No Matter What

chapter FIFTEEN



WHAT DID YOU BUY A pregnant teenage girl for Christmas?

Molly had started her shopping, of course. Despite the recent turmoil, she wasn’t that disorganized. She’d bought gift certificates, books, DVDs, all online. Cait had suggested a CD for Trevor, which took care of shopping for him. She’d even bought a book for Richard, an inadequate gift but the only one she could think of.

But her own daughter was different. So far, everything Molly had bought for Cait was impersonal. And, darn it, she was down to only two weeks before Christmas, so she’d decided to brave the crowds and hit the mall.

Molly drifted through Nordstrom, undecided. Not clothes, that was for sure. While Cait would need maternity clothes in the not-too-distant future, those wouldn’t exactly be fun for a teenager. Thrift stores? Maybe. Molly thought about dusting off the sewing machine she so rarely used. This whole thing was hard enough on a kid Cait’s age without her being stuck in completely untrendy clothes for four months or more. Was it possible to replicate current teen styles with a belly panel?

Nothing related to dance. Although continuing to dance would be good for her mental and physical health. At least leotards stretched, probably to infinity.

Molly gave a last pained look at the teen department and turned away.

Jewelry? Maybe some bath and body stuff. She ought to head out into the mall, look for some specialty stores.

Her feet came to a stop and she suddenly had trouble breathing. Oh, why hadn’t she been more careful? Not five feet in front of her was a table displaying one-piece cotton sleepers for babies. These were in classic baby colors: mint green, soft yellow, delicate pink, summer-sky blue. The blue ones had sailboats embroidered on the breast; the soft yellow had puppies.

Somehow her feet had moved, and she was standing right in front of the table fingering a buttery-soft sleeper. She lifted her gaze to see other display tables and racks. Small undershirts, T-shirts, corduroy overalls and miniature denim pants with cargo pockets. Socks…oh, God, so tiny.

Her chest hurt. Her throat burned. Bewildered, she realized how close she was to crumpling to her knees and sobbing. What’s happening to me?

But she knew, she knew. I’m falling apart, that’s what.

Molly had shopped children’s clothing departments hundreds of times since she’d discovered she would never have another baby. The decision not to even look at the baby stuff hadn’t been consciously made, but she had adhered to it religiously except for the few times she’d had to suck it up and buy a shower present. It had been years since she’d been required to do that, although the time would come again when Cait’s friends got married and had babies.

When I have grandchildren, she’d always thought.

She lifted a fleece “sack” with arms and a hood to her face and gently rubbed her cheek against it. It was red, perfect for the season, cozy, unisex. Tears leaked out now and she turned away when a couple of young women passed carrying bags stuffed full of purchases. One of the two was pregnant and she gave a cry of delight and pounced on some holiday-themed T-shirts.

“Oh, I missed those!”

“Your little button won’t be born until the first of February,” her friend pointed out practically.

“Yes, but…”

They eventually departed, neither paying any attention to the woman paralyzed in the midst of racks of tiny, soft, evocative baby clothes.

I could buy one outfit, she thought. To send him or her away in.

Her rib cage contracted in agony as she imagined it.

If Cait was keeping her baby, they could find out soon—maybe now—whether it was a boy or girl. They could be dreaming, planning. Looking at cribs and mobiles and comforters. A stroller, of course, they’d have to have one. Molly hadn’t kept any of those things, not once she had the surgery. Even though money had been tight then, she hadn’t been able to bear having a garage sale. On a day she’d felt strong, she had packed it all up and taken it to a thrift store. That had been almost as terrible a day as the one when the doctor told her she had to have the hysterectomy.

Now as she stood there with her heart breaking, Molly realized she wouldn’t be doing any Christmas shopping today. She had to get out of here before she really did break down in tears.

She turned and made herself walk away. Keep your eyes on the housewares—that department always has beautiful displays. It’s…safe. She’d almost escaped from the baby department when she saw the teddy bears with embroidered eyes and noses, plump bellies and plush fur.

A broken sound escaped her.

This isn’t only Cait’s baby. It’s Trevor’s, too, and Richard’s. And mine. Mine! How can we let this baby go?

She was almost running by the time she reached the double glass exit doors that would let her escape to the parking lot.

