His Best Friend's Baby (9 page)

He swore. “You don’t need a crappy job like this! If Dean could see you...”

Just emerging through the waist-high swinging door, she winced. “I do need the job.” She took a deep breath. “I did need it. This is my last day.”

She needed a minimum-wage job? Had she blown Dean’s money already? You could do it fast at a casino.

He waited until she’d lowered herself into one of the small wrought-iron chairs. Then he pulled out the one across the round table from her and sat, too. Seeing the apprehension and misery on her face, he said as gently as he could, “Will you tell me what’s happened to you?”

She wiped angrily, he thought, at her tears. “Even after I sold everything, there wasn’t that much money left, Quinn. You know that. If I wasn’t pregnant, I could have used it to go back to grad school or to live on while I tried to make it as an artist. But there isn’t just me anymore. I don’t have health insurance, so I have to use some to pay the doctor and hospital and to live on for a couple of months after the baby is born. And then kids are expensive. I mean, they need toys and bikes and piano lessons and soccer shoes.”

He nodded.

She sniffed. “And I wanted to put some away for college. Not for me. For...him.” Her hand fluttered toward her belly. “Or her. So I got a job right away. And I have an apartment.”

“But you’ve been doing okay?”

“I thought I was. I mean—” she rubbed her belly “—I really was. Until, I don’t know, the last month. I’ve gotten so big and so tired.”

He hated the idea of her standing all day. And alone here in a neighborhood that wasn’t the best.

“You’re not on by yourself at night, are you?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.” A shadow seemed to cross her face. “I don’t like closing.”

She closed by herself. Counted money from the cash register while anybody could be looking in the front window. Then she walked out, locked the door and had to get to her car. His teeth ground together.

Her eyes widened at his expression. “Nobody’s bothered me,” she said hastily.

Okay. Today was her last day. He made himself relax, muscle by muscle.

“So now what?” he asked. “Will you be staying with your mother?”

Mindy bowed her head. After a moment, she shook it.

“You’re staying in your apartment?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do!” she burst out, lifting her head to show him eyes again swimming with tears. “I hate not even being able to take care of myself!”

“Are you out of money?” he asked carefully.

She grabbed a napkin and gave her nose a defiant blow. “No. It’s not that. It’s...” This look was wild, her eyes shying from his.

There was something she didn’t want to tell him. Something that scared her.

“What?” he asked.

When the defiance left her, she seemed to crumple. Hands splayed on her belly, she rocked, her head bent and her voice muffled.

“The doctor wants me to stay in bed until the baby comes. I just don’t know how I can do that. If I can’t even grocery shop—”

“In bed?” he interrupted. “Why?”

This small sniff sounded forlorn. She still didn’t look up. He focused on the top of her head and on the graceful, somehow vulnerable line of her slender neck.

“I have a condition called preeclampsia. My blood pressure is elevated and I have protein in my urine. If I was another few weeks along, the doctor would induce labor, but it’s too soon. So I started on medication for the blood pressure and she wants me lying down most of the time. But I can’t! I just can’t!”

Voice brutal, he asked, “Will you hurt the baby if you don’t?”

“I...” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. Nodded hard.

In that same hard voice, he said, “Risk your life?”

Barely audible, she whispered, “I... Maybe.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I told you!” she cried. “It’s my last day!”

Still angry, he asked, “How long have you been working since the doctor prescribed bed rest?”

“Only two days. I saw her yesterday morning. I had to give my boss a day to find someone else. Or rearrange the schedule.”

He felt as if he’d wandered into Wonderland. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the queen had ordered his head off.

“Let me get this straight. You won’t be working, but you’re refusing to commit to resting in bed?”

“It’s hard when you live alone,” she mumbled. “Okay?”

“I know you hate the idea of going home, but Mindy! Isn’t this the time to take your mother’s help?”

She didn’t move. Just sat there with her head bent and her hands over her face. “She...doesn’t want me to come home. She doesn’t even have an extra bed.”

The desolation in her voice pierced him. He knew what it must have cost her to admit her own mother couldn’t be bothered to help her.

