“God, I love this part.” Tess Righetti had come to Rockford from Hidden Cove with her new husband Jack to attend a workshop Reed was giving at the academy. She and Beth had become friends when they taught together in another recruit class.
“Miss it, love?” Jack’s tone was intimate, even though Beth sat close to them.
“Yeah. But I got what I wanted, big guy!”
Jack kissed her nose.
“Get a room you two,” she joked not wanting them to feel embarrassed. She was also in a good mood.
Calmer now at karaoke night, Beth sat back in her chair. She'd walked into the gym with Dylan, dressed to kill in a slim green wool dress, cinched at the waist with a hammered-gold belt. Without warning, she had an attack of anxiety. So many changes were happening in her life that sometimes she doubted she could cope with them. Telling Tim and Janey's story for the first time and going public about her relationship with O'Roarke had stretched her nerves tightly.
“Beth, you okay?” Tess asked. “You looked afraid for a minute.”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Schooling her features, Beth concentrated on how the recruits had transformed the arena for the annual singing fest. A large area in front of the stage was sectioned off with room dividers. They were covered with black paper, and life-size white silhouettes of firefighters in action had been pasted on the background.
"Who did the silhouettes?" Jack asked. "They're terrific."
“The kids did everything, of course. I remember those days.” Francey looked stunning in one of her mother's designs, a long-sleeved black pantsuit. This was a family night, and Ben had invited the whole Cordaro clan. "I don't know who drew them, though."
Ben leaned over. "Al Battisti did them," he said. "Odd, isn't it, what you don't know about people."
Bingo, Beth thought. She continued to scan the area. The tables were arranged cozily, with red and white checked tablecloths and karaoke song sheets spread randomly over them. Candles graced the center of each. The stage was backed with black, with ribbons of red and white crepe paper along with white stars in the same material as the silhouettes.
Diana smiled and sipped a cappuccino. She looked as young as Francey in a simple indigo sheath. “This is so beautiful.”
"The transformation's unbelievable," Beth said.
"Francey says this is a tradition," Alex observed. "Haven't you seen it before, Beth?"
She shook her head. I never allowed myself to attend. "Um, no." She began to breathe a little fast
Automatically she looked for Dylan. Dressed in black pants and a fiery red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he stood by Tully's table talking to the recruit's mother. Just finding him across the room calmed her. Change is tough at first. But, Lizzie, think about the great life we're going to have.
“I see O’Roarke’s in fine form,” Tess commented. “He still getting into hot water?”
“He’s doing better.” Beth kept her voice even. “Getting some help with that.”
“Good,” Jack said, grabbing Tess’s hand. “We all need help sometimes.”
Beth conjured up images of the things in the past week that had gotten her through the upheaval in her life. Lovemaking that had transcended any physical contact they'd ever had; helping Dylan and Jake decorate the common area for Christmas at Dutch Towers; dinner at Francey and Alex's, where Alex had told Beth about the firefighters' spouse class he attended at the academy. She smiled at the thought of the gorgeous hunk who loved her friend. He'd confessed to ongoing stress over Francesca's safety. But he was handling it. Just as Beth could handle the changes Dylan had wrought in her life.
The screech of the microphone distracted her. Brady Abbott, Ryan Quinn and Austyn Myers took the stage. The boys had been in charge of the whole night. They'd gotten the karaoke DJ, enlisted people to decorate and arranged for the food. She also guessed they were in for a few surprises.
"Welcome staff, recruits, family and friends," Brady Abbott said in a confident voice. "We've got a fun time planned. Although some of us have already chosen our songs this week, feel free to jump in at any time." He made a few razzing comments to Ryan Quinn.
"Enough, Abbott," Quinn said, jerking the mike away from him and handing it to the DJ.
The man smiled at their antics and announced, "As some of you know, we have about ten prepared songs tonight. Here's the first."
