Cause For Alarm (15 page)

K
ate's first six weeks as a new mother were confusing and exhausting. Caring for Emma consumed her every waking moment—and then some. The infant needed to be fed every few hours; she cried often and it seemed to Kate, for no reason at all.

Those times, Kate walked the floor with her, bounced her or sang softly as she rocked her in the big chair Richard had bought her. Still Emma cried.

Frustrated and insecure, Kate wept with her. She wasn't meant to be a mother, she thought. There was something wrong with her, something missing in her womanly makeup that left her unable to nurture a baby. Maybe that's why she had been unable to conceive. Maybe nature had been telling her something.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, Emma's crying stopped. And she smiled. Not just any smile, not just at anything. Or anyone. No, she had gazed into Kate's eyes with total trust and presented her with a beautiful and adoring smile.

A smile meant only for Kate.

In that moment, everything changed. Kate had become Emma's mother, for real and forever. In that moment it was all worth it—the sleep deprivation, the hours walking the floors, her haggard appearance and the self-doubt. In that moment, they all melted away.

Kate gazed down at her sleeping daughter, heart filled to near bursting. She trailed her fingers softly, rhythmically over her silky head. She never got enough of looking at Emma, of holding and touching her. All else in her life slipped away, and she found herself mesmerized by the tiniest changes in the infant's expression.

From downstairs, came the sound of the front door opening, then snapping shut. Richard was home. Doubting that it could be that time already, Kate checked her watch and saw that it was.

She eased out of the rocking chair, careful not to disturb Emma. After settling the baby in her crib, she headed downstairs to greet her husband.

He was in the kitchen, leafing through the day's mail. “Hi, hon,” she said, crossing to him.

“Hey.” He stopped what he was doing, bent and kissed her. “How was your day?”

“Great. How was yours?”

“Okay. Really busy.”

She poured them both a glass of wine, and set his on the counter beside the mail. “Hungry?”

“Starved. I missed lunch.”

“That's too bad.” She flashed him an apologetic smile. “Hope you don't mind reheated pizza.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Sure.” She went to the refrigerator, pulled out the remainder of the previous night's supreme. “A tuna fish sandwich. But I think the bread's growing something fuzzy and green.”

Richard said nothing and she went about getting together their meal, meager though it was. “Emma did the most amazing thing today. She laughed out loud.” He didn't look up from the mail. “I wish you could have been here. It was so great.”

Kate slid the cookie sheet with the pizza on it into the preheated oven. “It wasn't a gurgle or a coo, but a real honest-to-goodness laugh.”

He still didn't respond and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him rip open an envelope, scan its contents then frowning, cross to the trash and toss it in.

Kate watched him. “What was that?”

He met her eyes, then looked away. “From the Alumni Association. About an alumni
celebrity
event.”

The way he said the word told her who the celebrity was. She asked anyway. “Who's the star?”

“Who else? The great Luke Dallas. He's giving a lecture and signing copies of his new novel. Pompous prick.”

Luke didn't have a pompous bone in his body. She may not have seen him in ten years, but she knew that anyway. “What's eating you?”

He looked up, spoiling, she saw, for a fight. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Why the attitude?”

“Leftover pizza.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sorry, I didn't have time to go to the grocery. I've been a little busy.”

“No joke.”

“Meaning?”

“That maybe you should make the time.”

“It's not as easy as that.”

“No?” He folded his arms across his chest. “We could have gone out.”

“Not with Emma.”

“They do allow babies in restaurants, you know.”

“I know. But this is her nap time. I don't like to disturb her. She gets cranky.” Kate sucked in a deep breath, working to make light of his comments even though they had angered her. “When your nap is interrupted, you get a little cranky, too.”

He made a sound of disgust. “I'll tell you when I get cranky, when I'm fed leftover pizza two days in a row. I get cranky when my wife greets me in the evening in a bathrobe or when the only thing she ever talks about is
the baby.
”

Kate stared at him, so furious suddenly, she wanted to hit him. “You think I like going around all day like this?” She motioned to the baggy sweats and old shirt she had thrown on that morning. “Maybe if you helped out once in a while, I'd have the time to go to the grocery or get dressed in the morning.”