Shoving his chair back, he circled the table and squatted beside her. He wrapped a hand around the fragile nape of her neck and gently squeezed. “I’m sorry, Mindy. I’m so sorry.”

After a moment she turned, just the smallest amount, but he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. Without drama, she cried against his shoulder, wetting his shirt. One hand gripped his shirtfront, as if she were afraid he’d run if she let go.

Quinn ran his hands over her back, kneaded her neck, murmured who knew what. At last, she went still, resting against him as if she weren’t strong enough to sit up.

“When I was a little kid, my mother would disappear for days on end,” he said. “She just...left me to take care of myself, even when I was only five or six. I got good at it. I didn’t know any different. I could see her addiction driving her. But, you know, when you
need
a person, it hurts when you realize you can’t count on her.”

Her head bobbed against his shoulder.

He patted her again, a little awkwardly. “I guess I don’t have the world’s best people skills.”

She gave a watery laugh.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, despite himself. “Okay. I stink at any kind of long-term relationship. I drive people away.” Except Dean. Dean was the only one who’d ever been in it for the long haul for Quinn.

Except, he realized, the Howies. He just hadn’t let himself notice that they still cared.

He cleared his throat. “The thing is, if you don’t let me help now, I’ll worry. About you and the baby.”

She stirred and started to push away from him. He found he didn’t want to let her go, but he made himself.

Mindy’s eyes were puffy and red, and her lashes stuck together. Her hair poked every which way and she needed to blow her nose again. But she said, “I don’t need any money, Quinn. Really. Mom did offer financial help, but that’s not...”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he said, “I have a big house. Well,” his shoulders moved, “not like Dean’s. But three bedrooms. I can’t take much time off work, but if you’d be okay by yourself during the day...”

She gaped. “You’re inviting me to...to
live
with you?”

“Uh...yeah. For now. As long as you need to.”

She made a funny sound. Half sob, half laugh. “You’d drive me crazy.
I’d
drive
you
crazy.”

“Probably,” he admitted. But he wanted her to agree anyway. He wouldn’t let her say no. He’d abduct her. He’d...

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re offering because you think I can’t take care of Dean’s baby. Right?”

He stood, perhaps to give himself a chance to avoid her gaze. “No. It’s you I’m worried about. Dean was the closest thing I had to family. I guess that makes you family, too.”

“You mean, we had a sort of sibling squabble?”

He had never thought of her as a sister. Never would. Maybe that was part of the problem.

“Could be,” he lied.

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. She sat in silence for a moment, her forehead puckered. At last she looked searchingly at him. “Do you mean it, Quinn?”

“I mean it.”

Mindy groped for the paper napkin on the table and blew her nose. Wadding it in her hand, she said in a small voice, “All right. If you really...”

“I said I meant it!”

“Don’t yell at me!” she yelled back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. She would drive him crazy.

Knowing she had nobody to help her would drive him even crazier.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” He paused. “How late are you supposed to stay here?”

“Um...” She glanced instinctively toward the clock. “Until five. This guy, Diego, is coming in for the evening.”

“All right. I’ve got a couple more people I have to talk to. How about if I come back at five?” He didn’t like knowing she’d be on her feet even that long, but didn’t see an alternative. “We’ll go by your apartment and pick up the necessities, then you’ll come home with me.”

She hesitated, but finally nodded. “Okay. I hope...” She gave her head a quick shake. “Never mind. Thank you, Quinn.”

He walked to the door, flipped the sign back to Open, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I...” She was quiet behind him. “I think I would have. Soon. But after I told you I didn’t need you anymore, calling to ask for help... Um, the idea wasn’t very appealing. I know you’ve never thought very much about me, but I do have some pride.”

He didn’t dispute her belief that he hadn’t thought much of her, because it was true. On the surface. Beneath the surface, down where it was dark and quiet and hard to see, he didn’t know what he felt for her.

Without turning around, he said, “I’m sorrier than I can tell you that I made you feel that way. If it’s any consolation, right now I feel like scum.” He hesitated, didn’t know what else he should say, and finally made himself open the door. He walked out, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at five.”

Quinn got in his car, shoved the key in the ignition, and thought,
I found her.

