His Baby (6 page)

It was true, she thought later that night. Until Robin died,
Diana had always lived in with someone else. Not that Lark didn't count, she
thought, but it was hard to have a conversation with Lark despite her babbling
more every day.

Even now. Lark was sitting up on the couch, propped up with
pillows, mumbling baby talk. Zack was muttering back, holding hands with her. That
meant, of course, that Lark was mostly smacking his hand and playing with his
fingers, but Zack didn't seem to mind.

Diana set the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and
settled down on the other side of Lark on the couch. Lark turned to study her
for a moment. They smiled at each other. Zack picked up the remote control and
started the machine.

"Which one is this?" Diana asked. They had argued
over her NetFlix queue, a friendly argument, about choosing a movie and ended
up deciding to watch two of them. Three and a half hours of entertainment, he'd
said, asking then if she was up for it.

"The comedy," he said. His choice.

She wondered what he saw on her face, because he hurried on
to explain.

"Look, don't you think Lark is a little young for romance?
The comedy is more appropriate for her."

"I think she's a little young to worry about it."

"But if there are loud noises, guns, it might scare
her."

She couldn't tell if he was serious but it didn't really
matter. Lark ended up on Zack's lap, fussing until he brought her there. She
stayed up through the comedy and about halfway through the drama. Zack took her
up to bed then. Diana hesitated for a minute when they got up. She could pause
the movie, she reminded him, but he assured her he'd watched her put Lark down
for several naps now. He knew what to do.

She was absorbed in the story when he came back and took his
corner of the sofa. She had tucked her feet up, shoes off, and was leaning
against the high arm of the sofa. He slid into his spot and asked her a few
questions about what had happened in his absence.

Diana lost herself in the movie. It wasn't until she
stretched as the credits rolled that she realized she'd jammed one foot up
against Zack's jeans clad thigh. She stared at her foot, becoming slowly aware
of the heat and strength of his leg, too self-conscious to move. When she
brought her eyes up to his, he was watching the credits roll. She wasn't
fooled. She could see the tension in him. She slid her foot away as he leaned
forward for some popcorn.

After the credits stopped, she started to stand up at the
same time Zack did. They were facing each other, just a foot apart, trapped
between the coffee table and the couch, staring at each other. He was right
there, she realized, big and warm and smelling vaguely of baby powder and
popcorn. He was studying her with a sort of absent minded attention that made
her conscious of her rumpled shirt and shorts, her long bare legs and bare
feet, even though he wasn't looking at those, he was studying her face. He
reached up between them and touched her cheek gently.

"Hey," he said, "you were crying."

She jerked her head as his finger tips traced the path of
her tears, murmured a short 'yes', and caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

"It's just a movie," she said slowly. "I
don't know why.” His fingers lay gently on her face, his palm warm, close to
her jaw line. He moved his fingers a little and touched her upper lip, teasing
a little until she released her lower lip and caught her breath. He was watching
her lips, a little closer although she wasn't aware that he had moved.

She was afraid to breathe, afraid to move, aware of his
hand, his breath, his face, his close attention to her, his warmth, everything.
She felt his touch everywhere, a tingling reaction to the gentle connection and
felt a curling tension in her belly. His other hand had moved to capture her
bare upper arm, stroking softly up and down, sliding across her back, bringing
her closer.

Her hands were captured between them and she brought them
up, felt the hard muscle over his ribs, the curve of his chest. Something
inside her, some instinct she couldn't name, made her flatten her hands across
his chest, slid them up. She could push him away, she knew, she could stop this
but she didn't want to. His eyes were dark, his pupils completely dilated. He
was watching her, not her eyes, but her mouth, watching his finger move against
her mouth.

