The Night We Met (7 page)

"I want to make love to you."

Instead of instil ing the fear I would have expected, Nate's words spurred me on.

"I want that, too."

He stopped—everything. Raising himself above me, he peered right into my eyes. "You sure?"

Grabbing his neck, I pulled him back down. "I am— as long as you keep doing what you're doing."

With a groan and a chuckle, Nate lowered himself, sliding his arms beneath me to hug me tight. "The second you want me to stop, you tell me." His words, whispered against my ear, sent chills down my body.

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Mmm-hmm." Didn't he know I'd promise him anything right then?

Kissing his way down my body, removing my clothes as he went, Nate kept my mind too occupied to think, to allow panic to take hold. I felt a second of doubt when he stood and stepped out of his clothes, when I saw the swollen part of him that had been beneath that zipper.

But before I could give voice to the fears distracting me, Nate was back.

His hands worked magic and his tongue seemed to be everywhere. I sucked in a breath when I felt his velvet-covered hardness between my legs.

"It's going to hurt for a second." Nate's voice was strained as he suspended himself above me.

"There's nothing I can do about that."

I nodded, waiting, needing him more than I feared what was to come.

I cried out when Nate surged forward. Nothing could have prepared me for that initial shock, but as he fil ed me and gently started to move, I ignored the burning and concentrated on the sensation he was generating.

And somehow, miraculously, the buzzing returned, grew, until I was moving as fiercely as he was, taking him as much as he was taking me. It was as though my body had been possessed. I had to have him. Had to climb. Had to get someplace I'd never been before.

And when I arrived, just seconds before Nate spil ed himself inside me, I knew that nothing I'd read about bliss could ever compare to this. I'd reached heaven long before I'd expected to.

Chapter 6

Almost one year to the day I'd married Nate, in the summer of 1969, astronaut Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon, the first man to ever do so. And I went into labor—feeling like the first woman to ever experience anything so exhilarating and excruciating at the same time. Nate was home, thank goodness, in between summer camp sessions, and was calm and reassuring as he collected the bag I'd packed a month before and carried us both out to the station wagon we'd bought the previous winter when we'd found out I was pregnant.

I could barely sit up in the car and almost passed out when the next pain came. "I...can't." I heard my voice from far away.

I'd never missed the convent—the church—as much as I did at that moment.

"Yes, you can, Liza." It wasn't the firmness in Nate's voice that brought me back. It was the fear.

"Breathe," he said, panting and huffing like we'd learned in the class Nate had insisted we attend.

I tried. I really did. But the pain was so intense I couldn't concentrate.

The turn signal was the first sound I heard as the pain subsided. I focused on that long enough to get through the rest of the contraction.

"Obviously Dr. Lamaze has never been in labor," I muttered, eyes closed as I slumped against the seat. "He has no idea how much that hurts if he thinks a little breathing and relaxing is enough to distract you from it."

"Women have been flocking to his classes for the last ten years," Nate said. As soon as he'd learned we were having a baby, he'd insisted we both read everything there was to find about childbirth. "I was hoping that meant he'd found a way to make this easier for you."

"My mom had a shot, went to sleep and woke up skinny again." As ready as I was to have this baby, to finally hold my little son or daughter in my arms, I was scared to death about what the next few hours might bring.

Even with modern medicine, women still died in childbirth. I couldn't bear the idea of leaving Nate.

Or our child.

Still, that didn't give me any excuse to lash out. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm being so cranky."

"Be as cranky as you need to be, honey," Nate said.

We were stopped at a light and I opened my eyes to see him smiling over at me. I smiled back, and soon we were accelerating again.

Please, God, I'll suffer gladly if you 'll just get me and the baby through this okay.

"It's a boy!"

The doctor's voice brought me out of the pain- induced fog I'd fallen into even before reaching the hospital in Denver.

"A boy?" I asked, leaning forward in an attempt to see. "Are you sure?"

The tent of sheets around my lower body prevented me from getting little more than a glimpse—of Nate. Moving in as close to the doctor as he could get, he glanced down, then up at me, his face bearing a huge grin.

