Chapter Thirteen
She was pregnant.
The little blue plus sign stood out starkly against the white background of the test stick. Liz sat on the lid of her toilet, studying not one but two plus signs. Two tests. The scientist in her could not be rebuffed.
She was pregnant, against all odds.
Well, of course she was. Because that was how life was, always throwing you for a loop when you least expected it.
She should have known better than to take such a chance…but she’d thought there was no chance. And she’d wanted—still wanted—a baby so badly. She just hoped that Grant wanted it, too. Not just for her, but for them.
So much had changed since Grant had come into her life just a short while ago. She’d gone from distrusting and determined to raise a child by herself to being…in love. Completely in love. Her heart was bursting with it. The bitterness and sadness she’d carried around for so long that she’d thought she’d never shake it had lightened. She had a garden. Furniture. Food in her fridge. She’d even come to tolerate seeing Grant’s sliced turkey breast and even the occasional hunk of gross red meat on the shelves. She’d become a whole new person.
They hadn’t talked about the future, even though the undercurrent of his leaving any day now was as hard to ignore as a zit in the dead-center of your face. You could only pretend it wasn’t there for so long.
And the L word? They sure as hell never brought that up.
Yet despite everything, she felt that he loved her. In his touch, his kiss, all the little kindnesses he showed her in a million different ways. But would that be enough? She thought of that train station in Nairobi, dark, deserted as the night wore on, foreign. He’d been too afraid of having a relationship to show. What on earth would he be like now when that relationship included a baby?
Liz slid the tests into the trash can and rested her cheek against the surface of the marble countertop, letting the coolness sink in against her heated cheek. She had no answers, but there was no avoiding the discussion now.
…
At two a.m. Liz was awakened by a noise coming from her front porch. One glance to Grant’s side of the bed confirmed he wasn’t there. She heard another sound. A trip, a stumble.
She threw back the covers and ran down the stairs. A flick of the porch light confirmed the worst. Grant stood outside the door, struggling to insert the key. She opened the door and waved off the Uber driver.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “This is worse than threading a damn needle.” His shirt was half untucked, his hair a bit unkempt. He straightened up when he saw her and smiled a silly, lopsided smile. “Hi there, gorgeous,” he said. “You look stunning.”
She was wearing an old gray T-shirt and some pajama boxers. Her hair was sticking up. Gorgeous. Right. “You are so drunk,” she said, shaking her head a little.
“I don’t get drunk, I get intoxicated. And I’m not intoxicated. You’re too sober.”
He snickered. She rolled her eyes. “Did you have a nice time?”
“I had several pints with your brothers. Your brother-in-laws. Brothers. In. Law,” he enunciated. “They’re nice mates. They really like me.” He started up the stairs and she followed, for safety reasons.
“Oh, and why’s that?” she asked, reaching out to push him forward so he’d keep his balance on the stairs. He reeked of alcohol and the scent of fried food. Ugh.
“We played darts and billiards. And I won at billiards, see?” He pulled a wad of cash out of his jeans pocket and turned around.
“Take it,” he said, pushing it into her hand. “I won it for you. For you honor.”
How could she not be touched by that, even if it was drunk talk? At the top of the stairs, she put an arm around his waist. He slung his arm around her shoulder as she steered him back to the bedroom.
“I really like you, Liz.”
She laughed. “I really like you, too. Get on the bed and I’ll help you get your jeans off.”
He dropped onto the bed, chuckling like that was the funniest thing he’d done all night. “Do you want to fool around now?” he asked.
She dropped his pants on the floor and raised a brow. “You look really tired. How about tomorrow?”
“When I’m not intoxicated?”
“Yes. When you’re not intoxicated.”
“Good night, Grant,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.
He gave her a sweet, innocent look that just slayed her. “Good night, Elizabeth,” he said, but before she could go, he grabbed her hand, causing her to perch on the edge of the bed.
He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I have to tell you something,” he whispered.
“What is it?” she whispered back, pretty amused. But also a little caught off guard.
“Put your head down so I can tell you.”
She leaned close to hear. He slid an arm around her back and whispered in her ear, “I more than like you, Elizabeth. I do believe I love you.”
Liz froze. Blood rushed to her face. Her throat suddenly got a little clotted up, and she had to clear it so she could speak. By the time she sat up to answer, his eyes had drifted shut, his breathing becoming steady and even. Liz pulled the sheet and blanket over him and kissed his forehead. He was already snoring.