“The baby's your responsibility. That's what we decided.”

“My responsibility?” She arched her eyebrows. “Oh, I see. What you're saying is, since I'm the primary caregiver, I should never ask you to watch her for a few minutes while I do something else, like take a leisurely shower or run to the market? That I should never hope you'll take one of the 2:00 a.m. feedings so I can get more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep a night?” Her voice cracked. “Or that I should never expect you to want to spend time with her? She's your daughter, too, Richard.”

“Is she?”

Kate caught her breath. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He ignored the question, crossed to her and caught her hands. “How about a date, Kate? You know, you and me, candlelight and kisses.”

“And sex.”

“Since you brought it up, yeah, a little sex. When's the last time we made love? Two weeks ago? Three?” He lowered his voice. “I've missed you. I've missed
us.
”

Tears stung her eyes. “I'm just so tired, Richard. So damned tired all the time. It's hard to feel sexy when—”

The baby monitor crackled as Emma stirred in her crib. Once Emma stirred, Kate knew, she was awake. In a minute she would begin to howl, demanding to be fed.

“Damn,” Kate muttered and crossed to the refrigerator. She took out a bottle of formula, loosened the top and popped it in the microwave to warm it. Sure enough, just as the microwave dinged, Emma began to cry.

“Great.” Richard dragged a hand through his hair. “Just fucking great.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, snatching out the bottle and tightening the lid. “Let her cry?”

“Yeah, maybe I do.”

Kate sucked in a shocked breath. She met his eyes. “I'm going to try to pretend you didn't say that. Excuse me.”

Bottle in hand, she strode from the room.

“Kate, wait!” He caught her arm. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

She looked at him. “No?”

“It's just that I'm…I'm missing you. Missing the way we were. Our life.”

Tears flooded her eyes. “Like I said, if you'd help out a little, maybe I'd have a little more time for us.”

“Hire someone. It's not like we can't afford it.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I don't want to do that. We've waited too long to be parents to turn over her care to a stranger. Besides, I want you to help out. To hold and feed her, to play with her. You're missing out, Richard. You need to get to know your daughter, she's pretty great.”

“I don't have time.”

“But you have time for us to go on a date? For us to go out to dinner or away for the weekend?” Upstairs Emma's cries took on a hysterical edge. “Let me go. She needs me.”

“I need you.”

“You're an adult, Richard. You're—”

Suddenly, she realized the truth. It wasn't just feeding time and diaper duty that Richard didn't participate in. The events of the past weeks ran through her head, like one of the filmstrips they used to show in history class. He'd hardly even held Emma. He didn't go to her when he arrived home from work, didn't inquire about her day or her many firsts.

Kate brought a hand to her mouth. He hardly ever even looked at her.

Stunned, hurt beyond words, Kate turned and ran up the stairs to the nursery. She scooped up Emma and cradled her in her arms. The minute she did, the infant's cries lessened and she began rooting for a nipple.

“Here's Mommy,” Kate murmured, carrying her to the rocker and settling into it. “Everything's okay now. Everything's going to be fine.” She offered the bottle, and Emma latched on, sucking vigorously, gluttonously, as if she had been deprived of food for days instead of just hours.

After a moment, Kate looked up. Richard stood in the doorway watching her, his expression so lost it hurt her to look at him.

“What's going on with you, Richard? Don't you—” Tears choked her and she fought them back, fought to clear her throat. “Do you wish…do you regret us having…”

She couldn't say the words. She feared the answer.

He said them for her. “Do I regret us having adopted her?”

“Yes.”

He looked away, then back. “How could I? It's just that…this is a huge adjustment. It's…” He took a deep breath. “Suddenly you're completely involved with the baby and I'm…I'm just hanging out here. Taking up space.”

“Because you're not involved with the baby. You need to be. If you were, you'd feel differently. You'd feel a part of her and what's happening to our lives.”

