Alice Sharpe - A Baby Between Them

“Wine?” Carl said, and she accepted a glass of chilled white wine and set it on the table next to her plate. He stood by her seat, looking down at her as he sipped a dark red Cabernet and she tried a cracker slathered with creamy Brie. Why didn’t he sit, why did he hover? She looked surreptitiously toward the desk, but the tall man was gone.

It had been the man from the morning, she was sure of it, the one with the gray eyes.

At that moment, a woman approached Carl. “Are you Mr. Baxter?” she asked.

He looked down his long nose at the woman who was wearing a hotel uniform identifying her as an employee. “Yes.”

“Sir, we’ve been alerted your car has two very flat front tires. Would you come with me?”

Carl looked down at Eleanor and then back at the employee and said, “Just have it fixed. I’m not leaving my wife alone—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Carl,” Eleanor snapped. “I’m not a child, I think I can sit here for ten minutes while you take care of an emergency.”

He looked toward the parking lot, down at her and back again. The employee said, “It’ll only take a few minutes, sir. We need insurance information.”

“It’s your damn parking lot,” Carl fumed.

“Yes, sir, but it’s well posted that your car is your responsibility. Not that we won’t assist you, of course.”

Carl set his glass down beside Eleanor’s. “Stay here,” he commanded, and marched off behind the woman and out the front door, glancing over his shoulder at Eleanor twice before he was out of sight.

Almost at once, a man sat on the chair beside her. His gray gaze delving right into hers, he said, “Your husband seems upset.”

“It’s you,” she said, and realizing how lame that sounded, added, “I saw you this morning.”

“I saw you, too,” he said.

“You were staring at me.”

“Yes. Well, I thought you might be someone I knew.”

She leaned forward a little. “Really? Maybe I am.”

“I don’t quite get your meaning,” he said with a smile, his voice playful.

She shrugged. “I had an accident a few days ago and my memory is a little blurred.”

“A little?”

“A lot.”

His voice dropped as he said, “Is that why your husband never leaves your side?”

She nodded very slowly and reached for her wineglass. The stranger’s hand was suddenly there, as well. Somehow her glass sailed to the floor, spilling its contents. “I’m sorry,” he said, producing a napkin or two and blotting her shoe. The rest of the liquid was quickly absorbed into the plush carpet. He set the unbroken glass back on the table and added, “Probably better not to drink when you’ve recently bashed your head, I suppose.”

“I agree. I really didn’t want it.”

“Then why were you reaching for it?”

She met his eyes and smiled. “Because I didn’t know how to respond to your observation about my husband. Have you ever noticed how you tend to do something with your hands when you don’t know what to say?”

“I have noticed that,” he said, his gaze once again penetrating. She should probably look away. She couldn’t. Their conversation was harmless enough, but she found herself enjoying it in a way she hadn’t enjoyed anything in days. She liked talking to this man. He made her feel something inside, made her feel less alone. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Simon.”

“Just Simon?”

He brushed her gold wedding band with his fingertip. “Just Simon. What’s yours?”

“Eleanor.”

He withdrew his hand and she swallowed. Her reactions to this guy were giving her one of the few glimpses she’d had of her gut-level personality. She wore one man’s ring and that man swore they had a good marriage. And yet she flirted with another man and wished she had no husband.

“Tell me about the woman you thought I resembled,” she said.

Simon glanced toward the front door and then back at her. “I was in love with her once,” he said.

“That sounds sad. Something happened between you?”

“Yes. Something happened.”

“What was she like?”

“Well, let’s see. She was very pretty, like you. She liked to garden, especially vegetables. Everything grew for her. And she liked to cook.”

“She sounds like a homebody,” Eleanor said.

“Kind of, yes.”

“What did she do, you know, for a living?”

“She worked at a radio station, had her own show in the afternoons on Saturday. Gardening tips, food advice, stuff like that. She also had a slew of odd jobs because she said she didn’t want to get stuck doing one thing forever.”

“What kind of odd jobs?”

“Once she painted a mural on the side of an office building and once she walked dogs and house-sat. She also taught a few classes at the junior college and volunteered at an old folks’ home. Stuff like that.”

Eleanor smiled. “She sounds nice. What happened, you know, between you two?” As he looked away from her face, she chided herself and added, “I’m sorry. That was way too personal. I don’t remember anything about myself, so maybe that’s why I’m so caught up in hearing about this woman you’re describing. Don’t tell me any more, it’s none of my business.”

He opened his mouth, seemed to think better, and closed it. “How long are you staying here, Eleanor?”

“Until tomorrow,” she said. “Carl insisted we stay through today.”

“Then where are you headed? Home?”

“I wish,” she said.

“You sound homesick. Been away long?”

“How do I know?” she said, turning beseeching eyes on him. “I don’t know for sure when we left home or even exactly where home is except for the address on my driver’s license.”

“You don’t remember anything about it?”

“No. The address on my husband’s license is different from mine. When I asked him why, he told me we’ve moved recently. That’s all he’ll say.”

“If you want to go home so badly, why don’t you?”

“Because the doctor said we should stay away until my memory returns. Carl won’t tell me anything about myself. He says it’s supposed to come back naturally.”

“Makes it kind of hard for you, doesn’t it?” he said.

“I feel lost.”

“I bet you do,” he said, his gaze once again holding hers.

“How about you?” she said softly.

“I’m not sure about my plans, either.” His gaze swiveled to the doors again, and he got to his feet quickly. “I see your husband stomping across the parking lot. He looks pretty angry.”

“I’m beginning to think he’s angry quite often,” she said, instantly awash in guilt. She added, “He’s taking very good care of me. It can’t be much fun for him.”

“You underestimate yourself,” he said, and then as Carl pushed his way through the front doors, the man with the gray eyes disappeared toward the elevators.

Simon was right. Carl looked mad enough to kill someone.

“So you agree she shouldn’t be told she’s pregnant?”

On the other end of the line, his cousin Virginia, a practicing psychologist in Chicago, paused for a second before saying, “Without knowing the specifics of her case, I don’t know what to think. In associational therapy, the patient is exposed to familiar surroundings in hopes it stimulates the brain’s neural synapses. Isolation from personal recollections seems counterintuitive, but if you know she’s pregnant and sense trouble in her marriage—”

“If there is a marriage,” Simon interjected.

“You said your partner on the force is checking into that, right?”

“Not my partner, no. I can’t get Mike into a compromising position on the off chance Ella did something illegal before she left Blue Mountain.” Or since then, for that matter….