* * *

RICHARD HAD TALKED TO Molly a couple of times since the big blowup, but they didn’t try to get together.

“Let’s give the kids time to adjust,” she had suggested, and he couldn’t argue. The fact that Trevor was home again and Cait apparently hadn’t thrown a major hissy fit were steps in the right direction. He shouldn’t let himself get greedy.

Now, if Molly had said anything about postponing their relationship beyond a week or so, then he’d have argued. Damn it, he wanted them to spend Christmas together, as a family! But his patience was eroding faster than he’d expected. Within days of not seeing her, he was already suffering withdrawal symptoms.

Richard had driven Trevor to school the morning after his return, even though he knew that it wasn’t necessary. Molly came out of her office when he spoke briefly to the school secretary, who handed Trevor a pass. She wore one of her suits, the jacket of which nipped in enough at the waist to emphasize her magnificent breasts. Richard doubted she was aware of the effect.

Her cheeks were a little bit pink when she smiled at Trevor. She was undoubtedly remembering the last time she’d seen him—and he’d seen her. “I’m glad you’re back,” she told him. “Does Coach Bowman know?”

Dark color had risen into his cheeks, too, and he shuffled his feet and seemed to have acquired a few twitches. “Uh, yeah. Dad called him last night.”

“And?”

“He’s benching me Friday.”

“I’ll bet he hates to do that.”

“Yeah.” Trevor flashed her a grin. “He’s really mad at me. He says he’ll be even madder if we lose.”

“I hope there won’t be a repeat.”

“There won’t be, Ms. Callahan.” Richard was proud of the way his son looked her in the eye despite his embarrassment.

“Good. You’d better hurry if you’re going to beat the bell,” she said.

She’d walked Richard out to the parking lot, giving him a chance to tell her more than he had last night on the phone about what Trevor had said.

“Poor Trevor.” She’d sighed. “And then for him to catch us....”

“Yeah. He gets the difference between us and what his mother was doing, but…”

That’s when she suggested they cool it for a few days. He didn’t like the idea, but knew it was smart. He needed to concentrate on Trevor. On making what understanding they’d arrived at solid.

He risked everything, though, that evening after dinner. “I think you ought to call your mother.”

Trevor’s chair scraped the floor as he reared back. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t mean this instant.” Seeing the rebellion on his face, Richard continued. “Listen to me for a minute. I know how you feel. I know you’re angry, and I know you may never feel quite the same about her. But the fact is, she’s still your mother. She loves you, and you love her.” He let what he’d said settle. “She was scared when I had to tell her you’d taken off on your own. You don’t need to see her until you’re ready, but it wouldn’t hurt to say, ‘Sleeping with other men when you were married was really lousy. Sleeping with my coach, letting me catch you in bed with him, that stinks. But you’re my mom, and I love you.’”

He waited.

Trevor’s dark eyes were unhappy. “I’ll think about it,” he said after a minute.

Richard smiled at him. “That’s all I ask.” He stood up to clear the table, and as he circled it he squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You scared me, too.”

Trev stood and collected some dirty dishes. “It wasn’t cool, the way I took off.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

What crossed Richard’s mind was something of a surprise. It was the knowledge that, while Alexa had definitely screwed up, she’d also done a lot of things right by their kids. He wasn’t sure he’d told her that often enough.

* * *

MOLLY MADE HERSELF TAKE two full days to think about what she was going to ask of her daughter. Before she opened her mouth, she had to be sure she was proposing this for the right reasons. That she wasn’t letting this yearning pull her into something horribly wrong for Cait. Or, Molly thought, for me.

Was she really prepared at her age to start all over with a newborn baby? Handle the sleepless nights, the cost of day care, the stress of juggling work and child rearing? Remember what it was like, she kept reminding herself. The never-ending exhaustion, the sense of living on a knife-edge, always wondering when you were going to make a horrible mistake that would traumatize your child forever. Did she have the needed patience anymore? The energy?

If she said to Caitlyn, I want to raise your baby as my own, she had to be able and willing to follow through. She couldn’t expect any more from Cait than she would have if she herself had unexpectedly gotten pregnant and had a baby. The deal would be that Cait got her life back, that she’d become a regular teenager again. She wouldn’t nurse the baby; she wouldn’t give up any of her activities to babysit. Her baby would become a little sister or brother. That would be the deal.