She wanted him to kiss her, moved the tip of her tongue to
moisten her lips as she took a breath, felt him draw his finger down, down her
chin, along the curve of her jaw, down the tendon of her neck. He brought his
face closer, moved his hand back to curve around the back of her neck, to hold
her at the base of her skull. She felt a shuddering reaction along her skin, an
electric reaction as he cradled her gently, brought her closer to him so that
her hands were trapped between them for a moment until she spread her hands and
slid them around him. He had stepped into her arms, gathered her into his.

She wasn't thinking, she was memorizing the feel of his lips
on her ear, behind her ear, the whisper of his breath along her cheek, the
painfully slow progress of his mouth to her mouth. She let her head drop back a
little, knew her mouth was open to his, surrendered to the gentle, persistent
demands he was making. She slid her hands along his strong back, to his waist
and the curve of muscle below there then stopped, painfully aware that she
wanted to touch him, to keep moving her hands, to lean closer to him, pressing
her soft breasts against his hard chest, her belly closer to his lean belly,
aware of the jut of his arousal lower, pressing against her.

He murmured then against her mouth and she sighed, then what
he had said registered. She reared back.

"Robin?" she asked him. Had she heard him
correctly?
He looked at her, stunned, and for a moment she thought he was going to deny
it, but then his face changed and he stepped away.

"I didn't-- "

"Don't say anything right now," she said, all of
her passion, all of that soft yielding feeling liquefying in her warping to
anger. She reached up to put her hand across his mouth and stared at him.

"Robin," she said. "I'm not Robin." She
took her hand away and took a breath, resisting the urge to turn away from him.

"I know that," he whispered, his face closed.

"Then why did you say her name while you were kissing
me?"

He stared at her. "I don't know. I wasn't
thinking."

She pulled away then, backed up until the backs of her legs
met the edge of the chair, then turned and went around the chair, standing
behind it, putting her hands on the back of it, keeping the chair between them
for protection.

Protection from what? she asked herself but the answer was
clear. From herself. Because even now, having heard the murmur of her sister's
names on the lips of her sister's lover, she wanted to go back to him, to
resume her place in his arms, to press herself against him, remind herself of
his desire for her, let him satisfy this need he had awakened in her.

But she couldn't.

"I can't be Robin for you," she said to him.

"I don't want you to be," he said, half angrily. She
didn't know what the other emotion was. He backed himself out of their trapped
position, moved across the room to turn off the television set, then stood
there for a minute, head bowed.

She felt she should move, leave the room, but she couldn't. She
wasn't sure her legs would hold her. She gripped the back of the chair,
swallowed so she could breathe a little, calm her racing heart. She still
wasn't ready when he turned to face her.

"I don't know why I said her name," he told her
fiercely. "I wasn't thinking about her." He took a step closer,
holding his hands out a little away from his body, beseeching her.

"But you were feeling passion, the passion you felt for
Robin." She took a breath. "Has there been anyone since Robin?" She
had hoped to sound sympathetic but was afraid she only sounded jealous.

He came closer still and she saw the play of emotions across
his face. "Do you mean have I slept with anyone else since Robin?" He
waited for her nod, then continued. "Yes, yes I have. I'll confess to
being human. I haven't had any serious relationships." He laughed harshly
and went on. "The most recent was a woman my father desperately wants me
to marry."

"But they haven't been serious," she began, trying
to get control of her shaky voice. "Or is it just that it
is
me, I
remind you of her?"

He took another step closer and reached out when she started
to move away from him. He came swiftly around the chair and held her by her
arms, not hard enough to hurt, but holding her, demanding clearly that she stay
here, that she listen to him.

"You are nothing like Robin," he said fiercely. "Nothing
like her at all. I know you're her sister, but that's intellectual. When I look
at you, I see you. You, Diana Stonehouse."

She started to cry then, catching a sob in her throat and
pressing her lips together so she wouldn't, but it didn't work. She felt the
tears streaming down her face and turned her head away from him, trying to hide
her tears from him.

"Don't cry," he commanded, but she just shook her
head. "Please don't cry," he whispered this time. He didn't wait for
her response, but captured her face in his hands and wiped her cheeks with his
fingers. "Please don't cry. I can't bear it," he said more softly.

