Divine Design (13 page)

“Certainly, but Aunt Kate, who is Freddy?” Meghan asked, not understanding it all.

“Freddy Preston is one of my most favorite beaux. We’ve been courting for years,” the older woman explained, a dreamy expression on her face.

“Oh? How many?” Meghan asked, as she bit into her cheeks to keep from grinning.

“Well, let me see,” the orange-haired lady pondered. “I met Freddy just after my birthday that year … yes, it was the year I turned fifty-six. How many years is that?” she asked, as she raised her fingers and began to count rapidly.

“Quite a few.” Meghan chuckled. “He believes in long courtships, doesn’t he?”

“Not Freddy,” Kate replied with disgust. “He’s constantly after me to marry him.”

“He is? Don’t you love him?” she asked, enjoying the conversation.

“I do love him, but I also love my other beaux. It’s just that after Stewart died, bless his soul, I found that certain pleasures in life are more enjoyable and far more exciting if you change partners occasionally. The spice of life, you know.”

“I always thought practice makes perfect,” Meghan said, thinking her aunt meant dancing and bridge partners. “But I suppose it could get dull after a while.”

“Oh, sex is never boring, dear.” Her aunt gave her an amazed look. “But there is good sex, much better sex, and truly exciting sex. I just …”

“You mean …” Meghan interrupted, astonished.

Her aunt gave her an indulgent smile and a sassy wink. “I may be old, dear, but I’m not dead, and love keeps my spirit young.”

Meghan couldn’t argue with that. She only wished she could say the same about her love. Instead she was lonely, miserable, and feeling very old.

Sitting alone over her congealing TV dinner on Christmas Eve, Meghan called Lucy at her parents’ home using the pretext of wanting to wish them all a Merry Christmas. In actuality, she merely wanted to hear some friendly voices.

“He’s still calling your apartment,” Lucy informed her. Lucy had been to Meghan’s apartment to check on the mail and to listen for any important phone messages. Mrs. Belinski had agreed to come in once a week to dust and to water the plants. Meghan, knowing a gem when she saw one, and not wanting to lose her, had insisted on paying Mrs. Belinski full wages until she returned home with the baby.

“Couldn’t you call him? Maybe try to explain things? He sounds so desperate to talk to you, but he’s being very patient. I believe he thinks you’re terribly busy at work. He just asks ‘Would you please call me when you get a couple of seconds?’ Meghan, he’s breaking my heart,” Lucy told her, obviously sympathizing with Michael.

“Lucy, what can I do? This is painful for me, too, you know. And it won’t hurt him as bad or for as long as the truth would,” she tried to explain, knowing she was wrong.

“I suppose not,” Lucy conceded. “I feel awful for him, though. For both of you, actually.” She asked about Meghan’s health and how well she was eating, and, of course, about Aunt Kate’s latest antics. Then she added, “Guess what Mrs. Belinski is doing?”

“What?”

“She’s putting up your wallpaper! She says she feels ‘di guilt’ taking your money and doing nothing for it, so she’s fixing up the nursery. She went out and brought the cutest material for curtains, and she’s nearly finished papering one wall already.”

“What a nice lady. I’ll think of something nice to do for her in return,” Meghan said, feeling awful that people were being so nice to her, and all she seemed able to do was to cause them pain.

“I think she’s enjoying it,” Lucy was saying. “‘Di,’ little ducks are so sweet,” she mimicked the Polish woman’s accent.

Lucy prattled on about her parents and Jeff’s excitement, but Meghan was only half listening. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Texas and Michael, who was innocently sitting there, trusting that she’d call him, assuming that they had a future together, ignorant of the fact that he’d fathered a child.

By the time she had wished Lucy and her family a Merry Christmas and finally ended the conversation, Meghan was so filled with regret that she was nauseous. Quickly, before the feeling could hide itself in her fear again, she scrambled about in her purse for Michael’s phone number.

When an unfamiliar male answered his phone in Dallas, she felt herself falter briefly before finally asking for Michael. From the sounds in the background, she guessed he was having a party, not a great time to tell someone he was about to become a father—especially under the circumstances—but it was now or never.

“May I ask who is calling, please?” the man asked politely.

“Meghan Shay,” she replied.