As she turned out the light, she held a hand over her heart, which was so full it seemed to squeeze and swell and spill over. She took one last look at the big, gorgeous man in her bed. She hoped he would be there forever. And most important of all, she sure hoped to God he would remember what he’d said in the morning.
…
Liz was relieved to find Grant up and showered bright and early the next day. He was sitting at the new kitchen table in a T-shirt and jeans, alternatively reading the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, checking online news blogs, and drinking coffee, as he did every morning.
She gathered her courage, reminded herself of how fabulous the last few weeks had been, of how well they got along, and of his words, drunken or not, last night. That gave her the final push she needed.
She sat down next to him, waited until he looked up, then grabbed up his hands with hers. “Grant, I have something to tell you. Something amazing. I found out last night and I could hardly wait till morning to tell you. I’m pregnant.” Maybe she should’ve waited until he had his coffee, allowed the certain hangover he must have to dissipate, or at least let the Advil kick in. But how could she? This was the news of her life. She couldn’t wait to share it with him.
She scanned his face carefully, looking expectantly for signs her news had sunk in.
He blinked. Gave her a measured stare. She had no idea what he was thinking or if her words had actually registered. Her stomach careened like a listing boat. Yep, she definitely should’ve waited until his coffee kicked in.
Nausea welled up, she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or the terrible sense of foreboding that was taking her over.
Oh, it’s okay, she reassured herself. They’d shared so much. He knew how badly she’d wanted to become pregnant. Surely, he would be happy. It was just taking him a moment to adjust to her momentous news.
Pregnant at last. It was thrilling!
Smiling a little, he blew out a measured sigh. “Wow. Well. Congratulations, Liz. This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His words sounded calculated, steady and even. She didn’t hear any excitement in his voice. He didn’t jump up and grab her hands and pull her to him, tell her how much he loved her. How much he loved and wanted their baby—and a life with her. Also, he’d called her Liz. Not Elizabeth.
“I know,” she said. “I’m so excited.” But her enthusiasm had dimmed. He was still sitting there, staring at her, not blinking. Frankly, he looked shell-shocked. “I was hoping you’d be excited, too.”
“I’m thrilled for you. I really am.”
For you. Not for us.
“I was so excited I even invited my family over tomorrow to see the new furniture and have a picnic. I thought we’d tell them the news, together. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, about not keeping any secrets.” She was rambling on, but there was still not much reaction from across the table. He looked…distant. Not thrilled.
Oh shit.
She adjusted her chair to face him directly and looked him in the eye. No matter what happens, you have to do this, she told herself. This time she could not—would not—let him leave without having said everything that was on her mind, come what may.
“I know this started out as a means to an end, but it’s obvious my feelings have changed. I—love you.”
She closed her eyes for a second. There, she’d said it. It had taken every last nerve. It had cost everything she had. After her divorce, she’d vowed never to say it first to another man. Then she’d met him, and she’d said it anyway and he’d left her, too. Now here she was, putting herself out there again. And if he pissed away what they had, she swore she’d…uproot his tomato plants. She’d wring his gorgeous British neck. She’d just told him she was going to have a baby. It was fricking amazing news.
“We get along so well, and you make me…you make me feel things I haven’t felt in such a long time. These past few weeks have been…wonderful.”
Can we see signs of life here? The man had been in more war zones than some soldiers. Yet he was acting…oh God. He was acting just as he had when they’d planned to meet at the train station that night.
Too quiet. Subdued. Like he was going to bolt.
Slowly, he picked up her hand. Examined it, as if he was buying time to form his response.
“Grant, what’s wrong?” Out with it already.
“Liz, my boss called this morning.” His voice was soft and low, like he was doing his best to break it to her gently.
Right. You never knew when the pregnant lady would get hysterical.
“He wants me to go to DC for briefings, then ship out as soon as I can get a flight. I’ll be going back, to near the border.”
“But—you said they were going to keep you away from the border after your problems with the Kenyan government. You said they were going to send you to Somalia. The border is where those journalists were killed last week, wasn’t it?”
“I’m sure I’ll have protection,” he said. “Everything is escalating there. They need the story covered.” He paused. “Don’t worry. My network is always careful with its reporters. I’ll be well taken care of.”
