A COUPLE OF days later Michael returned from a trip into town and entered a darkened house.
“Shh,” hissed Meghan from the recesses of the couch.
By the light of the television he made his way across the room and sat on the cushion she was patting beside her. She crawled into his arms and draped her long legs out across the sofa.
He held her close, loving the feel of her body next to his. Her lavender scent filled the air. He inhaled deeply and rubbed his chin in the soft hair on the top of her head. One had rested below her left breast, the other made long soothing strokes over her large abdomen.
My lady and my baby, he thought wondrously. The times he’d dreamed of this moment, and yet as glorious as it was, it wasn’t as perfect as he’d hoped. If only she’d tell him. If only … Maybe if his latest idea to outmaneuver her worked, she’d be able to build up enough faith in him to tell him the truth. And if she couldn’t? Well, he didn’t relish the idea, but he knew as a last resort he could force her to explain … and then what? Time and self-counsel had done much to cool his ire, but the hurt and the desperate hope that Meghan would make things right remained.
He sat silently, relishing her nearness while an old black-and-white movie played on the television. As the hero paced impatiently back and forth on top of the Empire State Building, listening to the shrill sounds of ambulance and police sirens from below, Michael realized that the movie was vaguely familiar to him. It was then, too, that he noticed the tears streaming down Meghan’s cheeks.
He gave her an affectionate squeeze and lovingly kissed the top of her head. “I think I’ve seen this before. What’s the name of it?” he murmured softly, so as not to interrupt the drama.
She cast him a look of great disdain and blew her nose. “An Affair to Remember.” She sighed mournfully. “I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“And do you cry every time?” he whispered in her ear.
“Every time,” she stated, snuggling closer to him.
He held her tighter, trying with all his might to transmit to her the enormity of his love. Consciously or subconsciously, she got the message. She looked at him with moist, bright green eyes. Her hand moved up slowly to rest on the late-afternoon stubble of his beard. Even its roughness felt wonderful to her.
“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes telling him how much.
He bent his head and sensuously nibbled on her lower lip. “And I love you, Meghan,” he murmured against her mouth.
He explored her lips and knew he’d never tire of the study. He passed his tongue between them and she opened to him willingly, her arm sliding around to the back of his neck. As their kiss deepened, she turned to press as tightly against his chest as she could, given her condition.
Their kisses softened sensuously, then deepened passionately until Michael, feeling his arousal, drew back slightly.
“You’re missing your movie,” he said on a long breath, as he ran his lips softly across hers.
“I know how it ends,” she mumbled against his neck, as her tongue made little swirling motions over his sensitive skin.
“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” His voice was thick and husky.
“I know I’m not knitting booties.” She planted kisses down the side of his neck.
Michael moaned his desire and gave her a quick squeeze. “Meghan, I want you so badly …”
“I love you, Michael. And I’m fairly certain that if you don’t let me make love with you pretty soon, there’s a good chance I’ll go blind,” she said solemnly, her eyes twinkling. “Actually, it’s taken all my willpower to keep from attacking you since you came through that door.”
“And you’re wasting all this perfectly good restraint on me?” he asked, amused and amazed, knowing self-control was not one of her strong points.
“I guess I’m finding it hard to believe you could love someone who looks like one of the World Trade Center buildings,” she admitted reluctantly.
Michael laughed. Casting her a sly look of disbelief, he said, “Why, Mary Meghan Shay. Are you fishing for a compliment?”
“A little reassurance, maybe,” she said coyly. “Let’s face it, I’m no longer the slim and lithe young woman I once was,” she added, only half joking.
He gave her a considering smile. Aside from the night when they’d first met, this was the first time she had initiated any closeness between them. Michael thought it was a good sign. Perhaps it meant she was finally accepting the idea that he was part of her life now. Maybe it wouldn’t take much longer for her to build up her confidence in their love to tell him the truth. Time and encouragement might be all she needed.
