Starlight (24 page)

“Of all the couples in the world, you and I know what it’s like to have someone intrude.”

You and I
, he’d said. Did Rand finally accept her innocence in the contrived marriage? So much had been said the night of her father’s open-heart surgery to help her understand his strange behavior; Karen had wondered if Rand had understood the implications. Matthew was aware that Rand and Karen were in love, but he also knew his time was limited with a bad heart. Forcing the marriage had been a desperate act by a desperate man.

“Yes, I guess
we
do,” she said evenly.

“How are you feeling?”

In the past, Karen had always responded with a flat “fine.” Now that Rand possibly accepted that she hadn’t tricked him the first time, maybe he would be willing to accept the truth about her pregnancy. Perhaps it was time to begin talking about the baby.

“I’m doing much better now that the morning sickness has passed.”

“Good.” The one word came out abrupt and clipped. They hadn’t spoken about the pregnancy since the night of Matthew’s heart attack. Rand’s response didn’t encourage her to continue, but she ignored the unspoken warning. “I’ve had to buy some new clothes,” she added, forcing herself to sound bright and cheerful. “You’d hardly believe how rounded I’ve become since you left.”

“I’m pleased you’re feeling better.” He didn’t attempt to disguise his displeasure or the chill in his voice. “I’ll phone tomorrow night. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” The line had already been disconnected; the buzz continued to drone for several moments before Karen replaced the receiver.

When Rand phoned again, they talked briefly, but he didn’t inquire about her health. It was as though he were purposely avoiding the slightest reference to the baby.

Most of the discomforts of the early months of the pregnancy had passed, but her emotions remained sensitive and fragile. For several nights afterward, Karen had a difficult time sleeping, continuing to mull the problem in her mind.

It was a day for rejoicing when Matthew was transferred to the progressive care unit. His condition had improved so rapidly that even Dr. Phillips was surprised.

Catherine Thomas followed the small party down the corridor to the new ward, beaming a proud smile. Her delight at his improvement was apparent as she joked and laughed along the way.

Catherine stopped at the nurses’ station and said, loud enough for Matthew to hear, “Keep your eyes on this ole buzzard, girls. He can be more trouble than a nursery full of newborn babies.”

“Ha,” Matthew emitted harshly, but his eyes followed Catherine without even a hint of anger.

Karen and Judy exchanged meaningful glances.

“How long before I get any decent food?” Matthew asked eagerly.

“Patience, my dear man, patience.” Catherine grinned sheepishly at the girls on her way out the door.

“Dad”—Judy glanced out the window as if finding the street below an intriguing sight—“is there a Mr. Thomas?”

“Of course there’s a Mr. Thomas,” he boomed, his voice angry. “There must be a thousand Mr. Thomases in the world, but if ye’re referring to Catherine, she’s a widow.”

Color rose in Judy’s cheeks, but she managed a weak “Oh.”

When Catherine reentered the room, Matthew’s eyes widened appreciatively. His gaze fastened on the large serving of chocolate pudding. “Grand, pudding is one of my favorite—”

He didn’t get to finish his thought. “But, Matt, this isn’t pudding.” She gave Judy and Karen a wicked smile. “This is strained liver.”

A disgusted sound came from Matthew. “It seems I’m beset by a cruel woman who delights in punishing a sick man.” But his laughter joined theirs.

Rand had been away for almost two weeks, and Karen was miserable. She wasn’t sleeping well; so much had been left unsaid between them. Karen discovered the pleasure she enjoyed in simple things diminishing because he wasn’t there to share them with her. She worked in the garden, listened to mellow music, and eagerly awaited his daily phone calls. These were mostly a disappointment. Their conversations remained stilted and formal because neither would speak openly of what was uppermost in their minds.

With Rand gone, the baby was becoming more and more the focal point of Karen’s world. The forming child moved often now; the first light fluttering, as delicate as a butterfly testing its wings, had confused Karen. She wasn’t sure if it was something she ate or the baby. Gradually, the movements grew stronger, more pronounced, and Karen didn’t doubt the source.

Rand phoned early one morning, early for Karen, midmorning for him in
Cleveland. She was still in bed, her hands pressing against her abdomen, feeling the baby’s movement.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she told him, her voice high with enthusiasm, “but I’m lying here feeling the baby kick. I mean a good solid kick.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it,” he said dryly.

The balloon of happiness burst, leaving Karen speechless and unbelievably hurt. “Whether you face the fact or not”—her low voice wavered—“I’m going to have a child, your child. I did not create this child on my own. The baby is part you, part me. This should be one of the happiest times in our marriage, yet I’m afraid even to mention the baby. What am I supposed to do, Rand? What do you want from me?”

He sighed heavily. “I’ve told you repeatedly I don’t want that baby,” he said bitterly. “You seem to be living under the misconception that given time, my feelings will change. They won’t. I’ll have nothing to do with that baby. You’ve chosen to become pregnant against my wishes; as far as I’m concerned, the baby is yours, not mine. Don’t expect me to touch it, hold it, or in any way have anything to do with it.”

The baby was an
it
to Rand, a nonentity, unworthy of importance.

“Maybe you don’t want me, either,” she whispered through the agony.

“Maybe I don’t,” he returned.

His rejection knotted her stomach into a tight ball of pain. “That doesn’t leave much to be said, does it?”

A long pause followed. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Fifteen minutes after the phone call, Karen remained in bed, the enormity of their conversation crushing against her heart like a huge boulder.

In effect, Rand was saying it was him or the baby. How could she possibly choose between the two? The image of a child the father refused to touch or acknowledge ripped at her soul. Loving them both so much would tear her in two. Rand was asking the impossible.