He kissed her then, as though pleading with her, although
the passion caught fire in her like a match to dry tinder. She barely had a
breath before he kissed her again, more passionately. He gathered her in his
arms, brought her back to him, pressed her close, kissed her until she felt as
if she couldn't stand on her own. He lifted his head then and she saw something
like triumph in his eyes.

"You're not like Robin at all," he whispered to her.
"Robin tolerated me," he said. "Robin never had that kind of
response to me." She smiled at him for a moment, then the words pierced
through.

She stepped back, breaking free from him, backing up until
she was standing against the wall.

"What did you say?"

He took a deep breath. "Robin tolerated me. She was
very cool with me," he said, speaking slowly, carefully. "She told me
she couldn't respond, but that it didn't matter to her. She wanted to please
me." He sighed. "I've felt more passion from you, more response just
now, in just this kiss, than I felt from Robin the whole time I knew her."

Diana knew she was staring at him, she couldn't help herself.
She couldn't process what he was saying. She wanted to protest that he had made
Robin pregnant, but the facts of elementary sex education asserted themselves. Robin
didn't have to feel pleasure to get pregnant.

But he couldn't be telling her the truth. Robin had giggled
a little and made a suggestive remark when Mary had said something at the
wedding shower about the wedding night. She hadn't seemed like someone who
didn't enjoy sex.

"Diana, please," Zack said. She brought her
attention back to him. "Please, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said her
name, please believe me.”

"But that doesn't excuse us," Diana said flatly. "You
were Robin's lover. You're the father of her daughter."

"I didn't marry her," he said firmly. "It was
over with her more than a year ago. It has nothing to do with us. With
this."

"Oh yes it does," she said slowly. "I can't
believe I let you kiss me." She felt ashamed, ashamed and angry with
herself. "You kissed me back," he said. "You wanted me. You
still want me."

She sighed, turned away.
Yes, I do. I still want you
.
Her body trembled with need. But she wouldn't say the words, wouldn't yield to
him. "You'd better go," she told him.

He didn't say anything for a few long moments. She heard
him, though, heard his ragged breathing in the quiet house and she imagined she
felt the heat of him, the passion of him. She remembered the feel of him
against her body and she had to close her eyes for a moment. She put her
fingers on her mouth so that she wouldn't say anything, so she wouldn't call to
him.

"Diana," he said softly. She wouldn't turn around,
but she couldn't move away.

"I think you'd better go," she said softly.

She heard his sigh.

"All right. I'll go now," he said, conceding. "But
I'll see you in the morning."

She turned then, started to protest, but stopped the words
in her throat when she saw his face. He was angry, closed off from her. She saw
his determination in the line of his jaw, in the tense clench of his hands, the
attitude of his body towards her.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said again
carefully.

She just nodded and watched him until he left the house by
the front door, closing it gently behind him. She stayed where she was, eyes
closed, for what seemed like a long time, then moved slowly, almost painfully
towards the front door. As she turned the dead bolt, she looked through the
small panes of glass and stopped, catching her breath.

Zack was standing on the front porch, just a few steps away,
leaning against the roof post next to the top step, one arm laid against the
post, the other tense along his side. She saw his clenched fist, the bunched
muscles of his forearm. Brilliant silver moonlight showed him clearly,
outlining his broad shoulders, highlighting the dark gleam of his hair. His
head was bowed.

She took a deep breath and watched him until she could bear
to turn away from the still figure standing in the moonlight.

Mary climbed down from the pickup truck and walked slowly
across the grass towards Diana and Lark, who were sitting out under the pine
tree, Lark back further under the tree in her moveable playpen with the soft
woven sides, Diana in her old cushioned lounge chair, half in sun, half in
shade. Diana saw Carl wave then start to back out of the driveway.

