His Baby (8 page)

"She doesn't look like her mother," Sam White said
into the silence. "Robin wasn't blonde, was she?" he asked Zack then
shook his head, "no, she had dark hair. Where did the baby get the blonde
hair from?"

"Don't know, Dad," Zack said blandly. "Maybe
it comes from the previous generation."

"But she has your nose," the older man said,
narrowing his eyes a little. Maybe your mouth." Diana saw Zack's shoulders
relax a fraction.

"She's a sweet natured baby, Sam," Beth said.

"That she got from her mother," he replied
confidently.

"Now I thought I was pretty easy going," Zack said.

The older man turned his head slowly to look at his son. A
hard glance passed between the two of them. "Easy going isn't the way I'd
describe it," he said sternly. "I'd say you were lazy."

Diana felt the chill air again before she saw the patio door
open a second time. Jennifer, bundled up in a heavy woolen overshirt and
wearing big work gloves, came in carrying an armload of logs. She carried them
to the fireplace and placed them carefully on the hearth, then knelt to put a
match to the fire already laid.

She looked briefly at the quiet adults and then spoke. "The
doorbell should ring in a moment," she said. "Melissa Simpson was
pulling up as I rounded the corner of the house." She pulled off one glove
and headed towards the front of the house.

Diana saw an expression of satisfaction flicker across Sam
White's face.

Zack looked up slowly, first at his father then his mother,
who fussed with the baby and would not meet her son's eyes.

"Why don't you go greet her, son?" Sam White said
in a pompous tone. Diana heard the steel behind it. She thought she could guess
who Melissa Simpson was.

"I didn't invite her, Dad. You should greet her since
you invited her." Zack headed back to the bar and poured an orange juice,
which he brought back to Diana and offered to her wordlessly. She looked up at
him quickly but he had turned away.

"She's your fiancé. You would think you might want a
moment alone."

"She's not my fiancé."

"Despite the fact that you've been neglecting her
lately, I understand Melissa still cares for you."

"I don't want to marry Melissa Simpson. I doubt she
wants to marry me."

"If you keep treating her this way," Sam White
said harshly, "then I'm sure she'll change her mind. Just like Robin
did."

Diana felt the blow in her midriff and had to press her lips
together to keep from saying anything. She saw Beth still and the baby in her
arms start to squirm.

"Zack! Mr. and Mrs. White! And who is this?" said
the woman, coming in from behind them. Diana twisted a little in her chair to
see Melissa Simpson, a tall, slender woman with brilliantly blonde hair. She
wore a simple burgundy sheath dress that was short enough to reveal long thin
thighs and dark enough to showcase a string of pearls around her neck and a
thick bracelet of coiled pearls around one slender wrist. Under that arm, she'd
tucked a small flat purse, the kind, Diana thought ironically, she herself had not
carried in years, maybe not since her senior prom. In the other hand, the
newcomer carried a long flat box wrapped in bright pink paper with a flashy
silver bow.

"Hello, there," she said, "and who is
that?"

As if she knew Melissa was talking about her, Lark started to
cry, first a couple of gasps, then a healthy yell. Zack moved quickly. He was
up before Diana could even get her feet flat on the floor, and he had reached
down for her and taken Lark in his arms, held close, patting and murmuring. Diana
came around the coffee table and stood next to Zack. Lark reached out for Diana
but held the front of Zack's shirt in a tight little fist with her other hand. Melissa
stood frozen in her path across the living room, a look of utter annoyance on
her face.

Beth stood up smoothly and started across the room to greet
Melissa. Sam said hello loudly and got up from his seat on the couch. Lark
began to cry more fiercely, as though her grandfather had startled her.

"Come on, baby," Zack was saying, "let's see
what's got you all upset." He started to move toward the stairs but Lark
reached out again for Diana and began to wail in earnest. Diana followed, then,
at Lark's insistence, took the baby from a reluctant Zack.

He followed her out of the room.

"Zack," Melissa said when he had passed her. Diana
looked back and saw that he’d paused. "She wants Auntie. Why don't you
stay here and talk to me?"

Diana hesitated for a moment. Fine with her. She didn't need
to talk to Melissa. She opened her mouth to say something to Zack, but he spoke
up.

