ANDY’S FIRST GAME WAS in Houston, so despite her eagerness to support him, Pam elected to stay home, not only for the baby’s sake, but so she could keep an eye on Will, who had graduated to a walker. The two of them settled in front of the TV to watch a rerun of Cheyenne Social Club, but neither Henry Fonda nor Jimmy Stewart could draw her out of her funk.
She had grown all too accustomed to this family group, forgetting somewhere along the way that they weren’t really a family—just a temporary merger, with Andy and Will as unwitting participants. It had all seemed so simple at first. Two friends joining forces for mutually advantageous purposes. Cut-and-dried. Except they’d overlooked one point. Emotions were never simple.
And hers were perilously close to the edge. The thought of losing Grant and Andy was more than she dared contemplate. Even her joy about the baby was tempered by the realization this child would never really know them as father and brother. Until recently, when she’d breached Grant’s trust, she’d allowed herself to hope their arrangement could become permanent, based not only on their mutual need, but on love.
There. She’d admitted it. She loved Grant. Wanted him to be her husband in every sense of the word. Longed for him to be a real father to the baby.
She tried to concentrate on the figures moving on the screen, but all she could think was How am I ever going to endure these next few months?
When the answer came to her, she gave a tiny snort. Play the part.
With strident intrusion, a commercial came on at an ear-splitting decibel level. Will grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Thanks, Daddy. I hate those loud commercials.”
“Me, too.” He lifted his leg to rest it on the sofa. “How’d you like the movie?”
“Is it over?”
He chuckled. “Guess that answers my question.”
“Sorry. I must’ve been woolgathering.”
“I noticed.” He gestured to the empty seat at the end of the sofa. “Come sit by me.”
She moved, recognizing the “let’s talk” in his request.
“You know,” he began, “it’s not too long till I’ll be going home.” She nodded, uncertain where he was headed with the conversation. “When I leave, I’d like to know things are all right with you.”
“They will be. I love my job. I’ll soon have a bouncing grandchild for you. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t say?” He fixed his eyes on her. She waited, sensing whatever he said next would make her uncomfortable. “Seems like you left out somethin’ kinda important from your little list.”
“What?”
“Unless my hearing’s worse than I thought, I didn’t pick up mention of your husband.” She could feel his eyes boring into her. “Or your stepson.”
She couldn’t look at him. “No, you didn’t.”
“Some particular reason for that?”
She debated, knowing whatever she did would be wrong. Not to tell him would prolong a lie. Telling would destroy his illusions about her. About Grant.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“This is hard, Daddy.” She gulped. “Things…aren’t exactly what they seem.”
“I figgered. Better get it out, dumplin’. It’s not gonna get any easier.”
“About Grant and me—”
“You’re not married?”
“No, we’re married all right. It’s just that…it isn’t going to last.”
“You can’t know that. Just because your marriage has hit a little trouble doesn’t mean—”
“Daddy, listen to me. It’s not a real marriage.”
“What in tarnation are you talking about?”
Then, clenching her fists at her sides and without looking at him, she went through the whole story of their arrangement, ending with its termination in September. Even telling him about Steven and the baby. When she finished, she sat with her head bowed, waiting for him to speak. When, after a long silence, he hadn’t, she looked up. “Say something, Daddy.”
“That’s quite a story. Not every man would marry a woman carrying another man’s child. Does the boy know any of this?”
“No.”
“Guess you hadn’t figgered on him comin’ to love you?”
“No.”
“Or on Grant lovin’ you.”
“He doesn’t—”
Will cut her off. “Or on you lovin’ him.” He sat up, carefully repositioned his leg and snuggled her against him. “Guess you got yourself in quite a fix, didn’t you, girl?”
The soft nap of his shirt, the comforting warmth of his arm and the honey in his voice were more than she could bear. The tears came, not fast and furious, but slow and wrenching. He rested his chin on her head and patted her, as if settling a spooked horse. She eventually managed a muffled, “What am I going to do?”
He tilted her chin, then, stroking her hair gently, asked the question. “Do you love him?”
“Oh, Daddy, with all my heart.”
“Well, then, that makes things a whole lot easier.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing easy about this.”
