Authors: Barbara Bretton
At first she was confused by her condition then frightened; but, on the morning of July 31st, as she looked at the big black plus sign, she finally understood.
Congratulations!
shouted the enclosed brochure.
You're pregnant!
"Congratulations?" she asked the terrified-looking woman in the mirror. No husband. No plans for the future. No thoughts of home and hearth or any of the things important for a baby's upbringing. She didn't know the first thing about breast-feeding or toilet training or how to kiss away a child's tears. Suddenly it seemed as if she knew nothing at all, as if the simplest task required Herculean effort.
Fortunately although her brain shut down, routine took over. She brushed her teeth, did her hair and makeup, then dressed in her favorite pale blue Ralph Lauren.
She'd go to the store. She'd throw herself into her work and put all thoughts of motherhood from her mind. Maybe the test was wrong. After all, it was only a ten dollar box of chemicals. Certainly there was room for error, wasn't there? Maybe she wasn't pregnant at all. Maybe she was run-down, anemic, over-stressed and over-tired. There had to be another reason for the way she'd been feeling and sooner or later that reason would come to her. In the meantime, she was going to the store, the one place where she was in absolute control of things.
"She doesn't look very well," Caroline overheard one of her assistants saying later on that morning. "Do you think it's PMS?"
Caroline tossed down her tenth soda cracker and stormed into the showroom. "It is
not
PMS," she said, voice shrill. "And it's not a broken heart, business losses, or bad karma. Understood?"
Grabbing her purse and car keys, she raced from the store as if the hounds of hell were at her heels. "PMS," she muttered as she started her new silver-colored sports
car.
If only....
Ten minutes later she burst into Sam's bedroom in Rocky Hill, threw herself across the O'Rourke's queen-size bed, then broke into tears.
Sam, who was nursing baby James, looked up in surprise. "What on earth is the matter?" Her brow furrowed. "Dear God, did someone die?"
"You could say that," Caroline managed through her uncharacteristic sobs. "The rabbit did."
Sam stared at her for a long moment as comprehension dawned.
"You're--"
"Pregnant," said Caroline with a strangled laugh. "With child.
Enceinte
. The ever-popular knocked up."
Sam's gaze went from her own baby to her best friend then back once again to her baby. "A baby." She glanced at Caroline's belly. "You can't be far along."
"Five and a half weeks. Not that I'm counting."
Sam shifted the baby to her other breast and Caroline experienced an odd blend of longing and terror. She sat up, hung her legs over the side of the bed, and put her head between her knees the way Donohue had instructed her that evening at the hospital. Funny how handy his instructions had become these few weeks past.
"Poor Sam," she said, swallowing hard against a wave of nausea. "You look shocked."
Sam did her best to compose herself but her amazement was impossible to hide. "I--I didn't know you were seeing anyone special."
Caroline met her eyes. "I wasn't."
Her friend's high cheekbones blazed with color. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business."
"It was just one time," said Caroline, unable to stop herself. "It just...happened."
Sam, whose daughter had been born out of wedlock when Sam was only a teenager, nodded. "I understand. Really I do. You don't have to tell me anything about it."
"No, you don't understand." Sam had been deeply in love with Patty's father. The two teenagers had been planning to get married, but his father had had other ideas. Ideas that had torn the young lovers apart forever. "He wasn't some stranger I picked up in a bar."
"I never thought he was."
"Oh, come on, Sam. I'd be wondering the same thing if the situation was reversed."
Sam bristled. "Thanks a lot, kiddo. It's nice to know what you really think of my moral fiber."
"Listen to me," said Caroline. "It was Charlie Donohue."
"Look, I said you didn't have to tell me who the father is and I meant it."
"It's Charlie Donohue."
"I don't understand why you're being so arrogant, Caroline. If you don't want to tell me, don't tell me. I've already said it's none of my business."
Caroline glared at her best friend then reached over and clamped her hand over Sam's mouth. Her words were both measured and deadly serious. "The. Father. Is. Charlie. Donohue. I'm not teasing. I'm not lying. I'm not happy." Sam struggled to speak but Caroline was unrelenting. "I am pregnant by Charlie Donohue. Do you understand?"
Sam nodded and Caroline uncovered her mouth.
"Wow!" said Sam, dark blue eyes wide with disbelief. "I didn't even know you liked him."
"I don't--I mean, I didn't." She buried h
er face in a pillow. "Oh, I don't know what I mean."
"You and Charlie," said Sam, a smile spreading across her face. "No wonder you two were so adamantly opposed to our matchmaking attempts. You were already having an affair and you wanted to keep it a secret." Sam's laugh was altogether too triumphant for Caro
line's taste. "You sly thing."
"We were not having an affair."
"Oh, your breakup is only temporary," Sam said with the assurance of a very married woman. "Once you tell him about the baby, your problems will disappear."
Caroline wondered how her once cynical single friend had turned into this contented matron who believed in fairy tale happy endings. "We're not broken up," she said, battling down a wave of nausea. "We were never together to begin with."
"You were together at least once."
"You're making this difficult, Sam." Caroline paused, struggling with the facts. "There's nothing between us. Nothing at all."
Sam's dark brows lifted. "I'd say there was something very important between the two of you." She kissed her son atop his downy head. "There's a child."
"Somehow I doubt if Charles would find that notion terribly compelling."
"You are going to tell him about the baby, aren't you?"
Caroline's eyes filled once again with tears. "I'm not certain I'm going to tell
anyone
about the baby." Until that morning she hadn't been entirely certain there was a baby.
"He has a right to know," Sam pointed out. "Hell, he has a responsibility to both of you."