He hadn’t lied: he did feel like a real jerk. She was in danger of losing the baby and she hadn’t been able to turn to him because he’d treated her with such contempt before.

But self-loathing wasn’t as powerful as the relief that swelled in his chest, and something that might have been happiness.

She was coming home with him. She was going to let him take care of her.

And she was having a baby. Dean’s baby.

As Quinn started the car, he thought,
Wait’ll George and Nancy hear they’re going to be grandparents.

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
HY
DID
HIS
HOUSE
have to be perfect. Mindy didn’t want to like Quinn too much, or else she’d have to admit she’d been wrong about him. She’d half hoped his house would be okay to visit but not appealing—all chrome and black leather, or maybe heaped with car magazines.

No such luck.

Way back when, she’d dreamed up all kinds of hideous possibilities once she realized that Quinn was never going to invite her to his place, even if she was his best friend’s wife. No, when he felt obligated to reciprocate their hospitality, he paid for a dinner out. She’d known perfectly well that Dean went over to Quinn’s sometimes; she was the one who wasn’t welcome.

Which made his offer to take her in even more extraordinary. She must seem really pathetic to him. Like a pregnant stray cat.

The house was probably an old one—most homes in West Seattle were. It had been dramatically remodeled at some point, preserving the brick exterior but opening the interior into large airy spaces. The kitchen was separated from the dining room only by a breakfast bar, and a low wall of bookshelves was all that divided the living room from dining room. Open beams above were stained the color of honey, the walls were white, the floors gleaming wood she thought wasn’t oak. Pecan, maybe? Or maple?

The furniture was scaled for a man and upholstered in leather and sturdy brocades, the colors browns and russets and licks of scarlet. Like a typical man, he’d left the walls too bare, tabletops empty, concentrating instead on shelves for books, an impressive audio system and one of those flat plasma TVs that she’d seen only in stores. Even so, she liked the warm feel of his house.

Laden with her suitcase and a box packed with her framed photos and albums and a few favorite books and mementos, Quinn watched her turn and survey his house.

“The bedroom is in here,” he said, after a moment. Three doors opened off a short hall. He turned into the first and set down the carton on a dresser.

Her eyes filled with tears. All she seemed able to do lately was cry.

“This is so nice,” she whispered.

A puffy denim-covered duvet made a bed with a bookcase headboard look comfy. A rug that had apparently been woven of scraps ripped from worn jeans warmed the floorboards. A pair of sash windows looked out on a backyard dominated by a huge, gnarled tree, the kind children loved to climb and hang a tire swing from. The room was plain but...inviting.

“I know it’s not much, but...”

“It’s wonderful.” She gave him a wavery smile.

“The living room couch is a sleeper, too. We can pull it out during the day so you can watch TV if you want. Or you could stay out there all the time...”

“No.” She sniffed. “You don’t want to be tripping over me all the time. And I like the view in here.”

He grunted. “At least there’s no mold growing under the bathroom sink.”

He hadn’t been impressed with her apartment. He’d insisted on packing most of her things while she lounged like a lady of leisure on the bed. After he’d found the mold, he’d kept muttering things about the place not being habitable, and the baby’s health, and cockroaches, which the apartment
didn’t
have.

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“Yeah, it was. You’re not going back there.”

“Quinn! As much as I appreciate your help, I make my own decisions. Remember?”

He scowled at her. “We’ll argue about it later. Right now, I want you to lie down while I bring the rest of your stuff in.”

Okay. He was definitely going to get on her nerves. At the moment, though, she was so pathetically relieved to have found a refuge that she was actually touched that he cared enough to be bossy, instead of mad that he thought he had the right to tell her when to stand, sit and brush her hair.

On the way out the bedroom door, he said, “The bathroom is the next door down. There’s only one downstairs, so we’ll be sharing it.”

A staircase had risen from the front entry. “What’s upstairs?” she asked, curious.

“Another bathroom and a bedroom I use as an office. It seemed too small even to be a guest bedroom, and the bathroom doesn’t have a shower or tub.”

“A house built for one.”

His brows lifted. “Or two.” Then he disappeared from the doorway, leaving her just a little breathless.