Molly thought about talking to Richard about this, but she needed first to decide whether this was really something she wanted to do. That she was committed to doing. He’d said he loved her, but that didn’t mean he was thinking about marriage. In ten years, he hadn’t remarried. She couldn’t make any assumptions, and saying, So, do you want to be a daddy while I’m being mommy? would be a big—gigantic—assumption.

Decide, she told herself. Talk to Cait. Then talk to Richard.

One thing she couldn’t predict was how Cait would react. Would she be thrilled? Grateful? Horrified? Feel like her mother was trying to steal her baby from her?

And what about Trevor? Would this be too weird for him? In his eyes, would it be better if the child disappeared so that he could imagine some kind of ideal family? Or would he be okay with, well, maybe even seeing the baby from time to time?

And would they tell the baby that Big Sister Cait was really his or her biological mother?

Yes. Molly had no trouble with that answer. She couldn’t live with the lies, otherwise. Families came in all shapes and sizes. What was wrong with being matter-of-fact about what happened? Saying, We all loved you, and I wanted to be your mommy?

Nothing, that’s what.

A part of her knew that she’d really made the decision when she stood in the baby department at Nordstrom. Maybe, secretly, she’d made it long before that.

Acknowledging her certainty, she realized how sweaty-palmed nervous she was about talking to Cait. About saying, I want your baby.

* * *

CAIT’S EYES WERE red-rimmed when she came home from dance on Wednesday. When Molly asked what was wrong, she cried, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and stormed upstairs to her bedroom.

Okay, today’s not the day for the big scene, Molly thought. She was relieved enough for an excuse to put it off that she felt like a coward.

When Cait came downstairs for dinner, though, she opened up. “Ms. Arden heard I’m pregnant. She says if I’m going to keep taking classes, I have to bring a note from the doctor giving permission.”

Molly set down the serving spoon. “Oh, honey.”

“It’s not like I’m playing football! Or…or wanting to bungee jump or do flips off my skateboard!”

“She’s a businesswoman. As much as she loves you, she has to be cautious. If you were to miscarry at the dance school, she needs to know she isn’t legally liable.”

“Like that would be a bad thing,” Cait said disagreeably.

Molly felt her spine become rigid. “Is that really how you feel?”

The fifteen-year-old gave her a desperate look. “You know it isn’t!” Her breath hitched. “Just sometimes…”

Molly took her hand. “I know. I do.”

“Yeah.” Cait gave a forlorn smile. “I guess you do. But…it’s not the same.”

Oh, God, she thought. Maybe this is the day. The moment. Anxiety seized her, and all the words she’d rehearsed jumbled in her head.

“Why are you looking like that?” Cait’s eyes widened. “You’re freaking me out.”

Molly spared a glance for the stir-fry dinner she’d spent the past forty-five minutes preparing, but which neither of them had yet dished up, never mind started eating.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, and her daughter stared. Molly finally said it. “Your baby is family. I’d like to keep her and raise her as my own. Or…or him. Whichever it is.”

“What?”

It was like a dive out the door of a small airplane, something Molly had never had the slightest desire to do. The hum of the engine was receding, she was falling and her parachute was not opening.

* * *

CAIT DID NOT REACT WELL initially. On the positive side, she didn’t come out with guns blazing. She went with the wounded, shocked, staggering-for-cover persona. Molly toughed it out. She hadn’t really expected her daughter to fall into her arms with a “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mommy.” And be fair, she told herself, the idea wasn’t the everyday thing moms suggested. Especially since it rapidly became clear that Cait thought Mom was too old to raise a baby. Apparently she fell solidly in the grandmother camp.

“I’m only thirty-five,” Molly pointed out, with what she thought was commendable evenness of temper. “These days, lots of women aren’t starting their families until they’re my age. If I were to remarry and hadn’t had a hysterectomy, I might well consider having a baby.”

Cait was flabbergasted at that. “You mean…you and Richard?”

“It’s not an option,” Molly reminded her. “I can’t have a baby.” And, damn it, saying the words still hurt.

“Oh, my God.” Darling Cait had already said that three or four times. Molly thought maybe she was actually praying. It was pretty insulting, when you got right down to it.

