pregnant before then.”

Grant could almost see the wheels turning in his son's brain. “Oh, it was one of those artificial insemination things, right?”

Grant could hardly bear to watch his son sorting through all the explanations, desperately trying to find one that would make everything right. “No.”

Andy fixed him with a baffled stare. “You mean it's someone else's baby?”

Pam laid a hand on Grant's leg. “Let me tell him.” She pushed her hair back and looked directly at Andy. “This summer I had a loving, intimate relationship with a man who wasn't and isn't in a position to be a father to this child. I wouldn't consider adoption or…other options, even if it meant losing my job. I love this baby.”

“Jeez, Dad, you
knew
this? And you married her anyway?”

“I'd known Pam a long time. She was a good friend. She was in trouble.” He turned then and sought Pam's eyes. “Besides, I cared for her.” If she only knew how much. “It's not such a big deal to take on another man's child. Babies can be pretty easy to love.”

“I couldn't ask for a better husband or father,” Pam said, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “But I…we…didn't want you to wonder where you stand.”

“You are my son. My only son.”

Andy simply sat there, saying nothing.

Grant continued. “I hope it's obvious how important it is to keep this in the, er, family. Pam is a great person. A wonderful teacher. Her reputation, her future, in a way, is in our hands. And, of course, the baby's. I'm counting on you to be man enough to understand the ramifications.”

Andy stood. “Can I go now?”

Eyeballing his son, Grant got to his feet, too. “You will keep this to yourself?”

Grant sensed a smart remark coming, but then Andy looked at Pam, who was clutching the pillow again and simply said, “I told you already.
Yes.
” Glaring at Grant, he added, “Now, if you don't mind, I'm leaving for the park. See? This time I'm telling you where I'm going.”

Andy whirled from the room, grabbed a basketball out of the hall closet and left the house. In the void Grant heard the cats playing tag in the upstairs hall, smelled the apple pie Pam had baked earlier, felt the churning of his stomach. When he turned to look at her, she was already on her feet. “I think I need to be alone,” she said, moving past him to the den.

With a jolt he remembered. Will was gone. No more sharing the room upstairs.

It was as if all three of them had retreated to their separate corners.

And it was anybody's guess how Andy was reacting to the news.

 

S
ON OF A BITCH
! Son of a goddamn bitch! Why'd they have to tell him that? It about made him puke. His legs churned, catapulting the bike down the street. Wind whipped his hair and his nose ran with the cold.

He couldn't picture it. Pam—
Ms.
Carver, for God's
sake—getting it on with some dude and then turning around and snagging his dad. Was his dad so hard up for a woman that he'd take used goods? That was sick!

Reaching the park, he plunked down the bike, relieved to find the basketball court empty. He bounced the ball savagely several times, as if he could pulverize it, then hurled it at the backboard, again and again. He'd thought they were a family. Oh, he'd noticed how Pam and his dad sometimes kept their distance, but he'd figured all parents were like that. But hell! They'd been keeping a secret. A big one.

He ran in under the hoop, made a layup, then dribbled the key and arched a twenty-footer. Catching his own rebound, he repeated the pattern over and over. How could his dad have gotten married like that? To somebody already pregnant?

When sweat dripped from his face, he tore off his jacket and kept shooting, not even caring whether the ball went through the stupid hoop. It didn't sound like Pam, either. He liked her. He'd almost felt closer to her than his own mother. She didn't nag and she did neat things for him like help get Angie's present.

Finally he stopped the frantic activity and stood staring into the distance, idly bouncing the ball. Slowly, inevitably, a thought formed in his head. Maybe he would never have found out except for that journal entry. The one about being jealous of the baby.

Well, Pam and his dad had certainly given him a solid reason not to be jealous any longer. The baby wasn't his father's.

But that meant it wasn't his brother or sister, either.

He didn't need to be jealous at all. He should be relieved.

But he wasn't. He felt like total crap!

 

T
HE WEEKS SPED BY
. The warmer days of early spring were redolent with earthy smells. The upstairs bedroom, now papered in bright blue and white ticking with a border of teddy bears, was ready. The tiny onesies, booties and sleepers from the faculty baby shower were stacked neatly in the drawers of the recently acquired changing table. And thanks to the cheery new kitchen decor, making casseroles to freeze for after the delivery had been more pleasant.

At school, the Thespian Society had initiated its new members, spring-break tales were old news and Pam was working diligently on lesson plans for her substitute. Andy was busy with the tennis team, Brittany Thibault had been admitted to the college of her choice and Randy Selves had talked with Pam about subleasing her condo again for the upcoming school year. She'd put him off, of course, because by September everything would be different.

When the tulips in the backyard bloomed, she knew the time was close when Barney would make his—or her—appearance. The tulips.
Her
tulips. Would she ever see one again without thinking of Andy? Of Grant?

Was it any wonder Andy's wonderfully personal journal entries had dried up after they'd told him the truth? Now he confined himself to discussing movies, musical groups, current events. Anything except his feelings. He spent all the free time he could at Angie's or Chip's house and retreated to his room when he was at home. She and Grant didn't seem to have much to say to each other. They had never spoken about Andy's reaction to their news, largely, she felt, because it was hard to interpret how the boy really felt.

At least they'd pulled off one successful event— Andy's sixteenth birthday celebration. He'd invited the
basketball team and their dates to a dinner party before they all went to a movie. Grant grilled hamburgers and Pam had made two chocolate sheet cakes, which were completely devoured. The isolated, uninvolved boy from the school year's beginning now had a host of friends who accepted him. That was something. And he had more freedom. He'd passed his driver's test.

Maybe, given the tension among them, it would be a relief when she and Grant told Andy the rest of the story.

