Sunset Bridge (16 page)

“Would you?”

“It’s possible.”

“Without the diamond?”

“You know him pretty well, don’t you? We’d probably stand barefoot on a beach somewhere and weave wedding rings out of palmetto fronds while some shaman chanted environmental slogans in Swahili or Sanskrit.”

“I studied Sanskrit. Should I prepare?”

“No, I’m counting on you to draw intricate designs all over our bodies with henna, as another symbol of our togetherness.”

“What will it take before you tell him about the baby?”

“The moment I can’t button my newest pair of pants, I’m going to storm into Wild Florida’s headquarters and tell everybody their boss left me barefoot, pregnant and a size eight.”

They were outside by now, and after they gathered up Rishi and the children, they piled into the van Rishi had borrowed from his company, and drove the mile to the middle school.

As they walked to the softball field where a group of mothers was warming up, Olivia came to meet them. A bunch of girls were off to one side huddled and giggling. One of them yelled for Olivia, who ignored her.

“I’m so glad you came!” She hugged Tracy, then Janya, even though her friends were watching. “This is so cool.”

“Is your grandmother here yet? Janya and the gang can keep her company in the bleachers.”

Olivia paused just a second too long. “No.”

Tracy realized immediately what this meant. “Janya, you go ahead and get settled with the kids. Wave down Marsh when he gets here. We’ll see you after the game.”

She waited until goodbyes were said and the children were carted away before she turned back to Olivia. “You didn’t tell your grandmother about the game, did you?”

Olivia looked guilty, but she nodded. “I just didn’t want her to feel bad. And she would have. She was invited to a Scrabble tournament with some friends, so I told her I’d go home with Jessie after school and work on my homework. She thinks Jessie’s mother is going to drive me home after dinner.”

“Olivia, there are at least a couple of lies in there.”

“Not really. I
am
going home with Jessie after the game, and her mother said she’d drive me home. So the only lie was, like, not telling Nana about the game and you being my stand-in mom today.”

“Well, if I’m your mom for the afternoon, I get to remind you that it’s not cool to make up stories, even if your reason’s good.”

“It
is
a good reason.”

“I get that. But not being completely truthful puts us both in an awkward position. What if I mention the game by mistake?”

“You’re too smart to do that.” Olivia’s friend yelled for her again, probably the aforementioned Jessie. Olivia waved back. “Gotta go. We’re going to beat you moms.”

Worried, Tracy watched her run toward the other girls. On the surface Olivia appeared unselfish and thoughtful, even if she was also being a trifle dishonest. But how much of her decision had been related to Alice’s schedule and how much to just wanting a “young” mom today, just like everybody else’s.

With nothing to be done about it, Tracy walked across the field to the group of moms pitching balls back and forth. She wasn’t far away when a ball whizzed by her head before she could duck to avoid it. She heard the whap of the ball slapping against a glove, then it flew back the other direction, missing her by several feet.

“Am I invisible?” she shouted.

The last mother to throw, a tall woman with broad shoulders, red-blond hair and legs like tree trunks, glanced at her. “We have it under control.” She held up her glove, and the ball slammed into it again. “You ever play softball?”

Tracy had wondered how much she should tell these women. Would they be intimidated by her credentials? After all, she was a supervisor at the rec center, with a related degree and a growing body of experience. She was a natural athlete, good at every single sport she’d attempted. She, unlike them, didn’t spend her days helping with car pools, bake sales and field trips. She was fit, strong and, well, pregnant, but that was just temporary.

“I’ve played a little,” she said modestly.

“We’re pretty good,” the mom said. “We’ve been playing together for years. This game’s a tradition. Who’s your kid? She new?”

“Olivia Symington.”

“I guess you can play center field. Glenda Spitz is left field. Whatever you miss, she’ll catch.”

Tracy was beginning to steam. “I thought you might need a pitcher.”

The woman laughed. “That would be me.”

“You planning to pitch the whole game alone?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, unless I have somebody to relieve me who knows what she’s doing.”

Tracy held out her hand, slipping her glove on the other one. “Try me.”

