Becca's Baby

“What physical concerns?” she asked, frowning. He didn’t want her getting fat? Didn’t want to give up his office? None of that sounded like Will at all.

“Medical ones.”

Becca’s heart began to pound. He and Dr. Anderson had been alone when they’d wheeled Becca down for that MRI. Did he know something she didn’t?

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

God, don’t take this baby from me. Please don’t take this baby from me now.

“Nothing,” Will said. He stood up, came over to crouch beside her chair. “But yesterday scared the hell out of me, Bec,” he admitted. “It showed me quite clearly what you’d been talking about—the dangers of taking on something this momentous at your age.”

“Did Dr. Anderson tell you something she didn’t tell me?” Becca barely got the words past the fear that was choking her.

“No!” He brushed her hair back gently. “It’s nothing like that. You’re fine. The doctor still believes you can deliver this baby without a hitch.”

Head aching, she tried to read in his eyes what he wasn’t telling her. “Then why—”

“I just want you to know that if you still want to terminate this pregnancy, I’ll support your decision.”

She stared at him, trying desperately to remain calm, but her face felt numb, her skin chilled. Had he deserted her so completely now that he didn’t even want her baby?

“It’s too late,” she whispered, devastated and afraid that the words referred to far more than the fate of her pregnancy.

“Too late?” he asked, frowning, seeming completely unaware of the effect his words were having. Did he actually think she cared so little? Perhaps he was right; perhaps he really didn’t know her.

“I’m going on seventeen weeks,” she stated conversationally. “Unless the mother’s life is in imminent danger, they won’t terminate after twelve.”

Becca wasn’t sure whether the brief burst of feeling that crossed his expression was relief, joy or disappointment. It came and went so quickly.

She sat there looking at him, trying to understand him—and failing hopelessly. It occurred to her again that perhaps he didn’t know her anymore. But perhaps she didn’t know him, either.

It was a frightening thought. One she wasn’t prepared to deal with. She had no idea where that left them. Or their baby.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER LUNCH with their sisters and mother on Wed

nesday, Becca and Sari went shopping for the maternity clothes Becca and Will had missed buying on Monday. After adding the salad to the baby already taking up residence beneath her waistband, Becca couldn’t wait any longer.

“Mom was in rare form today,” Sari said as the two women perused the racks in an upscale maternity shop in Phoenix. “I didn’t think she was ever going to stop laughing when she told that stupid chicken-crossing-the-road joke.”

Becca grinned, adding a jumper she didn’t think she’d buy to the other things she was carrying over one arm. “She’s happy about the baby.”

“Yeah,” Sari said, her face softening. “She’s happiest because she knows you’ve wanted one for so long.”

“I was surprised she hadn’t heard about Todd and Martha yet,” Becca said, handing her growing pile to the salesclerk waiting to assist her. She’d told her sister about their friends on the way into Phoenix.

“For Martha’s sake, I’m glad,” Sari said. “I’d die if anything happened between Bob and me, especially if the whole world found out.”

Becca refused to discuss this; it was too dark. Too frightening.

“What do you think?” she asked, instead, holding up another dress for inspection. It had quickly become apparent when they’d entered the shop that she’d have to give up suits for the duration of her pregnancy. Maternity clothes didn’t seem to come in suits.

Sari wrinkled her nose. “A little young. Maybe you’d better get someone else to write Samuel’s script,” Sari said, apparently not distracted from the subject of Martha.

“No.” Becca shook her head. “I’m not going to take anything else away from Martha.” She’d already given the matter some thought. “I’ll keep a close watch, and if she shows any signs of being overwhelmed or not wanting to do it, I can always get one of the theater people at the university to write something. But Martha was really looking forward to doing this, and it may be a diversion for her.”

Sari pulled out a denim jumper, saw the embroidered butterflies on the front pocket and put it back. “Will there be enough time for someone from Theater to do it? This is the tenth of May—less than two months till the Fourth of July.”