It seemed almost surreal that at one time she'd thought she could tell Grant she loved him.

But Andy's disappointment in her made that impossible. Grant would never enter a relationship now that his son was so disillusioned about her.

Until the baby came, her only true companions in this home were Viola and Sebastian.

She found herself envying the unencumbered life of a housekeeper.

 

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
?” Andy, his hair sleep tousled, stood shirtless and barefooted on the back stoop, watching Pam string clothesline between two trees.

“It's such a beautiful morning. I love the smell of air-fresh sheets and towels. I'm bypassing the dryer today.” Pam had awakened early full of energy that belied three nocturnal trips to the bathroom. She'd already done two loads of wash and cleaned the refrigerator. “Want to bring me the basket and help?” She nodded at the wicker container on the first step.

“What are these?” he asked, setting the basket down and picking up a clothespin.

“This, my young friend, is an ingenious device for
hanging clothes. See?” Selecting a hand towel, she demonstrated.

“Isn't it easier to use the dryer?”

“Easier, maybe, but not nearly as satisfying.”

The look he gave her told her that he thought she was certifiable. “Where's Dad?”

She gestured expansively. “It's a lovely April Saturday. A man needs to be on the golf course.” She didn't add how awkward weekends were when Grant stuck around the house—pure Kabuki theater of avoidance.

Holding a washcloth at arm's length, Andy fumblingly attached it to the line. “You really think this stuff's gonna smell better?”

“I know it. And if you're smart, you'll run upstairs and bring me the linens from that cave you call a room. I'll pop them in the washer and pretty soon your lair will smell like flowers.”

“Yuck.”

She giggled to herself as he left, unaccountably feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks. As if to remind her not to get too cocky, Barney did a tour jeté, nearly knocking the breath out of her.

After frying bacon and eggs for a ravenous Andy, she cleaned up the kitchen and started his wash. Reluctantly he slouched out to the garage, unearthed the lawn mower and began cutting the grass, as Grant had instructed him to do the night before.

Pam crossed items off her To-Do list, noting that only cleaning the oven remained. But it was too pretty a day to undertake that chore. She'd check the bag she'd packed for the hospital one more time. On her last weekly visit, Dr. Ellis had said the baby could come anytime. Pam was still teaching, although she desper
ately hoped her labor would begin at home, not at school, where a cast of hundreds would be involved in her private drama.

On her way to her room, she peered in Grant's, smiling at Viola snoozing on his bed. Apparently the contented feline had never gotten the message that she wasn't the master's favorite animal. Or else they'd achieved détente.

When she reached the den, Sebastian, who lay sunning on the windowsill, raised his head and licked his chops in acknowledgment. She'd given Grant and Andy strict instructions about the care of the kitties and had stockpiled cat food, just in case. Other than the oven, she couldn't think of a thing she'd forgotten to do.

Again Barney performed an amazing acrobatic feat, but then settled down. Pam lowered herself into the rocker, caressing her stomach, humming softly. Focusing on her baby made it easier to avoid thinking about the dreams that had died. Of being truly married to Grant. Accepting and loving Andy as a son. Creating a real family. Giving this precious infant a wonderful father and brother.

On the light breeze from the open window wafted the fragrance of newly mown grass. Birds chirped. Springtime. Renewal. Rebirth.

With bittersweet longing, Pam recognized the tune she'd unconsciously been humming. “What I Did for Love.”

 

T
HERE
. The stupid lawn was done. He'd even used the edger. Mowing was about the last thing he'd wanted to do today. The baseball team was playing in Dallas at one o'clock and he'd wanted to see Cale Moore pitch. He checked his watch. Too late now.

There was one other thing. Pam looked like a blimp and he'd noticed how she kept rubbing her stomach. Dad was playing golf. He didn't feel right leaving her home by herself. A shiver of dread coursed through him. But what help would he be if something happened? Like if she went into labor? Not that it was his problem. Or his dad's. This kid had nothing to do with him. Still he felt weird. The most he knew about having babies was what he'd learned in that dorky film they'd showed in fifth grade—the one where they separated the boys and the girls. It had some dumb title like
Becoming a Man.

After lunch maybe he'd read the new Tom Clancy. Chill out. Call Angie about their date tonight. He stowed the mower in the garage, and when he went in the house, he found Pam pulling a big old casserole of macaroni and cheese out of the oven. It was hard to stay mad at her when she cooked so good.

He'd just finished his first helping and she'd gotten up to get him seconds when he heard her say something like “Woof.” When he turned around, she was clutching her stomach and peeing all over the floor.

He was paralyzed. What the hell was happening?

“Towels, Andy. Get some towels quick.” She was panting like a dog and leaning against the counter.

Towels. Think towels.
He raced outside and grabbed four off the line, barely registering that they did smell kinda good. When he got back inside, she was still supporting herself at the counter. In a calm, scary voice, she said, “I'm okay. My water just broke.” Whatever that was. He guessed it had something to do with the baby. “Call the golf course and leave word for your father to meet us at the hospital.”

Us? Hospital?

He turned his head away. She was wiping between her legs with the towel. “Then hand me the phone to call Dr. Ellis.”

His tongue wouldn't work to get the words out. “You're…you're having the baby?
Now?
”

She threw towels onto the floor to sop up the mess. “Not now, exactly. But soon. And I need your help, Andy.”

“Mine?”

“Can you drive me to the hospital?”

Whoa. He loved to drive. But taking her to the hospital? What if she had the baby in the car, like in those movies where they don't make it to the emergency room? What if he had an accident?

“Andy?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Okay. I'm calling the golf course now.”

He was scared shitless. But when she let out another breathless moan, he knew he had to be the man. There wasn't anybody else.