Divine Design (21 page)

With that she turned on her heel and marched to the foot of the steps that led to the living quarters above. She stood evaluating the challenge for several seconds, then straightened her shoulders in determination and proceeded up the stairs, stopping frequently to catch her breath.

When she was out of sight, Connie turned toward the kitchen at the rear of the building. “I’ll call Michael. If they’ve had a fight, he’ll need to know where she is so they can clear things up.”

He was no sooner out of sight when Michael Ramsey walked through the front door.

Michael stood on Temple Street, not far from Boston Common. Normally a very busy street, it was relatively quiet for that hour of the day. With an apprehensive eye, he surveyed the little Irish pub before him and noted the “open” sign in the window.

It was definitely an Irish tavern. The stained glass windows held a hundred shamrocks displayed in various positions throughout the colorful glass. Inlaid in the artwork on the door was the name “Shay’s,” the tavern’s only advertisement.

Moving inside, Michael wasn’t surprised to find it clean, quaint, and well kept. The place was decorated in dark, vibrant colors from the glass in the door to the deep, warm wood tones of the furnishings. Pewter tankards and mugs hung from several beams in the ceiling. The wall behind the main bar was constructed of more stained glass, lit softly to produce a warm glow. It was a very pleasant, charming little pub.

The barroom was practically empty. A few patrons were scattered about at tables. An older gentleman sat at one end of the bar reading the morning paper as he drank his coffee. At the other end were two of the men Michael was looking for. He recognized them instantly from the photo he had seen in Meghan’s living room and from their distinctive red hair.

Michael could hear them speaking in low tones to one another as they nursed their own cups of coffee. He took a seat at the middle of the bar and watched as the older of the two men moved toward him.

He greeted Michael with a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”

“Just coffee, please,” Michael replied, feeling oddly anxious and awkward at meeting Meghan’s father.

“Need a little hair of the dog in it?” Sean Shay asked absently, as he poured his customer a cup of coffee.

“No thanks. I wasn’t bitten last night,” he answered. “You’re Mr. Shay then,” inquired Michael politely, already sure of the answer.

“The one and only. Unless, of course, you count my boys.” He motioned vaguely in Donald’s direction. “And a few hundred others in these parts. Shay is a pretty common name around here.”

“But you’re the Shay with the daughter named Meghan, correct?” Michael asked with a smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware that Donald had come to life and was waiting at attention for his father to speak.

The old man’s countenance had undergone a rapid change. Gone was the friendly bartender with the easy manner. He was now tense and suspicious.

“I am Meggie’s father. What’s it to you?” he asked guardedly.

“I’m a friend of hers,” he said casually, acutely conscious of the fact that the burly brother had moved closer.

“Just how close a friend are you?” the older man asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed Michael.

Michael straightened his shoulders and looked Sean Shay in the eye. “Very close. I care very much for your daughter, Mr. Shay. As to the details of our relationship, sir, I don’t think they’re any of your business.”

“They are if you’re the father of her baby,” Sean said, his temper rising.

Michael swallowed hard, knowing this was the most awkward situation he ever had or would experience in his life.

“Yes, sir,” he admitted, giving no outward signs of his nervousness, “Meghan is carrying my child.”

A dark thundercloud of anger settled over the old man’s brow. “In that case, I’ll make use of my right, for the first time, not to serve someone,” he said harshly, taking a swipe at the countertop with his bar rag. “Any man not willing to do what’s right when he gets a girl in trouble is not welcome in my bar.”

“Takes two to tango,” said Donald from several stools away, making his own thoughts of Meghan’s behavior obvious. The fact that he was enjoying the whole situation irritated Michael.

He gave Donald a measuring look, then pointedly turned back to Sean Shay.

“I’m very willing to marry Meghan, Mr. Shay,” he said clearly. “I was hoping she’d have me long before I knew about the baby, but your daughter is the proudest, most stubborn, pig-headed woman I’ve ever met. She’s too embarrassed to marry me,” he finished angrily.