"Yep, it's a boy."

"Would you like to cut the cord?"

The doctor's question fel on deaf ears as my strong and oh-so-capable husband slid to the floor—

grabbed by the nurse who, thankfully, helped break his fall. He'd been so busy breathing with me, he'd hyperventilated.

Because I was going to be breast-feeding I couldn't take much for my discomfort, but managed to sleep anyway once I was settled in my semiprivate but as yet unshared room. Keith Armstrong Grady

—named after

Nate's little brother and the astronaut who'd also manifested a miracle that day—was in the nursery until feeding time.

I dreamed heavily, although I couldn't remember about what. I only knew I was feeling particularly emotional as I slowly regained consciousness. The antiseptic smell reminded me where I was before I was fully awake. And then my eyes flew open—looking for the portable bassinet that was supposed to appear beside my bed.

Had I slept through feeding time?

The room was empty. Or so I thought. Until I saw the woman sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me.

"Mama?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded. She'd gained some new wrinkles around her eyes over the many months since I'd seen her. "I'm sorry I let you down, baby. I should've been here, seeing you through all these firsts."

"Is everything okay?" Was she there to tell me something awful? Why else would she end the year-and-a- half-long silence between us?

"Yes," she said, approaching my bed, not much heavier than she'd been when I was young. She was wearing a light-colored shift that I didn't recognize, but as she smiled—a reassuring expression I'd seen many times growing up—my heart filled with peace. "I've seen Keith and he's just perfect, Eliza.

Nate's with him now. And Wil iam and your sisters, too. We all came as soon as he called."

Nate had called my family?

"He's a good man, Eliza. He loves you. And I should have trusted you enough to know that."

I would've thought I was still dreaming except that my lower body felt like it was on fire.

"Is Daddy here?"

Mom's face sobered and she shook her head. "But give him rime. He'll come around."

I nodded, smiled and reached up to give my mother a hug, trying to stem the hurt caused by my father's absence. Dad could have whatever rime he needed. I had a husband who adored me, a son with ten fingers and ten toes, a family who'd come to be by my side. I could afford to be generous.

The first time I held Keith to my breast I knew I would have been incomplete had I chosen to stay in the convent my whole life. The baby's suckling satisfied me in a way I hadn't known was possible. I was meant to be a mother.

"I love you, Eliza." Nate's voice was full of awe as he watched me feed our son. Mom and the others had left for the evening, going back to our house to ready it for my homecoming.

"I love you, too," I told my husband. "More than you'l ever know." I might be his third wife, but I was the first—and only—woman to have his child.

Nate held out a finger to the baby, sliding it beneath the tightly clenched hand. The sight of that thick, masculine finger so tenderly touching our newborn son brought tears to my eyes.

"He's so tiny."

Choked up, I nodded.

"Thank you."

I glanced at him then. "For what?"

Nate nodded toward the baby. "Him. Marrying me. All of it. You gave up so much."

Raising a hand to Nate's head, I ran my fingers through his hair, loving the familiar feel of the silky strands against my skin. "I gave up nothing compared to what I've gained in return, Nate Grady. I'm the one who should be grateful."

Keith was only a couple of months old when I feared our ideal life was coming to an end. The morning started out innocuously enough. I'd been telling Nate that I'd heard there'd been an Elvis Presley convention and 2500 people had attended. I couldn't believe so many people would give up an entire weekend just to gather with strangers who liked the same songs they did.

"That reminds me," Nate had said, somewhat distracted as he poured himself a bowl of cereal while I sat at the table with Keith at my breast. "There's a hotel management convention in Hawaii next month. Walt wants me to go."

My heart fell. Hawaii was half a world away. Or at least it felt like it.

"Can't someone else go?"

"It's a managers' convention. I'm the manager," Nate said, taking a spoonful of cereal on his way to the table. "Besides, it's an honor. I want to go. I've never been to Hawai ."

I wasn't going to be a clingy wife. Or give him a chance to tel me I was acting immature—not that Nate had ever once accused me of that.