“No, you’re not. But do you know the World Trade Center buildings have always been my most favorite buildings? In fact, if we got right down to it, I’d have to admit to being a large-building freak. They’ve always fascinated me,” he said, as he began to unbutton the front of her cotton blouse. “Before I got into journalism, I wanted to be an architect and build skyscrapers all over the world. But someone told me you had to be good in math to be an architect. It was my worst subject.”
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the warm sloping valley between her breasts. Reaching around her, his hands savoring the feel of her smooth, warm skin, he released the catch to loosen her bra, while he said, “But I have never wanted to make love to one. Meghan, darlin’,” he said with a shake of his head, “your pregnant body is beautiful. As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing in the world more wondrous or magical than what’s happening in your body, to your body, and through your body. But more importantly”—his voice lowered to a deep caress as he looked into her pure green eyes—“I love you. Not just your body or just your brain or just your independence or just your humor or just any one thing about you. I love all of you. Totally and completely.”
Meghan’s chin quivered and tears welled in her eyes. Her heart throbbed painfully in her throat as she croaked out, “Oh, Michael.”
Never had she felt so loved, so cherished, or so wanted. She couldn’t remember her life ever being so wonderful or so worthwhile. Michael was everything to her. His touch thrilled her. His embrace made her feel protected and secure. His intelligence and humor befriended her own. Michael’s warmth and tenderness touched her very soul. He returned her love freely, and all she’d ever done was to cheat and lie to him.
Shame released her tears. One by one they rolled down her cheeks as she rose to place a gentle, heartfelt kiss on Michael’s lips.
“Shh,” he soothed. He knew her guilt and the burden she carried. He ached to help her overcome her fear. “Let me love you, Meghan. Let me show you how very much you mean to me. All I want in return is your trust.”
He kissed her passionately, drawing out her life’s breath and filling his own lungs with it. Meghan gave herself up to the moment. Her body was aquiver with the electric sensations Michael generated with his hands, lips, and tongue.
She couldn’t recall them moving into the bedroom or how she lost the rest of her clothes, but her Michael-drugged mind did register the fact that he was standing naked before her. His hands on her abdomen, he took one aroused, deep red nipple in his mouth to tease it further with his tongue and nibble at it with his teeth until Meghan thought she might faint.
The dimly lit room darkened around her, and her knees became like rubberbands. Michael had to lower her gently to the bed.
With his hands and mouth, he conveyed his abiding love for her. His words carved themselves into her heart. His body expressed his need to have her with him for all time.
Together they claimed the magical, mystical land only their coming together had the power to create. They reveled in its splendor and revered one another for making its existence possible. Finally, hand in hand, they returned. Spent. Satisfied. Closer for all they had shared.
“One of your better ideas,” Michael murmured against her temple a short time later, his breathing still rapid, skin damp from exertion.
“Mmm,” was her drowsy response.
Michael’s arm slid down from across her chest to her baby-filled belly. With his big hand he made soothing, circular motions.
He liked touching the baby, she thought vaguely. He wanted his baby, and married or not, she knew, Michael would be a good father. She had certainly made the right choice.
“I can hear your gears grinding. What are you thinking?” he asked in a sleepy voice.
“That movie, An Affair to Remember? It reminds me a little of us,” she confided.
“How so?”
“Well don’t you think our whole relationship just screams of fate? Not the night we first met, but you coming to our firm of all places, your being too dense to know a great brush-off when you get one. It all seems so planned.”
“Dense?” he repeated with mock indignation, hoping that with her usage of the word “planned,” she was about to tell him the rest of her secret.
“Yeah,” she said, and giggled. “Like stupid, dim-witted, not too bright …”
“I know what it means,” he broke in, coming up on one arm. “And you’re wrong. I was smart enough to know a good thing when I had it. Your original idea, however, is probably correct. When historians write about our love affair, they’ll call it Meghan and Michael: A Divine Design,” he finished, grinning.