The man laughed. “Thank God! I guess Christmas can go on as scheduled now. He’s been impossible to live with lately. This call will cheer him up, thank you very much,” he said merrily. “By the way, I’m his brother, Kevin, and I’m dying to meet you. It takes a lot to get my brother steamed up about anything, much less a woman who doesn’t return his calls. I tend to fall in love on an average of about twice a week, but this is a first for ol’ Mike, and I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been enjoying it tremendously. Hold on now. Don’t hang up. He’ll want to take this on another line so it’ll be a couple of seconds,” he said in one breath before Meghan could get a word in edgewise.

That Michael had been talking about her to his family only darkened the gloom closing in on her. She steeled herself and wondered what she was going to say while she waited for Michael to answer.

When he finally did, he was breathless and obviously excited. “Oh, Lord, Meghan, talk to me,” he exclaimed without preamble. “I just want to hear your voice … wait a minute, darlin’ … Dammit, Kevin, hang up!” he ordered. There was a fraternal laugh and a click on the line.

“Sounds like I called at a bad time,” Meghan noted for lack of something better to say.

“There’s no such thing as a bad time for one of your calls,” he said, his voice still agitated. “Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick.”

Now or never, now or never, now or never, she told herself over and over again. “Don’t be,” she finally said, her voice harsh from the strain. “Don’t worry about me, don’t be crazy about me, don’t do anything but be quiet and listen to me.”

“Meghan,” he started, confused and still concerned.

“Listen, Michael. I have to tell you this now or I never will. Just be quiet for a minute and let me say it. Please,” she pleaded, her tone desperate.

“Sure, darlin’,” he said softly, fear and tension evident in his voice. He had a feeling she was about to say good-bye.

There was silence between them as Meghan forced herself to breathe in and out. She suddenly had an overwhelming craving for a cigarette, and she’d never smoked in her life.

Slowly, she started. “I know it’s a coward’s way of doing this, I should tell you face to face … and I couldn’t have picked a worse time to do it, but I … well, it’s not going to be easy to say, and I have the courage now so …” She trailed off, realizing she wasn’t making much sense.

Taking yet another deep breath, she started over, “Michael, I want to tell you something …”

“I’m listening,” he confirmed, as he recognized the words from their last conversation. This must be what she had meant to tell him then, he decided, still waiting for the gut punch.

“One day, very soon, I’m going to have your child,” she stated bravely, but dying a thousand deaths.

Michael laughed in relief, then replied in a seductive drawl, “That’s the way I like to hear you thinking, darlin’; I’m rather fond of the idea myself and can’t wait to get started. Tell me,” he started to ask, feeling restored and very amused, “would you like to get married first or just jump right into this?”

“Dammit, Michael. Listen to me,” Meghan shouted over the line, exasperated beyond belief at having to tell him a second time. “I’m going to have your baby … soon … I’m already pregnant.”

Silence.

“Michael?” Meghan called softly, hesitantly.

“Where are you?” he asked calmly.

“Why do you want to know?” she returned suspiciously.

“Because we can’t get married over the phone,” he explained.

“We can’t get married, period,” she stated firmly.

“Think again,” he instructed, even more firmly.

“Michael,” she said, falling back into her attorney’s voice, “I refuse to marry you. When I get back to New York, after the baby is born, I promise I’ll call you. You can see the baby whenever you want. When it’s older, you can even take it to Texas … for a visit, if you want to. I … I’m sorry I did this to you,” she said, her professional tone cracking around the edges. “Although I’m not sorry about the baby. I’ve wanted this baby forever,” she finished, but added to herself,
I want it even more now, because it’s yours, Michael.

“Meghan,” a still oddly relaxed Michael started to say.

“No,” Meghan cut him off. “I can’t discuss this anymore, Michael,” she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll call you in a few months, and we’ll talk it over then … I’m so sorry.”

The line went dead.

In the time it took Michael to hang up the phone, he’d already acknowledged that even though he was somewhat stunned by the news, he was deliriously happy. He was in love with Meghan, and she was pregnant with his child. What could be better? They could be married, he answered silently.