The curtain parted. Out came Connie Cleary and Sandy Frank. They were both dressed in heels and short skirts that showed off their long, shapely legs. Sequined tops hugged them nicely, and their hair had obviously been styled. Immediately, catcalls erupted from all the male recruits. The women carried their bunker boots with them and set them down at the front of the stage. Each picked up a mic.
"This song is dedicated to our fellow recruits," Frank said. "Being female in this class has been interesting. We want to thank you guys for all your help—" the audience laughed as the women rolled their eyes comically "—and let you know how we really feel about you."
Beth knew there had been pranks—stuffing their lockers with tampons, tying pink bows around their helmets and removing the toilet seats from their johns for a day—all in fun.
As Nancy Sinatra began to belt out, “These Boots Are Made for Walking," Beth chuckled. Cleary and Frank sang the words, all the while dancing around the bunker boots. The guys gave them a standing ovation.
But they didn't leave the stage. Cleary announced that they intended to do another song right away. More cheers and catcalls. "Um, Lieutenant O'Roarke, would you come up here for a minute?"
Clearly Dylan knew nothing about this, though Beth suspected he'd been planning something all week with Tully and the guys. There'd been secret meetings and closed doors around the academy.
Grinning broadly, Dylan stood and made his way to the stage. The curtains parted, and Tully wheeled out a motorcycle. Then they held up a black leather jacket, which Dylan donned theatrically. The kids motioned for him to sit on the bike. Again he complied.
Tully stepped forward. "Since we all know that Lieutenant O'Roarke doesn't always play by the rules, we thought we'd dedicate this song to him."
Again Cleary and Frank took the mic. With Tully and Abbott and Quinn as backup singers, they launched into "He's a Rebel" by the Crystals. The audience roared. Beth snatched a quick glance at Ben, who still hadn't given his decision about yanking Dylan's card. Beth suspected he was deliberately making Dylan squirm. That Ben was laughing was a good sign.
When Dylan didn't return to the table after the song, Beth wondered what he was up to. She soon found out when he came on stage for the next song, again with Myers, Abbott, Quinn and Tully. The guys wore colored shirts, but Dylan drew the crowd's attention, dressed in a white suit, like the one John Travolta wore in Saturday Night Fever. So, of course, no one was surprised when he burst into a rendition of "Night Fever" by the Bee Gees, complete with dance steps and hand motions. The guys bumbled along behind him. By the time he finished, the audience was howling.
After a few more songs, Quinn took the mic and said into it, "Okay, Wanikya, payback time."
Francey asked, "What does he mean?"
Dylan, now in his seat and his own clothes, shook his head. "Wanikya said he'd sing if Beth signed up to do all the Christmas activities with us."
Francey’s eyes widened. "Christmas activities?" Then they narrowed on Dylan. "O'Roarke, if you pressured her…"
Beth touched Francey's arm. "He didn't. I wanted to do this. I loved ringing the bells yesterday."
Dylan gave Beth a sideways glance. He'd loved the dickens out of her afterward, telling her with his body how proud he was of her courage to face her ghosts.
Smiling at the thought, Beth watched as Wanikya, a little off-key, sang "I Am A Rock," by Simon and Garfunkel. After that the DJ took a break.
Ben turned to Dylan and Beth. "You've made a lot of strides with the recruits this year."
They exchanged hopeful looks.
"No, nothing's been decided yet," Ben told them. "The deputy is waiting for some information from Reed—and a recommendation from me." He paused. "But it looks good, O'Roarke."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Dylan leaned back in his chair. Things were so good he was almost fearful of the fates getting jealous. His eyes rested on Beth when she got into a conversation with Tess. His heart still ached for what she'd gone through. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her neck. She didn't flinch, didn't react to the public display.
Reed was in on the conversation with Francey. "Yeah. I heard a rumor about that."
"Billy lost it, according to Chelsea. He went wild when she told him she wouldn't see him anymore." Francey grimaced. She'd experienced some of the same problems with Joey Santori.
"Unfortunate that it happened at the fire station." Reed’s tone was sympathetic. "Why'd she tell him there?"