She returned his teasing smile and pronounced, “I like that.”
“The title or my touching you?” he asked, as he continued the lazy circular motion.
“Both,” she murmured, as she cuddled closer to him. “You do that a lot. Why?”
“I’m trying to communicate with the baby,” he said simply, lying down once more, cradling Meghan in his arms. “I want it to like me.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t it like you?” Meghan asked, startled by his reply.
“It doesn’t know who I am yet. Once it’s born, we’ll get better acquainted. It’ll help me to convince you that the three of us were meant to be together. We were meant to be a family. It’s all part of the divine design of things.”
“Michael,” she cautioned, her tone guarded.
He laid a long index finger across her lips and said, “Wait a second. I can do a better job than that. Don’t move.”
He padded across the room and dug around in the top bureau drawer until he found a small purple velvet-covered box. Returning to the bed, he took Meghan back into his arms before he spoke.
“I got this for you for Christmas. It was going to be a sort of a … think-about-marrying-me ring … or if you wouldn’t have agreed to that, it was a ring you needed to own anyway. The minute I saw it, I knew you ought to have it. Open it.”
Meghan took the box hesitantly. She knew what was inside and she knew what it meant, but she didn’t know how she would be able to turn him down—and refuse him, she must. Even she couldn’t stoop low enough to marry Michael without telling him the whole truth about the baby. And if she told him, he’d hate her, not to mention the complications his anger would cause.
The ring was stunning. A small rectangular emerald surrounded by diamonds, it was exquisite.
“It matches your eyes,” he whispered near her ear. “Please marry me, Meghan. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to find words to tell you. I want you … I need to have you in my life.”
Meghan’s eyes were a portrait of agony as she turned to look into his face. She could see his deep love for her, but her guilt wouldn’t let her accept it.
“Michael, I … the baby … I …” She faltered on the cold, hard lump in her throat.
“I love you and I love the baby,” he assured her sincerely. “I’d be a good father, I promise.”
“You’d be a wonderful father,” she agreed. “It’s just that … I … I can’t.”
The misery in her expression tore at Michael’s heart. “Just tell me,” he screamed at her from inside. “I’ll still love you, and you’ll feel so much better.” He considered confessing that he already knew her secret, but her trust was important to him. He wanted her to believe their love could endure all things.
“Darlin’,” he said, giving her a tight squeeze. “Think about it. If things are too confusing right now, we’ll wait till after the baby’s born and everything settles down. I was hoping to get married before the birth so I could give the baby my name, but I can always adopt it later.”
Meghan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is that why you’re doing this? To give my baby a name? To give it your name? Because if …”
“Meghan,” he broke in calmly, “I want to marry you because I love you. I planned to ask you when I left New York in December long before I knew about the baby. The baby has nothing to do with it except that it’s an added bonus,” he told her firmly. “And you can turn me down now if you want to, but I won’t give up. I’ve been waiting all my life for you. I won’t lose you.”
“Michael,” she murmured, her voice forlorn. Meghan believed Michael when he said he loved her. She knew in her heart of hearts it wasn’t just the baby he wanted.
“Let’s table it for the time being, darlin’. Think about it awhile. I’m content for the moment to settle for our just loving one another. I can wait a little longer until you’re ready to make a commitment. Let’s get some sleep.”
Meghan lay in Michael’s arms, but sleep eluded her. Michael, too, apparently was having trouble falling asleep as his embrace remained firm and he continued to caress her skin gently. Finally he softly cleared his throat, and Meghan braced herself to hear whatever it was he’d been ruminating about.
“You awake?” he asked, feeling she was but needing to be sure.
“Yes.”
“Why did you say the first night we met wasn’t part of the divine design? Can you tell me, yet, what it was all about?” he asked point-blank, wanting, needing to get it out in the open.
“Michael,” she started after a long, tense moment, “I do want to tell you. And I will tell you. I just can’t right now,” she said, giving in to her cowardice and pride.