“Lemme tell you somethin’, honey. I’ve spent my whole life around creatures. And I’ve seen one or two animals during the mating season. That husband of yours has picked out his mare, even if the two of you have been too contrary to see it. I’ll be a tin-eared coyote if that man isn’t crazy about you.” He pulled back and studied her. “What in the world’s goin’ on with the two of you in that bed?”
“Not a thing.”
He harrumphed. “That’s not natural. I’ve seen the way Grant looks at you. The man must be bitin’ bullets up there.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with lettin’ him know you’re willing.”
“I want this to be about a whole lot more than sex.”
“So does he, Pammy, so does he. But you can’t keep living the lie. It’ll only dig you in deeper and hurt all of you in the long run.”
“So what do I do?”
He cupped his roughened hands around her face. “Give the horse his head and he’ll return to the barn every time. Just be sure you’re waitin’ for him with love in your eyes.”
She put her arms around her father’s neck and put her forehead against his. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I know you do, sugar.” His voice caught. “I know you do.”
HIS NERVES TAUT AS a drumhead, Grant walked out onto the Keystone court after halftime. Somehow they’d managed to go shot for shot with the Porter Pirates in the first period, but whether his kids could run with them for another thirty minutes remained to be seen. If ever the Knights needed home-court advantage, this was it. Provided they could squeak by Porter, they stood an even chance of winning the rest of their conference games.
He allowed himself a glance at the home stands, crowded with kids and fans bedecked in the crimson-and-gold school colors. The cheerleaders had just completed the traditional cheer that brought the team onto the court. In the front row were Will and Pam, her hair accentuated by the red and gold of her sweater. He couldn’t think about her. Not now. But, jeez, she looked pretty.
His stomach coiled tighter. They still hadn’t talked through the situation with Andy. The timing was never right. And bed wasn’t the place. It was all he could do each evening to slide in beside her and keep his hands to himself.
He paused on the sidelines, watching the kids take their warm-up shots. Cale Moore’s leadership had been a big factor in the first half. Along with Andy’s fourteen points, including a clutch free throw with ten seconds left. He still had awkward moments when he wasn’t in sync with the play, but he’d shown a lot of heart and was improving with each game. When he and Chip Kennedy hit a rhythm, they were formidable.
The ref whistled the start of the second half, and Grant put everything except the game out of his mind. Porter scored first on a jumper from the keyhole. Then Keystone set up a give-and-go, but Chip’s shot circled out of the bucket. Porter responded with a two-on-one fast break. Andy chased the ball handler, catching up with him to fight for possession of the ball. Coming down across the shoulders of the other Porter player, Andy was upended.
With a sickening thud, his head struck the hardwood floor.
Silence shrouded the gym. Grant heard only the pounding of his own heart as he raced to the prone body of his son.
He and the trainer reached the boy at the same time. The other players parted, then stood watching at a respectful distance.
The trainer checked Andy’s respiration and pulse, then lifted his eyelids. “He’s out cold, Coach. He needs to be examined for a concussion.”
Grant signaled for the stretcher, then watched the practiced movements of the paramedics as they lifted Andy and bore him to the locker room.
Grant had never been so afraid in his entire life.
FROM FAR AWAY, as if they were under water, Andy could hear sounds. Muffled. Slurred. “Andy, can you hear me?”
He tried to answer the disembodied voice, but he was buried in cotton. He opened his eyes, then blinked them shut. The light. It hurt his eyes. When he tried to speak, it was as if he couldn’t push the air through his lungs. So he quit trying.
A deep voice he didn’t recognize said, “Call the hospital. Tell ’em we’re bringing him in.”
Andy remembered then. With supreme effort, he managed one word. “Game?”
Close above him hovered his father’s face. “Don’t worry about the game, son.” His voice sounded funny. Scratchy kinda. “The main thing is you’re gonna be fine.”
“Fine,” Andy echoed lazily, before closing his eyes and losing himself in a gray mist.
PAM TOOK WILL HOME, then raced to the hospital, her thoughts lashing in all directions. Andy had to be all right. He was a healthy kid, she told herself. Surely it was nothing more than a bump on the head. Not…something worse.
