Another Man's Child

Marcus considered her suggestion. Maybe he should find out just what the next months were going to bring. He’d had nothing to do with creating Lisa’s condition, but her bouts with morning sickness had brought home to him how precarious an actual pregnancy could be, the risks it posed to the expectant mother’s health. Lisa’s health. He wanted to know more about it.

“Could you recommend some good books about it?” he asked his secretary. Having something to concentrate on, something positive he could contribute, something he could do, felt good.

Marge picked up her purse and headed for the door. “I’ll stop at the bookstore when I’m at lunch,” she said, still smiling at him.

Marcus grinned back. Finally. He had a purpose, a way to regain some of the inner balance he’d lost when his wife had become pregnant with another man’s child.

BETH KNEW where Oliver lived. She wished she didn’t. That it wasn’t so easy for her to find him on this, the darkest of days, made even darker by the Thanksgiving holiday that followed so soon after.

It wasn’t right that she reach out to him this way. Lisa would probably be expecting her to call, maybe even expecting her to spend the day with her as she had the year before and the year before that. Nothing had been said this time. But Lisa knew.

Beth almost turned her BMW around to head back to New Haven. It was a gorgeous Indian-summer day, a gift she should be thankful for. She could drive up to East Rock, spend the day at Eastrock Park, as she used to do all those weekends when John was glued to textbooks. Surely she could outdistance her memories among the 650 acres of gorgeous Connecticut countryside. She had no business dropping in on Oliver. None whatsoever. Except that she was certain he could make her feel better. Beth’s eyes blurred with tears. She blinked them away so she could see the road in front of her.

When had she come to rely on Oliver for her emotional equilibrium? How had she come to need him without even knowing it? And could she take comfort from him without making a mess of things?

She turned into the neighborhood where Lisa had grown up, finding the rambling house easily. She’d been there last Christmas, guests of Lisa and Marcus. It had been then, celebrating that emotional holiday, that she and Oliver had first connected. They’d both been celebrating with only half a heart, having lost a part of themselves when they’d buried their spouses.

Which was why, on this day in particular, Beth was drawn to her best friend’s father for comfort Oliver wouldn’t just sympathize, he’d know.

Pulling up to the garage behind Oliver’s house, Beth parked, grabbed her purse and got out of the car. There was nothing wrong with her coming here like this. It meant nothing more than a person seeking comfort from a friend who understood.

So why had she not told Lisa where she was going? Why had she purposely not gone home to change after church in an effort to avoid Lisa’s phone call? And why had a swarm of butterflies taken up residence in her abdomen?

“Beth! What a wonderful surprise,” Oliver said when he answered her knock. “I was just deciding what to fix for lunch. Come join me.”

That was it. No questions asked.

Following him back to the kitchen, she dropped her purse on the counter, then looked over his shoulder as, together, they inspected the contents of his refrigerator. She felt better already.

Deciding on cheese-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches, they prepared lunch together and ate it out on his covered patio, enjoying the unusual warmth of the day. The lush green acre of his backyard, lined with the spectacular autumn foliage of dogwood, was enchanting. In the spring the yard was filled with the pink and white blossoms of mountain laurel, as well as colorful rhododendron shrubs, the perfect accompaniment to the orchids that had been Barbara Webster’s pride and joy.

“This was just what the doctor ordered,” Beth said, finishing the last of her sandwich.

“Kind of convenient, don’t you think, to be able to give your own orders?” Oliver smiled at her.

The pleasure he was taking in her presence was almost enough to soothe her tattered emotions. Almost.

“John was killed six years ago today.” The words came out of their own accord, as if they’d been fighting for release. And she supposed maybe they had, going by the number of times they’d repeated themselves over and over in her head since she’d awakened, alone, early that morning.

“Ahh.” Oliver’s expression, his voice, was filled with instant understanding, and warmed with a huge dose of empathy. “I remember when we got the call at the university…Come.” He reached for her hand. “Why don’t we sit in the gazebo. I go there sometimes when I’m feeling blue. It seems to help.”

Beth walked with him to the gazebo in one corner of his backyard. She’d been there before, of course, but always with Lisa. Surrounded with flowers except in the cold winter months, it had a slatted roof open to the sun and to the many birds that came to perch on the feeders Oliver had built. It was the most peaceful place Beth had ever been.

“Were you with him when it happened?” Oliver asked, sitting with her on one of the benches along the inside of the gazebo. Though the little building allowed in the sun’s warmth, Beth’s hands were cold, and Oliver rubbed them gently with his.

She’d had no idea how much she’d needed the contact, the touch of another person. “Uh-huh,” she said, watching a couple of birds hover around one of the larger feeders hanging from the ceiling of the gazebo, but seeing, instead, her husband’s blood on the tile floor of the hamburger place. They’d only stopped there for a quick bite before heading out to the country to look at homes. That day had been filled with sunny promise, too, just like this one.

She could still hear the shrieks of the women and children around them, the shouts of the men who’d tried to help, still feel the frantic flurry as everyone ran, trying to escape the gunman’s next bullet. They needn’t have worried. He’d turned the next one on himself.

Beth hadn’t even realized she’d been speaking out loud until Oliver put his arm around her, pulling her into the comfort of his embrace. “I’m so sorry, my dear, so sorry. Shh. Don’t cry.”

It had been a long time since Beth had been cuddled, since she’d had someone to lean on. Burying her face against the solidness of Oliver’s chest, she clung to him, allowing the sobs she’d been holding in check all day to burst free. The nightmare of that day would be with her always, but it almost felt as if she’d be able to bear it as she sat there with her head against Oliver’s chest, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling away just enough to lift her head, to gaze into his warm brown eyes.

“Hush.” He placed a finger against her lips. “You don’t need to thank me. You’ve helped me more than I can ever say.”

His gaze left hers to travel down to where his finger was still touching her lips. With no thought to what she was doing, Beth wet her lips, tasting the saltiness of his skin.