"I'm going to go take care of my daughter," he
said coldly to Melissa. "I'm sure you came to visit with my parents
anyway." He walked past Lark and Diana, then, heading for the stairs.
Diana followed him, aware of Melissa's outraged gaze like a touch on her back. She
ignored the feeling and concentrated on the screaming baby.

Zack joined her in her room and closed the door behind him. Diana
had started pacing across the room, jiggling the baby, patting her on the back,
murmuring to her. Lark was screaming, a loud, angry sound. Zack walked up to
Diana and stood in her path. She stopped walking, met his gaze, then started to
step around him

"Diana?" he said. "Stop for a second."

"Why?" she thought. She didn't want to stop. She
was angry and didn't know why.

"Because I think you're upsetting Lark," he said
quietly. He put his hands on Diana's upper arms. She would have moved then, but
Lark twisted and leaned on Zack, still wailing. He stepped a little closer then
and began whispering, stroking Lark's face gently with the side of one finger. She
flailed around a little, then grabbed the front of his shirt again and held on
for dear life, pulling his shirt forward while she leaned back into Diana's
chest. Abruptly, she stopped crying, the silence so sudden it echoed in Diana's
ears. Zack put his arms around her then, around Diana, holding Lark and Diana
in the circle of them, rubbing Diana's back and murmuring to the baby.

Diana realized she was crying too, her face a wet slick of
tears. Zack reached between them and took Lark's fingers from his shirt and
wrapped them around his finger, moving his hand so that it rested on Diana's
breastbone. So that Lark was not twisted around anymore but resting on Diana's
shoulder. He was murmuring, hushing, his lips down by Diana's ear, the words
nonsense really, but soothing.

Diana took a jerky breath, calming down. She could feel
Lark, held tight against her, taking shuddering sobbing breaths. Zack stepped
back a little, leaning down to kiss the baby's head, moving his hand away from
Diana's chest, looking up at Diana. He was close, so close.

For a moment, she saw him in a completely different way, not
Zack, just him, warm eyes, pale skin touched with color, dark hair, the edgy
rough hairs of his beard poking through his skin, the smooth curve of his cheek
and the hard line of his cheekbone and his jaw, the warm brownish pink of his
lips, the white contrast of his teeth, the soft breath of him, the puzzled look
on his face.

She breathed in the smell of him overlaid with a biting
smell of oranges. Orange juice, she told herself. He was stroking Lark's back,
looking at Diana, not saying anything. She wanted him, suddenly, wanted him to
touch her, wanted him to smile at her over Lark's head, wanted him to spend
time with her later. Wanted more -- eventually. Not yet. Not now, it was too
soon, but soon.

They stared at each other for what felt like a long time. Diana
felt herself calming, her awareness of him changing, felt the heat of color in
her cheeks. The urge to reach out and touch him grew even stronger, almost
unbearable. Lark took another shuddering breath.

"Let me take her, okay?" Zack said. Lark didn't
protest, but turned and buried her wet face in Zack's shoulder, squirmed and
settled down, mumbling baby talk. Diana wanted to protest. Her arms felt empty
without Lark, and she felt vulnerable. She glanced down at her sweater, at the
wet marks on the front of it and decided, without any thought at all, to
retreat to her bathroom.

She sat down on the widest edge of the tile surrounding the
bathtub. This room was a glittering place, with mirrors and other shining
surfaces, supplied with everything a good hostess could imagine that a guest might
need. This shiny bathroom was so different from the simple place, all wood and
old porcelain, that she lived with.

For a moment Diana wanted to cry, but repressed the urge and
instead reached out for some tissues and began to wipe her face, her hands, and
then, with fresh tissues, the front of her sweater. This place, this room,
embodied the conflict she was feeling. The quandary she had been struggling
with since she left Whitney. The conflict she saw more sharply when she arrived
this afternoon and realized who Zack was. What he was.

She loved Lark. Lark was her niece, a dear child, a darling
baby. Her child now, not Robin's. Hers. She didn't want to give up Lark to Zack.
But Zack was Lark’s
father.
Didn't he have a right? And he treated her
well.

Zack had behaved very well, once he found out about Lark. But
this was his life, here, not a couple hundred miles south in Whitney, no matter
how hard she pulled him there. This, this life would pull him back.