Luckily she found a parking spot near the emergency entrance. Inside, a nurse ushered her to an examining room. She paused in the doorway. Grant slumped on a stool, his head resting on Andy’s bed. Andy appeared to be asleep.
Stepping inside, she whispered, “Grant?”
Slowly he reared up, his face ashen with worry.
“How is he?” She crossed to stand on the other side of the bed, gently caressing Andy’s forearm.
“The doctor thinks he’s had a mild concussion. He regained consciousness in the locker room and came to once more in the ambulance. They’ll keep him at the hospital overnight for observation, waking him periodically to check his responsiveness. They’re arranging for a room for him right now.” He stood up and gestured to the empty stool. “Here, you sit.”
Barney was riding low in her abdomen and the offer was welcome. When they circled the foot of the bed, Pam put her hands on Grant’s shoulders. “How are you doing, Dad?”
“I’m not gonna kid you. I’m shaky.”
As she slid her arms around his neck and whispered, “You’re entitled,” he responded by gathering her in his embrace and then expelling a long, shuddering sigh.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice husky.
“Where else would I be? We’re family.” Then she added a silent prayer, for Andy, for Grant and for Will’s wisdom to prove true.
BEFORE ANDY CRACKED OPEN his eyes, he heard people moving about. The clank of carts on rollers. Metallic clicks. Voices. His stomach growled. He was massively hungry. Finally he squinted through crusty lids. Whoa. He was in a strange bed, staring straight at this picture of windmills. Far out.
“Son?” His dad vaulted out of a chair in the corner.
Then he remembered. He was in the hospital. How had he gotten here? He concentrated. Oh yeah, he and that big Porter center had collided in mid-air. “Hi, Dad.” He thought he even managed a smile. “Did we win?”
“I don’t know yet.”
How could his dad not know? “Why not?”
“I didn’t stay for the end of the game. I came with you in the ambulance.”
“But you’re the coach.”
“I know.” He felt his father’s cool fingers on his forehead, smoothing back a lock of hair. Then his dad gripped the bed rail with both hands and leaned over. “But it was just a game. You’re my son. Nothing is more important.”
Andy tried to wrap his mind around that concept. “But the guys? The team?”
“The junior varsity coach took over for me. I needed to be here. With you.”
“You did?” A warm glow flooded through him, easing the dull headache. His eyes fluttered. He was sleepy again. Just before he dozed off, though, he smiled and mumbled, “Cool. Way cool.”
As he drifted away, he thought his dad was smiling, too, but he couldn’t be sure.
IT WAS AFTER TWO when Grant and Pam pulled into the driveway at home. The nurse had assured them there was nothing they could do. By morning Andy should be much more alert, she said. Pam went on to bed while Grant took a quick shower, then slipped in beside her. Pam lay on her side, one hand curled beneath her chin, the other wrapped around her tummy, as if protecting her child. He turned his head and studied her, wondering how he would ever handle September. Take tonight, for instance. He’d been beside himself until she came to the hospital. Until she held him.
A raw breath escaped him. For one awful moment there on the court, he’d thought he’d lost Andy. That’s what it would feel like when Pam left.
“Grant?” Her sleepy voice caught him off guard. Her eyes fluttered open, and in the glow from the streetlight, he could see the question in her eyes.
“He’s going to be all right.”
She scooped up the pillow and pushed it under her head. “It was scary, wasn’t it?”
“Very.”
She continued gazing at him. “Are you sleepy?”
“No.”
“Feel like talking?”
No way could he tell her what his traitorous body really felt like. “Sure.”
“I overstepped my bounds with Andy. I should’ve told you he was playing ball in the park. He’s your son, after all.”
He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “He trusted you.”
“So did you. Then.”
She sounded sad, wistful. “I still do. You did what you thought was best for him. And, Lord knows, you were succeeding with him when I wasn’t.”
“And now?”
“We’re doing better. At practice, I try to treat him impartially. And he’s controlled his mouthiness. The guys have been really great about accepting him.”
“Dad’s noticed the change in him. Andy was afraid of you before. About the basketball.”
“I know. How could I have been so blind?”