"You two look comfortable," Mary said enviously. She
looked hot. "Look at your new hat, Lark," Mary said. The baby looked
up at her aunt and then turned back to her new toy. She was cute in the hat, a
cloth porkpie that tied under her chin. The hat had slipped down a little in
front, but Lark looked so intent that Diana didn't want to disturb her.

Diana gestured towards the table, with its pitcher of
lemonade and glasses.

"Sit down, Mary. Do you want some lemonade?"

"Oh, yes please," Mary said, heading directly for
the other lounge chair. "But tell me I won't have to get up for a
while."

"Not on my account," Diana said, handing her the
glass. She wiped her hands on a napkin, wiping away the condensed moisture that
had accumulated on the pitcher and transferred to her hands. "Carl went to
the auto parts store. He has to replace some wire. He'll be right back," Mary
offered. "I told him I don't need to go to that old place. It looks much
more comfortable here." She looked around herself, noting the covered
barbecue grill, the cart with utensils, platters, and plates, and the chairs
pulled up around a small round table with an umbrella. "Is this stuff all
new?" she asked.

"Yes," Diana conceded. "Zack's contribution. He
said that you won't have to cook as much if we -- if I have the right equipment
here."

"Where is Zack?" Mary said, looking briefly at the
back of the house.

"He went to run a couple of errands," Diana said,
hoping that Zack didn't say anything else to challenge her when he returned. He
had come to set all of this up a little earlier after calling first. She had
stayed upstairs while he was here, refusing to come down.

"You'll have to face me sometime," he had said on
the phone, but she had insisted she had things to do, and she didn't need to go
to the store with him. Then she had told him she'd be busy when he came by to
deliver the grill and all of its accessories. She told him she'd leave the
kitchen door unlocked.

"But don't bother me, okay, just plan on being back
when Carl and Mary are here."

He'd argued, but she'd refused. She'd refused to discuss the
plans, refused to come downstairs when he was here, refused to answer his shout
up the steps before he left. Now she was glad, as difficult as it had been.

"Look," he said, before he hung up, "I'm
sorry, Diana. I was out of line last night. I don't expect you to be happy with
me. I wish I could make it all go away, but it's not that easy. I want to know
you aren't mad at me, that you won't be too angry. If I need to cancel this
lunch," he offered, "I will. I'll just say that I was called back to
town. Or whatever you want."

"Just give me some time to sort things out," she
said finally. He agreed.

When he arrived the first time, she stood in the window of
Lark's room, watching him unload all the stuff from his car and set everything
up. She waited in the upstairs hall while he moved around in the kitchen below,
putting the meat in the refrigerator, making coffee, washing up breakfast
dishes. She had stood inside her bedroom, holding the frame of the open door
while he called up that he was leaving, couldn't they talk for a minute?

She was spineless and afraid but she was glad she had
insisted. Until he arrived, until she saw him, she hadn't been sure. She hadn't
known if she would still react to him, if she could still believe what she had
felt the night before.

Now she knew.

Watching him, she had trembled with the memory of need he
had awakened in her last night. She had realized, indisputably, that he
affected her, he still affected her. It hadn't been the momentary slip of a
tired few moments, forgotten or shrugged off in the light of day. She still
wanted him. She wanted her sister's lover as her own.

But too, she had taken the time to reason with herself, last
night and this morning, in the cold light of dawn, in the spreading light of
morning.

It didn't matter, she told herself, over and over again. She
couldn't have him. It was wrong and she couldn't do it. She could think, wish,
desire, crave all she wanted, but she couldn't do anything about all that
emotion.

He was going to be in her life and she was going to have to
accept this. She was going to have to get past this. This emotion was temporary.
It would go away.

Last night, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of
herbal tea, she had tried to convince herself it was like having a crush on her
tenth grade science teacher but the argument faded as she considered it. She
had never had this reaction to any teacher. Her one-sided interest in the
teacher hadn't been as physical, it had been a more emotional reaction, a
yearning, puppy love.

