Baby, Come Back (5 page)

Alice blinked against the tears that pricked at her eyes. “Maggie herself is adopted. Did you know that?” she asked, without shifting her gaze from her foster mother.

“No.”

“Her situation was similar to mine. Abusive alcoholic parents. Only she escaped at a much younger age. Five, I think.”

Maggie looked her way and smiled. Alice returned her smile, feeling filled suddenly with light and warmth. She turned back to Hayes. “Adoption is a wonderful option. I feel very strongly about it.”

“I do, too.” He folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I'll help any way I can.”

“Sheri doesn't have any insurance. Right now she's going to the free clinic.”

“No problem.”

“The kids will have to agree.” Alice shook her head. “And I'm not sure about Sheri. She really wants this baby.”

“Doesn't she understand what her life will be like if she keeps the baby and tries to raise it on her own?” Hayes frowned. “Doesn't she see how much better off the baby would be with two stable parents? Parents who are grownups?”

“Of course not, Hayes. She's seventeen.”

“You could talk to her.”

“But I won't pressure her.” At Hayes's frustrated expression, she caught his hands across the table. “You have to understand Sheri to understand why this baby is so important to her. She's never been loved, not really. She's never had someone to call her own. She wants both. More than anything in the world.”

Alice squeezed his fingers, tears pricking at the back of her eyes once more, memories swamping her. Memories of how she'd felt when she'd learned of her own pregnancy. Memories of her own needs. Her own hopes and dreams. “She knows this baby will love her. Unconditionally. And Sheri knows this baby will let her love her back. No one has ever allowed Sheri to love them.”

For a long moment, Hayes was silent. He met her eyes, the expression in his soft with compassion. “You understand her so well because she's like you.”

Alice's breath caught. She didn't need his pity. She didn't want it. She tried to free her hands, but he held on to them. “Is that the way you felt, Alice? About our child?”

And about you. And Jeff.
She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling her dizzying hope and happiness, then her utter despair. In one fell swoop, she had lost everything.

“Is it, Alice?”

She opened her eyes; she knew they were glassy with tears. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry, Alice. I'm so sorry.” He moved his fingers over her hands, stroking, caressing. “I didn't realize. I didn't know how much...the baby meant to you.”

It took a moment for his words, their meaning, to sink in, but when they did anger took her breath. “Because it meant nothing to you! When I got pregnant, all you felt was trapped. You agreed to marry me because that was the honorable and manly thing to do. But you never wanted me and you never wanted our baby.” She yanked her hands from his grasp and stood. “Now, excuse me. I have things to do.”

Tears flooding her eyes, she started for the door, moving blindly between the tables and patrons, praying she could keep from humiliating herself until she made it outside.

She cleared the front door, and the tears spilled over. The cold stung her wet cheeks, and she realized she'd left her sweater inside. She'd sooner die than go back for it and have Hayes see her this way, she thought. Maggie would save it for her.

Hugging herself, she hurried across the porch and down the steps to the parking lot. She reached her car and fumbled in her purse for the keys, coming up empty-handed.

Her keys were in her sweater pocket. Damn.

She sagged against the car. She couldn't go back in there. She couldn't face Hayes. She—

“You forgot this.”

He'd followed her.
Alice brushed the tears from her cheeks, then turned. She took the sweater from his outstretched hand, not meeting his eyes. She didn't think she could bear to see the pity in them.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice still thick with tears. She dipped her fingers into the pocket, found her keys and pulled them out. “I guess I'd better— ”

He covered her hand with his. “I'm sorry, Alice.”

“Our relationship didn't work out,” she said stiffly. “That's life. There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I don't want your apologies or your pity.” She slipped her hand from his. “Just leave me alone.”

“I wasn't referring to our relationship.” He turned her gently to face him. “I'm sorry we lost the baby.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, her eyes welling with tears again. She fought them spilling over. “Right. I really believe that, Hayes.”

“You should. Because I am truly sorry.” He slid his hands up to her shoulders. “I didn't want the baby the same way you did. I couldn't, don't you see? We were so different, and at such different places in our lives. But the baby was mine. Ours. It was alive, growing. A part of my life already, even if only for a few months.”

