Always in Her Heart (7 page)

“You make it sound like a work gang. They're all nice people. They were—”

“Becca's friends. I know.” They would be nice to her for Becca's sake. “We don't have similar interests. We won't have anything to talk about. But…I'm sure they all know more about raising babies than I do. Maybe I can pick up some pointers.”

Link clasped her hand where it lay on the table between them. “We're going to win this. You'll see. We have to.”

The warmth from his hand traveled right up her arm and into her heart.

No. She couldn't let herself feel that. She couldn't let herself start counting on Link, no matter how comforting that might be. Hadn't she just told herself that?

But she wanted to. She couldn't possibly deny that.

 

Link came back to the house warily the next afternoon. If the play group hadn't gone well, Annie would need help he didn't know how to give her. Emotions weren't his strong suit.

He paused inside the family room door, listening. Someone was playing “The Wheels on the Bus” on the piano in the living room.

It obviously couldn't be Marcy, so it must be Annie. He hadn't even known she played.

He dropped the things he was carrying on the sofa and went softly across to the archway. Annie played, and Marcy sat on the rug next to the piano bench, her chubby hands spinning wildly.

Marcy saw him first. “Wheels!” she shouted.

“I see wheels.” He picked her up and swung her in the air. “Are you singing with Nan?”

Annie had stopped playing the moment she realized he was there. She pulled her hands from the keys and slid off the bench as if she'd been caught doing something wrong.

He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the bench. “Don't stop now. I want to join the party.”

“I don't play for people to hear. I'm not very good.” She was actually blushing.

“Marcy's people. You were playing for her.” Teasing Annie felt like old times.

“Marcy's twenty months old. She just likes the noise.”

“So pretend I'm twenty months, too.” He slid onto the piano bench, Marcy in his lap, and glanced up at her.

Annie stood, hesitating, her hands clasped behind her as if to deny their ability. The baby reached for the keys, and he clasped her arms and began rotating them in the motions of the song.

“Come on. Take it from the top.”

Half smiling, she slid onto the bench next to him. “All right, but you'd better be as uncritical as Marcy is.”

She started to play the song again, slowly at first, then gaining speed as the baby laughed and swung her hands in obvious pleasure. Link sang along, stumbling over the words as she stumbled over the keys now and then.

They did the last chorus, and he helped Marcy clap.

“Good job, little girl. I'll bet you sang that at play group today, didn't you?”

Marcy sputtered something incomprehensible, and he looked at Annie, knowing it was time to ask her how it went. He hadn't understood her hesitation—still didn't. What was so scary about a bunch of mommies and babies?

“We must have sung twenty songs. Who would guess that toddlers would know so many?” Annie looked at the piano keys, not at him, flexing her fingers as if she wanted to play some more.

“Did you play for them?”

She looked at him, eyes startled. “Goodness, no. I told you, I don't play for people.” She touched the polished wood of the piano gently. “Marcy just had so much fun with the songs that I thought I'd try it when we got home.”

He may as well ask. She probably wouldn't volunteer anything. “So, what about you? Did you have fun?”

Her lips twitched. “You want me to admit you were right, don't you?”

Relieved, he grinned. “I was, wasn't I?”

“They were all lovely to me. We watched the children play, had brunch, talked.” She played a soft chord, then met his eyes. “We talked about Becca. I was ashamed of myself. I hadn't thought about how much they must be hurting, too.”

He discovered his throat was tight. “I can guess. It's the little everyday things that catch you up—wanting to tell them something, then realizing they're not there.”

“It's happening to you, too.”

He nodded. “Davis was more than just a friend. We'd worked together for so long, it was almost like I knew what he thought before he said it. I feel like a piece of me is missing.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft. She studied the keys, her silky hair swinging down to hide her face. “That summer at the shore I could tell you were as close to each other as Becca and I were.”

“Maybe that's why the four of us fit together so well.”

“We did, didn't we?”

She tilted her face up, and he saw the hint of a smile.

“But Becca knew from the first moment what she wanted.”

“Davis was about as bad.”

Her smiled widened, as if it didn't hurt so much to think of the distant past as the recent past. “You only asked me out because Davis pushed you into it.”

