You're My Baby. Laura Abbot

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      “Sure thing.” She extended her arms, more like the old Pam, and said, “Let the games begin.”

      He chuckled at her final remark as he left the school. But gradually his smile faded, replaced by a sadness he couldn’t identify. He had always been fond of Pam. Heck, tell the truth. He was attracted to her. But she was like a tropical bird—colorful, flamboyant, dramatic. He’d always figured she’d never go for a plodding, meticulous math teacher who just happened to be tied up several months a year with a high school basketball team.

      Driving home, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her brave front had been just that. A front. He didn’t think she was fine. Not at all.

      And he didn’t like that. He wanted her to be fine.

      PAM BANGED AROUND the small kitchen of her condo, fixing a salad and warming leftover corn bread for dinner. What kind of idiot Grant must think she was! All afternoon she’d replayed the scene in her mind. Why there? Why then? To fall to pieces like some fragile Melanie Wilkes. Unthinkable.

      It was the notes that had done it. She’d been rummaging in her desk drawer for the key to her filing cabinet when she’d come across them. She made a habit of saving complimentary correspondence from students and parents. Then on bad days she’d pull them out and read them to remind herself why she loved being a teacher. She’d been okay until she came to Cissy Philbin’s scrawled message. Poor Cissy, who struggled to make B’s and had been devastated by the death of a sibling and later by her parents’ divorce.

      “Dear Ms. Carver,

      I couldn’t have made it through high school without you. You always believed in me and demanded my best. You knew what I was going through and willed me through bad time after bad time. You wouldn’t let me quit. Or be a crybaby. You made me believe that like the saying says, there can’t be a rainbow without the storm. You are my rainbow. Thank you.”

      Now, recalling the words, Pam felt a flood of emotion similar to what she’d experienced at school. It wasn’t just hormones, although they were certainly doing a number on her. When she’d read Cissy’s words, she’d felt a painful void. If she had to quit teaching because of the baby, she wouldn’t be there for the Cissys of the world, nor would they be there to infuse her life with purpose and meaning.

      Picking up her plate, she moved to the living room couch and turned on the evening news. But she scarcely heard the newscaster. Grant, of all people. They’d worked on faculty committees together. She admired his no-nonsense approach to problems and his well-deserved popularity with the students. Several years ago she’d toyed with the idea of exploring a relationship with him. But they were very different. He was quiet; she was not. He was steady; she was mercurial. Finally she’d concluded it would be foolish to risk a valued friendship in the unlikely search for romance.

      Any other time she might have found it comical to watch him sitting on the floor of her classroom, his rangy six-foot-four body hunched over the myriad components of the Globe replica. But today she had studied him intently out of the corner of her eye, noticing how his big hands worked dexterously with the tiny tabs, grateful for his understanding and concern.

      After supper she settled on the couch with the book she’d stopped to purchase on her way home. What to Expect from Your Pregnancy. She’d had no idea it would be so thick, so full of information. As she read, she found herself almost unconsciously rubbing her palm back and forth across her still-flat stomach and humming along with the Phantom of the Opera CD playing in the background.

      She was intently studying diagrams of the stages of fetal development when the doorbell rang. She jumped up, curious. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She ran a hand through her hair, then stuffed the book under a pillow. At the door she peered through the peephole. Grant?

      She undid the chain and unlocked the dead bolt before easing the door open. He loomed above her, his eyes twinkling, his mouth quirked in a grin. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, right?”

      She held the door open wider, by way of welcome. “It had crossed my mind. I would think you’d had enough of me for one day.”

      “Apparently not. May I come in?”

      “Of course.” She ushered him inside, then pointed at the only easy chair in the room. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? A soda? Iced tea? Sorry, but I’m out of beer.” And will be for nine months.

      “A soda would be fine.” When he followed her into the kitchen, the room seemed to shrink.

      She took her time at the refrigerator, bewildered. Grant Gilbert had never been to her home. Why was he here tonight? When she turned back, he was leaning over the counter, his chin propped in his hands, studying her. Maybe it was because they were at eye level, but she’d never noticed before what gentle blue eyes he had. Or how his short, wavy brown hair was silvering just a bit above his ears. Flustered, she handed him a Sprite and watched him pour it over the ice. Then with the grace of a born athlete, he moved back to the living room and eased into the armchair.

      She sat back down on the sofa, then decided to get to the heart of the matter. “About this morning—”

      He waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m glad I could help with the theater. Were you able to get your room finished?”

      Had he deliberately misinterpreted to help her save face? “Finished? You know better than that. My room is a constant work in progress.”

      “Speaking of works in progress, I’d like your advice about one of my own. That’s one reason I came over.”

      One reason? Were there others? “How can I help?”

      As he talked, he slowly rotated the glass between his palms, every now and then pausing to see if she was following him. The need in his eyes was apparent as he explained how much he wanted to have his son with him for the year. Pam had had no idea his ex-wife was such a bitch, nor that she had made it so difficult for Grant to be with his son. “…so I’m desperate. I’m asking everyone I know if they can recommend somebody. Anybody.”

      She smiled. “Not just anybody, I hope.”

      He shrugged, then grinned ruefully.

      She thought for a moment. “Have you contacted area colleges? There might be an older woman going back to school who would need some extra income.”

      He brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. It’s worth a try. Finding a qualified person within my budget will be a problem.”

      Like having a baby within my budget. “I can imagine.” Although he had obviously accomplished what he came to do, he didn’t seem inclined to leave. In truth, she found his presence welcome.

      They sat quietly for a few moments. “Nice music,” he said. “What show is that?”

      She told him.

      “I like show tunes, but I’m more of a jazz buff myself. Vintage Erroll Garner is about as good as it gets.”

      The longer they talked, the more she relaxed, even enjoyed herself. Usually all colleagues wanted to talk about was school, but Keystone hadn’t been mentioned since the beginning of their conversation. She was delighted to discover he enjoyed movies as much as she did and was something of an expert on Jack Nicholson. They disagreed on whether Anthony Hopkins should make a third Hannibal СКАЧАТЬ