This wasn't love, this was lust.

But she was almost calm now. Mary was here. The social
amenities would carry them through. She could nod while Mary was catching her
up on the week's event, drink her lemonade, keep an eye on the baby, smell the
heating coals, discuss the menu.

"Hey, Zack," Mary said suddenly.

Lark chirped up at the same time.

Diana went over to the playpen. Lark was pressed against the
weaving. She looked at Diana, but then started to cry a little, not the piteous
cry of hunger or a wet diaper, but a simple distress call. Zack came right over
to the playpen in answer to his daughter's pleas, putting a hand on Mary's
shoulder in greeting as he passed. Lark put her arms up, pleading with him to
be picked up. Diana felt left out for a moment, but then, after he had picked
up the baby, Zack turned to her.

She was grateful for her sunglasses, grateful they offered
her a shield against his direct gaze.

He wasn't handsome, she decided, he was gorgeous. He wore
his more customary outfit, an impeccably ironed pale colored cotton shirt and
equally well-pressed khakis. His hair gleamed in the shadowy sunlight. She saw
that he was very closely shaven, his skin smooth, silky. For a moment, she
could only remember the light brush of his late evening stubble against her
cheek. His gaze met hers directly, his eyes dark and intent, then he looked
down, noting her nervous catch of her lower lip in her teeth.

"Hey, Diana," he said. "How are you doing? You
look great and so does my little darling." He jiggled Lark a little. "Look
at you, sweetheart, I like your hat."

"Hope you do," Diana managed, "you picked it
out."

He glanced at her for a moment, smiling faintly, then
blinked slowly, as if shielding his thoughts from her. "Yes, I did. I have
good taste, don't I?"

"Did you get Lark that hat?" Mary asked, twisting
in her chair for a moment to glance around at them.

"I did," he answered. "I got the whole outfit
but I wasn't sure what Diana was going to choose for Lark to wear."

"Are you going to spoil this child?" Mary chided
gently.

"I hope so," he answered. "Besides, I don't
think you can spoil a baby this young, can you? She won't wear the clothes out,
so maybe your baby can use them."

"Hum," Mary conceded. "I didn't think about
that. Okay, buy her more clothes, but what if we have a boy?"

"Are you going to have a boy?" he asked.

"I don't know. The doctor said we could know what it
was, a boy or a girl, when she did the latest sonogram, but I told her I didn't
want to know."

"Does Carl know?"

"I don't think so," Mary said, laughing, "but
he keeps buying toys for boys."

"What's that?" Carl said, striding towards them
from his truck carrying a paper sack. "Are you guys talking about
me?"

"Hush now, ladies," Zack said. "Don't tell
him anything." Mary giggled a little.

"Hey darling," Carl said to Mary. "You're
looking comfortable."

He turned to greet Diana and Zack and the baby. "Hey
you two, isn't the food ready yet?"

"The coals should be hot," Zack said. "I just
need to get the steaks out of the refrigerator."
"I can do that," Carl said, "and put these beers away."

"You join your wife," Zack offered.

"I'll carry the beers in," Diana said,
"because I'll bet Zack is going to have to change that diaper."

Carl gave a mock shudder. "Then let me sit here with my
wife, just as you suggested."

Inside the house, darker and cooler than outside, Zack went
directly upstairs with Lark. Diana stayed in the kitchen, finding a place for
the beers, moving a couple more sodas into the refrigerator, pulling the steaks
out of the refrigerator. She stood at the kitchen sink, finally, and stared out
the window over it into the driveway. Carl's truck gleamed a little in the sun.
He had pulled it over next to Zack's car. Diana leaned against the counter and
took a deep breath.

"Diana, do you want to carry the steaks or this little
bundle of joy," Zack offered behind her, "now that she's dry and
happy. And I thought you were glad to see me, sweetheart," he told the
baby. "You just wanted your diaper changed.”