"She tried not to. But apparently Billy wouldn't let it rest when they got off duty and she refused to go home with him. She got so exasperated she told him."
Beth said, "Let's have dinner with her next week."
"Chels and I are both off Thursday. How's that?"
Automatically Beth turned to Dylan. "Is that okay?"
Tess’s head whipped around.
Dylan gaped. He couldn't believe she'd check with him. "Of course," he said hoarsely. She was delightfully oblivious to what she'd done, and to the fact that everybody else was as shocked as he was by her behavior.
The DJ was back from his break.
Ace Durwin, Jeff Griffith and Al Battisti went up to the mic. "We found these songs in the book and had the DJ put them together for us. It's music to pump up by before goin' to face the Red Devil."
“Isn't that cute?” Tess commented as they launched into a medley of songs that had fire in the title or in the theme, such as "Ring of Fire," "Great Balls of Fire," and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes."
The audience gave the guys a big hand, and Ben told Dylan to get the tape for use at the academy.
Next, Giancarlo, Lorenzo and Herb Hartley approached the stage.
"We aren't gonna sing," Lorenzo announced. "But as our contribution to the night, we've found the titles of some songs that we think fit certain phases of the recruits' experience here." He handed out scripts to Giancarlo and Hartley. The captain of training read from his notes. "How did the instructors feel when the fall recruit class arrived at the academy?"
Deadpan, Hanley spoke into his mic. "It's Gonna Take a Miracle."
The crowd laughed loudly.
"How do the recruits feel about coming to the academy every day?"
This time Giancarlo came forward. "Another Day in Paradise."
The recruits moaned.
Lorenzo's grin was broad. "How did the recruits do on confidence walks?"
"'I Fall to Pieces,'" Giancarlo announced. "And by week twelve, they were singing, 'Do That to Me One More Time.'"
Good-natured boos from the audience.
"Our impressions of the first time they fought a fire?"
"Send in the Clowns." Hanley again.
Lorenzo winked at the audience. "How about why Cleary and Frank decided to become firefighters?"
"Girls Just Want to Have Fun," Giancarlo read.
And on they went. Then Cleary and Frank came on stage again, still dressed to the nines. Something about them made Dylan wary.
"We'd like to do a final song." Cleary smiled. "As we said, being a woman in this place has been a unique experience. We couldn't have gotten through it without one person."
Dylan felt Beth tense.
"Beth Winters has been an inspiration to both Recruit Frank and me, by example, by her vast knowledge, by her unending selflessness in helping us—me—through this training." Cleary ran a hand down her sleek hip. "I couldn't have gotten into this skirt without you, Ms. Winters."
Everyone laughed, Beth included.
Sandy took the mic. "Seriously, Ms. Winters, you're a role model for all women in the fire department. We only hope we can do for other females what you've done for us. We'd like to dedicate this song to you."
Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman" began to play.
Dylan grasped Beth's hand, and she clutched it throughout the upbeat song. At the end, amidst thunderous applause Frank and Cleary made their way to Beth. Without censoring her actions, she stood and gave both of them a warm hug.
Dylan decided he'd go for broke, too. He'd been toying with the idea ever since he saw the song in the book. Without giving himself time to chicken out, he made his way to the stage and indicated his choice to the DJ. Then he took the mic from the stand.
"This," he said, "is dedicated to the special lady in my life." He paused dramatically, then launched into Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love with You."
Dimly he was aware of the utter quiet in the room. Of the fact that the clerical staff had come out of the kitchen and gathered around. He could see Beth's face as he sang the heartfelt words to her. He never took his eyes from hers, nor she from him.
When he finished, he kept staring at her. Then, amidst the clapping, she stood and, in front of God and the entire fire academy staff, wended her way through the tables, climbed the stage steps and hugged him.
"I love you, O'Roarke," she whispered in his ear.
"I love you, too." His eyes twinkled mischievously as he said into the mic, "So, what about it? Wanna marry me? On New Year's Day, maybe."
Beth sighed. She wasn't at all frightened by the proposal. It was, she knew in her heart, exactly what she wanted.
