His Baby

HIS BABY

by Emma J Wallace

Copyright 2014 © by 5 Bracket

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At eight o'clock on a sunny August Saturday morning, the
living room of Diana Stonehouse's place in Whitney, Indiana, was distinctly
warm. The square room had big windows which faced east, presenting a framed
view of expansive fields planted in corn and, well beyond them, the faint, low
sloping hills that edged the county with the sun creeping up the sky behind
them. The other three sides of the hundred-year-old house were shielded by
trees, but a big storm eight years ago had damaged the ones on the eastern side
of the house.

Diana Stonehouse barely thought about that storm anymore,
although at the time it had been the scariest weather she'd ever experienced.
Lately though, she noticed the missing trees all the time. Something had
changed lately, creating a blooming dread that simmered below the surface.

Her bedroom, upstairs, had much the same view from smaller
windows but Lark's room, at the back of the house, overlooked the long roof of
the back porch. The other two bedrooms upstairs were usually dark and cool,
even now in late summer.

It was too hot to put Lark in the living room. The baby's
playpen was set up right in front of one of the windows and had the full
benefit of the hot August sun. The baby in her arms wiggled, anxious to get
down, but Diana held onto her and turned away from the windows.

This recent heat wave had just started and Diana was already
tired of it. Maybe she was just tired this morning, she thought. After allowing
herself a sigh, Diana shifted the protesting baby Lark, patted her on the back
and turned around to head back into the kitchen.

"We'll have coffee in the kitchen all right,
Lark?" she asked the child after she had settled her into her little
padded chair, gazing down into those beautiful blue eyes, smiling at the baby despite
how tired she was. Lark smiled back at her, now sunnily happy. You wouldn't
know she had been up half the night too.

Diana wasn't quite in the mood for conversation, especially
a one sided one so, despite her fear that television could become a bad habit
for Lark as well as herself, she turned on the little set on the long kitchen
counter.

When Carl and Mary had brought over the set as a Mother's
Day present, Diana wasn't sure how she felt about the gift from her brother and
sister-in-law, not exactly. She didn't watch television that much, or at least
she hadn't up until then and she'd never let the Carl or Robin watch television
much, either. When had her brother developed the habit? In the few months since
Robin's death, though, she and Lark had gotten into the habit of turning the
set on during meals, or cleanup, or sometimes late at night when Lark couldn't
sleep--

--meaning that Diana was awake too. They had seen an awful
lot of late night movies in the big kitchen the past few weeks. Teething, Diana
thought. She had been too young to remember teething when her brother and
sister were growing up.

She settled back down at the kitchen table with her coffee
and tried to decide if she was going to have toast or some cereal. Lark had
just finished a bottle. She wouldn't be hungry for a while. Diana stared
absently for a moment at the television, but the news report didn't hold her
attention.

Instead, she was drawn to look back at Lark, who was now
happily banging a rattle against the little tray in front of her, alternating
that action with a wave at something she saw through the glass of the patio
door. She wriggled a little with excitement. Must be a bird, Diana thought. There
had been a pair of blue jays in the yard recently, making noisy, aggressive
overtures towards any other bird that passed through the back yard. Apparently
they had made a nest in the big overgrown pine tree in the back corner of the
yard. Diana had been too busy lately to sit out in the back yard and figure out
where the jays had their nest.

Maybe that's what they would do today, sit in the yard. Diana
didn't want to do her chores, the list of which was laid here on the kitchen
table. Chores sounded like too much trouble. Right now it even seemed too
troublesome to head over to Carl and Mary's house tonight for dinner, although
it would be nice to not have to cook, or do dishes. Diana didn't look up at the
sink full of them.

Lark gurgled with baby nonsense words, then shouted, a loud
but happy sound that probably meant she spotted one of the jays. Diana decided
to make toast, started to get up.

The knock startled her. Carl was standing a few feet away at
the latched door which led from the back yard to the screened in porch behind
the kitchen. She saw him through the screen, wearing a T-shirt with torn off
sleeves, shorts, a gimme cap, and heavy worker's boots. Lark shouted again,
bouncing happily, banging the rattle then shaking it at the door, saying hello
to her Uncle.