But Cait did listen, and asked some good questions, and puckered her brow and brooded when Molly in turn asked how she’d feel about having the baby stay part of the family but not be hers.

“You mean I couldn’t take her if, like, I got married when I’m twenty-one and wanted her.”

For some reason they were talking about this baby as though it was a girl. Instinct or convenience? There was something to be said about languages that offered a gender-neutral pronoun.

“That’s what I mean,” Molly said. “I think if we do this, we should make it an official adoption. You and Trevor relinquish parental rights, I adopt. Otherwise, for me to do even simple things like approving medical care or filling out permission forms would be a challenge.”

“Wow.” She’d said that several times, too.

“I don’t expect you to give me an answer tonight.” But, oh, I wish you would. “It’s not like we don’t have plenty of time. I did want you to start thinking.”

Caitlyn lasered her with a challenging stare, blue eyes to gray. “What if I say no?”

Molly rubbed herself over the breastbone, trying to quell panic and pain. Heartburn. The real kind.

“Then I would have to accept it. I’d be disappointed—” to say the least “—but I’d also understand. I know this would be…strange for you.”

“You mean, weird.”

“Possibly.” She let out a breath. “Of course it would be. For all of us. At first.”

“Everyone would know.”

“Everyone already knows.” One thing she couldn’t do was let Cait delude herself. “Just because the baby disappears doesn’t mean your classmates will forget.”

Cait ducked her head. “I thought… I mean, I guess I was thinking…” she mumbled after a minute.

“That when you showed up at school next September, slim and baby-free, you could pretend the whole thing never happened?” That sounded cruel, it occurred to Molly belatedly.

Am I being cruel? Was she in essence insuring that Cait would be haunted forevermore by her one mistake? Should I instead be looking for that new job, trying to give her a fresh start her junior year?

Cait did do the wounded look exceedingly well. Big eyes, tremulous lower lip. “That’s harsh.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly said on a rush of contrition. “It was.”

“But maybe kind of true.”

She held her breath.

And that was when Cait said it. “Probably my answer is yes, but… Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can.” Molly’s smile felt a little tremulous, too. “No matter what…”

“You love me.” Caitlyn tumbled around the table and into her mommy’s arms. “Yeah, I know.”

And yes, the swelling of love was so profound, Molly knew she would survive if ultimately the answer was no. Because Cait was her baby. Her first, and, Molly had always believed, her only.

But now…maybe not her only.

* * *

“WHAT?” BLOWN AWAY, Trevor stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. A cold wind cut through his sweatshirt, but he ignored the discomfort.

He was walking Cait to dance, something he hardly ever got to do anymore since he had practice right after school most days. For some reason Coach had canceled today, though, so he’d hurried to catch her. He was spending a lot of time with her, even though they were more like friends right now than boyfriend/girlfriend. Sometimes he thought he wanted her to be his girlfriend again, but then he’d have second thoughts because…well, she hadn’t liked sex, at least with him, and he was the one who’d screwed up so badly and she was having to pay the price. And then there was the fact that their parents had a thing going, and if Dad and Ms. Callahan got married… Wow. He and Cait would be like brother and sister. And how weird would that be?

But this…was she serious?

“You heard me,” Cait said.

“Come on, hurry up, I’m cold.”

“Wimp.” She wore a parka—pink, of course, and it had a faux-fur-lined hood, really girlie but he had to admit he liked the way it framed her face.

“I don’t feel any need to show I’m manly by freezing to death.” She trotted off down the sidewalk, a bright spot of color on a gray day when the trees were bare of leaves, dark and skeletal. Pretty.

He followed her, catching up quickly with his longer legs. “Your mom wants to keep the baby.” He couldn’t get his head around it.

“And you feel the need to repeat me…why?” Cait shot him an annoyed look that he sensed was cover for something. He couldn’t tell what.

“How do you feel about it?” he asked slowly.

Her steps slowed. “I’m not sure yet.”

“But?”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Okay, now he was freaking. “I thought there was no way you were keeping this baby.”

“I wouldn’t be keeping it. Mom said if we do it, we should make it official. You and me both give up our rights, the way we would if an adoption agency took the baby away. And Mom would adopt it.”

“But it would still be right there.”

She whirled. “I know!” she yelled, face red. “What do you think, I’m stupid?”