He sighed resignedly. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
Long after Michael’s muscles had relaxed and his breathing had become deep and regular, Meghan was awake, her mind racing around and around in circles. She loved him with all her heart and soul, but she couldn’t marry him without being truthful. She couldn’t tell him the truth, because he’d despise her and her heart couldn’t bear it. Either way she’d eventually lose him. Maybe she should just tell him and get it over with. She drew in his spicy scent and savored his embrace. She’d rather walk on a bed of hot coals than tell him right now.
The next few weeks passed swiftly and quietly.
Michael didn’t bring up his proposal again, but he knew she was thinking about it. She wore the ring on her right hand at his request and often he’d catch her studying it, a look of deep concern on her face, as if she was playing “Should I or shouldn’t I?” with the diamonds that surrounded the green gem. He longed to settle the decision for her, but it was hers to make.
Their relationship was loving and companionable, each of them enjoying their time together. They took long walks through the quiet town of New Bedford, with its quaint shops and its network of waterways that surrounded the city. The days were often rainy, but when the springtime sun shone, their love seemed to take on its glow and cheerfulness.
With the Dobson brothers still in control of their company until after their anniversary issue in August, and Michael’s other interests in capable hands, his idleness began to become a little tedious at times. Gestation being a rather slow process, and his part in it relatively minor, he found himself looking for new projects to occupy his time.
Always a challenge was Meghan’s reluctant, but determined ambition to become domestic. Her peanut butter-is-peanut butter attitude was enough to make a grown man cry. He taught her to read labels, choosing the brands with the least amount of sugar and the fewest preservatives.
He gave her an ongoing lesson in picking fruits and vegetables, and he frequently had to point out the difference between those you ate and those you threw at politicians. Because he ate mostly fresh fish and lean red meat, the discussion on how to choose pork chops had been difficult, and then his explanation of the benefits of a marbled roast as opposed to one with no fat ingrained had only confused her.
“In this case, not unlike your own,” he teased with a gentle pat on her abdomen, “the extra fat makes it more tender and tasty.” He bussed her nose with a quick kiss. “It’s the gravy you have to watch out for. It’ll clog your arteries faster than your peanut butter will.”
However, Meghan’s idea of going shopping had nothing to do with buying groceries, and she was no slouch when it came to the art of real shopping.
The department stores of New Bedford pushed their doors open wide to her. Since shopping for the baby had been risky in New York, and a baby shower out of the question, a whole new world of unlimited purchases opened up for Meghan.
Shopping, as an art form, required patience and endless hours of browsing to find just the right purchases. She led Michael through aisle after aisle of diapers, six-inch T-shirts, sleepers, bottles, blankets. … It seemed to him that the list went on forever.
Michael had a tendency to wander around the store when Meghan became engrossed in deep concentration over subjects like picking out crib sheets with ducks or cartoon characters. After a while he would return with something outrageous such as a pair of twelve-inch denim jeans, a football jersey with a blue and white star on it, or a cowboy hat ten inches in diameter from the boys’ department across the way. Meghan laughed the day he returned from the little girls’ section with basically the same articles of apparel, plus a ruffled yellow dress with a pinafore for Sundays.
It was during the hours spent buying things for the baby that Meghan could almost imagine herself as a married woman preparing for the birth of the child she and her husband had planned to have long before they took their vows. She enjoyed these visions and refused to face the truth until after the baby’s clothes were brought home and carefully put away.
Michael enjoyed the same dreams, only to him they were very real. In his mind, and even more in his heart, he was already totally bound and committed to Meghan. Her presence in his life had already become as much a necessity as the food he ate and the air he breathed. A marriage license with their names on it would be a mere formality, once Meghan realized the trustworthiness of his devotion and accepted his love and forgiveness.
Halfway through her eighth month they started the prenatal and Lamaze classes. Meghan’s heart swelled with pride and joy as she watched Michael meticulously and gently bathe and diaper the soft rubber demonstration doll. And she almost choked to death on her laughter the night they discussed breast-feeding.