"Hey Diana," Carl said.

"Hey bro," she said as she got up to let him in. He
tromped back into the kitchen behind her and headed over to say good morning to
Lark. Diana watched them, her brother's dark head close to Lark's bright blonde
one. Settling back in her chair, she sipped at her coffee, toast forgotten;
after a few minutes Carl walked over to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup
and leaned back against the tiled counter top.

"Hot enough for you?" he said, grinning to show it
was a joke.

"The heat's fine," she said, smiling back. "It
would help if Lark and I hadn't been up most of the night."

"Something wrong?"

"No, she's getting teeth in, I think, at least that's
what the doctor said. She wanted to eat, she wanted to be changed, she wanted
to play and she wanted to chew on everything in sight. She was just awake. She
only cried when I tried to put her down, even when I brought her to bed with
me." She waited for the protest there, but Carl didn't say anything, just
leaned there watching her. After a moment, he spoke up.

"Look, that bothers Mary more than it does me."

"How is Mary?"

"She's fine, starting to feel pretty good, hasn't had
morning sickness all week. You could nag her about resting, though. Looking
forward to dinner tonight. You still coming?"

Diana's nod was automatic, although right now she wanted to
do nothing more than go back to sleep. "Planning on it," she said. "But
I thought I wasn't supposed to nag you anymore."

He just grinned at her for a moment. "You've been great
about it, Sis, but sometimes nagging has a purpose."

Diana wanted to snipe at him, but that would be
counterproductive. She was trying to be an adult with him, not Big Sister all
the time. The kitchen was quiet for a few minutes, except for the steady
chatter of the Saturday morning news host. Lark was distracted, doing something
with her rattle while she stared outside again. Carl was looking away too, arms
crossed, coffee mug held in one big hand. Clearly there was something on his
mind. He had always been that way, warming up to things, she thought. Well,
this morning she was tired enough that she was willing to let him just take his
time but he didn't get much time to think. Someone yelled hello from the back
screen door.

"I told him to wait," Carl muttered, moving
forward to answer the yell.

"Who?" Diana asked. Carl didn't respond, just
headed for the screen door. Lark was shouting again, then crying. She had
thrown her rattle on the floor. Diana got up to settle down the baby, glancing
across to see what Carl was up to, but his body blocked the person on the other
side of the screen. They were talking in a hushed monotone. She felt herself
getting annoyed. What was Carl into now? He'd done this his whole life, gotten
into something and then sprung it on her.

Diana picked up the toy and put it back on the baby's small
tray, staring all the time at Carl's back. She wanted to demand that he turn
around-- she had the voice and the habit enough to get him to do so, but Carl
was supposed to be a grown-up and so was she.

So what had he done?

She didn't recognize the man when Carl stepped away from the
screen door to let him in. He was tall, but not nearly as tall as Carl, who was
over six feet, like Papa had been. Where Carl was ruggedly good looking, the
visitor had the face of a Greek statue, chiseled and strong, but maybe a little
too handsome.

Standing next to Carl, he looked thinner, leaner, but as he
came through the patio door, Diana noticed the stranger had bulkier shoulders
than you would notice on a first look, a tapered waist, evident even under the
crisp broadcloth short-sleeved shirt, and a flat stomach. Unlike Carl, he wore
full length jeans, not shorts, well pressed, and dazzling white tennis shoes. He
looked straight at her. She felt the gaze all the way to her toes.

For a moment, Diana could only form one coherent thought: who
did his laundry? She hadn't seen a man that well turned out in years,
especially not in a casual situation. It bothered her a little, that and his
decided good looks as well as the fact that she couldn't figure out who he was.
He seemed familiar though.

Diana looked over at Lark for a moment; the baby was
gripping a toy in front of her, staring at the stranger too then turning back
towards Diana, who stood and picked up the baby, gathering her in her arms for
courage. Diana wasn't sure who was more consoled.