“I don’t want to sound unfriendly, but we don’t have time to train you.”

“Throw the ball. Now.” Tracy realized she sounded as if she was addressing the sixth-grade boys at youth camp, but she figured this really wasn’t that different. Macho posturing came in all genders, ages and sizes.

The woman shrugged, looked at her friend and grinned, then backed up to throw the ball to Tracy. Tracy no longer felt even vaguely nauseated. She didn’t feel tired. She just felt annoyed. When the ball whizzed in her direction, she didn’t even raise her glove until the last minute. Then she leaped for it, caught it easily, wound up and pitched it back to the woman, who almost let it fly by when the ball curved neatly at the last minute.

“I noticed you’re taking both feet off the ground at the last moment when you pitch,” Tracy said conversationally. “Just so you know, that’s against the rules. If you don’t drag the toe of your pivot foot, then you could be called for leaping.
I
have time to train you, if you like.”

“What did you say your name was?” the woman asked.

“Tracy Deloche. I’m the supervisor over at the rec center.”

The woman stared at her, then a grin lightened her face. “Let’s just not beat the girls by too much, okay?”

“They’re pretty good. I’ve coached some of them myself.”

“Yeah, but can you bake a chocolate-chip cookie?”

“Not unless someone’s holding a gun to my head.”

The woman nodded right before she threw the ball again. “We’ll get along.”

Tracy thought she might actually like this mom thing. That was a huge revelation, and she was still getting used to it. First she’d discovered she was okay with babies. Now, whenever Tracy visited, Lily clapped her hands and screeched Tey-Tey-Tey, which could have meant anything, but delighted Tracy anyway. She had maternal instincts she hadn’t known she possessed. She could soothe little Lily, entertain her, even change her diaper with efficiency. And now there was this mom-bonding thing that might just work out for her. Turned out there were jock moms as well as cookie bakers and Sunday-school teachers. She would find friends on the playground, maybe even start a softball league with day care.

Finally there was Olivia, who had been thrilled to have Tracy stand in for her own mother. “Thanks, Mom,” she’d said afterward, with a huge hug, even though the girls had lost. She had apparently forgiven Tracy for striking her out when it was Olivia’s turn at bat. Since the girl had later gone on to hit a triple, she was content.

“You look happy,” Marsh said, stepping out of the kitchen with a platter of bruschetta that held a variety of toppings. Her stomach didn’t even spiral in place. In fact, the bruschetta looked delicious.

“I was just thinking about Olivia.” She looked around to be sure Bay wasn’t in earshot.

“He’s on the phone upstairs,” Marsh said, reading her mind.

“She called me Mom. I think she was only joking, but it sent shivers up my spine.”

“Why, because you don’t ever want to be one?”

She almost laughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of her needing a mom and me being her stand-in. She adores Janya, too, but I think Janya’s more like a big sister. I’m just older enough that she can pretend with me. I would have been, what, twenty-three when she was born? That’s not out of the ordinary. I fit right in with the other mothers on the field.”

“Do you think she’ll be asking you for more of this kind of thing?”

Tracy was sure of it. Olivia had glowed. There was no other word for it. “She was pretty happy to see you there, too. She might need a stand-in dad now and then. Would you be willing?”

Without answering, Marsh set the food in front of her. “I’m betting after all that running around on the field, ice water’s your drink of choice.”

“Perfect.”

He left and returned with a pitcher, and two glasses filled with ice and lemon slices. “I like Olivia,” he said. “I always wanted a daughter. Maybe she’ll stand in for me?”

She almost blurted out the truth, that she might well be carrying that daughter he’d yearned for. But she wasn’t quite ready.

These pants still buttoned.

“I’m hearing great things about that play down at the civic auditorium,” he said as he filled her glass and handed it to her. He told her about it, and she tried hard not to wince. There were few things in life she disliked more than dysfunctional families dissected onstage. She’d grown up in her own and didn’t need a dramatic replay.

“Interesting,” she said when he finished.

“I thought you might like to go. I could get tickets.”