“We’ve decided to breast-feed our baby,” Michael informed the instructor in a natural, presuming manner. “But there seems to be a lot of controversy over how long to nurse. What do you recommend?”
Twice daily Michael would gather up their pillows and ease Meghan gently to the floor to practice the Lamaze breathing techniques.
“Okay. You’ve moved into transition. The contractions are stronger and more frequent. Deep cleansing breath,” he instructed. “Now let the next deep breath out with short pants.”
Meghan let him coach her, but her concentration faltered as she became increasingly aware of the slow, steady circular rhythm of his hand on the small of her back. Little tingles ran up and down her spine as they always did when he touched her. The now familiar feeling was exciting and welcome. Her heart pumped harder in anticipation.
“Whoa. Your pants are too deep. You’ll hyperventilate. Let’s try it again. Deep breath, followed by shallow, rapid panting,” he encouraged.
Again she tried, and again her mind wandered off.
“Meghan,” an exasperated Michael called. “You’re not concentrating. Where are you?”
She giggled. “Oh, not far from here.”
Leaning forward to look at her face, he recognized the distinctive twinkle in her eyes and grinned delightedly. Then he shook his head and admonished, “Business before pleasure, you wanton hussy.”
“I was only thinking it would be easier to practice my panting if we were in bed,” she defended herself, sticking out her lower lip to pout.
“Sure you were,” he mumbled skeptically, as he bent to take her lip between his teeth. The nibble turned into a kiss, and the kiss added fuel to their ever present passion that always lay smoldering beneath the surface of their every glance and touch. “Then again, you may have a point,” Michael said in a thick voice. “We could at least try it and see.”
Their loving was leisurely and pleasurable. Relaxing in the aftermath of their passion, their satiated bodies pressed tightly together like a pair of identical spoons, they murmured their happiness and exchanged words of love.
Meghan cuddled her back closer to Michael’s chest and moaned with contentment. Michael, his hands splayed across her abdomen and under her breasts, pressed an agreeing kiss to her temple.
“Good Lord,” Michael said in wonder. “Did you feel that?”
The baby’s kicking and jabbing had become more and more frequent over the weeks. Meghan always relished the sense of awe that accompanied the movements of her child. Several times before, she had beckoned for Michael to come feel the baby, but this was the first time he’d actually experienced it, and Meghan could sense his amazement.
“Yes, I did.” She laughed indulgently.
“He’s so strong,” he said.
“He?”
“Slip of the tongue,” he replied, a smile on his face. “How’s ‘She’s got an amazon’s punch?’”
Meghan chuckled softly.
“The baby will probably be tall when it grows up, don’t you think?” he inquired, his tone casual.
“Well, all the Shays are tall, so maybe,” Meghan said drowsily.
“There aren’t many dwarfs in my line either,” Michael reminded her.
Meghan laughed. “You mean you aren’t a genetic accident? I thought everything from Texas was bigger and better than from anywhere else,” she teased.
“It’s a fact, darlin’,” he stated into her hair, and then hoping to make another point in favor of marriage, he said, “You know, our baby is only half Shay. I’ll grant you it’s probably the best half, but even when they breed horses, the sire’s name is as important as the mare’s.”
It was several seconds before Michael’s words came back to him. Meghan had tensed in his arms and seemed to be holding her breath. His eyes snapped shut, and he clenched his teeth at his stupid choice of words.
Meghan’s breath had indeed caught in her throat. Could he know what he’d just said? Had he guessed that the baby hadn’t been part of the divine design but had actually been planned by her, like one would contrive the mating of a good brood mare?
“You mean like Enoch of Ramsey out of Shay,” she tentatively offered, hoping that if she appeared unaffected by his words, he wouldn’t know he’d guessed the truth.
