Belle Pointe. Karen Young

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СКАЧАТЬ in Vail and Palm Beach. But sometimes—more and more frequently of late—Anne had begun to wonder if she weren’t one of Buck’s possessions, too. Arm candy to his sports hero image. To her way of thinking, the prospect of a baby promised to give some measure of reality to their bizarre lifestyle. Children had a way of grounding a marriage.

      In an attempt to make him understand, she said, “We live in a fishbowl, Buck, you posing for fans, me playing the adoring wife and smiling when I don’t always feel like smiling. And yes, I admit it. I haven’t found all that so fulfilling.” She paused, searching for words. “To me, a constant round of fun and games has become sort of…I don’t know…empty, I guess. Maybe I’ve outgrown it.”

      “I didn’t hear all these complaints when I signed that last multimillion-dollar contract. And I didn’t see any misery when I bought you that sweet little Mercedes for your birthday. I also didn’t notice any pain on your face when we paid cash for the condo in Vail.” His foot was heavy on the accelerator again.

      “I’ve never denied enjoying the things your job makes possible for us,” she said quietly. “But they’re only things, Buck. They don’t take the place of a baby. At least, not for me. I want us to be a real family.”

      “What’s a real family? I can tell you from experience that mine is a dysfunctional, screwed-up bunch. You and I don’t need a baby to feel like a family.”

      “I know you don’t have a good relationship with the Whitakers, but that doesn’t mean you won’t make a good father. You’d have a chance to change the things your parents did that were wrong.”

      He gave a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t live long enough to do that.”

      “Just think about it, Buck. Already you’ve endowed a program for inner city kids and almost every year you participate in Special Olympics. You make time to talk to high school athletes about avoiding drugs and getting a diploma. You do any number of things that show you’ve got a good heart. You sell yourself short when you say you wouldn’t make a good father.”

      As an adopted only child, Anne’s childhood had been lonely. In spite of having very loving adoptive parents, she’d longed for brothers and sisters. When she married Buck, she’d dreamed of having her own babies, her own family. Buck’s heritage as the son of a “gentleman planter” in the Mississippi Delta was intriguing, so different from her rather ordinary roots in New England. Belle Pointe, his family home, fascinated her. Why couldn’t he see all the reasons they should start their own family?

      “How far along are you?” he asked abruptly.

      “Ten weeks.” But maybe not for long. While they’d been on the road, the cramping had worsened. Maybe she should call her doctor. Maybe going straight to bed wouldn’t be good enough. She might very well wind up in the hospital tonight. With a glance at the speedometer, she saw the needle pushing eighty and, feeling anxious to get home, she said nothing.

      “To tell the truth, I’m having trouble with this, Anne,” Buck told her. He sat hunched over the steering wheel, a sure sign of his agitation. “I’ve got a lot on my mind that we haven’t had a chance to discuss. The Jacks are playing hardball in the negotiations on my new contract. It’s a disadvantage that I’m thirty-seven years old. They claim they’re uncertain whether my arm will hold out. Plus, they’re harping on the bad publicity that came after Casey’s death. I couldn’t help it that he was at my house when his heart gave out, but they don’t see it that way. The press hinted at steroid abuse and no matter how I deny it, I think the Jacks suspect I had something to do with it. So a baby right now is a complication I didn’t expect. I guess you could say it’s…well, it’s just bad timing. Frankly, I feel blindsided.”

      He saw their baby as a complication? “When would have been a good time, Buck? I’ve apologized for the way I went about getting pregnant, but I’m not sorry for conceiving the baby. It’s done.”

      “I would never have expected you to do something like this, Anne.”

      “Well, I did it.” She crossed her arms stubbornly. “And I’m sorry it’s bad timing for you. You’ll simply have to get over it. It’s not like I can just reverse a pregnancy. There’s only one way to do that and I know you don’t want me to have an abortion. Do you?”

      The words were tossed off impulsively, but when Buck didn’t instantly deny it, she looked at him in shock. He had a right to be upset, she gave him that, but surely he wasn’t contemplating aborting their baby. Appalled, she stared at his stony profile. “I’m waiting to hear you answer that, Buck.”

      “Hell, Anne, it’s just that—” He broke off abruptly. “Hold on!” he shouted over the screech of brakes.

      Anne’s startled gaze caught sight of a deer square in the Porsche’s headlights. Later, she’d recall the flash of its white tail as Buck instinctively swerved to avoid the animal. But with the maneuver, the Porsche fishtailed off the pavement onto the gravelly shoulder of the road. As it careened wildly, Anne realized they were going to crash. She had the odd sensation that the whole thing was happening in a kind of distorted slow motion. Her mind took it all in, the blur of trees as the car hurtled at breakneck speed, the sudden specter of a green highway sign and Buck’s desperate wrench on the wheel to miss it, then the drag as pavement gave way to a grassy bank. With the car now moving sideways at a dizzying speed, she realized it was going to tumble down into a deep ravine. Her last thought before the sickening impact was of her baby.

      Please, God…

      When Anne was wheeled out of the recovery room it wasn’t Buck who appeared instantly at her side. It was Marcie Frederick. Anne had no strength—or heart—to greet her. She still reeled from the news delivered by her doctor in recovery as she regained consciousness.

      Miscarriage. Her baby, gone forever.

      “So, how’re they treating you, sweetie?”

      Anne felt a tear leak out of the corner of her eye. “I can’t say I recommend this place.”

      “I know, darlin’.” Marcie lifted her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry.”

      “I d-don’t think I can b-bear it, Marcie,” she whispered brokenly. “I wanted this baby more than anything in this world.”

      “Of course, you did.” Marcie dug in her purse for a tissue and gently blotted at Anne’s tears. “I feel silly for not guessing you were pregnant. After three pregnancies myself, I should have recognized the signs.”

      “Nobody knew. I wanted to wait until all chance of m-miscarriage was over.” She felt another overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m sorry. I just can’t—”

      “It’s okay, you just go right ahead and cry, honey. You’ve had more than enough trauma tonight to make anyone cry. That was a bad crash. I’m just thankful you both survived.”

      Her mind was fuzzy, but she had no trouble recalling the accident. Buck, angry and speeding. The deer appearing out of nowhere. The horror as the car tumbled down into that steep gully. Anne closed her eyes. “Is Buck okay?”

      “He’s banged up, but okay,” Marcie said as an orderly appeared. She didn’t volunteer details and Anne didn’t ask. Nobody spoke as they rode in the elevator to the third floor. Anne had been told that most patients recovered quickly from a miscarriage, but she’d taken a bump on her head in the crash and a few scrapes and bruises, so she would probably be staying in hospital for a day or two.

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