She understood that he had to go back, but to the middle of a war zone where terrorists were killing journalists?
Her heart pitched forward, like a drop down a vertical roller coaster run. One look at his face told her he was trying to brush this off, make it sound routine, but not quite believing it himself.
Oh shit, she should have thought more before she suddenly went and blabbed everything. He was worried. She’d picked a horrible time to tell him.
“Don’t go,” she said, grabbing onto his leg. Nice one. Very dignified. The words had jumped from her throat of their own accord. “It’s too dangerous.”
He lifted his head. Something in his eyes sparked. Defiance, maybe? No one told Grant Wilbanks what to do. No story was too dangerous, no destination too remote.
“I’ve covered dangerous stories before, Liz. This is my opportunity to get this conflict on the map. Allow people to see the humanitarian crisis firsthand.”
“I see.” She’d like to tell him she understood, but she didn’t. Plus, he had yet to say anything significant about her news. Their baby.
“Liz,” he said, a pained expression in his eyes. He held her hands, but she knew in her gut it wasn’t to celebrate but rather to keep breaking whatever it was he had to say gently. She pulled her hands away. Let him get on with it, for God’s sake. “They want me there at least six months. It’s not the kind of job for a man who has a family back home.”
“Are you saying…” Her voice trailed off. He was preoccupied with life and death. They were sending him somewhere dangerous. But could he possibly be rejecting her? Their child?
If he was, he’d damn well have to say it in his own words.
“What exactly are you saying, Grant?”
“I-I don’t know. I’m thrilled for you, really I am. I care for you very much. But if you’re looking for someone who can settle down and live here with you in this town, that’s not me. It never was me.”
“If there was no baby…were you going to tell me the same thing?”
He reached for her hands again, but she moved them off the table. “You’re asking me if we could do a long-distance relationship. Perhaps we could. But a child needs someone steady and constant. I don’t want to be a father like my father was to me—popping in and out of my childhood at random, then off risking his life and losing it.
“I…think it’s better to continue on with your original plan. Raise your child without any interference.”
“Interference?” Two month ago, yes, that was what she’d wanted. Before she’d fallen in love with him all over again. “Everything you’re saying…all your talk about going off to save the world, how dangerous your job is—it’s all excuses. The truth is, you’re more frightened of being a husband or father than going into a godforsaken war zone.”
“I never told you anything but the truth,” he said. “I never wanted a serious involvement.”
“Silly me. And here I thought loving me was enough to change that. But I see it’s not. I’m just sorry I believed you were actually capable of it.” She pushed back her chair. It screeched against the ancient linoleum. “Good thing you’re leaving. You’re right. It’s far better for me to raise a child by myself anyway. It’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
Which was a lie.
She couldn’t believe he was rejecting her. She was alone just like the night she spent in that dead quiet train station in Nairobi. Except now he was also rejecting their child.
…
A baby. She was going to have his baby. How was that even possible after all she’d gone through? How could it have happened the normal way?
It was different when he’d donated a sample in a test tube. When he’d been doing her a favor out of compassion.
This was an entirely other kind of game. He wasn’t able to give her what she really wanted—someone to stay with her and love her and raise a child with her.
A child. Their child.
Panic welled up within him. He’d been a loner his entire life. He’d taken risks that no one else would take because it all mattered very little to him. No one, except for Dottie, had loved him, or cared about what really happened to him.
He had no fucking idea how to be the man she needed him to be.
Besides, this next assignment—it was dangerous in a way that made him uncomfortable. How could he make promises to anyone when things were this risky? He thought of himself as a child, waiting expectantly for his parents to return. But they never did.
It would have to be as it was in their initial agreement. He’d given her what she wanted, and she’d been okay with doing things on her own. Making love to her and getting his feelings entangled…that was a mistake. One that was not too late to rectify. It could go back to how it was before. A woman like her, so independent and headstrong, who had carried through with a plan that would enable her to raise a baby entirely on her own…she’d come to see that was still the best way.
Plus, he had a job. Obligations. She’d understand that. He could no sooner ask her to give up her job as she could his.
He made the mistake of looking into her eyes. And the moment that he did, all his words lodged in his throat. Like a clog of too-dry pancakes. He saw the pain, the hurt he’d caused her, and he had to look away.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “I never wanted to leave anyone behind. Get feelings tangled up in all this.”
She started to cry.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, and got up and left the room.