“Sorry, Mr. Ramsey.” Sean Shay paused, relaxing visibly and taking on a knowing, sympathetic look. Michael gave his first name and the older man continued. “I’m sorry if we came on a little strong, Michael. But you know the old saying ‘A son is a son till he takes a wife. But a daughter’s a daughter all of her life.’ You’ve come to the right place for help. While she’s asleep upstairs, well put our heads together and force the girl to see reason.”

“Sounds good to me, sir,” Michael said, grinning, glad to have an ally.

Sean kept Michael’s coffee cup full while he went on to praise Meghan in glowing terms. He told of how spunky and indomitable she was as a child and how proud he was of what she’d made of her life. He related how he’d helped as much as he could with her education, but it hadn’t come close to being enough. He mentioned how she had worked her way through Harvard, and all she’d been through to earn her position at the law firm.

Meanwhile Meghan had settled herself on the comfortably familiar bed in her old room. She took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly to help her relax. Then she waited.

The back spasms she had come to recognize as early labor pains were still regular and holding at twenty minutes apart.

“I’ll just lie here and relax. I still have lots of time, and Lucy will be here soon,” she calculated drowsily, as her eyelids covered her tired, scratchy eyes.

Then next thing she knew, her eyes flew open with a start. It took several seconds before she recognized her surroundings, and when she looked at the clock beside the bed she saw that at least two hours had passed. Her attention was drawn to the uncomfortable tightness in her abdomen. She breathed deeply and slowly, and gradually the tension dissipated.

She lay very still, eyes wide with anticipation and fear. The minutes ticked by. After twelve minutes a pressure started at the sides of her belly and increased to cover the entire dome of her abdomen with such intensity that her brow furrowed and her teeth clenched before it began to subside.

This was it, then. Full-fledged labor. She waited out the next twelve minutes and the next contraction just to make sure. She was excited and frightened, happy and depressed all at the same time.

She heaved herself out of the bed. She’d have to go to the hospital soon. The family needed to be alerted, and with any luck at all, Lucy would be downstairs waiting to help her.

Slowly, she made her way down the stairs. She could hear Connie and her father talking on the other side of the doors that led into the bar. Another contraction gripped her at the bottom of the stairs. She seized the handrail for support and took a slow, deep breath in through her nose, exhaling just as slowly through pursed lips. Following the lessons she’d learned in Lamaze class, she repeated the exercise until the pain ended.

“Oh Lord, what have I done?” she thought. “I don’t want to go through with this anymore,” she added in desperation.

“Connie? Pop?” she called, as she swung through the door into the barroom. “I …” Her words caught in her throat as she spotted Michael seated between Donald and Connie at the bar, talking to her father who stood in his usual spot behind the counter.

The four men turned their heads when they heard her. All the humiliation of that morning returned and she momentarily forgot the imminent arrival of her baby. Instead, her instincts of self-defense rose to protect her heart and soul and pride from more anguish:

“I don’t recall inviting you here, Mr. Ramsey,” she said acidly.

“It’s a public pub, Miss Shay,” he returned dryly, slipping off his stool and advancing toward her. “And we need to have a little talk.”

“Stuff it, Michael,” she instructed.

“Meghan. Listen …” he started.

“I don’t want to listen, Michael. I don’t want to talk. I just want you to go. We’ll talk in a few days,” she stipulated, as she walked around him toward a bar stool.

She could feel another contraction beginning and hoped that if she could sit down and turn her back to him, he would be unaware of what was happening.

The bar was nearly empty again after the lunch rush, and the few stragglers left seemed engrossed in their own lives, and were paying little attention to the drama unfolding at the bar.

Concentrating on the steadily increasing pain in her abdomen, she vaguely could hear Michael saying, “You will listen. I’m not leaving till we clear the air.”

Although her teeth were clenched in pain, she only sounded angry when she said, “It’s already pretty clear to me, Michael,” while in her mind, she tried to calculate the time. It hadn’t been twelve minutes since the last one, she realized, and this one seemed worse. More frequent, greater intensity, she recalled from her classes. Oh, great!