“That's not true.” At her knowing look, he grinned. “Well, not entirely true. You intrigued me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He flicked her soft cheek with one finger. “You, with your serious look and that little frown you wore when you were afraid Becca might do something she shouldn't. I wanted to know why you were so serious.”

“Comes of being the oldest.”

She smiled, but a shadow crossed her eyes at the words, as if there was more to it than that. Suddenly he was right back to the kid he'd been then, determined to know what lay behind that cool reserve Annie wore like a shield. Wanting to know what she'd do if he kissed her.

His hand hovered near her cheek, and the longing to touch her was so strong it nearly made him forget where they were and why. Nearly, but not quite.

He put his hand down slowly, hoping she hadn't noticed. That was all they'd need to complicate matters beyond belief.

He'd hurt her once before, when he couldn't tell her the truth about Davis. They'd lost what might have been between them then, if the circumstances had been different.

He'd pushed her into this marriage. What kind of man would he be if he took advantage of the situation now?

A
nnie felt as if a wall had suddenly gone up between her and Link. They still sat side by side on the piano bench, the baby still babbled on Link's lap, but he had retreated behind an impenetrable shield.

She played a few chords at random, trying to regain her composure. She had to say something, anything, to get things back to a normal level. The longer this silence lasted, the worse it would be.

“Well, anyway, I'm glad I went to the play group today, and not just because of whatever Mrs. Bradshaw might think. Jenna invited me to take the babies for a walk tomorrow if it's sunny out.”

“Jenna's a good person.” He seemed to make an effort to bring himself back from wherever he'd been.

All right, this was better. No more awkward moments.

“I offered to host the next meeting here. Jenna said she'd help me.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You're really getting into a social whirl.”

“You're the one who said I had to be a part of the community, remember?” She was glad to turn his words back on him.

“Hey, I'm happy about it. I'll even run the vacuum for you the night before.”

“I'll hold you to that.” She smiled. “By the way, we're bringing pictures of the parents when they were babies to the next meeting. One of the women is into making scrapbooks, and she's going to show us how to mat them. When I find Becca's baby pictures, I'll prove to you that Marcy looks like her.”

Link stroked the baby's hair. “Okay, okay.” His smile erased the last vestiges of strain from his face. “She's a beautiful little girl, wherever it came from.”

“She is that.” She touched Marcy's cheek gently, relaxing. Whatever had been wrong between her and Link was put right again. Now she just had to find some way of avoiding those emotional minefields.

“That reminds me.” Link slid from the piano bench, putting Marcy down. “I brought something home I want to show you.”

He headed for the family room, with Marcy toddling after him. Annie caught up with them as he picked up something from the sofa just before the baby's inquiring fingers reached it.

“Not for you, sweetheart.”

“A camera.”

He nodded. “I had this at the office. We use it to keep a record of the work we've done.”

He lifted the camera, focusing on her through the viewfinder, and she put up her hand in an automatic protest.

“Don't take my picture. I'm a mess.”

He shifted the focus to Marcy. “You look fine. But it's really Marcy I had in mind. Or rather, Marcy with us.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Looking at photo albums the other night made me think of it.” He lowered the camera. “Every family takes pictures of the things they do, right?”

“I suppose.” She hadn't thought about it, but of course Becca had albums full of everything they'd done with Marcy since the day she was born.

“That's what we've got to do. We've got to take pictures, lots of pictures.”

She got it then. “To show the social worker.”

“And the judge, if we get the chance. We want to prove that we're just like any other family with a toddler.”

Marcy grabbed for the dangling camera strap, and let out a shriek when Link took it from her. Annie bent to pick her up.

“Well, there's lesson one about families with toddlers. Never let mealtime be late.” She bounced Marcy. “How about a little snack for you while Nan gets supper on?”

Marcy stopped crying and reached toward the kitchen.

Link laughed. “She might not say much, but she gets her meaning across.”

He followed them to the kitchen, and when Annie handed Marcy an animal cracker, the camera flashed in her eyes.

“Do you have to do that now?”

“No time like the present. I'm not the world's greatest photographer. I'll have to take a lot of shots to get some decent ones.”