She wanted the best for Lark, she really did. But what was
the best for Lark? Would she want to come here, someday, live with her father? Would
she reject the simple life they lived in Whitney? Would she understand that her
mother had rejected it, rejected Zack?

Then came the next twist. If Robin had rejected Zack, why
did she feel she couldn't have him? Diana took a deep breath and let her mind
skitter away from the question. She felt like Scarlett O'Hara in
Gone With
the Wind
. She would think about it tomorrow.

Zack had calmed Lark down, cleaned her up, and put her to
bed in the crib at the foot of Diana's bed. He was sitting in the wing chair
near the window, staring out the window at the Lake. There were two lamps on,
one by the bed, one by his chair, but they were turned down. The room was
cloaked in twilight, seeping into the room from outside. When she came out of
the bathroom, he turned to face her, his face somber. She could see that much
in the low light.

"You didn't have to wait, Zack," Diana said softly.
"I don't know why I ran away like that."

"I know why you ran away," Zack said quietly.

"My sweater was wet and my face was a mess. Okay, I
admit it." She stood at the foot of the crib, studying the baby.

"That's not why you ran away," he said. He had
crossed his legs and leaned back a little, but he had turned towards her.

"We'd better get downstairs," she suggested.

"Sit down, Diana, please, we have to talk." He
gestured to the side of the bed, a few feet from him.

She shook her head, stayed where she was. "We have to
get back downstairs. Your parents and Melissa are probably waiting dinner for
us."

"I don't care. We have to talk," he repeated, then
stood up. Diana stayed where she was, holding on to the edge of the crib.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said, as
calmly as she could. His face was serious. She couldn't quite read him, but she
didn't want to be here. It was all too much, too much emotion, too much to
think about. Dinner would be easy. They would have to be polite. If they
weren't, she could come back upstairs and crawl into bed and sleep and sleep.

"Of course there is," he said insistently. "Lark
can't even talk yet, but she can make her needs known." He had moved
closer, was standing at the side of the crib.

"Is that what you want to talk about?" she said,
aware that she couldn't quite conceal the relief in her voice.

"In part, yes."

"What's the other part."

"What I need," he said softly, his hand reaching
to cover her hand.

"I'm not going to let Lark go," she sai, before
she could think it through, moving her hand to throw his off.
He does want
to take Lark away
, she thought.

"I'm not asking you to," he said, grabbing her
hand, holding it tightly so that she had to stay there, had to speak quietly so
Lark wouldn't wake up.

"You got me up here, to your parents’ house, I mean,
under false pretenses. You made promises you have no intention of keeping,
isn't that so?" She twisted her hand, tried to pull away from him.

He didn't hurt her, but he didn't let go. "No, that
isn't so, Diana. I told you the truth. At least part of it.”

"Now you want her to stay, don't you? That's the other
part," she said bitterly, aware, at the same time, of a flood of relief. At
least it was out in the open now. They could settle this.

"Not without you," he said softly, letting go of
her hand.

"Me?" She just stared at him. It didn't make sense.
What he was saying didn't make sense.

"Lark needs both of us, can't you see that? She can. She
can see what she needs. She can even tell us, if we listen to her. She's just a
baby, but when she got scared, she wanted both of us there, you holding her, me
right there too. As soon as I held you both, she calmed right down."

"I don't think-- " She backed up and sat on the
bed. What was he trying to say? He came around the foot of the bed, around the
crib and sat down next to her on the bed. She could feel his thigh, pressing
against hers, feel the heat of his body.
"Of course that's what happened. Didn't you feel it, Diana?" He
looked at her steadily, until she had to look away. "Something else
happened too," he said. He reached up then and touched her breastbone, put
his hand gently where he had put it before. It wasn't a sexy gesture, she
thought, but she felt the heat of it, felt the rush of sensation from his touch
spread along her skin, making her blink slowly, breathe slowly for a moment.

"What are you talking about?" she asked when she
could finally speak. He moved his hand, then, curved a finger and stroked her
cheek with the back of one finger.