Alice battled to breathe evenly. The pain balled in her chest, her throat. Twelve years ago they'd hardly spoken about the miscarriage; now, all these years later, it felt as if it had just happened. As if she were alone in that antiseptic hospital room, stripped bare of all her dreams.

“It...hurt...so much.”

Her breath caught on a sob, and he drew her against his chest. “I know, sweetheart. I know now.”

She slipped her arms around him, holding tightly, sobbing against his shoulder. “I wanted her more than...anything. She was mine. She was inside me. Growing. A part of me.”

For a long time she cried, until she didn't have any tears left. But still he held her, murmuring sounds of comfort, gently rocking. The heat of his body warmed her. The scent of him seeped into her consciousness until it filled her senses. Beneath her hands, she became aware of the feel of him, hard and strong and male.

Her hurt and despair lessened, then disappeared altogether. Awareness replaced them.

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply. His five o'clock shadow was rough against her cheek; his skin was warm and smelled of soap and sweat.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd missed this— him— so much. She'd missed his arms, his touch. She had missed the way his arms had made her feel— desired and womanly, safe.

No other man had been able to make her feel the same way. No man ever would. She'd finally stopped looking.

Alice tipped her head back and met his eyes. In them she saw her awareness mirrored back at her. A shudder moved over her, and she pressed her hands against his chest. “This is a mistake. We both know it.”

“Yes,” he murmured, tightening his arms around her, his voice thick. “A mistake.”

She slid her hands to his shoulders and tipped her face more fully to his. “I should go.”

“Yes,” he murmured again, lowering his mouth. “Go. Now.”

She ordered herself to do just that; she parted her lips instead. He caught her mouth, then her tongue. She made a sound of pleasure deep in her throat, and the car keys slipped from her fingers.

He tasted familiar, she thought dizzily. Smelled familiar. Rich and male. She recognized the way he moved his mouth against hers. The way he flattened his hands against her lower back and held her to him. Firmly. Possessively.

She wound her fingers in his hair, urging him to deepen the kiss. To take more. To bring her closer. Kissing Hayes felt like coming home.

With a muffled oath, Hayes pulled away. He met her eyes, his dark with arousal, his expression stunned. She parted her lips to speak; before she could, he lowered his mouth once more, capturing hers.

This time he plundered. Demanded. This time he took her mouth with a fury born of years of denial. She answered his passion with her own. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed herself against him, digging her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, straining against him.

She felt his arousal in the way he held her, the way he plunged his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head to anchor her to him. She felt it in the way he rasped her name, as if it came from a dark and desperate place inside him, in the way he greedily devoured her lips.

Alice made a sound of pleasure deep in her throat, reveling in the knowledge of how strongly she affected him. He affected her just as strongly. For as close as they were, she wanted him closer still. She wanted his hands on her, wanted his naked flesh pressed to hers.

When had awareness become arousal, overpowering and insistent? When had she decided to give herself to Hayes, body and soul? Twelve years ago, she thought dizzily. In all that time, nothing had changed. She still wanted him with a ferocity that stole her good sense, her ability to reason, everything but her desire to be with him.

Hayes tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard. She saw the regret in his eyes. The apology. Shame hit her in a wave. As did hurt. Once again, she had opened the door for Hayes to hurt her.

Furious, with herself, with him, she struggled against his grasp. He tightened his arms, and she swore. “Let me go, Hayes. Damn you, let me go.”

“You never lacked, Alice,” he said fiercely. “Never. Letting you go was hell, but it was for the best.”

She stopped struggling and stared at him, stunned. He was convincing her. Trying to make her “see” so she wouldn't be angry. She jerked out of his arms. “You bastard. You didn't come here tonight to talk about Sheri and Jeff, did you?”

“No.”

She balled her hands into fists on his chest. “You couldn't leave it alone, could you? You can't stand for anyone to have a different opinion than yours.”

“That's not true.” She made a move to duck past him; he caught her hand. “I didn't come here tonight to try to convince you of anything. I came because I couldn't stay away.”

And he hated that. She saw that truth. He saw wanting her as a weakness. A mistake.