The thought of her future and Charlie Donohue's intertwining on a long-range basis made her feel both horrified and secretly elated. That combination did nothing to quell her queasy stomach. "Maybe I'll go to Europe for the next eight months," she said with an hysterical laugh. "We can tell everyone I'm searching for designer clothes for the shop."
This time it was Sam's eyes that filled with tears and it was almost Caroline's undoing.
"Don't look at me that way, Sam."
"Tell him." Sam leaned forward, baby at her breast, and touched Caroline's hand. "You owe it to the both of you."
Caroline tugged at the jacket of her Chanel original and smoothed her skirt. "Can't you just imagine me waltzing into O'Rourke's one night in some dreadful maternity frock." She stood and mimicked the walk of an exceedingly pregnant woman. "'I'll take a glass of milk, Charles,'" she said in a falsely hearty voice. "And, by the way, how do you feel about fatherhood?'"
"Call him at home," Sam suggested.
Caroline's laugh grew even more hysterical. "I don't even know where home is. I don't know one single thing about him." Only that she had felt more protected, more secure, in his arms that magical night than she had ever felt in her entire life. "For all I know he has a string of ex-wives trailing behind him and ten kids he doesn't care about."
"No wives. No kids. Charlie's a free agent."
Caroline sank back down onto the bed. "I suppose you could give me his phone number."
"I can do better than that," said Sam. "He'll be at the christening tomorrow. Tell him you two need to talk."
"Maybe I'll write him a letter."
Sam's expression was one of such compassion that Caroline broke into tears once more. "You'll do what's right, Caroline," she said, voice soft. "You'll do what's right for the baby."
#
The christening the next morning went off without a hitch. Caroline had carried along a packet of water crackers in her handbag, just in case, but fortunately her morning sickness was taking an unexpected holiday. The church with its vaulted roof and stained glass windows rang out with the baby's cries as the holy water was sprinkled upon him.
The church also rang out with Caroline's sniffling tears for she proved to be an exceptionally sentimental godmother. Her voice shook when she made her pledge to watch over little James Andrew O'Rourke for all the days of his life. One month ago the meaning of those words wouldn't have had quite the resonance they had now that a new life was growing within her. Twice she had caught Charles looking at her as she stood at the baptismal font with the godfather, Sam's brother, and twice she had felt a telltale crimson blush stain her cheeks.
A terrible thought burst in
to her mind like an explosion.
He probably thinks I'm some slut who sleeps with any man who stumbles into my fur vault.
The passion they'd shared that night in the storage room had been as incendiary as it was unexpected. Why on earth would a man like Charlie Donohue believe it to be an uncommon occurrence when she had spent so much time and energy building her reputation as a sophisticated world-class flirt? Sometimes she found her relentless celibacy hard to believe herself.
The church ceremony was only the beginning. Sam, whose upscale catering service was the rage of Princetonian commuters, had decided to avail herself of her own talents and invite everyone back to the house for an old-fashioned outdoor celebration. Murphy strutted around the backyard like a peacock, impossibly proud of his new baby boy. Patty, Sam's first-born, was equally proud of her brother and her status as older sister.
It should be like this for everyone,
thought Caroline, eyes once again misting with tears. A baby should be wanted. Welcomed. Loved wholeheartedly with no reservations and no uncertainties. Sam had been ecstatic the day she discovered her pregnancy with James, not sniffling into her grape juice like Caroline was. Even as an unmarried teenager, Sam had carried Patty with joy despite the difficult situation.
This should be one of the happiest days of Caroline's life, yet there she was wishing she could blink her eyes and make reality disappear. Gently she touched her still-flat stomach with the palm of her hand and sighed. One thing was certain: with every second reality became just a little bit harder to ignore.
#
As for Charlie, he couldn't take his eyes off Caroline--and it wasn't for lack of trying.
Something was different, he thought, studying her delicate face and form. The angles of her cheekbones were softer somehow; the swell of her breasts more rounded. There was a more womanly aspect to her that he couldn't quite define except to chalk it up to the fact she was holding Sam and Murphy's son in her arms. Even if a man spent about as much time thinking about children as he spent thinking about souffle pans, which added up to exactly no time at all.
But even a man like Charlie had to admit there was something downright dangerous about the sight of a beautiful woman with an infant in her arms. It conjured up thoughts of sunny kitchens and home-baked bread and gingham curtains at the windows, none of which were likely to appeal to Caroline Bradley.
Although she seemed as enamored of the infant as everyone else, Charlie suspected Caroline wasn't exactly mother-of-the-year material. You didn't walk around in perfectly tailored white linen suits if you expected to spend much time with small fry. He grinned at the thought of sticky peanut-butter-and-jelly fingerprints on her pristine skirt.
No, she was probably a hell of a lot like he was. A loner. Someone who made friends easily but kept most of those friends an arm's length away. He'd sensed that about her the night in the fur vault. Vulnerable. Lonely. Sweet and passionate and--
Forget it, Donohue.
He was certain she already had put it from her mind. Other than a pleasant smile and nod of her head, the elegant Ms. Bradley hadn't so much as acknowledged that they'd ever done more than shake hands. He tried not to, but there was still enough of the old double standard alive and well in Charlie to make him resent any and all other men who had ever been lucky enough to share Caroline's bed.
"None of your damn business, Donohue," he mumbled into his glass of punch. She could have dated the entire Sixth Fleet for all it mattered to him.
"Talking to yourself, is it?" The voice at his elbow was light, breezy, just this side of flirtatious. It could only belong to one person. Caroline.
"Some shindig, isn't it?" he asked, aware of the scent of her perfume wafting toward him on the summer breeze.