“Shelley—”
“That’s a cop-out. I should have made Andy my business. She’s not responsible for my failings. I am.” He flopped over onto his back. “From now on, I’ll be the kind of father Andy deserves.”
“He loves you, Grant.” Unbelievably, he felt her fingers thread through his. Even this slight touch was enough to make him lose his bearings. Was it his imagination or had she inched closer to make hand-holding easier?
“He loves you, too.” Then, unbelievably, he felt wisps of her hair against his shoulder where she rested her head.
She didn’t say anything for the longest while. He’d have thought she was asleep except for the way she feathered one finger up and down his forearm, inciting a powerful rush of desire. Jeez, all he had to do was move toward her, pull her into his arms and…
“Grant, what are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“About us? About Andy?” She let go of his hand then and surprised him by moving even closer, draping an arm across his chest, cradling her head between his shoulder and neck.
He couldn’t find his voice. The warmth from her belly, the scent of roses, the tickle of her hair against his cheek were making it impossible to concentrate. He reined himself in. Desperately he sought an answer to the question so he could keep talking. “Carry on, I guess.”
“Wait until September to decide?”
“That was the agreement.” Oh, damn. Now she was making tiny circular motions on his chest. His nipples weren’t the only part of him hardening.
“Just friends, then?”
It must be his imagination. She couldn’t be kissing him in that vulnerable place under his ear. But what else could be sending shocks of current through him? “Uh, yeah. Friends.”
She moved her head, and her breath was soft against his ear. “But what do I do about wanting you?”
“Wanting me?” If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was seducing him.
She moved again, and her breasts nestled against his chest. She drew one hand gently, tantalizingly across his cheek, all the time looking at him with this soft, tender expression. “Well?” she said.
Before he could formulate an answer, she sought his mouth, wantonly, fully. He gathered her to him, running his hands up and down her back, reveling in each plane and curve, lost in the sensations of her body, her kiss. Still keeping her lips on his, she rose up, lowered the blanket from their shoulders and, unbuttoning his pajama top, ran her hands over his chest. He fought for control. They’d had an emotional evening. She was vulnerable right now, that was all. For that matter, so was he.
Then she withdrew and, trailing kisses from his neck to his shoulder, settled back into his embrace. “Very good friends,” she murmured throatily.
He waited until his heart rate was back in the high normal range. “You’re a beautiful, desirable woman. But I could never take advantage of you.” Besides, they had an agreement, even though right now he’d like to rip their stupid contract to shreds.
She cocked her head and stared at him. “You think maybe it’s hormonal?”
He gritted his teeth. “It’s possible.”
“Or maybe you don’t find a pregnant woman desirable.”
Double damn. What could he say to that? “Desirable? You’re about to drive me wild, woman.”
A slow, lazy smile bloomed on her face. “But?”
“This can’t be just about need. Er, wanting.”
“It’s been a long time for both of us, is that what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly, but we did make a deal. We’ve been talking about trust with Andy. I want you to trust me. Especially about this.”
She propped up so she could see him better. “Know what I think? You’re probably right. Now isn’t the time. We’re both stressed. Tired.”
What kind of masochist was he anyway, turning his back on this achingly beautiful woman? “Maybe our friendship’s more important than…you know…”
She lay back down, drawing her knees up, facing him. “Could be.”
He waited for her to drift off, knowing he’d be second-guessing himself until dawn. Just when he thought she’d finally gone to sleep, she spoke again. “Could I ask you a favor?”
“Shoot.”
“The childbirth classes start next month. Would you be willing to go? Be my birth coach?”
He’d walk to the ends of the earth for her. What was a little thing like a childbirth class? “Sure.”
The next time he sneaked a peek at her, she was sound asleep, a tiny smile playing over her lips.
GRANT HAD REJECTED her advances. She shouldn’t feel happy. But she did. The funny thing was it didn’t seem like rejection. Not really. She’d awakened about six, aware that their bodies, for the first time, were spooned, that his hand was cupped around her breast, that his exhalations rustled her hair. She felt protected, secure.
They were both adults. Married, even. It would’ve been easy to fall into a sexual relationship. But like he’d said, their friendship was too important. He’d given his word.