She pulled the casserole from the oven and the aroma of chicken and noodles filled the air. Link kept up a running commentary of things they might do and photograph. It was impossible not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.

This was the Link she'd known—filled with energy, driving straight toward any goal with a single-minded determination that wiped out every obstacle.

Well, that was good, wasn't it? At least for the moment their goals coincided.

“Okay, this is about ready.” She used pot holders to transfer the casserole to the table, placing it well away from the high chair. “Will you put Marcy in her chair and get a bib on her?”

Link put the camera aside. He lifted Marcy into the seat, but she slapped impatiently at the bib, reaching toward the casserole.

“That's too hot, sweetie.”

She let out a wail that cut off abruptly when Annie
broke a piece of roll and put it on the tray. Marcy looked up at Link, grinning triumphantly around the roll.

“You're a con artist, you are.” He grinned, picking up the camera again. “Come on, Annie, move in close so I can get both of you.”

She brushed at her hair. “I look a mess.”

“You look pretty, just like you always do. And this isn't about you.” He focused the camera. “Good job.” The camera flashed.

Annie knew he didn't mean anything by it. He was just trying to get her to cooperate. Silly to let his words warm her, she thought as she spooned noodles and chicken into Marcy's bowl.

Marcy reached eagerly for the bowl. Before Annie could get the spoon, she put her fist into the dish and stuffed a handful into her mouth, then grinned again.

Link started to laugh. “Her table manners aren't the greatest, but she knows what she wants.”

Marcy chortled as if she'd meant to make him laugh, and Annie couldn't help smiling at the sound. Anyone looking at them would think they were a real family.

She was still smiling when the telephone rang, and she reached out to answer it.

“Mrs. Morgan?” Mrs. Bradshaw sounded as if she was in a hurry. “Sorry to call you so late. I wanted to let you know that I've tentatively set up a visit for Marcy with the Lesters for tomorrow morning. Can you have her there at nine o'clock?”

A chasm opened in front of her, and the happy family she'd been imagining vanished.

 

Link picked up the car keys and glanced at the clock. Eight-fifty. The breakfast he'd forced down felt like lead in his stomach, and this had to be far worse for Annie.

She came toward him across the family room, carrying Marcy. She'd dressed the baby in that little fuzzy red thing that made her look like one of Santa's elves. Compared to that, Annie's face was as white as a sheet of paper.

“Ready?” He gripped the keys and tried to think of something reassuring to say. He couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't sound trite.

Annie nodded, her mouth set. “I guess we'd better go. We don't want to be late.”

“I don't care if we keep Frank and Julia waiting.” He opened the door. “But we don't want to make the wrong impression on Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“If she thinks I don't want to leave Marcy there, it'll be the truth.” Annie went out, then waited while he locked the door.

He reached for Marcy. “Let me take her.”

“No.” She half turned away from him, arms circling the baby. “I've got her.”

She'd been tense since that call from Mrs. Bradshaw. He'd heard her get up twice in the night, heard her soft footsteps cross the hall as she opened the nursery door and peeked in at Marcy.

Well, she wasn't likely to relax until this was over. Good thing he'd insisted that he'd go in to work late today so that he could drive them back and forth. He didn't want Annie driving this morning.

He waited while she put Marcy in her car seat, then held the door for her to get in the front. He paused for a moment before closing it, looking down at her. She'd buttoned a caramel-colored jacket against the morning air, but she still looked pinched.

“We knew this was coming.” Stupid thing to say. Why would that make her feel any better? “It's just a visit.”

“I know.” She glanced at her watch. “We should go.”

He went around, slid into his seat and started the car. Nothing he said was going to make this better, because nothing he said could make a difference. The Lesters would have their observed visit, like it or not.

Still, he had to try. “Believe me, I've been in the Lesters' house. It's not suited to a baby. That's the first thing Mrs. Bradshaw will see.”

Anne showed a flicker of interest. “What's it like?”

“White carpets, glass tables, tile floors, expensive knickknacks all over the place.” He shrugged. “Definitely not baby-proofed.”

A crease formed between her brows. “I hope they'll keep a close eye on her. She's so fast.”

Great, now he'd given her something else to worry about.

“They'll be at their most careful. After all, Mrs. Bradshaw will be there, watching them.”