She'd always wanted him more than he'd wanted her. He'd proved that twelve years ago when he'd rejected her flatly. And here she stood, offering him the same opportunity. When was she going to stop allowing this man to hurt her? When was she going to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve for him to crush?

Now, she decided. Tilting her head back, she met his eyes. “Let me go, Hayes. This moment.”

“Alice— ”

“Now.”

He dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “I don't know what to say to you. What do you want me to say?”

“That's just it. I don't want you to say anything.” Bending, she scooped up her car keys. She jammed the key into the door lock and twisted. Swinging the door open, she forced him to step back.

She slid behind the wheel and started the car, then looked back up at him. “Do me a favor, Hayes. Next time you're trying to stay away, try a little harder.”

A
lice let herself into her house, hands shaking so badly she had difficulty fitting the key into the lock. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, grateful for its support. Dear Lord, what had she been thinking? She'd long ago learned her lesson with Hayes; only a fool made the same mistake twice.

Then she was the biggest fool of all. For tonight she'd fallen into Hayes's arms as easily, and as passionately, as she had at nineteen.

She might never be the same again.

Sheri appeared in the kitchen doorway, a plate of Oreo cookies in one hand, a glass of milk in the other. She smiled. “Hey, Miss A.”

“Hey,” Alice repeated weakly, and motioned at the plate of cookies. “I hope that's not your dinner.”

“Nope. I had a peanut butter sandwich and an apple a couple of hours ago.” The teenager cocked her head and frowned. “You all right, Miss A.?”

Alice forced a stiff smile. “Fine, Sheri. Just tired.”

Sheri looked unconvinced. “Jeff's dad called. He was looking for you, so I told him where you were. I hope that was okay?”

“Fine.” Alice slipped out of her sweater. “He stopped by the coffeehouse. No big deal.”

Sheri frowned and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What did he want?”

What had Hayes wanted?
She knew what she'd wanted: to make love. For those few dizzying moments in the parking lot she had wanted that desperately. Shamelessly, even. The memory of those moments filled her head— Hayes's mouth on hers, demanding, exploring; his taste on her tongue; the feel of him under her hands, hard and hungry; their bodies pressed together, hot with arousal.

Alice brought her hand to her mouth. She caught herself and swore silently. If only her lips didn't still burn from Hayes's kiss. If only she could forget the way she'd felt in his arms— as if she would die if he stopped touching her. If only she could block out the way she'd reacted to him— as though she were starving for sex, starving for him.

“Miss A.?”

Alice glanced at Sheri, then away quickly. Her cheeks, she knew, were bright with color; she felt as transparent as a picture window. How would Sheri react if she knew the truth?

Alice cleared her throat. “He didn't want anything. He just...stopped by.” She crossed to the hall closet, hung up her sweater, then made a great show of yawning. “I think I'll turn in early and read for a while.”

“Oh...okay.”

Sheri gazed at the floor a moment, and Alice sensed the girl's hesitation, her need to say something. Alice didn't give her the opportunity— she couldn't deal with anyone but herself tonight, couldn't deal with anyone's else's troubles or confusion. She had her own to handle. And truthfully, as emotionally raw as she felt at this moment, she wasn't certain she could even deal with her own.

“Good night, Sheri.” Alice forced a smile and started for her room, anxious to be alone.

“Miss A.?”

Alice stopped and glanced over her shoulder; the teenager hadn't moved. “Yes, Sheri?”

The girl caught her bottom lip between her teeth, then shook her head. “Nothing. I...I put the mail on the kitchen table. That's all.”

Alice smiled again. “Thanks. I think I'll take a look at it.”

After wishing Sheri a goodnight, Alice headed to the kitchen. There, as Sheri had promised, the mail sat in a neat stack in the middle of the table. She picked up the stack and sifted through it. Included with the usual assortment of bills and advertisements was a letter hand-addressed to her with a local postmark but no return address.

Curious, she slit open the envelope, pulled out the single sheet of loose leaf paper and scanned it, her hands beginning to shake.

Her mother. It couldn't be.

Alice's knees gave and she sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. She stared down at the note, stunned.

How had her mother found her? How had she—

Mrs. Schultz. That's right.
Alice pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She'd run into the woman, a neighbor from her childhood, several months back.