Trust had to come first. Then commitment.
If she was very, very lucky.
GRANT ARRIVED at the hospital shortly after seven and was relieved to get a positive report from the nurse at the desk. He entered Andy’s room quietly and stood at the foot of the bed observing his sleeping son—thick brown hair, sleep-induced rosy cheeks, an upper lip and chin sprouting early indications of manhood. Where had the years gone? How could he have been so oblivious? Surely there had been signals.
He hung his head. Parenthood was something he’d never learned from his own father. He sometimes wondered what would’ve become of him without Brian. Who else would’ve taught him the left-handed hook shot, paved the way each time they entered a strange new school or defended him against his father’s tirades? God, he missed his brother. He’d have liked Pam and Andy and Will.
He supposed he needed to call Shelley, but that could wait until Andy was alert. No point alarming her unduly. He could fault her for the way she’d handled the custody issue, but there was no doubt she loved their son.
Settling in the only chair in the room, he began reading the newspaper he’d brought from home, containing a full account of Keystone’s loss to Porter. Funny how that didn’t seem nearly as important this morning. He looked up from the article. Instead of his son, had he made basketball his priority? He didn’t think so, but it sure could’ve seemed that way to Andy.
When a nurse arrived to take Andy’s vitals, he stirred, then tried to sit up. “Easy,” the nurse said, laying her palm on his chest. “Get your bearings, then we’ll try elevating the bed.”
“Can a guy get anything to eat in this place?”
Grant smiled in relief. “I’d say you’re feeling better.”
“Dad?”
Grant moved to Andy’s bedside. “How’s the head?”
“I feel pretty good, considering. What about the game?”
“Porter won by nine.”
“Damn.”
The nurse put her arms under Andy’s shoulders and pushed a second pillow under his head. Then she elevated the bed. “Any dizziness?”
“No. Does this mean I can go home?”
“That’s up to the doctor.”
Within ten minutes, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, toast, milk and juice arrived. Grant didn’t know when he’d taken such pleasure in watching someone eat.
“The Knights mighta won if you’d been there to coach,” Andy said between bites.
“Or if you’d been there to play. But we’ll never know.”
“Makes the rest of the season tougher, right?”
“We don’t have much margin for error, that’s for sure.”
Andy concentrated on buttering his toast. “Dad, how come you didn’t stay with the team? I mean, that’s your job.”
Grant perched on the foot of the bed. “Yes, that’s my job. But it’s not my life.” Now. The time to say it was here. “I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a father, Andy.”
“But—”
“You deserved more attention through the years than I gave you. Oh, I had my reasons. And you’re right. Many of them had to do with the school and basketball. It was wrong of me to expect a seven-or eight-year-old to understand.” He studied his hands. “Maybe the biggest factor, though, was fear.”
“Of what?” Andy asked, his expression puzzled.
“That I didn’t know how to be a good father.”
Andy shoved aside his breakfast tray. “I don’t get it.”
“Something you said the other day really got my attention. You said you didn’t think you’d be good enough to please me. That you didn’t want me on your case. It got me to thinking.” Grant fell silent, picturing his own father standing in full dress uniform in front of the scared little boy whose shoes hadn’t been polished to specifications.
A cafeteria worker entered the room and removed the tray. Summoning his courage, Grant went on. “They say history repeats itself. In this case, I’m afraid that may be true. Your grandfather provided for me in several important ways, but, for whatever reasons, he was never able to give me his approval.”
Andy eyed him attentively, waiting for him to continue. “When you came along, I hadn’t had any practice at being a father. Nor had I had a very good role model. I…I felt helpless. To cover up my own insecurity, I made some serious errors in judgment. Not letting you know through the years how much I love you was one of them.” He mustered a lopsided smile. “Whether or not you played basketball.”
“You were okay, really.”
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better, son.” Grant got off the bed and moved beside Andy, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Mainly I want to say I’m sorry, and to pledge that from now on things are going to be different. Better.”
Andy’s eyes brimmed. “I can go for that.” Then he held up his palms. “Hit me, Dad.”
It was the best high-five of Grant’s life.