She didn’t want to be too obedient, but maybe lying down was a good idea. Mindy slipped off her shoes, hung her jacket in the otherwise empty closet and pulled back the duvet to find navy-blue flannel sheets. How like Quinn. Maybe he couldn’t find black sheets. Or maybe he had, but used them on his bed.

Smothering a giggle, she climbed into bed, lay on her left side, nudged the pillow into shape, and gazed at the dark, gaunt branches of the old tree. In spring, she thought dreamily, she’d feel as if she were lying right under the leafy canopy. Really the tree was too big for the small yard, but she could see why he didn’t take it out.

This bed was an awful lot more comfortable than the slightly lumpy one in her apartment. It yielded just enough to make lying on her side bearable.

“I’ll get you a body pillow,” Quinn said behind her, making her start.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you coming!”

He stepped to the foot where she could see him without looking over her shoulder. “We could turn the bed so you face the door when you’re on your left side.”

“No, the view out the window is more interesting.” She smiled at him. “A body pillow might be nice. I could sort of drape myself around it.”

He went very still and his eyes seemed to darken. Or perhaps she’d imagined it, because after that curious pause he only nodded. “I’ve got a small stereo upstairs with a remote control. I’ll bring that down here.”

“I have some CDs in my car.” She’d driven here, following Quinn. She’d need her car to get to Lamaze classes.

“I’ll get them later. I’m going to put on dinner right now. Take a nap if you’d like.”

Was that a thinly disguised order? Again, she tried to muster some irritation and managed only to feel her eyes getting heavy. She was so tired all the time! Despite her exhaustion, worry—okay, fear—had kept her awake the night before. Just a little nap
would
feel good.

She woke to delicious smells and the murmur of voices from the television set. Mindy got up, opened her suitcase and found her flip-flops, and went to the bathroom.

The floor and the walls to waist-high were tiled in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. An enormous claw-footed bathtub was surrounded by a white curtain, and the thick towels were black. Mindy peeked at herself in the oval beveled mirror above the pedestal sink and squeaked in horror. She was lucky Quinn hadn’t run at the sight of her! Or driven her straight to the hospital!

With wet fingers, she tried to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order, then turned the taps to icy cold and splashed her face. The result wasn’t much of an improvement. She still looked puffy and pasty, and her hair needed a good cut and the help of a hair dryer and some gel.

The baby chose then to somersault in her belly, and she smiled and splayed her hands over the shimmer of movement.

“Hey, kid,” she murmured.

He—she—flipped again as if in response, and she laughed. Ah, well. What difference did it make what she looked like? Quinn had never been impressed anyway, she thought, just a little ruefully.

When she padded into the living area, Quinn was taking something out of the oven. He glanced up. “I was just going to wake you. Are you supposed to be on your feet?”

“A couple of hours a day are okay, the doctor said. I figured I’d use them to shower and eat and make my nine million daily trips to the bathroom.”

A grin lightened his face. “Junior nestled a little too close to your bladder?”

“Junior,” she informed him, “is using my bladder as a trampoline.” Then she felt heat touch her cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t an appropriate topic of conversation.

Then again, they lived together now. He’d hear her going to the bathroom every hour, on the hour, all night long.

They lived together, Mindy thought again. How weird was that?

She perched on a wicker-and-iron stool and rested her elbows on the counter. “What are we having for dinner?”

“London broil and baked potatoes.” He deftly sliced the meat. “You’ll discover that my repertoire is limited.”

“You can serve that every night if you want.” Her mouth watered. “It smells fabulous, and I didn’t cook it.”

He leveled a stern stare. “And you won’t cook while you’re here. Right? Don’t get any idea about helping out or surprising me with dinner.”

“Bossy,” she said without heat. Then she gave him a sunny smile. “But, hey, you want to spoil me, go right ahead.”

“I intend to make sure you follow the doctor’s orders,” he corrected.

She bit her lip. “Quinn, I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me. I mean, I know it’s for Dean, but still.”

“Maybe you’re the one I’m worried about.” Those very blue eyes lingered on her face for a moment. Then his dark head bowed and he went back to slicing meat.

