Pregnant!. Charlotte Hughes
grabbed her hand and laid it flat against his hard chest. ‘‘How do you say it? Hit me with it. Right here.’’
‘‘Well, I just can’t see…how it can work. No matter what happens, I’m not running off to live in your castle in Gullandria. I’m staying here. I’m finishing law school. I’m—’’
He put his finger to her lips again, signaling for silence. ‘‘I think ‘I don’t know’ is enough for tonight.’’
The next night, he showed up at her door with a home pregnancy test kit tucked under one arm, the instruction sheet open in his hands. ‘‘Look, my love. It says here, ‘Ninety-nine percent effective one day after—’’’
She took his arm, dragged him inside and firmly shut the door. ‘‘Where did you get that?’’
‘‘Albertson’s Food and Drug, it was called. The pharmacy section. The clerks there were marvelously helpful.’’
‘‘I’ll bet.’’ People—especially female people—fell all over themselves when Finn needed aid.
‘‘You didn’t let me finish. It says, ‘Ninety-nine percent effective one day after a missed menstrual period.’’’
‘‘Oh, that’s so lovely to know.’’
He sent her a fond smile. ‘‘And when would that be—for you?’’
She wondered why she felt so resentful. It was a perfectly reasonable question, given the situation.
‘‘Liv?’’
‘‘What?’’ It came out sounding much too hostile.
He folded up the instruction sheet and set it and the kit on the entry hall table. Then he turned back to her and waited, arms crossed over that broad chest, feet planted wide apart, as if taking a stand in a strong wind.
After a stubborn twenty seconds or so, she muttered, ‘‘I’d have to look at my calendar.’’
‘‘And where is your calendar?’’
She knew by the expression on his face that there was no way to get out of this gracefully. She also knew there was no real reason she should want to get out of it. Whether or not she was actually pregnant was the main question, after all.
Still she resisted. ‘‘You know, Finn, I think my biological functions should be my own business.’’
He regarded her from under slightly lowered brows. ‘‘Darling. Please get the calendar.’’
She had her own feet planted apart now, her arms folded over her middle, in a mirror of his pose. ‘‘I do resent this.’’
‘‘You being you, I’m certain you do.’’
‘‘What is that supposed to mean?’’
‘‘You’re an intelligent woman. My guess is you already know.’’
They shared one of their stare-downs. A very long one. Out on T Street, a car went by, stereo booming out, heavy on the bases. As the hollow beat faded away, an ice-cream truck rolled slowly past, playing ‘‘It’s a Small World, After All’’ in the usual tinkling organ-grinder style of ice-cream trucks everywhere.
In the end, Liv was the one who blinked. ‘‘I suppose you’ll stand there forever, refusing to budge, until I get you what you want.’’
For that, she got the tiniest lift of one side of his beautiful mouth. And other than that, absolute stillness.
‘‘Oh, all right,’’ she muttered, then commanded, ‘‘wait here.’’
She pounded up the stairs and stomped down the hall to the bedroom that was hers for the duration of her stay in the house. The calendar hung on a suction hook over the small cherry-wood desk in the corner, by the mirrored mahogany wardrobe. She had a palm planner, but she used it for appointments and school and business. She liked a nice big old-fashioned wall calendar for personal stuff—birthdays and dates with the hairdresser and keeping track of her periods.
She snatched the calendar off the wall and turned to the previous month. She was pretty sure her last one had started a week before she left for Gullandria. It had been Friday, hadn’t it? And she’d had to run to the ladies’ room to take care of the problem.
However, it appeared she’d forgotten to mark it down on her calendar.
Well, well. Too bad.
She started to hang the thing back on the wall, but then she remembered that look in Finn’s eyes. He was truly the most persistent man she’d ever had the inconvenience—and yes, all right, the pleasure—to get to know. Better to simply take it down to him and show him that whenever it had been, she’d failed to make a note of it.
Finn was waiting right there at the bottom when she descended with the calendar. He watched her come down to him, a gleam of pure suspicion in his eyes. ‘‘I’m not sure I like that smile. It’s much too smug. Also, you’ve stopped pounding around like an elephant on the rampage. These are not good signs.’’
‘‘An elephant, huh? That’s not very flattering.’’
‘‘Let me see it.’’
She reached the bottom and handed him the calendar. ‘‘Sorry. It appears that, whenever it was, I forgot to mark it down.’’
He studied the page for June, pointed to a small pen mark on Wednesday, the fifth. ‘‘What about this?’’
‘‘A smudge. I draw a star in the upper left hand corner of the box for the first day.’’
He looked at her probingly, then accused, ‘‘You do remember when it was, don’t you?’’
She didn’t lie—exactly. ‘‘It was a hectic month. The end of school, finals, all that, followed by the move here and starting a new job. And then off to Gullandria and my, er, whirlwind week with you.’’
He flipped the page back to May. Pointed at the tiny star in the square for the eleventh. ‘‘All right. Four weeks from there.’’
‘‘My. An expert on a woman’s cycle.’’
He met her eyes. He wasn’t smiling. ‘‘This is a stupid game.’’
‘‘I’m not the one who insisted on playing it.’’
‘‘Is there some reason you don’t want me to know? Some reason for keeping me—for keeping both of us—in the dark?’’
The question got snagged in her mind and wouldn’t shake loose. She felt a tiny stab—a pinprick, a needle’s jab—at her conscience.
The day after a missed period, the brochure had said. According to that, they could know on Saturday. In four days, her life could be irrevocably changed.
Yes, she did realize that if it was changed, it had happened already. It had happened almost two weeks ago in a small green clearing in the strange half light of a Gullandrian summer night. No home pregnancy test would change what already was.
Still…
The simple truth was as Finn had just said. She didn’t want to know. Not yet. As soon as she knew—as soon as Finn knew—decisions would have to be made.
Oh, not yet, her heart cried. Don’t make me decide yet.
So strange, for her, Liv Thorson, to be thinking of her heart. She didn’t go there, as a rule. She dated men like dear, sweet Simon. They told each other they cared for each other—and they did. They worked hard to excel. They spent their evenings studying or rallying for social change or discussing America’s rights and responsibilities as the only true remaining world superpower, debating this or that issue currently before the Supreme Court.
It