“So...in a way, this is really good,” she told Craig, nodding. Smiling. “My baby will not only know that I wanted him or her so badly that I purposely, knowingly and consciously, chose every aspect of her birth, but that her biological component cared enough to make certain that she was being born into a loving, secure home.”
Yes, it was all wrapping up rather neatly. Or so she hoped.
Chapter Eight
“Oh!”
Craig glanced over at Amelia, as she half gasped, and put her hand to her lower stomach. Immediately on alert, he assessed her skin color, her pupils. “What?” he asked, reaching a hand automatically to where hers was touching her abdomen.
“Excuse me!” she said, pushing his hand away. “I had a...cramp...” She looked away, off the balcony, and he followed suit.
What in the hell was he doing, touching her?
And how could it possibly have felt like the sun had come out inside him?
“If you’re cramping...” He leaned toward her again, and asked, “Do you mind if I just...feel your pulse?”
Flinging her arm out, she looked away again, and didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around the warm skin at her wrist. He concentrated on even rhythm. Counting. Gave himself the chance to remember who he was and what he was there for. And noting, at the same time, that her pulse was a tad fast.
“It was just...you know...indigestion type,” she said when Craig dropped her wrist. He tried to forget he’d put his hand on her stomach. Tried to forget how much he’d liked it there.
“Is everything okay, doctor?” She was smiling. And putting him at ease. Telling him she understood he hadn’t been hitting on her. That it was okay.
“Steady pulse, perfect rhythm,” he told her, leaving out the fast pace part. It had already slowed by the time he was letting go. Which told him the increased rate had most likely been due to his touch.
“So, do you have any more questions?”
She wasn’t kicking him out. Something had just happened between them and he was still there. If questions were what was keeping them together, what was allowing them to be comfortable spending time together, he could come up with a whole lot more.
“If your mother had been willing to tell you about your dad, what questions would you have asked? What did you feel like you needed to know?” Feeling renewed energy, and a sense of reaching for a future where he was at peace, Craig gave the woman carrying his child an encouraging smile. Told himself it was just all about the baby, but he wasn’t completely buying it.
But for the next hour, he answered her questions. At one point she asked if she could take notes.
Eventually, long after both of their glasses of juice were empty, Amelia invited him to her kitchen where she’d put together a couple of onion, cucumber and grilled chicken wraps, with some kind of dressing she’d made out of mayonnaise, vinegar and mustard, that he could see—she’d had him out on the paved and walled room-size balcony manning the grill—and they’d sat outside with some muted lighting she’d turned on, eating dinner together. Two blocks of the city lay before them, and then, in the distance, the ocean’s vastness.
He felt like he was on a luxurious vacation—and appreciated her ability to make home feel that way.
And still, after the dishes were rinsed and in the washer, he accepted her invitation for an after-dinner drink—his coffee, hers decaffeinated green tea—back out on the balcony.
He didn’t feel like he was done yet. And though he knew he should be, he continued to sit with her. To enjoy watching her as she spoke. Sitting there with her, knowing she was pregnant with his child, he had a sense of family he’d never really known with Tricia. Which made no sense to him.
Amelia’s phone had rung a time or two—she’d let it go to voicemail, but sent a text. He wondered who she was close to, besides her sister. Who’d be calling her on a Saturday evening. Had a moment of discomfort when he considered that it could be a man who was interested in her. Just because she wasn’t looking for a partner didn’t mean she didn’t date. And he had to get home to Talley.
“Thank you,” Amelia said to him as they sat gazing out over the city. “This was really nice. You’ve been incredibly patient and kind, answering all of these questions.”
She sounded sated. Not just satisfied. Sated. He wondered at the distinction his mind was making.
Felt something significant there.
“It’s you doing me the favor,” he reminded her. “Your questions tell me a lot about you, about what mattered to you as a kid, what matters to you now, and so...what kind of parent you’ll most likely be.” She’d been looking at him, but glanced away. “Besides,” he added, “you’re easy to talk to.”
The words brought her gaze back to him. He wanted to hold on to it.
“You’re easy to talk to, too,” she surprised him by saying. “I’ve told you things I don’t ever talk about. About my dad. And Mike.”
“Your ex.”
She nodded. Glanced out again, and then back. “He was unfaithful to me,” she said. “After insisting that I be ‘all in’ with him—that I put him and our life together first, above all else—he slept with someone else.”