Michael didn’t even try to delude himself about the problems he was facing. Meghan was going to resist marriage on some stupid principle or another unless he could convince her otherwise. Lord, he could have kicked himself for not telling her he loved her before leaving New York. But he’d opted for a courtship to give Meghan time to come around. If he’d told her, she’d know he wanted to marry her for herself and not just because of the infant. Now he’d have to cover twice the territory in half the time.

First things first, he thought to himself, rubbing his hands together determinedly. First he had to find out where she was.

After she hung up the phone, a deathly silence filled the house. Meghan looked around her. Not very Christmassy, she thought. The snow was nice, but the aluminum tree left a lot to be desired. She contemplated the small pile of gifts from family and friends, but decided to open them when she was less depressed. She had a feeling Santa Claus wouldn’t even stop to see her this year. She hadn’t been on her best behavior lately.

Wallowing in self-pity, she turned out the lights and went to bed early.

L
ESS THAN FORTY-EIGHT
hours later Michael was back in New York. The day after Christmas was crazy in Manhattan with people returning gifts and shopping for sales. Not sure if the office would be open, he opted to go to her apartment first, praying that being newly pregnant, she had decided to stay home rather than face a visit with her family.

He arrived in time to find a woman in her late fifties, her head wrapped with a scarf and her heavy winter overcoat bound tightly against the cold, letting herself out of Meghan’s apartment.

“Hello,” he greeted her, pleased that Meghan was home and this woman was leaving, so they could be alone. He stepped up to the door and pressed the bell, grinning.

The woman watched him with a suspicious eye. After he rang the bell a second time, she finally said, “What you think you do? Ms. Shay not here.”

“Then what were you doing in there?” he countered, just as wary.

“I check di little fuzzy ducks,” she stated with dignity, her arms crossed over her bosom, daring him to top her motive for being there.

“Fuzzy ducks?” he asked, feeling as if he had suddenly walked into the Twilight Zone.

“The fuzzy ducks on di wall. I put up yesterday. I make sure they stick,” she explained simply.

Eerie music began to play in the back of his mind. “I … see. And who are you?” he asked the alien.

“Mrs. Belinski, di housekeeper,” she said. “And you?”

“I’m Michael Ramsey. A good friend of Meghan’s,” he added, hoping it might carry some influence. “Can you tell me where she is?”

“No. I talk to Lucy, she talks to Ms. Shay.”

“Lucy?” There was that name again. Meghan had stated, “Lucy says,” “Lucy thinks,” at least fifty times. Why hadn’t he asked about her? Who the hell was this Lucy?

“Yah. She takes di mail and phone calls for Ms. Shay,” Mrs. Belinski explained.

“Oh. Well, thank you. If you do see her soon, would you tell her I stopped by,” he said. So Lucy was her secretary, he thought. Who would know better where to find Meghan?

Now he knew definitely that she was out of town. Assuming Meghan had gone to her father’s for Christmas, he’d need an address. He couldn’t recall that she had ever mentioned the name of her father’s bar in Boston, and he’d already counted a hundred and sixty-eight Shays in the Boston phone book. Calling them all would keep him busy for days, not to mention that it was impractical and highly embarrassing.

Therefore her office would be next on Michael’s list. Thank God for Henry. He’d know where Meghan was.

Acting on a disgruntling hunch, he stopped in the lobby of Meghan’s apartment building and phoned the office. He got a recorded message that confirmed his worst assumption. The office was closed for a long weekend. He could leave his number and name, and they’d return his call Monday.

By Monday morning he was not only angry at the setback, he was restless from the frustration of having wasted time. It was just like before, with Meghan uppermost in his mind and him unable to find her.

“Alderman, Darkwell and Gibbs,” came the answering receptionist.

“This is Michael Ramsey. May I speak to Lucy, Meghan Shay’s secretary, please?” he asked tersely.

“I’m sorry, sir. Her secretary’s name is Greta, and she is out of the office,” her whiny voice informed him.

“Then let me talk to Henry Alderman,” he said, exasperated.

“Mr. Alderman is in court today and isn’t expected back in the office until tomorrow. Can I have him call you then?” she asked politely.

“No. Tell him I’ll be in to see him,” he answered, regretting the cutting edge in his voice. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault he’d be cooling his heels for another day.

The next day Henry arrived at the office to find Michael Ramsey in the reception area, waiting to pounce on him.