Annie glanced back toward Marcy. “This is one time when I wish she weren't quite so outgoing. She'll smile at anyone, whether she knows them or not.”

“It won't make a difference.” He tried to sound sure. “Julia's about as maternal as—well, I don't know what. But a baby is the last thing on her wish list.”

Annie stirred, a little color coming into her face. “Becca told me that when she announced that she and Davis were having a baby, Julia acted sorry for her. Julia said she never wanted to have a child because they were too much trouble.”

“That sounds like Julia. She's so obsessed with the latest fashions. I can't imagine she would be willing to risk losing her figure.” He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. It felt like ice. “You'll see. Mrs. Bradshaw will take one look at that place and see the truth.”

“I hope you're right.” It sounded like a prayer.

He pulled into the driveway. The Lester house, all glass and angles, sat on a hill overlooking the lake. Naturally Frank hadn't had them design his home.

He stopped at the front door. By the time he rounded the car, Annie was already lifting Marcy from the car seat.

He put his arm around both of them. “It'll be okay,” he said softly. “Don't worry too much.”

Annie nodded. For an instant she looked lost. Then
she settled Marcy in her arms and marched toward the door.

It opened before they could knock. Julia reached for Marcy with every indication of eagerness.

“There now, darling. Come to Aunt Julia.”

He could feel the effort it took Annie to let go of the baby. She hesitated in the doorway, as if unwilling to turn away and leave.

Frank appeared behind his wife, smiling. “Julia, where are your manners? Invite Mr. and Mrs. Morgan in.” He laid the faintest stress on the titles, as if mocking them.

Julia stepped back, gesturing them inside. He had no desire to enter Frank's house, but beyond them he could see Mrs. Bradshaw. It certainly couldn't hurt to gain a few more minutes with her, especially after the mess he'd made of her visit to them.

He grasped Annie's elbow in mute support and followed her into the house.

Frank rubbed his hands together. “Well, this is nice, having our favorite little girl in our house at last. We were just going to show Marcy's room to Mrs. Bradshaw. Maybe you'd like to see it, too.”

Marcy's room?
What was Frank trying to pull? Marcy had never even been in their house, which spoke volumes for how interested they'd been in her.

“Yes, do come along.” Julia clutched Marcy tightly, as if fearing the child would try to get away. “We want you to see it.”

They followed Julia across the wide living room. Light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows
overlooking the lake, glittering off glass and metal tables and tile floors.

Julia led the way down a hall lined with mirrored closets and flung open a door. “There, you see. It's all ready for her.”

He blinked. This had been a guest room where they'd left coats the one time he'd been to the Lester house. Now it had been transformed.

Pale aqua-and-white baby furniture, billowing white curtains, a pale aqua rug. Low shelves lined the walls, filled with more toys than the local toy store had in stock. The far wall and the ceiling were covered with an elaborate fairy-tale mural.

“Pink is so passé, don't you think?” Julia smiled possessively at the room. “This is much more elegant.” She put Marcy down and began to unzip her jacket.

“Yes. Elegant.” Annie's voice sounded strangled.

He wrapped his hand around hers, trying vainly to warm it. He'd told Annie that the social worker would take one look and see how unsuitable this place was for a child. He'd assured her it would be all right.

Which only went to show how little he knew. He gripped Annie's fingers tightly, and she clung to him. He'd underestimated Frank. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

 

Annie stared out the car window at the houses they passed. She took a breath, feeling as if it was the first time she'd done so since they'd left the Lesters.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Where are we going?”

“I have to go to my apartment to pick up some papers I need.” She felt Link's worried gaze touch her face. “Then I thought we could stop at the work site. After that, it'll be time to pick up Marcy.”

“What if she doesn't want to leave?” She had a sudden, horrifying vision of Marcy crying at the thought of being torn away from all those toys. “What if—”

“You're overreacting, aren't you?” Link's tone was deliberately dampening.

She rubbed her forehead, trying vainly to massage away the tension. “Am I? Mrs. Bradshaw just saw a decorator's dream nursery.”

“I have to hand it to Frank. He worked fast.”

“Is that all you can say?” She felt a spurt of anger.