"Yes," she said simply. "New Year's Day sounds great.”
* * *
At dinner on Thursday, Beth's stomach lurched when the waiter set Fettuccine Alfredo in front of her. Sitting back, she sipped her Chardonnay. The wine, too, went down sour. Surreptitiously she rubbed her palm over her stomach and pulled on her striped top.
"You okay?" Chelsea asked. "You look a little green."
"My stomach's off tonight. No big deal." She glanced at the table and smiled. "We're so predictable. I always get the Alfredo, Francey gets the chicken and you get the angel hair pasta."
"I like that predictability," Chelsea said, her brown eyes melancholy. "It's stabilizing."
Beth wound the dripping, creamy strands into a spoon with her fork. "I know you'd like to settle down. I'm sorry it hasn't worked out with Billy."
Before dinner arrived, Chelsea had related the unpleasant details of her split with Milligan and the even more unpleasant events since last week, when her entire station house had been thrown into havoc over their personal problems.
"Yeah, well," Chelsea said, "someday I'm gonna find me a man who's mature, thoughtful and terrific in bed." Her eyes narrowed on Beth, then Francey. "Like you two did."
Francey raised her brows. "I never talked about Alex's, um, performance."
"You didn't have to. Sexual gratification is written all over your face." She turned to Beth. "And yours."
Beth blushed, then lifted her glass. "He's stellar, just like all his M-girls said."
Again they laughed. Beth's napkin fell to the floor. When she reached to get it, the world tilted. Spots swam in front of her eyes. "I must be coming down with something. I feel dizzy."
"Getting enough sleep?" Francey's tone carried over the earlier teasing.
"Yeah, a lot lately. Dylan says now that I'm not fighting him anymore, I'm more relaxed. I even took a couple of naps this weekend."
They continued to eat. Beth picked at the noodles, nibbled on some bread and avoided the wine.
"I couldn't believe it when France told me he actually sang Elvis's song to you at karaoke," Chelsea commented. "And then proposed."
"He's a—" Beth started to speak just as her stomach pitched. She stood abruptly. "I'll be right back."
Before Chelsea and Francey could react, Beth bolted to the bathroom. She made it into a stall just in time to lose the contents of her stomach. Limp and bedraggled, she rose from her knees and went to a sink to rinse her mouth. Her friends arrived and led her to the alcove that served as a vanity.
"Sit." Francey indicated a padded chair.
Chelsea wet paper towels and blotted them on her face. Francey knelt in front of her. "You're flushed but not feverish." Taking her pulse, she frowned. "Everything seems okay."
"My stomach feels better now."
"It always does after you get sick."
Sighing heavily, Beth relaxed against the chair back. She saw Francey shoot Chelsea a speculative look.
"What?" she asked them.
"When was your last period?"
Beth thought back. "Right after we returned from your wedding."
Francey’s eyes widened. "Beth, I've been married for almost three months."
"I know." Then awareness dawned on her. "Oh, that's okay. I'm irregular. I always have been."
"What's the longest you go in between?"
"About five or six weeks." She felt blood drain from her face. "I'll get it this time."
"Honey, you missed a time. At least one." Chelsea's expression was somber.
"But Dylan and I used birth control, every time."
"Have you been with anyone else?" Francey asked bluntly.
"No, of course not. I only saw Eric a couple of times after Dylan came to the academy and I didn't sleep with him."
"So if you are pregnant, Dylan's the father."
A chill went through Beth. "I can't be pregnant. I'm forty years old. I'm responsible about sex. I—"
Chelsea stood. "Let's find out for sure." She checked her watch. "We'll stop at a drugstore on the way home. Get an early pregnancy test. You can find out in minutes."
Beth didn't move. Pregnant?
I'll never have children because emotionally I couldn't risk the loss.
She shook her head. This couldn't be true.
Then she remembered when she discovered she was pregnant with Janey. She never even guessed, her periods were so irregular and she'd had no symptoms. Tim was the one who commented that she hadn't menstruated in a while.