Lark clung to Diana's T-shirt, turning her face into Diana's
shoulder. Diana looked up to see that the man was staring at Lark. He stood
stock still, blocking Carl's way back into the kitchen. They were all frozen
for a moment, then the man spoke.

"She's such a pretty baby, just like her mother," he
said. Diana bit back a protest. He knew Robin? She put a protective hand on her
niece's back.

"Are you Diana?" the man asked.

She found her voice. "And you are?"

"I'm Zack White." The name didn't register for a
minute. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he went on. "I
came to see my baby," he said, stepping forward two steps.

As if in answer, Lark squirmed in her arms.

"Is that my baby?"

"You have no right," Diana said, suddenly angry. "What
makes you think you have any rights to her? It's been almost a year."
Diana retreated the few feet to the kitchen counter and pressed up against it. For
a moment, she stared past the stranger to Carl, who was inside the kitchen
again, watching her carefully.

"More than a year, Diana," the man said. "Robin
and I were going to be married on June 12th."

"No word for more than a year and suddenly you show up
and want to see Lark?"

"Is that what Robin named her?" Zack asked,
looking suddenly delighted. "It sounds like something she'd do."

"Don't talk about Robin. You have no right."

"She was going to be my wife, Diana," he said.

"But she
didn't
marry you, Zack, and-- "

"Carl told me Robin named me as the father," Zack
said. "I haven't seen the birth certificate yet, but I do believe
him."

"Is this your doing, Carl Stonehouse?"

"A man should take care of his children, Diana."

"Not a man who abandons their mother. Besides, I can
take care of Lark, thank you very much. I did a good job with the three of you,
didn't I?"

"That's not the point."

"So you are defending him now?"

"I tracked him down. Well, Mary did, but we both
figured out what to do. I went to tell him about Lark. And Robin dying."

Diana closed her eyes against the rush of pain, still fresh,
still nearly impossible to resist. Lark was whimpering a little.

"Look, let me take the baby," Carl said. Diana
opened her eyes and started to protest but Carl looked stern. "Zack, do
you want some coffee? Diana makes great coffee."

"I'd love a cup of coffee," Zack said.

"Help yourself," Diana said crisply. She knew she
should get it for him, invite him to sit down, but she couldn't. She wouldn't
make it easy for him, or for Carl. What was the big ox thinking?

"The cups are in the cabinet above the coffee
maker," Carl said politely, retreating back to the kitchen table with his
niece.

Diana refused to move, refused to turn her head, even though
Zack was opening the cabinet, pouring coffee less than two feet away from her
arm.

"How about some eggs, Sis?" Carl said, "or
pancakes, if you're in the mood. She makes great pancakes," he confided to
Zack, then Carl told the baby the same thing. "Aunt Diana makes great
pancakes doesn't she? Does she make them for you?"

"The baby doesn't eat pancakes yet, does she?"
Zack asked as he slid the coffee pot back on its warmer.

Carl laughed politely. "No, but I do. And I'm hungry."

Zack turned with the cup in his hand. "I haven't had
pancakes in years."

He stood right there, close enough that Diana could see the
stitching on the hem of his sleeve and the bunched muscle under it. He had fine
dark hairs all along his arm and strong looking hands. Diana stared but for the
moment all she could remember was the way that Robin had sobbed, her face in
her fine-boned hands, sitting on the choir benches in the balcony at the back
of the church. She had been crying for him, Zack White, and there hadn't been
anything Diana could do to fix it.

She wanted to fix it now. She wanted him out of here, out of
her life, away from her family, away from Lark. Diana stared at Carl's face and
realized that the problem went deeper than just Zack. This was Carl's doing. She
had to think about this for a minute, much as she wanted to yell and stamp and
make demands and give orders.

"I am hungry, Sis," Carl said, wheedling a little.

"Doesn't your wife feed you?" Diana grumbled.

"All Mary eats is cereal in the morning, you know that.
She says she'll never make pancakes as well as you do."

The two of them stared at each other.

"I make a mean omelet," Zack said into the
silence, "if you have some eggs."