“I know.” He passed a hand wearily across his face. “I've been so busy, with new cases at the firm, with the campaign.” He swore softly. “I'm sorry, Kate. You know I don't take change well. And this one's been a doozy.”

She laughed at that. It was true; he didn't enjoy change. She, on the other hand, welcomed it with open arms. He would come around. Of course he would.

“I suppose that's why God gave most couples nine months to adjust to impending parenthood.”

He crossed to the rocker and knelt down beside it. “Thanks for being so great.” He kissed the baby's head, then Kate's hand. “It's going to get better, love. I'm going to hire someone to help me with campaign work, I'm going to adjust.” He lifted his face to hers. “Never stop loving me, okay? Not even when I'm behaving like a horse's ass.”

She smiled through her tears. “Not even then.”

L
ong after Emma had fallen asleep and Kate had gone to bed, Richard sat in the rocking chair in Emma's nursery, staring at the crib. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the night-light, and every so often the infant would stir and whimper, then fall silent again.

Richard passed a hand over his brow, weary and disheartened. Tonight, for Kate, he had gone through the motions with Emma. He had held and rocked her; he'd given her her bedtime bottle and even changed her diaper. Or tried, anyway; he had been all thumbs at that.

Kate had watched him, flushed with pleasure. With happiness and pride. Emma, too, had seemed pleased with his attention. She had kicked and gurgled and waved her arms. And when he had fed her, she had looked up at him with wide, trusting blue eyes.

With eyes, a gaze, designed to melt the coldest heart.

It hadn't melted his.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Richard stood and crossed to the crib. He gazed intently down at the child for long moments. His daughter, he reminded himself. His. And Kate's.

So, why didn't he feel anything but anger? Anything but resentment and failure?

Because he had always gotten everything he wanted. Had always been the one in control, the one who made things happen. It had been the way of his life; was the way he expected his life to be.

Not this time. This time he hadn't gotten what he wanted, he hadn't been able to control the situation, mold it to his liking. He'd been told no. And he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

Unable to look at the child a moment more, he left the nursery. After making certain Kate was still asleep, he retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniel's and a glass from the bar and went to his study. There, he poured himself a shot, tossed the drink back, then poured another.

Richard crossed to the French doors that led out to the first-floor gallery, pushed aside the drape and gazed out at the black night. He swore under his breath. At first he'd watched Kate and Emma with pleasure and affection. They made a charming picture; he had been warmed by Kate's obvious happiness.

But as the days and weeks had passed, he'd found himself becoming resentful and jealous. Of the time Kate devoted to Emma. Of her obvious and complete love for the child.

He had found himself wishing the baby would just…disappear. That he would wake up one morning and find that adopting Emma had been nothing but a disturbing dream and that he had his old life back. His wife back.

What did those thoughts say about him? About his character?

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, disgusted with himself and his thoughts. With the answer.

He felt like a snake. A loser. A failure.

He could never tell Kate the truth. Not about this. It would devastate her. She wouldn't understand. She would never look at him the same way again.

He couldn't bear to lose her.

He dropped his hands. If only he felt like a father. If only he looked at Emma and got all gooey-eyed with love or puffed up with pride. If only he didn't look at her and remember his own failure. That he hadn't been able to impregnate Kate. That he hadn't been able to give his wife the one thing she'd wanted more than anything.

He shot blanks, he reminded himself bitterly. He was half a man.

Unable to bear his own thoughts a moment more, he opened the French door and stepped out onto the gallery. The midnight air was cold; it went straight to his head, clearing it. He breathed deeply, several times, releasing the pent-up breath in a rush.

It was the change in their lives causing him to feel unsettled and resentful, he told himself for the umpteenth time. The alteration of their life-styles. His feelings for Emma would deepen. Soften. They would. He was an adult, a good person; he could make that happen.

He
would
make it happen.

And when he did, everything would once again be as it should be between him and Kate. He would be in control of their lives.

And he and Kate would be happy again.