Lilian Darcy - The Baby Bond

Tom hadn’t. He’d taken both copies of the surrogacy agreement from her and calmly fed them into Marcia Snow’s sharp-toothed paper shredder.

But he didn’t shred me, my feelings.

He wanted the baby. He wanted to be involved.

Knowing this made Julie feel less alone than she’d been since before her father’s death almost ten years ago. She and Tom had said some harsh things to each other this afternoon. Thinking back, however, she didn’t hold anything against him and hoped he felt the same about her.

For pity’s sake, how could something like this not spark anger and hostility at some point? She felt none of that now.

Refreshed, wide awake, her nausea really gone for the first time in days, eager to hear what Tom had to suggest, Julie donned her shoes and went downstairs.

Julie gasped when she saw what Nick had done. The room, and the scene, looked perfect.

And the six-hour break had done something to the emotions of both of them. Peacefulness, respect, acceptance. They were having a baby.

It was getting dark, and the landscape outside was slowly mellowing to a blue velvet softness in which air and mountains and water become indistinguishable from each other. The large, airy house was very quiet—so quiet that a creak and a crack could be heard every now and then as the roof and external walls cooled after the hot summer day.

Nick touched a couple of switches to bring up golden pools of light, and then gestured at the laden table. “Let’s talk while we eat.”

As restless as a big cat while waiting for Julie to awaken, Tom had already set the food on the table, along with white wine for himself and a choice of juice or iced water for Julie, freshly poured into stemmed glasses. There were two tall red candles burning, and he’d found some flowers Barbara had arranged on the hall table and brought them in as a centerpiece—a small piece of craziness that fitted with the larger craziness to come.

If you were about to suggest to a near stranger that she hold your hand and leap with you off a sheer cliff of unknown height in pitch darkness, then you might as well set the scene in an appropriate manner.

He slid a chair back for Julie, and she sat opposite his place setting, close enough to touch him, wondering about the courtliness of his action. Was he simply safe-guarding the vessel that was carrying his child? It didn’t seem that way. The gesture had been fluid and natural, suggesting that courtesy came naturally to him.

He sat, then slid the casserole and rice to her, and she ladled them onto her plate gratefully. Hunger had made her stomach start acting up again. This looked and smelled hot and delicious. And salty.

Tom wasn’t saying much yet, but there was something very significant about being here with him like this, about to share a meal. Gradually, they were starting to build a relationship. It had to be that way. For better or worse, they were having a baby.

Tom’s next words, however, shattered any illusory sense of calm Julie might have been feeling. “I’ve thought about this now, and I know what I want,” he said.

He leaned his strong forearms onto the table. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow, as if about to get down to a tough physical job. There was strength and confidence to him, and he didn’t hesitate. His liquid voice contained all the authority of a businessman about to propose a merger...and perhaps that’s exactly what it was.

“There’s really only one answer. I want us to get married, Julie,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Chapter Three

“Married!”

She’d expected all sorts of things, but not that. She’d been planning to agree to it all, too. A written acknowledgment that he was the father of the child? Sure! A contract stipulating partial custody on vacations and weekends? No problem! A shared say on issues such as schooling and TV privileges and dating? Why not! And if he’d proposed that the baby be ritually baptized at the age of eight months in a fire-walking ceremony performed by New Guinea highland tribesmen, she’d probably have given that idea respectful consideration, as well.

But marriage?

“That’s insane!”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You can’t be serious,” she stated.

“But I am. Absolutely.”

“That’s—”

“Consider the other options,” he urged. “I have. For hours. And however we might feel about them, we don’t have the right to put ourselves first in this situation. We have to think of the baby.”

“I am thinking of the baby!”

“Are you?” he demanded. “Let’s see.” He raised a long, tanned finger. “Number one, there’s abortion.” The word sounded blunt and ugly. “That sure as hell isn’t thinking of the—”

“Agreed,” she said sharply. “And I’ve already told you, that’s not an option!”

“So delete that. Number two, I thank you very politely for coming, and for your interesting news, and wish you a nice life. Our child then grows up with a test tube for a father.”

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