Alice remembered being uncomfortable with the woman's questions, remembered trying to be vague about where she lived, about what she was doing now. Not that she had ever worried about hiding her where-abouts. After all, her mother had never wanted her, never tried to contact her.

Until now.

Alice closed her eyes and tried to picture her mother's face, but couldn't. Instead she saw Maggie's dark hair and eyes, Maggie's smile, heard Maggie's musical laughter and kind voice.

She couldn't remember what her mother looked like.

Alice caught her breath, a strange sensation moving over her. A sensation that left her feeling anxious, panicky, even. She didn't want to see her mother. She didn't want to remember what her mother looked like. For fifteen years she had been able to pretend her biological mother and father didn't exist. That her previous life didn't exist. She liked it that way; she didn't want it to change.

Alice lowered her eyes to the letter once more. Her father was dead. Since last month. Drunk, he'd fallen down a flight of stairs and broken his neck.

Dead. Her father was dead.
Alice closed her eyes and tried to sort through the emotions barreling through her. How did she feel about her father's death? He'd been her father, after all. His seed had given her life. He should have been one of the most important people in her life.

Instead she didn't feel anything. Not regret or remorse, not even relief. She felt nothing.

Now her mother wanted to be a family with her daughter again. She wanted to pick up where they had left off.

A family.

Alice squeezed her eyes shut, emotion choking her, her memory winging her back to her childhood, to the frightened, inadequate girl she had been. She'd never been able to do anything right. Had never been the child her parents wanted. She'd tried so hard to please them. To be deserving of their love and affection.

She'd failed every time.

A tear slipped from the corner of an eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it, but another followed, then another. Why hadn't her mother wanted to be a family before? Why hadn't her parents loved her?

Memories flooded her mind. Of her mother, drunk, berating her for being lazy and stupid, her mother flinging a beer bottle at her.

Alice rubbed her shoulder, rubbed the scar she carried to remind her of the incident, her mind shifting to memories of her father. Beating her for being useless, for being underfoot when he wanted her gone. And when she was older, her father putting his hands on her, trying to touch her in places a father should never touch.

A sob rose in her throat, the bile of revulsion with it. She'd fought him off and taken shelter on the street. Maggie had found and saved her.

Now, her mother wanted them to be a family?

Alice crumpled the letter. She didn't want to see her mother. She didn't want to remember. She'd left that life, that frightened girl, far behind. It had been her parents who had been lacking, not her.

Then why did she feel as if she were ten years old and worthless?

“Miss A.? Are you all right?”

Alice looked up to find Sheri standing in the doorway, her expression stricken. Alice opened her mouth to reassure the teenager, but found she could not. She gazed helplessly at the girl, tears spilling over, rolling down her cheeks.

“Is it something I did?” Sheri whispered, moving haltingly into the room. “If it is, I'm sorry. I wouldn't hurt you for anything.”

The innocent always blamed themselves.

Alice shook her head, the tears coming harder. She wanted to smile, to assure the youngster that everything was fine. But her tears refused to be quelled.

“Oh, Miss A. Please don't cry.” Sheri crossed the room and dropped down beside her, beginning to cry herself. Curving her arms around Alice, she laid her head in her lap. “It's going to be all right. I know it is.”

Alice bent and laid her head against Sheri's. “You sound like me,” she murmured, her words strangled with tears.

“Then you should listen. You're a really smart lady.”

Alice smiled weakly and feathered her fingers through the teenager's cap of silky dark hair. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

The teenager made a sound that was a cross between a sniffle and a giggle. “That's okay. It's not your fault. I'm kind of emotional these days.”

“I remember what it was like.”

As soon as the words passed her lips she realized her mistake. She'd never talked about her pregnancy with anyone but Hayes and Maggie.

Sheri tilted her head back. “What do you mean, Miss A.? Did you have a baby?”

Alice wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No, I never had a baby. I was pregnant once, though.”

“What happened?”

Alice hesitated, not wanting to upset the teenager, but knowing she had to tell her the truth. “I...lost her. I was about three months along.”