Oh, my God.
Beth buried her face in her hands.
No, please, God, don't do this to me. I'm not strong enough. I was just beginning to have faith that I could be—
Francey grasped her shoulders. "Beth?"
Chelsea said, "Honey, being pregnant is not the end of the world. You're going to get married, anyway, so this won’t be a problem." Chelsea's voice was matter-of-fact.
Whipping her hands away from her face, Beth said, "Oh, yes, this is a problem. It's the end of everything."
"Why?" her friends asked simultaneously.
"Because I'm afraid to have another baby."
Again, they spoke together, "Another baby?"
The ladies' room door opened. At the interruption, Chelsea took over. She pulled Beth up and took her arm. "Let's get out of here. France, pay the bill, and I'll get the car."
They were at Beth's half an hour later, armed with the latest pregnancy test. They'd gotten their coats off, and Francey and Chelsea sat in the living room across from Beth. She took the kit from Chelsea. Staring blindly at it, she said, "I was married and had a baby before I was eighteen years old."
Both women gasped. Francey said, "Oh, honey."
"No one knew. I wasn't cutting you out. I never told anybody until Dylan." Beth smiled sadly. "But he wouldn't let it rest, he wouldn't let my secrets stay buried. Once I started talking, the story all came out."
"Do you want to tell us, too?" Francey asked.
She did. Gazing sightlessly at the pregnancy test kit, Beth managed to relate most of the obscene details. She didn't look up once, just stared down the whole time.
When she finished, she felt marginally better. She wasn't sure she'd done the right thing for her friends, though. Tears were streaming down their cheeks.
Francey grasped her hand. "Oh, Beth, I'm so sorry."
"Me, too." Chelsea locked her fingers around Beth's other hand.
"Now you understand why I could never risk having another child."
Neither woman answered.
"I can't take the risk. I'd die if something happened to her." She squeezed the hands holding hers. "You can't know what it was like. I'd never live through the pregnancy, let alone the vulnerability of a child being a baby, a toddler."
She stopped, and Chelsea and Francey exchanged anxious looks again. Then Chelsea stood. "First, let's see if there's something to worry about." She took the kit and scanned the directions like an officer reading a fire call report. "Urine sample in this—" she gave Beth a small container "—then pour a few drops with the little bulb on the stick. Blue for yes, white for no." When Beth's hands trembled as she took the clear plastic container, Chelsea said, "Just get the sample, sweetie. I'll do the rest."
Zombielike, Beth headed into the bathroom. Numbly she got the sample, opened the door, let Chelsea and Francey in.
The women held hands as they watched the small tab.
Very quickly, it turned blue.
* * *
Something was troubling Beth. Dylan's sixth sense, the one that alerted him when there was fire in the walls, when a patient wasn't going to make it, told him so.
He stared at her across the room of the Volunteers of America distribution center. The warehouse-like space was packed with gifts, food and toys. The smell of fresh baked cookies, hot chocolate and coffee, along with three ten-foot Christmas trees decorated with lights and streams of tinsel, scented the air. Combined with the carols playing over a loudspeaker, the atmosphere was festive. Despite that, Dylan felt a sense of foreboding.
"Hey, Lieutenant, you took the cushy job, I see."
Dylan turned to find Reed, bundled in jacket, hat and gloves, sipping a cup of coffee.
"Macauley, what are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd help out."
"Yeah, well, if you know what's good for you, you'll take a cushy job, too. Carrying those bags for the recipients in five-degree weather is worse than fighting a fire in that temperature."
"Couldn't be. No water to freeze on your eyelashes and wrists." He nodded across the room to Beth. "She came, too?"
Dylan smiled at her and she caught his eye. The return smile she gave him was full of feeling—among them, fear. Why?
"Yeah, she did."
"She looks pale."
"Christmas is hard for her."
Reed nodded thoughtfully. "It's not an easy holiday." Shaking off the mood, he said, "Well, I'm gonna go haul turkeys. Catch you later."