"Once Lark calmed down, there was something between you
and me. I know you felt it Diana, I feel it too. There's a spark between us,
something that ignites if we give it a chance. When I hold you, there's
something that calms down in me. Something that becomes clear."
Clear
,
she thought,
I don't feel clear. I feel crazed. Alive. Electric
. But she
didn't want to tell him that. She was losing control of the situation as it was.

"Lark stopped crying," Diana said slowly,
"that's all that happened. Yes, I think she felt safe, but it was also
just a quieter environment. It's darker in here, cooler, there's nothing going
on. She settled right down. That's all."

Diana knew her voice was shaking but she ignored it, just as
she ignored the way he was touching her shoulder, moving his other arm behind
her, cradling her back with that arm and hand, stroking her face with the other.
She felt paralyzed with longing, with a heavy, liquid yearning that pressed on
her, made her stay still, right here, not moving, not protesting, not pushing
him away.

"That's not all."

He was looking at her, studying her really, willing her to
look at him. When she looked up at him, he moved closer, bringing his face to
hers.

"No, Zack. Don't," she whispered.

He stopped then, looked at her until she thought she would
be lost in his eyes.

"I want to," he said simply. “Let's do a test. I
know what its like when a woman doesn't want me. Let's see if you want
me."

She held still then and let him kiss her. She kept her lips
still and waited as he pressed his against hers. When she thought she might
have won, he opened his mouth a little and touched her lips with his tongue,
tracing them softly, intimately, persistently.

Diana was lost then, moaning quietly into his mouth, kissing
him back, twisting a little in the shield of his arm, letting him pull her down
so they lay side by side, pressing his body against hers, pressing her close in
the circle of his arms.

When he pulled back, she was lost. He turned then and lay
flat on his back on the bed, breathing a little unsteadily. She looked away,
then, staring at the ceiling, which disappeared into the evening's gloom. She
would close her eyes, turn away, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. His face
was flushed, his lips soft, his eyes dilated.

She glanced down and saw that his loose khakis didn't hide
what had been very evident, pressed against her. She was afraid she’d yielded
too much. She’d lost herself in the kiss, only for a moment, but she just
couldn't do that.
I can’t let that happen. I can’t have him, I can’t
couldn't do this.

"Dear heaven," he said. "Well, we knew I
wanted to. But you, you’re so full of passion. You can't tell me you don't want
me. You can't tell me you don't respond to me."

She was quiet, then, as still as she could make herself. She
felt the strain of it as tension at the back of her neck. She didn't know what
to say, so she wasn't going to say anything. If she spoke, would she give it
all away?

She didn't want to speak, she wanted to move closer, slide
on top of him, kiss him again. Kiss him until he lost his sense of himself,
until she lost her ability to say no. To stop, even though she knew she must. She
sat up abruptly, felt his hand on her arm, stilled.

"Tell me," he said.

She still didn't trust her voice.

"If you tell me you didn't want me, didn't respond,
make me believe it, I'll get up and leave," he said, "and I'll never
bother you again."

She closed her eyes then, repeated the words to herself,
took a breath so she could try to say them, but when she tried to speak her
will failed her.

"I knew it," he said, sitting up beside her, his
thigh pressed along hers, his chest pressed against her arm and shoulder. His
arms held her, loosely. She heard the triumph in his voice.

"You can't tell me, can you?" he whispered in her
ear, the words on a sibilant hiss of air that awoke heretofore unknown nerve
endings in her ear. She felt the shiver of his words all the way down her spine.

Then, as though in answer to a prayer, the words, how and
what to say, came to her. She turned a little, pulled away a little so that he
had to break the circle of his arms.

"You're right," she said a little breathlessly. "You're
really great at kissing," she said. "And I am
normal,
after
all, just as you're a normal man. But I don't want you to ascribe anything else
to it, Zack," she said, laughing a little, the laugh more hysterical than
mocking, but she knew, watching the change in his face, that he felt mocked.
She moved her hand slowly along his thigh. "I would respond the same way
to anyone who kissed me like that," she said huskily. His hand captured
hers, suddenly, stopping her before she could touch him more intimately.

She saw the fury in his face, saw that the barb had gone
home. She swallowed then, to moisten her dry mouth, to gather her courage to
push just a little harder. "Kiss me like that again, Zack, and I won't
tell you to stop."