I wasn't going to hold him back.

"Okay," I said, proud of myself for being able to say that—and mean it. "But we'l miss you."

His spoon hung suspended between his mouth and the bowl. "We?"

"Keith and I."

"You're going with me!" He frowned. "Your mom offered to come and babysit anytime."

"I can't go," I said, glad at least that he'd wanted me to. "I'm breast-feeding, remember?"

"He'll be three months old by then. You can wean him."

"No, I can't." We'd been through al of this before the baby was born—had a solid plan that we both felt good about. "Breast-fed babies are generally healthier," I reminded him. "We said I'd feed him until he's six months old and past all the newborn baby dangers."

"That was before we knew we'd have a once-in-a- lifetime chance to spend a week in Hawaii, al expenses paid."

A week? "Nate!" Keith whimpered and I resettled him. "Even if I wasn't breast-feeding, I wouldn't want to leave him for an entire week. He's only two months old! Anything could happen. This is a critical time in a baby's life. He needs his mother."

"But you don't mind leaving me for a week." The surly tone of voice was so unlike Nate.

Come to think of it, my husband had been acting a little out of sorts for a while now. I'd been so consumed with first-time motherhood and worrying about getting it right that I'd somehow lost touch with Nate.

"I'm not the one leaving," I told him gently.

"You mean it." He stared at me. "You real y won't come."

"Not without Keith."

"You'd choose him over me."

"Nate!" I frowned, getting kind of scared. "Don't be ridiculous! This isn't a contest. Keith is yours as much as he's mine."

He stood up, taking his half-eaten bowl of cereal over to the garbage. "All I know is that since you had that baby, you've been out of our bed more than in it. When I cal from work, you're always distracted.

I can't remember the last time you asked me how my day went. And now you're turning down a chance for a trip to paradise with me."

Sick to my stomach, I sat there feeling far too exposed as I fed my son—and utterly helpless, as well.

Since Keith's birth, I'd been too tired even to read the dogeared copy of Jane Eyre on my nightstand, let alone tend to an energetic and active husband.

I'd been too consumed with my own joy and the responsibilities of a new mother to think much about the man I loved. Nate might be acting out of character today, but as far as he was concerned, I'd been doing exactly the same thing since the first day I'd held our baby in my arms.

"I'l try to do better" was al I could think to say. While I thought Nate was wrong to expect me to leave the baby for an entire week when he was still so young, I knew I'd treated Nate poorly, too. At best, I'd taken him for granted. At worst, I'd ignored him. "I have no excuse except to say I was just trying to be a good mother."

"I don't want you to have to try to do better," Nate said, grabbing his keys and windbreaker with the resort logo. "That's the thing, Eliza. You used to care enough about me that you didn't have to try. It just happened."

He walked out before I could reply.

Moving the baby to my other breast, I sat stunned. I felt as though I'd been slapped.

That night, when Nate got home, Keith was already fed and bathed, and he'd been down for at least four hours. I'd bathed, as well, styling my hair and even applying a little of the makeup Walt's daughter, Mary, had helped me buy and learn how to wear. I had steaks on the broiler, a glass of wine poured for Nate, and was wearing the negligee he'd bought me for our first anniversary.

A gown I hadn't yet had an occasion to wear.

Nate had called that afternoon. He'd apologized. I had, too, although he'd said there was no need.

He'd confessed his shame at finding that he'd been jealous of his own son. He'd said I was a great mom and he was eternal y grateful.

Nate hadn't mentioned it, but I suspected part of his problem was the fact we hadn't made love in almost four months. I hadn't really noticed the time passing—or felt particularly sexy—as my body ballooned with the baby and then recovered from what felt like a mil ion stitches. But I'd been starting to feel the urge lately, and if it was this noticeable to me, the wait had to be equally difficult for him.

Twenty minutes before I expected him home, I heard the piano and, spraying on his favorite perfume, went quickly downstairs to the dining room, which home solely to the scarred old piano he'd had since childhood.