“Well, he’d have a terrible time on the S.A.T. exams, writing his name in those little squares. I was thinking of something a bit shorter. I’ll take you to court if you name him Enoch, but I think you got my drift,” he said, wishing they didn’t have to pussyfoot around the circumstances of the baby’s conception anymore. Sick of waiting for her to tell him her one last secret, he was still determined that it was important enough to wait.
“I promise I won’t name her Enoch, okay?” she said, indicating she still couldn’t discuss what was foremost in her mind.
Michael sighed dejectedly. How could he get her to tell him? What did he have to do to win her over completely?
In the final weeks of her pregnancy, a strained tension developed between Meghan and Michael.
Michael’s frustration forced him to remind Meghan that he loved her and wanted to marry her, with little comments like, “What a gorgeous, sunny day … Make a great wedding day, don’t you think?” or “When we move back to New York, shall we set up house in your apartment or mine? Mine has more room.” His not-so-gentle nudges would bring Meghan up short. Irritation and anxiety riddled her voice as she reminded him that he had promised not to push her into a decision.
He racked his brain to create opportunities for her to tell him. He knew in his heart she’d never marry him unless she told him how she came to be pregnant. He also knew she’d rather cut out her tongue first. Whether she made her final decision before or after the baby was born, she was going to refuse him unless he could somehow force her to ’fess up, and time was growing short.
Meghan’s strain was twofold. There was, of course, Michael. Always loving and gentle, always understanding and solicitous of her needs, and always there to unintentionally play on her guilt. She fought to keep her shame suppressed as much as possible, but whole days passed when she could think of nothing else.
With her aunt still nursing her friend Freddy in Bristol, Meghan found her need for Michael increasing daily. The baby’s imminent arrival was making itself known.
Meghan’s ponderous size made her feel clumsy and awkward; even her maternity clothes were becoming too small. She faithfully propped her feet up and took a nap in the afternoon, but by evening her ankles and feet were swollen to twice their size. She found sleeping at night nearly impossible. She’d sleep fitfully for short periods, then toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position. Inevitably, Michael would wake in the middle of the night to find Meghan in the living room looking for something to pass the time with, or crying in exhausted frustration.
The thrill of being pregnant had definitely worn off, leaving in its place a constant ache in her back and a desire to have it over with.
Michael, darn him, was always wonderful. Even when she’d whine and snap at him, he’d take it in stride. He’d gently massage her back and feet sympathetically, trying to relieve her of some of the discomfort, and he would make valiant attempts to find things to do that would keep her busy and distracted.
He did all this as well as most of the cooking and cleaning. He was more of a mother than a lover nowadays, and Meghan found herself very dependent on him, trusting him implicitly with her welfare. That rankled her also. She took so much from him and could only withhold the truth in return.
Two weeks before her due date, Michael suggested they take a ride along the coastline. “If you get tired, you can lie down in the backseat or we can get out and walk a little. How about it?” he encouraged.
Meghan was feeling testy and tired. It irritated her that he ignored her scathing remarks and would respond only with patience and kindness.
“I’ve seen it. Why don’t you go and get out of my hair for a while?” she answered sourly.
“It would be more fun if you came along. Besides, I think about half your problem is claustrophobia. You haven’t left the house in three days.”
“Being shut up in this house doesn’t bother me half as much as being cooped up with a happy, cheerful person. Just once I’d like to get up in the morning to a person as grouchy as I am,” she snapped.
“In that case, why don’t we plan to sit under a bridge and eat kids tomorrow?” he returned humorously.
She grimaced at him.
“Come on, you old troll,” he cajoled. “Let’s go for that drive. If it’s too much, we’ll come straight back and you can blow smoke out your ears all afternoon.”
“All right,” she shouted, slamming her hand down on the breakfast table. “I’ll go on the stupid drive, if you’ll stop trying to be so damned nice. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Okay, my bad-tempered, but beautiful witch,” he bellowed back.