He moved then, more quickly than she thought possible. He
paused for a moment at the door and she remembered watching him on the porch in
the moonlight, weeks ago. She felt the same thrust of pain, of regret.
No
,
she thought,
it’s not the same, it’s worse
. .

"I'll tell them you'll be down in a few minutes,"
he said in a quiet voice. "That you're settling Lark," he added. "They
are expecting you to have dinner with us. I'm expecting you to behave
yourself," he said sternly.

"Of course, Zack," she said as he started opening
the door. "You're the one who can't seem to behave yourself."

He paused, then stepped outside into the hall and closed the
door quietly. She fell back slowly onto the bed, drew her feet up, and closed
her eyes.
Forget dinner
, she thought,
I’ll plead a headache, the flu,
anything
.

But after a few moments, she decided she couldn't do that. He
was still Lark's father. She was still unwilling to yield custody of Lark. She
would pull herself together and go downstairs.
I’ve done harder things,
she
reminded herself
.

At the moment, however, nothing in her life so far seemed
quite as difficult.

Sam White asked her what she wanted to drink when she
rejoined them in the living room. He seemed positively genial. Diana wondered
cattily how much he’d had to drink before they arrived, then followed his gaze
as he went back toI his seat.

Zack was sitting on the couch, right up next to Melissa, his
attention firmly on her. They were having a private conversation, low voiced
and close. Diana looked away immediately, hoping that her attempt to keep a
poker face would be construed as polite disinterest.

Beth was still seated on the floor.

"Is Lark all settled down?" she asked brightly.

"She's asleep," Diana said. "The trip may
have been a little tiring for her and she didn't have a nap, except the one in
the car."

"We're new," Beth said slowly, "and the
place, and all the driving. I take it this is her first big trip."

"Yes, and of course, you got her all the new
toys," Diana said gently. She saw Beth's quick flush of pleasure and Diana
realized that Beth was quite simple to understand. She was delighted to have a
grandchild and she was very, very good at shopping.

Dinner was served in a formal dining room next door to the
living room, the door that Harriet had kept popping out of. There was another
door on the other side of it which apparently led straight to the kitchen. The
kitchen door swung open for a moment as Harriet left again, giving Diana a
glimpse of a bright room with some action and very wonderful smells emitting
from it. The dining room was a long, narrow room with a long, narrow table in
it. There were paintings along one wall, windows along the other. Outside the
windows, there was a view down a long, sloping lawn to, Diana presumed, the
Lake. Her bedroom was pretty close to the same location in the house, she
decided.

Sam automatically took the place at the head of the table,
placing his glass down at the spot and then heading off to the kitchen for a
moment. Beth guided Diana along next to her, so that Beth would sit at Sam's
right hand and Diana was to sit next to her. Beth murmured her excuses and
slipped into the kitchen for a moment, after Sam. Across the table, Melissa sat
next to Zack, who was thus directly across from Diana. He gazed over at her for
a moment, his face a polite mask that slipped momentarily into anger. Diana
studied him for a moment, noticing the glitter in Melissa's eye as she leaned
over to whisper something into Zack's ear.

The move was an intimate one, one that brought Melissa's
lips close to Zack's ears and her breast to brush against Zack's arm. Diana saw
the slide of Melissa's hand across the gap between them, the movement of her
hand towards his body. Zack apparently didn't move her hand away as he had
Diana's, she noticed. She looked down for a moment, hot with a jealousy she
didn't want to acknowledge. Instead of looking up, risking revealing the pain
in her eyes, she studied the place setting in front of her, a mixture of heavy,
gilded plates and a lovely flowered pattern. The utensils were silver,
generously sized, beautifully shaped. Diana took the heavy cloth napkin out of
its ring and smoothed it on her lap.

But Beth had finished her conversation with Harriet and was
slipping into her seat, making a comment to Diana about the paintings on the
wall as she poured a little white wine in Diana's glass. It seemed the
collection of six framed portraits did not memorialize anyone they knew, Beth
said. The White family came by their money late. They had moved into this house
about a dozen years ago. No one had their portrait painted, ever. These
paintings, while certainly not famous, or even well known, were old. Diana was
amused to find out that Sam and Beth White had made up stories for each of the
paintings.