If the label fit.

She growled and stalked away again.

“Talk to me,” Trevor said, trailing her.

“I’m trying.” She said it so softly, he barely heard her.

Now he broke into a jog so that he could catch up and get in front of her. Then he walked backward so he could see her. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… The baby would still be here.”

“That’s the point,” Cait said huffily.

He couldn’t get past the basic concept. He’d been counting on the baby vanishing from their lives. Not that he’d forget he had a kid out there somewhere, but that wouldn’t be the same. “But it…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about the baby?”

“What?”

“When you say it.”

“What am I supposed to call it?” He was yelling now. Losing it. It.

“Our baby,” she informed him, all pissy, “is a little girl or boy. Not an it.” She flounced up the steps to the dance school, although he hadn’t even realized they’d arrived. “Goodbye,” she said, yanking open the big door, and left him.

Stuck on the idea that his baby—a little girl or boy, oh, God—might stay in his life. Forever.

He stood where he was for a long time, freezing but unable to move.

* * *

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” In the act of opening containers from the local Thai restaurant, Richard gaped at his son.

“Ms. Callahan is going to adopt the baby.” Trevor looked dazed.

“Who told you that?”

“Cait. Who else?”

Shock, incredulity, anger, disbelief… Let me count the ways. “And this was Molly’s idea? Or was it Cait’s?”

He had to nail it down. Not get sucked in by some dumb teenage scheme.

“Molly’s. I mean, Ms. Callahan’s. Cait told me her mom said that’s what she wants. She asked if she could keep the baby.”

In that moment, Richard figured out what emotion was paramount. Hurt. He’d talked to Molly the day before yesterday, and she hadn’t said a word about this. Hadn’t even hinted she was thinking it. Never mind asking. “What do you think?”

Well, this was one way for her to make it plain she wasn’t envisioning a future with him. Apparently for her, “I love you” meant hot sex when their respective kids weren’t around.

Which would be pretty much never once she started all over with a baby.

He shoved back his chair and stood. “You eat. I’ll be back later.”

Trev jumped up, too, looking alarmed. “You’re going over there to see her?”

“To see her? Hell, no. I need to hear this from her. Not thirdhand.”

“Are you mad?” Trevor’s voice probably hadn’t cracked like that since he was about thirteen.

Good going. Scare your kid, why don’t you? Richard didn’t care. He grabbed his car keys and wallet from the kitchen counter and kept going into the garage.

Ten minutes later—maybe less, he’d violated some speed limits on the way here—he was ringing Molly Callahan’s doorbell.

Cait opened the door, her expression an echo of Trevor’s. “Wait,” she said urgently. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you. It’s not like we’ve made up our minds. I was just…”

Richard pushed right past her. He pitched his voice to be heard as far as her bedroom upstairs. “Molly?” Call it a bellow.

She appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a hand towel. “Richard?” she said in surprise.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me you aren’t planning to torture us for the rest of our natural lives.”

She went so still, she might have been turned into a statue. Only her eyes were alive, shimmering with emotion, taking in the fury that seemed to be consuming him.

And then even her eyes were shielded. She resumed drying her hands and looked at him with calm professionalism. Ms. Callahan, although barefoot and having shed her jacket. “I take it you’re not a fan of the idea,” she said coolly.

A part of him was aware that Cait hadn’t moved. Cold air was coming in the open door. He advanced on Molly, the muscles in his jaw painfully flexed.

“You couldn’t talk to me about this?”

“I thought I should be clear in my own mind whether I wanted to do it.” She raised her eyebrows, managing icy disdain. “Perhaps mistakenly I believed Cait and I were most impacted by this decision.”

The blow was deadly. It was all he could do not to hunch forward in a much-too-late attempt to protect his vulnerable midsection. His belly. His heart.

“That tells me where I rated in your planning, doesn’t it?” He said that quietly, so quietly he hoped Cait didn’t hear. But then he made sure his voice hardened. “Even if you don’t give a damn about me, make some effort to think about your daughter and my son, will you? And a little less about yourself?”

Her face had bleached pale. That was her main reaction, along with the fact that she’d gone back to being a statue.

He gave her a last, scathing look, turned and walked out.

If he had to stop a block from her house to pull himself together…well, it was dark, and no one would know.