Fear flew into Sheri's eyes. “You don't...think that I...you know, that I could...” Her throat closed over the words.

Alice tapped the end of Sheri's nose with her index finger. “No, I don't.”

“But...” Sheri drew her eyebrows together. “What happened? Why did you...lose it?”

“I don't know why. I just did. I didn't have any warning. I guess it just...wasn't meant to be.”

Sheri was quiet a moment, as if contemplating Alice's words. “How did you feel after? I mean, how did you face it?”

I felt like I wanted to die.
Tears flooded her eyes. “I was brokenhearted. But I— ” She lifted her shoulders. “I had to go on.”

“You've done a lot of that, haven't you, Miss A.? Going on, I mean.”

The teenager's words caught her unaware, touching a core place inside her. Alice's gaze moved unwittingly to her mother's letter, lying crumpled on the floor by their feet. “Yeah,” she murmured. “But then, I think we all do.”

* * *

Although Alice had tossed her mother's letter in the trash and told herself that the past could only touch her if she let it, she couldn't shake the way receiving the letter had made her feel. Uncertain and anxious. Vulnerable.

She'd found herself walking on tenterhooks the next few days, worried that her mother might try to call her or stop by, and a knot formed in her stomach every time she saw the stack of mail waiting on the kitchen table for her.

Sighing, she rested her head against the couch back. Outside, a spring storm raged. Rain beat against her roof and windows; lightning flashed across the black sky. She turned her gaze from the window and sighed again. She despised feeling this way— off-kilter and out of sorts. Years ago she'd taken charge of her life and had never looked back. Now, between her mother and Hayes, she was being forced to look back.

Hayes.

Alice brought a hand to her mouth and ran her fingers gently across her lips. She hadn't spoken to him since the night at the coffeehouse, yet she'd been unable to put him out of her mind. Had he thought of her? she wondered. Had those minutes in the coffeehouse parking lot been as tumultuous for him as they had been for her?

She made a sound of self-derision. Right. Would she ever stop playing the fool for Hayes Bradford?

Thunder shook the old house, and Alice jumped as she realized someone was pounding on the front door. She checked her watch and frowned. Nearly eleven. Who would call so late? And on a work night, no less. She thought of Tim Benson, of her meeting with him that morning, of his expression when she and Dennis had asked him, as gently as possible, to leave the program. She shivered. In that moment she had understood why Sheri felt so uncomfortable around the boy. Something in his eyes had made her feel threatened.

The pounding came again, and she stood and walked cautiously to the door. She inched aside one of the sidelight's lace sheers. Hayes stood on her porch, soaked to the skin, his hair slicked to his head. She quickly unlocked the door and opened it.

“Hayes? What are you— ”

“Is he here?”

Alice didn't have to ask whom he meant. His panicked expression said it all. She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Hayes. I haven't seen him.”

He sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Is Sheri?”

Alice nodded and motioned behind her. “She went to bed early. She wasn't feeling well.”

“I hate to ask, Alice, but is she alone?”

“Yes, of course. She— ” Alice hesitated, remembering the night Sheri had let Jeff crawl in her window. “At least, I think she is.”

“Would you check? Please?”

Shivering, Alice nodded and stepped away from the door. “Come in. I'll get you a towel.”

She got the towel for Hayes, then went to check on Sheri. She eased the bedroom door open a crack and peeked inside. The girl was curled up on her side, deeply asleep. And obviously alone. Alice scanned the rest of the room, finding it empty.

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. She would have hated it if she'd found that Sheri had violated her trust by hiding Jeff in her room a second time.

Alice rejoined Hayes in the foyer. “Sorry,” she murmured, “Sheri's alone. And as far as I know, they didn't speak tonight. The phone didn't ring, anyway.”

Hayes rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Great, I don't know where else to look for him. I called all the family, his friends, even his baseball coach.”

Alice's heart went out to him. He looked exhausted. The lines in his face seemed more deeply etched tonight, his eyes shadowed with fatigue and worry. She longed to reach out and smooth those lines, to offer comfort and reassurance. She called herself a fool.

“Could I use your phone? Maybe he's home now.”

“Sure. It's by the sofa.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “I was having cocoa. I'll bring you a cup.”