Dylan checked his watch. Ten minutes until the crowd was let in. When he arrived with the recruits, a line of people already snaked down the sidewalk like a giant fire hose. They'd been there since seven this morning. The recruits were near the door, in their firefighter uniforms, as was Dylan—good publicity, Ben had said—waiting to carry out the goodies. Beth sat along a half wall. He'd gotten her assigned to checking off names of the recipients because he didn't want her walking around. She'd admitted she didn't feel well, but he knew, anyway. She'd been zonked out when he got to her house Thursday after she had dinner with the girls, and she'd left work right before lunch yesterday. Last night she'd fallen asleep in his arms as they watched their favorite sitcom. He crossed to her.
"Hi, babe."
This time, her eyes twinkled at him. "Babe is a sexist term, Lieutenant."
"But fitting. You look great in those red leggings and white shirt. A real babe."
"Stop."
He braced his hands on the table in front of her, leaned over and whispered, "I'm never gonna stop, sweetheart. Loving you. Telling you how great you look. When we're eighty and living in Dutch Towers, I'll still be chasing you around the apartment."
She stiffened. When he drew back, he was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Never once, not even when she told him about Tim and Janey, had he seen her cry. Multiple alarms went off in his head. "Beth, what’s wrong?"
Just then, a bell rang out, signaling the entrance of the clients. From working here in years past, Dylan knew there would be chaos in about thirty seconds. He looked to the door, then at Beth.
"I'm fine. Christmas stuff is hard for me, that's all." She shoved his arm. "Go away, O'Roarke. I'm okay."
Throughout the morning, Dylan was only able to catch glimpses of her as she talked to customers and handed over the toy bags that runners brought to her. Periodically the recruits came in to warm up. Cleary and Tully stopped to chat with her, then teased him about being a wimp because of the job he'd chosen.
Pizza for the volunteers was delivered. Worried, he managed to arrange his break with Beth. When she would only nibble on a cookie and drink some soda, his concern escalated.
"You really don't feel well, do you?" he asked, brushing back her bangs.
She shook her head.
Glancing at the clock, he squeezed her hand. "We'll leave as soon as we can."
Ten minutes later, Dylan escorted a woman with four children to one of the checkers. The girl, about three, broke away from her mom and headed for the Christmas tree.
"I'll get the rascal." Dylan took after the child. He reached her just as she yanked some tinsel off the tree. "Okay, tiger, a little tinsel won't hurt." He swung her up, held her close for a minute, breathing in baby powder and milk—the scents of childhood—then pointed to the angel on the top. "Those dark eyes and dark hair are just like yours. I'll bet you're not quite as angelic, though."
He hugged her, then threw her in the air. She squealed with delight, drawing the attention of several people in the almost empty room. He'd just turned and headed toward the mother when he saw a commotion at Beth's table.
Panicking, he handed the girl off and burrowed his way through the people who surrounded Beth.
When he got close, he saw Reed kneeling in front of her. Beth was in the chair, bent over, her head between her legs.
"Breathe deeply, Beth." Reed's hand soothed her shoulder.
Dylan’s heart pounded. "What happened?"
Reed continued to rub her back. "We were talking about you when the kid separated from her mother. I turned and saw you catch her, and when I looked back to Beth, she'd broken out in a sweat and was breathing fast. I think she's hyperventilating."
"I'm okay now." She sat up shakily.
Dylan knelt in front of her. When she looked at him her eyes were huge and haunted. Wetting her lips, she whispered, "The baby looked so much like Janey, the tree, the tinsel. Tim used to toss her up."
"Oh, God."
Reed had moved everyone back and retrieved their coats. "Want me to drive you home?"
"No, I've got my car. But you can stay with the recruits." Dylan stood, bundled a silent Beth into her coat and shrugged into his. He hustled her out of the huge room, wincing at the tune coming over the loudspeaker—"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
In the car, Dylan held her hand and apologized. "I'm so sorry. I was stupid to bring you here."
He drove for a few minutes before she answered. "It's not that."