His staged anger elicited a growl from Meghan as she flounced out of the room to get dressed. Michael simply shook his head and thanked heaven that she had only a couple of weeks to go, because he, too, was running low on patience.
The April sunshine beat down on the car and even though it was still chilly outside, the inside of the car grew warm and cozy.
When Meghan failed to break Michael’s good spirits, she finally relented, and, although she was far from happy, her remarks were less caustic. Long periods of silence, the warmth of the car, and its soft vibrations lulled her, and eventually her eyes drooped and closed.
Michael reached out a long arm and gathered her to him. With her head on his shoulder as she slept, he drove miles farther than he’d planned, just so she could get some rest.
When at last she finally woke, it was nearly time for lunch. They stopped at a small, isolated restaurant to eat. Her humor somewhat improved, Meghan agreed to a short walk along the beach before starting back.
The day had become increasingly overcast, although it hadn’t begun to rain yet. The beach was deserted. It was as if they were alone on earth as they walked hand in hand in the sand.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bear to live with lately,” Meghan said, sighing heavily.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’. I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if I ached all over, couldn’t sleep, and had to deal with a belly five times its normal size. It’ll be over soon, and in the meantime I’m a big guy. I can take it.”
“That’s just the point. You shouldn’t have to,” she said contritely. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me and all you get in return is my sharp tongue. You don’t deserve it.”
“Well, let’s say you owe me one. Sometime when things aren’t going real well for me and I snap at you, you love me a little extra and be patient with me, and we’ll call it even. Okay?” His gray eyes twinkled with his great love for her, and Meghan again blamed herself for all she’d done to him. How could she love him so much and treat him so badly?
“I love you, Michael,” she said softly, but loud enough to be heard over the surf.
“And I love you, darlin’.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and left his arm around her shoulder as they ambled along a short stretch of beach.
In no hurry to return, they perched themselves on one of the large boulders that cluttered the deserted sands. They talked of kings and fairy wings and other equally insignificant, but fascinating things.
“Will you be all right if I leave you alone tomorrow?” Michael asked casually, as they sat wrapped in each other’s arms watching wave after wave roll onto the beach. “I talked to the Dobsons yesterday, and they’d like me to come in for a staff meeting even though I won’t actually be taking over for a few more months.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll even try and work on an attitude adjustment while you’re gone. Maybe the time apart will make me appreciate you more when you get back.” She smiled up at him. “When will you leave?”
“Early in the morning and I’ll be back in the late afternoon. And please, don’t go into labor while I’m gone,” he pleaded, as he pressed a kiss into the hollow of her neck.
On the ride back they stopped for a light supper, which brought them home late. Meghan was bone weary, but experience told her that the ache in her back would only keep her awake if she went to bed.
“You go ahead,” she told Michael, after he offered to massage her back for her. “I’ll do the exercises—they usually help, and a soak in the tub will fix me up as good as new. You’re exhausted. Go to bed.”
“The offer stands. If you change your mind, just yell,” he mumbled, sleepily, as he grazed her lips with his and headed for bed.
“If you hear me yelling, it’s because I’m stuck in the tub,” she said.
The long day and the hot bubble bath did much to repair Meghan’s taut nerves, if not the pressure in her lower back. Propped with pillows on the couch, she suddenly realized her thoughts and emotions seemed clearer to her than they had in months. There was no inner debate, only a calm tranquility in which her questions seemed easily answered.
Did she love Michael? Yes. Did she want to marry him and spend the rest of her life with him? Yes. She’d already decided she was ready to have and take on the responsibilities of a baby, but a husband too? Definitely. Was there any way she could get out of telling him the truth? None. She loved him. He deserved to know … and there was always that one-in-a-million chance he might understand and forgive her. If he didn’t? At least she’d have the comfort of knowing that she loved him enough to tell him the truth.
Half-asleep, Michael felt the bed sag and realized vaguely that Meghan was either coming to bed or getting up again because she couldn’t sleep. His subconscious waited to see in which direction she was going, but when there was no further movement, curiosity forced him to come fully awake to check on her.
