Becca's Baby

The baby pushed, and Becca felt his small touch, first inside her and then where he pushed against the hand she had lying across her belly. He was probably only responding to her warmth. Or maybe the limb had already been there. But in Becca’s heart, her baby had just reached out to hold her hand.

“I love you.” She’d never said the words to her baby. Never allowed herself to think them.

And yet, when uttered, they were as natural as the breath that had accompanied them.

“I love you so much,” she said again, unable to stop the flow that had finally broken free from the dam she’d built around her heart.

“No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.” She knew that with complete certainty. The doubts were gone, the fears replaced by something much stronger. Something that would see her through. “If you have a need, I’ll meet it,” she promised softly, caressing her child. “I love you.”

The source of her strength. It was that simple.

Her child.

Hers and Will’s.

A miracle.

BECCA SLEPT in her bed that night. She’d put the couch bedding away and was already curled up before Randi came in from the basketball camp she’d been attending. She awoke briefly when Randi popped her head in to check on her and say good-night. And then drifted off again, holding Will’s pillow to her chest.

The bed was big.

But she slept.

PHYLLIS LANGFORD hung up the phone slowly, deliberately, taking great care to make sure it rested completely in the cradle, taking care not to make a sound. Though it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d dropped it. Or screamed. Alone in her pretty little house that Tuesday morning, she was the only one who would have heard.

Christine had been in a car accident. She was going to be okay, Will had assured her—just arriving in Shelter Valley later than she’d planned. Instead of having more than two weeks to get settled before school started, she’d have only a few days. She’d reach town shortly before classes resumed.

Even that was okay. She was going to stay with Phyllis, anyway, at least for a while. Phyllis could get the room ready for her and her sister, Tory, who was coming with her. It wasn’t as if she had a lot to do with her spare time.

Still, Phyllis couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Not one to give in to fits of fancy or an overactive imagination, she still couldn’t rid herself of the sense of unreality.

Christine had called Will, which was fine. Expected. But she hadn’t called Phyllis.

And that was odd. Very odd.

Shaking her head, telling herself that she needed only to wait until Christine arrived to get her answers, Phyllis grabbed her keys. Will hadn’t just talked to her about Christine. He’d asked her a telling question or two about life, as well. And about Becca.

Becca had been confiding in her all along, but this was the first conversation she’d had with Will since the couple’s separation.

He’d asked for a clinical definition of love.

She couldn’t give it to him. Real love, the kind he was searching for, was something you believed in or you didn’t. It was bigger than proof.

Phyllis headed out to her car, intent on visiting Becca—especially after Will’s questions. She’d made a couple of friends very quickly, of whom Becca was the closest. Even if the only thing she could do was keep Becca company while her normal activities were curtailed, that was better than sitting around alone. Worrying.

Dressed in an attractive, tank-style cotton maternity jumper that looked almost cool enough to withstand the 110-degree temperature, Becca invited Phyllis in with a gracious smile and more composure than Phyllis had ever seen her exhibit. She couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she was seeing the real woman lurking inside Becca Parsons, the woman who’d been pushed beyond endurance by life’s crises.

“I just made a pitcher of fruit smoothies,” Becca said. “You want one?”

“Sure.” Anything cold and icy sounded great. Pulling her sweaty sleeveless blouse away from her skin, Phyllis followed Becca back to the kitchen. What she’d give to have long beautiful legs like Becca’s. To be able to wear short shorts, instead of the knee-length, thigh-hiding things she had on.

She might be younger than Becca, but the other woman definitely had the edge.

“You start teaching in less than three weeks,” Becca said, pouring icy pink liquid from a blender into two tall glasses.

“Yeah.” Phyllis took both glasses and carried them to the table while Becca put the leftover smoothie in the freezer. “We have meetings all next week, and then, soon after that, the kids come back. That’s the part I look forward to.”

Becca joined her at the table. “We’ve got some great kids here.”