You're My Baby. Laura Abbot

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      “Please.” Her eyes begged. “You’ll have to take my word for it. I’m in this by myself. For good.”

      The enormity of her predicament was hard to imagine. “It’ll be tough being a single mother. I’m sure you’ve thought of that. Have you considered…you know…?”

      Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not an option. I want this baby very much. This may be my only chance to become a mother. You’ve surely noticed I’m not getting any younger.” The edge in her voice cut off any inept, glib response. “So I simply have to figure out where to go from here.”

      “Does anyone else know?”

      “No. And I don’t plan for them to until it has to come out.” She drew the throw closer around her shoulders. “I’ll have to resign then.”

      That would really be a blow for her. She was a born teacher, but schools—especially private schools—couldn’t overlook what might be viewed as “immoral” behavior. And Keystone? For the second time that day, the school motto came to him. Caring, Character, Curiosity. Jim Campbell, the headmaster, was big on character, but even if he found a way to ease Pam’s situation, would the trustees go for an unmarried, pregnant English department chairman? Pam was in a no-win situation. “Jeez, I suppose you’re right. What then?”

      She looked directly at him. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, as if protecting her womb. “But I’ll tell you one thing.” Her voice held the old spark. “I will do whatever I must to love and support this baby.”

      “You’ve got guts.” Pam had always been a fighter. She’d need to be now.

      “I figure I’ll be able to make it at school until Thanksgiving, at least. That should give me time to line up some other type of work.”

      “Have you seen a doctor?”

      “I’m not very far along. Except for morning sickness, I feel fine. I’ll try to locate a doctor this week. One that has nothing to do with Keystone School.” She reached for her cup, then took several sips. “I’m sorry to burden you with this.”

      He rose to his feet. “It’s no burden.” He picked up his cup and saucer and carried them to the kitchen divider, then returned to her. “You’re brave. You’ll manage.” He stood awkwardly, feeling helpless. “What about your family? Can they help?”

      “Not really. My mother’s dead. My father and I are very close.” She ducked her head. “He’ll be disappointed in me at first.”

      He waited.

      Then she looked up. “But he’ll love this baby.”

      “I’m sure he will. What about sisters? Brothers?”

      “One sister. I can forget about any help from her.”

      The uncharacteristic bitterness surprised him, especially in light of the bond he and his brother Brian had shared. “Why’s that?”

      “We rarely see each other. I think it’s safe to say Barbara doesn’t have much use for me. She has her life in California with her dentist husband and her three children. For as long as I can remember, she’s made it clear I’m the baby sister who made her life miserable. Never mind that we’re grown-ups now. Supposedly.”

      He identified with the hurt in her voice. He knew from his own father and from Shelley what rejection felt like.

      She placed Sebastian gently on the floor and stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.”

      Every instinct said, hug her, but instead he nodded his head. “I understand.”

      She accompanied him to the door. “Thank you for coming. It helps just knowing I can talk to someone if I need to.”

      He hesitated in the doorway, admiring the way she stood tall, determined, as if she could take on the world. “Call on me anytime if there’s something I can do.”

      “I will.”

      He studied her coppery hair, her wide hazel eyes, her full lips—as if he’d never seen them before. She was not only courageous, she was beautiful. “Good night,” he finally managed, turning to leave.

      “Good night. And, Grant?”

      He paused. “Yes?”

      “The father is a good person. I knew what I was doing. But accidents happen.” She studied the floor and he knew she was going to say something more. Finally she raised her eyes. “But this is the last time you or anyone else will hear me refer to this precious child as an ‘accident.’”

      Then she came closer, stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for being my friend. Now, go,” she said, gently nudging him in the small of his back.

      He stood on her walkway long after she had closed the door. The night was warm, and above him a nearly full moon was on the rise, the stars hidden beyond the city lights. The universe was as it eternally had been, its orbits fixed.

      But something—Pam—had knocked him out of his.

      HOLDING THE BASKETBALL in the crook of his arm, Brady Showalter gaped toward the azure swimming pool, bordered by palm trees swaying in the Florida breeze. “Your mom’s a fox.”

      Andy Gilbert shot his friend a disgusted look. “So?”

      “It’s cool, that’s all. My mom, all she wears are these dumpy-looking pantsuits. And I don’t even wanna tell you about her swimsuit.”

      Andy knew what Brady meant. His friend’s mother wasn’t the hottest babe he’d ever seen. Still, it was embarrassing to have your own mother parading around the pool in her bikini, kinda like she was deliberately showing off her bod for his buddies. “Gimme the ball.”

      Brady bounced it to him and Andy feinted, then lofted a shot that whistled through the hoop. Diving after the rebound, he whirled and went in for a layup. “Four points!” he crowed.

      “You gonna play basketball in Texas?”

      Andy banged the ball off the backboard. “You gotta be kidding. Play for my father? No way in hell.” What was with Brady? He oughta know the last subject in the world Andy wanted to discuss was this freakin’ move to Fort Worth! It was bad enough he couldn’t stay here where—finally—he would’ve been eligible to try out for the varsity. But play for his dad? No way.

      “You’re weird, Gilbert.” Brady stole the ball from him and darted to the basket.

      Andy stood, rooted. Weird. That was the truth. His whole life was weird. Mom was running off to some stupid foreign country with Harry, the biggest dork so far of Mom’s boyfriends. Which was saying something. Harry had a gut-busting paunch, fuzzy gray chest hair and a pinkie ring like some Mafia mobster. And he insisted on calling Andy “Sonny.” Like in “Hey, Sonny, how’s it goin’, big guy?”

      “Andy? You wanna play or not?” Brady held the ball in front of his chest, waiting to pass off.

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