Meghan sat on the bed watching Michael sleep. Could anyone mean more to her than this gentle giant who looked so like a little boy when he slept? Could she learn to live without him? Was there the slightest chance he’d forgive her?
Slowly his eyes came open and he spoke, “Are you okay, Meghan?” he asked her softly.
“Yes. I’m fine,” she returned with equal softness.
“Then come to bed, darlin’, and I’ll …”
Michael was cut off mid-sentence when Meghan laid her hand firmly over his mouth. Meghan couldn’t risk his saying something kind or loving and destroying her resolve. She needed to tell him the whole truth and she couldn’t let him stop her this time.
“Michael, I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’m about to tell you,” she started quietly, calmly, “I can only hope you can find it in your heart not to hate me too much.”
Michael mumbled something under her palm and raised his hands in a questioning manner, but made no attempt to remove the seal across his lips.
Meghan simply continued with her cleansing confession. “The night we first met wasn’t part of any divine design, Michael, it was of my design. I planned it. I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand this, but for years now, more than anything, I’ve wanted a child of my own. A baby I could love and nurture. It was a need so deep I felt compelled—driven to fulfill it.
“When you refused to enter my life under normal circumstances, I was forced to go out and find you. I set out that night intending to get pregnant. I interviewed nearly two dozen men before we met. You made it all so easy with your humor and gentleness. You’ll never know how often I’ve regretted interfering with the original design. If I’d waited a few more months, you’d have come to see me at the office and we could have avoided this mess. Instead, I botched the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I used you like a stud horse; I denied you the right of choosing the mother of your baby. I’ve lied and cheated you out of one of the most important events of your life. Worst of all, what I’ve done has been degrading to your integrity and character and … all I can do is say I am most truly sorry for what I’ve done,” she finished on a note so eloquently sincere that Michael was stunned by the force of it.
Never in his wildest imagination had he thought it possible to love one person as much as he loved Meghan at that moment. So overpowering were his emotions, that he was unable to move or speak. When Meghan’s hand slowly fell away from his mouth, all Michael could do was stare at her through the darkness of the night.
After a long, tense silence, Meghan finally stood and said, “I know you’re probably so mad it’s all you can do to keep from killing me right now, and we’re both tired. I’m sure your anger won’t have burnt itself out by morning. Maybe it would be better if we discussed this then,” she offered as a tentative solution to Michael’s silence, and turned to leave.
Michael reached out and firmly grabbed her wrist. “I love you, Meghan,” he uttered.
“Did you hear what I told you or did you just wake up?” she asked, frowning. This wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected.
“I heard,” he said, fighting the urge to draw her into his arms and love her so intensely and for so long that she’d never doubt his love again. But he knew what it must have cost her in energy and emotion to have told him the truth, and they were both exhausted. Morning would be soon enough to tell her he’d known for weeks and that his anger was long ago spent. Her confession only strengthened the bond between them. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Okay. Good night,” Meghan said bewilderedly, as she backed out of the room. Wouldn’t this man ever react the way he was supposed to? Why wasn’t he yelling and screaming at her like he should be? Even Job had his limits.
Confused and a little dazed by Michael’s lackluster response to the fact that he’d been used like a common stud horse, Meghan settled back into the couch and tried to get comfortable. Unable to decipher Michael, she became aware that her own inner turmoil was at last at an end. She had told him the truth.
With her mind and guilty conscience acclimating to the new condition of being right with the world once again, a warm satisfaction seeped into her pores and made her feel cozy and lighter than she’d felt in months. Oh, she knew Michael might very well raise the roof yet, as he ought to. There were a number of ways Michael could vent his anger once her words had finally sunk in, but the freedom Meghan felt induced a strength that made her believe she could survive any harsh criticisms he would eventually dole out.
She slept well, only vaguely aware of the intermittent discomfort in her lower back.