IT WAS GREAT to be home. And it was cool how he was sort of a hero. Angie had spent yesterday afternoon with him. She’d even made him a shoe box full of chocolate chip cookies. And when Gramps, Dad and Pam kinda disappeared, Angie’d cuddled with him on the sofa. Then last night some of the guys on the team had dropped by with a James Bond video. Before they watched it, though, he heard about the rest of the Porter game. It sucked that he’d gotten hurt. But the neat thing was how determined Chip and Cale and the guys were to bust the season open, game by game.
Dad had made pancakes for breakfast. Gramps told this funny story about a bull he used to have. And Pam looked…prettier somehow. A coupla times he even caught her sending his dad these special looks. Mainly, though, he’d been doing a lot of thinking about what Dad had said about being a lousy father.
But there was something that bugged Andy. Maybe he’d blocked it out before, but he could remember times he’d heard his mom on the phone with his dad saying stuff like, “That wouldn’t be convenient,” or “I don’t think it’s appropriate for him to fly alone.” He’d heard about how divorced people sometimes used their kids as pawns. Was that what his mother had done?
But she sure didn’t have any problem now, having him come live with Dad. He shuddered thinking what it might’ve been like to be in Dubai with Harry. The worst was, he was getting used to it here. Pam was the greatest and Gramps had practically adopted him. Andy’d even started thinking of Keystone as his school. And then there was Angie. Lots of reasons to stay.
But that prob’ly wasn’t an option. Mom had only agreed until September.
There was one other thing bugging him. It sounded kinda childish, he guessed. He picked up his notebook. Maybe he could tell Pam about it. She sometimes gave good advice. And he sure needed it. Because, of all the dumb things, he was jealous of a baby that hadn’t even been born yet.
GINNY PHILLIPS CORNERED Pam outside her classroom. “You’re looking fat and sassy this morning.”
Pam patted her stomach. “Emphasis on the ‘fat.’”
“Let me rephrase that. ‘Contented’ is more what I had in mind.”
Smiling a secret smile, Pam nodded. “That’s fair. I am happy.”
“Grant being suitably attentive?”
“A veritable prince among men.” One bound and determined to keep his word. At least Pam hoped that was why, though they continued to snuggle, he’d retreated from her not-so-subtle come-on. “We start childbirth classes next week.”
Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “Think Grant’s up for the film?”
“Is any man?”
Students ebbed and flowed around them, banging lockers, shouting greetings. Ginny paused long enough to chastise one young man for inappropriate language. Turning back, she said, “The faculty women would like to have a baby shower for you. At my house. You just tell us when.”
“Oh, Ginny, that’s so kind, but you all participated in the wedding shower and—”
Ginny adopted her counselor’s voice. “That baby can’t wear place mats and monogrammed towels. We won’t take no for an answer.”
Pam held up her hands. “I surrender. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.”
All day Pam felt buoyant, carried along by productive responses from her classes and appreciation for the thoughtfulness of her colleagues. During her planning period, she typed a quiz, then picked up the sophomore journals, chuckling over Chip Kennedy’s account of his first date and wiping a tear away at Angela’s description of her grandmother’s lingering illness. Then she came to Andy’s.
You know how sometimes you feel really good about yourself and then other times you feel like crap? Embarrassed or ashamed of yourself? But it’s like you can’t do anything about it? Can’t change anything? Well, that’s how I’m feeling. I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, but I need advice. It’s about your baby.
See, Dad’s all excited about having this kid. And it’ll be great and all, but I’ve got this big, immature worry. Okay, I’ll just say it. I’m afraid Dad’ll be closer to this kid than to me. This baby will live with him all the time. Grow up with him. They’ll do kid stuff like go to Disney movies, rake leaves together and play hoops in the backyard. They’ll build lots of memories. More than me and Dad have. It’s not that I won’t like this baby. I mean, it’s not his fault for Pete’s sake. But what about me?
Dear God, Pam thought as she laid Andy’s journal aside. Things were better between Andy and Grant, much better than they’d been before Andy’s concussion, but he still needed so much more from his father.
And what he needed most of all was the truth.
Somehow she had to convince Grant they had to tell Andy about the baby’s parentage. And about their “marriage.”