Diana turned around. What a picture, she thought, the two of
them, the bright haired, pretty baby, her hat freshly tied on her head, the
dark haired handsome man, holding her confidently in the crook of his arm. He
was already beginning to look relaxed with the baby. She acted like he had
always been part of her young life.

"The steaks are probably lighter," Diana said,
"and she looks so comfortable right there." She stepped forward but
stopped when he said her name.

"Is it going to be all right?" he asked. "I
can make some excuse and go, if you want."
"No," she said. "We'll be all right, I think, won't we? I owe
you an apology too. I should have-- "

"I started it," he said.

"But I encouraged you," she answered.

"Then you stopped me," he reminded her, his voice
calm, almost cheerful. He sounded as though he had accepted it, accepted that
there could be nothing between them. Didn't he feel the sense of anguish she
did?

She looked up at him, then, saw the careful reserve on his
face. She said then what she’d rehearsed this morning.

"Just as long as you understand there can't be anything
between us, anything more than aunt and father for Lark." Could he hear
the waver in her voice?

"Of course," he said. "I understand
completely."

She nodded then.

"You go ahead outside. I'm just going to run upstairs
for a minute."

He nodded and went out the kitchen door, talking to Lark as
they went.

She retreated quickly upstairs, went into her bedroom and
closed the door. She stared at herself in the dresser mirror, studied the
sundress she wore, brushed her dark hair again, put some lip gloss on her
now-dry lips, considered whether the color in her face was blush or sun. She
replayed the conversation in her mind. There was only one logical conclusion. Maybe
he wouldn't have gone so far, she thought, if she had stopped him right away
last night. She remembered those long, exquisite moments when they had stood
there, inches apart, and she had yearned for him.

She remembered the electric frission of his touch on her
cheeks as he wiped away the tears, the almost painful moment when he had
touched her lip gently, the slow progress he made towards claiming her lips. She
could have stopped him at any point there, just stepped away, ignored him,
ignored the feelings he had aroused in her, pretended it wasn't happening, that
she didn't want it to happen.

It's me
, she acknowledged to herself. He was just a
man, a normal healthy man, after all. He'd told her that himself, talking about
the months since Robin. She hadn't retreated, she hadn't backed off. She had
let him kiss her. Let him? she had responded, passionately, mindlessly, wildly.
If he hadn't murmured Robin's name, what would have happened? What else would
she have let him do? Encouraged him to do?

Anything, she thought. Anything he wanted.

Which was why she couldn't think about it, why she couldn't
keep reliving those moments.

She walked slowly downstairs and through the kitchen,
choosing a cold soda from the refrigerator and laying it, for a moment, on her
forehead. She took the steaks outside and picked her way across the grass to
the small assembly around the new grill. She smiled at Mary and poured her
another lemonade, although Mary declared if they kept forcing liquids on her
she was going to burst.

She listened to Carl's story about his truck.

They had lunch and she promised herself a nap after lunch, a
joint nap with Mary and Lark while the guys worked on whatever had to be
changed on the truck.

Diana and Zack and Lark had three more weekends of relative
peace after that. Zack got his phone installed on Monday and did other errands
Diana never asked about. They came up with some excuse for Mrs. Hampton about
why they never made it to the museum. They started a tradition of walking with
Mrs. Hampton to Nellie's for lunch on Saturday and of having Carl and Mary over
for barbecue on Sunday. The days got cooler and the nights got downright cold. Zack
had Diana's heater overhauled after she declared she couldn't afford it yet and
besides, it wasn't that cold.

The fight over that one ended with Diana agreeing that Zack
would send her a small sum of money every week for Lark's care and that he
would put a larger sum away in a trust fund for her further care and education.
Carl took Zack and Lark to a couple of local baseball games so that "the
girls" could go shopping. Zack never confessed to slipping money into
Mary's purse, but she was always finding extra twenty dollar bills in the front
pocket.