“Good,” Michael continued, unaware of Meghan’s discomfort. “Then maybe you can clear it up for me. This stupid disappearing act of yours has got to stop. I’m sick of the deceptions between us, and I’m sick of your distrust of me. Now turn around and fight me like a Shay,” he finished, his voice harsh with frustration.

“Trust,” she spat back at him. “That’s a laugh. You took my love and trust and made a fool of me. You’ve known for weeks about me and the baby. About what I did,” she stormed, as she turned on the stool to face him, the pain ebbing, her eyes bright with physical and emotional pain. She could feel hysteria slowly taking hold at the frayed edges of her mind. She briefly glanced around the bar in panic. Some of the patrons had turned in their seats to watch the pregnant lady fall apart in front of their eyes.

Meghan didn’t care. Her frantic mind generated a rush of super strength. She’d slay this Goliath and walk majestically into the sunset to have her baby.

She straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and continued her attack. “You knew I tricked you into being the father of my baby and you didn’t tell me. You …”

Her tirade was interrupted by her shocked father. In stunned confusion, he injected, “Meghan, what are you saying? Now what have you done, girl?” he finished, his anger rising as visions of the possibilities flashed through his mind.

Meghan released an exasperated sigh and half turned in her father’s direction, her eyes still on her original target.

“I planned the whole thing. I didn’t even know him,” she said tersely. “I picked him.”

“Picked him?” her father echoed, too confused to be angry anymore.

“That’s right,” Michael took up the story. “Out of over five hundred men, she picked me to be the father of her child. She planned it, Sean,” he explained.

Over Sean’s bellowed, “Five hundred men!” Michael went on to say, “It was a perfect plan, too, except that she didn’t take into consideration that I might fall in love with her that night. She haunted me for months, and when I found her again, I was ecstatic. I was determined to convince her to share her life with me. When Connie opened the little can of worms about her grand plan, I was overjoyed and honored that she had picked me. But that’s not all I felt,” he cautioned, now addressing himself to Meghan again. “I was damned mad you’d tricked me like that.” He paused, thoughtfully studying the woman he loved. He took in her flawless porcelain skin, the dark shadows under her pure green eyes, now dulled with fatigue and strain, her wild crop of red hair, so soft to the touch. Always, she was beautiful, but more important, she was warm and loving and strong. He had come to admire and respect the courage and determination that had driven her to such lengths. And he envied the baby she had craved to love.

“I took a walk that night,” he continued, “to keep from killing you in your sleep. Halfway around the block I could easily envision my life without you. For a while I thrived on my anger. I plotted several routes of revenge. By the time I was back at the house my anger had burned itself out and the life I could see for myself was an empty shell. Where your loving and laughter had filled me so completely just hours before, there was only an echoing emptiness I knew I couldn’t live with. Which meant I couldn’t hate you. So … on my second trip around the block, I tried to forgive and understand you. Knowing you, I was sure you hadn’t deliberately set out to harm anyone. I also knew entrapment wasn’t in your plan, because you made no demands and went to great pains to make sure that whoever the father was, he wouldn’t get involved. You just wanted a baby,” he said emphatically, “and I did understand that and I forgave you your deception.”

Michael took several steps closer to her, but they didn’t touch. Their audience forgotten completely, he continued. “My third orbit around was riddled with questions like, if you loved me, why hadn’t you told me? That one was easy, you did love me and were afraid of losing me. That gave me hope. Then there was, how do we get the truth out in the open? Not so easy!” he said, making the familiar gesture of frustration by running his hand through his hair.

“You are right,” he conceded. “I should have just told you that I knew the whole story. But I wasn’t playing games. I was trying to give you opportunities to tell me yourself. I wanted you to trust in my love enough to know I’d always love you.”

“What I did was so stupid and so wrong, but it seemed so right at the time,” she said, her sails suddenly windless. “And I did want to tell you … many, many times, but I was afraid to take the chance,” she murmured softly, humbled by the relief and gratitude filling her heart and soul. This man’s heart must fill his body from head to toe, she thought. Never had she met anyone so loving, so understanding. Her entire being swelled with the love of him as she tensed her body to endure yet another contraction.