He was being so nice, working so hard to please her. She wasn’t sure what to say. She asked a question instead. “I didn’t know you were that fond of the theater. Are you?”

He took a long swallow before he answered. She was afraid he might drown. “Not usually,” he said, just before she grabbed the glass for his safety.

“But the play appeals to you? People tearing each other apart onstage? That’s your thing?”

“Not usually.”

“You were doing this for me, weren’t you?” She almost cooed the words. “You thought I might like to go.”

“It occurred to me.”

“Waste no time worrying. I love film—after all, look where I grew up. But I’m not a huge fan of the theater unless it’s something light. Does that solidify my reputation as an airhead?”

“No, it solidifies my desire to hang out with you.”

She thought about his words. “Hang out with you.” She supposed that was as good a description of their relationship as any. Had he added “and get it on with you,” it would have been perfect.

“What would you like to do?” he asked when she didn’t reply. “Would you like to plan something for Friday night?”

She realized something was nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite get hold of. She sat in silence, worrying the instinct like a cat with a cornered mouse. At the same moment, Bay came roaring down the stairs, demonstrating the reckless energy with which he did everything. He was too often in trouble, because social skills weren’t one of the places he excelled, but he was learning.

“Can I go to the movies with Adam Friday night?” he shouted. “Will you take us? Can he sleep over?”

“So much for you choosing our night out,” Marsh told Tracy.

She was still trying to figure out what was bothering her. She nodded. “I’ll come hang out, too, unless Bay doesn’t want me here.”

“Will you play Guitar Hero with us?” Bay asked.

“I’ll cream you, kid.”

They munched bruschetta while Bay told them all about his class field trip to a wildlife rehabilitation center; then they moved into the kitchen for one of Marsh’s fabulous meals. He had breaded and broiled catfish with herbs, lemon and garlic, and served it with pasta with a light cream sauce and a medley of roasted vegetables.

She was dishing up reasonable portions of each when he leaned over to refill her water glass.

“Where’s the wine?” she asked. She didn’t want any, of course, and had decided to plead dehydration, but there was no opportunity. Marsh always had a glass of wine or beer with his meal, but he seemed to be drinking water tonight, too.

He hesitated. Not long, but just as she’d correctly read Olivia’s hesitation earlier in the afternoon as guilt, she read this one as subterfuge. Marsh was working on an excuse.

“I just forgot to open a bottle,” he said. “What would you like? I probably won’t have any myself. It’s been a long week.”

And then she knew.

She put down her fork. “Marsh, can I see you in the living room for a moment?”

He looked surprised. “Your fish is going to get cold.”

“You’re right about that.” She stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him no choice but to follow.

When he joined her, she leaned in close so Bay wouldn’t hear them. But her tone said it all. “You know!”

He feigned ignorance. “Know what?”

“You know! Who told you?”

When he didn’t answer, she grabbed his shirt. “Wanda, right? Wanda told you?”

He stopped pretending. “I wrung it out of her. I lived with a pregnant woman, remember? I’m not stupid, even if it did take me a little while to put all the facts together. Oddly enough, it never occurred to me that if you were carrying my baby, you wouldn’t tell me yourself.”

She shoved him. “That’s why you’ve been so nice to me, isn’t it? That’s what the Baithouse Bistro was all about. The flowers. Coming to the softball game. Telling me I could choose our date this weekend. You’ve been buttering me up so I’d tell you.”

“That’s simplifying things a whole lot. But let’s back up a little. Let’s not only talk about horrible old me doing all those nice things to make you happy. Let’s talk about why you never told me in the first place.”

They were only one decibel level above a whisper, but Tracy didn’t want Bay to hear any of this. She lowered her voice another notch.

“Because I didn’t want to.” She glared at him. “Because we didn’t plan this, we aren’t married and as far as I know, I’m just a passing phase in your life. This baby isn’t a passing phase. It’s
real,
and I want to be sure it gets off to the best possible start.”

“Without its father?” He glared. “When were you going to
tell me? How long did you think you could hide something like this?”

“Until I was ready, that’s when!”

“Don’t think you can cut me out of my own child’s life anymore. This is my baby, too.”