“Well, I know that, but I just wanted to say that even if it’s because of Dean, I still...”
Oh, give it up!
she decided. What did she want him to say?
No, no!
Dean has nothing to do with me sweeping you up and bringing you home with me?
Of course Dean had everything to do with it! They both knew that. “Thank you,” she finished. “That’s all I really wanted to say.”

Quinn glanced up, expression unreadable. “You’re welcome.”

Just like that. Her own mother wouldn’t take her in, and Quinn, hardly more than an acquaintance, said,
You’re welcome,
as if what he was doing for her was nothing big and no more than she should have expected.

“I called my friend Selene, too,” Mindy said. “You met her at the funeral?”

He nodded.

“She has a new roommate. Selene would have let me have her bedroom, but the couch in the living room where she’d have had to sleep isn’t even a pullout.” Mindy traced the grout between the tiles on the countertop. “Me being there would have been awfully inconvenient.”

“Your situation is life and death. What’s convenience compared to that?”

“She did offer.” It seemed important for him to know that she had a friend who cared enough to do that much.

“Accepting help doesn’t seem to come easy to you.” Quinn opened the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink?”

Surprised by the mundane question on top of his observation, she said, “Milk, if you have it.”

He set a quart on the counter and reached in the cupboard for glasses.

Watching him pour, she burst out, “Are you suggesting I don’t
want
anyone to help me?”

He gave her one of those glances she found to be infuriatingly impassive. “I’ll bet it just about killed you to ask your mother and Selene for help.”

“Not Selene,” she heard herself say, then pinched her lips together when she realized what she’d admitted.

“But you couldn’t accept her help unless giving it meant she wasn’t making any sacrifice.” He picked up the platter of sliced London broil and a second one with two baked potatoes, and carried them around the end of the breakfast bar to the table. “Time to eat.”

Mindy carried the glasses of milk to the table while he went back for a bowl of steamed broccoli.

Sitting at the place he indicated, she said, “I could tell she felt obligated to offer but was relieved when I didn’t take her up on it. I didn’t turn you down, did I?”

A glimmer of a smile showed in Quinn’s eyes as he sat across from her. “But you wanted to.”

“Of course I wanted to!” she snapped. “I’ve already spent enough time on the receiving end of your ‘help.’ You were always irritated with me and impatient when I didn’t do things the way you’d have done them. I couldn’t cope in my own way. Oh, no, I had to cope
your
way. So, yeah, I’m a little nervous about throwing myself on your mercy again!”

The minute she finished her tirade she was appalled. He was being wonderful and what did she do but lob grievances that should have been forgotten.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry! That was really low of me.”

Into the silence he said, “No. You’re right. I was a jerk.”

Her eyes popped open.

“Being in charge, controlling, might have been
my
way of coping.” His breath sounded ragged.

“You mean, so you didn’t have to grieve. So you were too busy to grieve.”

His shoulders jerked. “Something like that.”

Mindy bit her lip. “I should have seen that.”

“How could you?” he said simply. “I didn’t.” He turned a table knife over and over between his thumb and finger. “Once you kicked me out...” Quinn cleared his throat. “That’s when it hit me.”

“He was gone,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He tried to smile. Almost succeeded.

Oh, no, her eyes were watering again. “I was even more sad after you were gone, too. You were the only other person who loved him. Without you around, it was as if Dean had never even existed. You know? Sometimes I’d have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to look through a photo album. Just to...to make him seem real.”

They looked at each other across the table without the defenses they usually erected. She saw that Quinn looked older than he had four or five months ago. The lines between his eyebrows and carved from nose to mouth were more pronounced. She had always thought of him as solitary by choice; now she saw through his aloofness to the loneliness beneath.

Or perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

She gave him a crooked smile. “This is going to sound awfully self-centered of me, but... Can we eat?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m starved.”

A brief laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I’d hate to waste the effort.”

They served themselves and ate in silence but for Mindy’s murmurs of pleasure and appreciation. Not until she was full did she say, “You know when I told you to get lost? I wasn’t that mad at you.” She made an apologetic face. “I knew I’d start showing any day. I didn’t want you to notice I was pregnant.”