If this was the way he wanted things, forcing her to decide, then the decision would be an easy one. They had no marriage. Rand was selfish, hurtful, and totally unreasonable; he had been almost from the beginning of their marriage. They had made a mistake by not getting an annulment.

Karen jerked the suitcase from the closet and set it on the bed, throwing her clothes from the drawers into it without thought or organization. Her vision was blurred with unshed tears, her lips pressed tightly closed to restrain the sobs.

How naive she’d been to believe their love would conquer all their differences. Rand didn’t need her; he’d just told her he didn’t want her, either. Maybe it was time to
prove she was perfectly capable of making a life without him.

She’d leave him this time, really leave him, not another three-day jaunt down the Oregon coast. A small, hurt laugh came from deep inside; three days without her and Rand had fallen apart. How did he expect to live without her, and for that matter, how would she ever make it without him?

She paused, sitting on the end of the bed, her tortured gaze moving around the room and sensing all the love represented there.

How could they ever settle anything when separated by hundreds of miles? Their telephone conversations frustrated them more than settled anything. They needed to sit across from each other and talk out their problems. Other than never being able to see the baby, Karen had no idea why Rand objected so violently to the child. There could be no more running, no more telephone conversations, when it was too easy simply to hang up the phone rather than talk things out. She needed to know his feelings, his thoughts; she needed to explain hers.

Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes as waves of depression rippled over her. Rand wasn’t due home for another ten days. He was in Cleveland; she was in Tacoma. It couldn’t wait; they’d delayed discussing it for too long. She’d simply have to go to him … the sooner the better.

The flight touched down at nine o’clock Cleveland time. Karen was tired and hungry. The conviction she was doing the right thing was reinforced by every mile of the journey. As the hours passed, Karen recalled Rand’s mother telling her she need only be patient. Rand would make a good father; would accept the child. Carl had told her that Rand would be handing out cigars, proud as any father. Karen need only believe this herself, trust in his love.

By the time she’d collected her luggage, gotten a taxi, and arrived at Rand’s hotel, it was after ten. The clerk gave her Rand’s room number and kindly offered to keep her suitcase, since she hadn’t been able to locate him. Rand didn’t respond to either the telephone call or the knock when they tried his room. Discouraged, Karen went into the restaurant for something to eat while she waited.

Where would he be this late? Cora hadn’t answered her telephone, either. Were they together? With so many other things on her mind, Karen didn’t want to think about Cora.

Seated in the dimly lit restaurant, Karen read over the menu. She hadn’t eaten in hours, but nothing sounded appetizing. Where was Rand? She almost asked the question aloud.

As she laid the menu aside, the sound of a laugh, Cora’s laugh, caught her
attention from across the room. The lighting was low. At first, Karen was sure it wasn’t them; it couldn’t be. A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat. Rand and Cora were sitting together across the room, their heads close together like lovers sharing intimate secrets.

Numbly, she stood. Her heart hammered irrationally as she approached their table.

“Hello, Rand, Cora,” she said in a complete monotone. A sick feeling rose in her throat as she saw Cora’s hand holding Rand’s.

“I’d advise you to remove your hand from my husband’s, Cora. Otherwise, I’ll have to create a scene in this very nice restaurant.”

“Please excuse us, Cora.” Rand offered the other woman an apologetic smile and stood.

“You don’t need to make apologies for me, Randall Prescott.” Karen’s gaze narrowed menacingly on Cora and was surprised by the lack of challenge. Was she so confident of her hold over Rand that she needn’t show the least concern? Karen was studying the other woman so intently she didn’t hear the parting words Cora issued Rand.

Rand held Karen’s upper arm. “Thanks, we’re going to need it.”

Neither of them said a word until they entered the elevator.

“Let go of my arm,” Karen demanded coldly.

Rand’s mouth twisted, his look hard and resolute. “Like hell!” But his hold relaxed.

Karen didn’t struggle; it would have been useless, anyway.

Once inside his room, Rand leaned against the closed door. “Just what kind of game are you playing?” he questioned, his voice hoarse.

Karen was trembling fiercely. She didn’t trust her voice.

“Karen,” he demanded again.

Turning her back to him, her arms cradled her chest to ward off the cold, the ache, the hurt. Tears coursed a haphazard route down her face, the strength of her will unable to abate their fall. Every breath became a sob, wrenched from her heart.

He clasped her shoulder to turn her toward him. “Karen, please don’t cry,” he pleaded.

Closing her eyes, she averted her face, burying her chin into her shoulder, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

Rand brought her head against him, supplying the loving support she needed so desperately.

“I can’t stand it when you cry,” he said.

She gave a short, almost hysterical laugh. Almost from the time they’d met, all she’d done was cry. The power Rand had to hurt her was so sharp it was incomprehensible.

“Don’t, please.” Gently, his lips moved against her hair. His hands, which had been holding her, now began a caressing provocation over her shoulders, back, and hips.

His mouth sought the gentle curve of her neck. Just as powerful as his ability to hurt was his power to comfort, to love. His mouth found hers, claiming the trembling
softness with a gentleness that caused her knees to quiver. His lips hardened in possession, and Karen could taste the salt from her tears on his mouth.

“No,” she mumbled imploringly, breaking the contact and burying her face in his chest.

“Karen.”

She could hear the rawness in his voice and knew he was as affected by their kissing as she. His chin moved against her hair as if he couldn’t bear to release her from his arms.

“We need to talk.” She was surprised by the strength in her voice.

“I know.” His hold relaxed slightly, but she remained in the protective circle of his arms. “I’ve tried to contact you all day. Even Carl wouldn’t answer. I’ve been sick with worry. I thought you’d left me for sure this time.”