"What do you mean?"
"There’s something else." Her breathing started to quicken again. He thought about pulling over.
"Wait, sweetheart, until we get home."
He headed to her house because it was closer. She was eerily silent the entire way, but her hands trembled despite the fiery heat blasting inside the car.
In her condo, he removed their outer garments. Finally they sat on her couch.
"Hold me just for a minute," she said achingly.
He tugged her to him and soothed her arm. "You’re okay, baby. You’ve had a setback, but you'll get through this too. I should have known not to push so hard."
"It's more than a setback." She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
His breathing stopped. This was the last thing he'd expected. He couldn't speak.
"It's yours, of course." She touched his cheek. "Once you came into my life, there was never anybody else."
Reality began to dawn—and with it a joy he'd never known before. He reached down to touch her stomach. "Pregnant?"
She jerked back as if she'd been scorched, inching away from him. "No, don't do that."
Okay, he thought, this isn't going to be simple. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at her. "All the symptoms are there. I should have guessed." He narrowed his eyes. "And since we've been making love, you haven't had your period. Pregnancy never occurred to me."
She bit her already raw lips. "Me, neither."
"Well, to say this is a surprise is an understatement."
"It's a tragedy."
He moved closer to her and grabbed her hands. "No, Beth. Look, I realize you didn't want this. I was willing to go along with no children because that was what you thought you needed. But don't you see, fate's intervened. This was meant to happen."
"No, Dylan, it wasn't."
"I don't understand."
"I can't have another baby."
"Of course you can. We'll do it together."
"No."
An insidious fear snaked into his heart "No? But you're already pregnant.”
"I won't be as soon as I can make an appointment with my gynecologist."
He went cold all over. "Oh, honey, you don't mean that.”
"Yes, I do."
"No, no." This time he did touch her stomach. "This is our baby you're talking about.”
She wrenched away from him, stood, closed her arms protectively around her waist and paced. "No, this is not a baby. It's a few cells. That's all."
"It's our baby."
"No." She shouted the word.
He stood, too. "Beth…"
"No, I won't be talked out of this. Or seduced out of what I have to do. Or manipulated like you’ve done with everything else."
That stung. But there were bigger issues to deal with.
"You can't mean you'd get rid of this child."
"It isn't a child."
He grasped her shoulders, not in anger but with utter gentleness. Just as gently he asked, "Is that how you felt when you found out you were pregnant with Janey?"
Her entire body deflated. Tears gathered in her eyes and fell mercilessly down her cheeks. "How can you say that? I told you about Janey, and now you use it against me?"
"I'm trying to save you from making the worst mistake of your life."
She stepped back, sobbing. "I’m not making a mistake."
"In your heart you know you are. Otherwise, you wouldn't be crying."
Swiping at the tears as if she could banish them, she struggled for air. Desperation, acute and jagged, was etched in her face. "I won't do this again. I won't put myself in that position again." Instead of moving away, she took a step toward him. She grabbed the front of his uniform shirt. "Don't you see, I'd die this time, Dylan. I couldn't survive a loss like that again. I'd rather die myself than risk losing another child."
Chilling words came to him. The female betta releases her eggs, then the male fertilizes them. When they're done, he kicks out the female because she may eat them. He guards the nest until the eggs hatch.
Feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, Dylan faced her squarely. Again, as gently as he could, given the avalanche of grief that threatened to suffocate him, he said, "Please, honey, this is irrevocable. Don't do this."
"I have to. You don't understand. You just don't understand how awful it was."
Somewhere inside Dylan, a small part of him did understand. She'd been through hell, and no sane person would want to risk that again. But this was his child's life he was fighting for, so he had to be strong. "You'll lose me, too. Along with our baby. The other—not having any kids—I could have handled that. I can never accept this atrocity."
Her shoulders shook. "I have no choice, Dylan."
He swallowed hard. "There's always a choice, Lizzie."
Stepping away, feeling like his world had gone up in flames, Dylan grabbed his coat and left Beth's house.