Future Perfect (24 page)

It wasn’t more than ten minutes later when Juliana called him back into the bedroom. “She’s crowning,” Juliana said softly. “Go wash your hands and take off your jacket and shirts. Put on one of Sam’s T-shirts. They’re in the dresser.”

“Second drawer from the top,” Liz said between gasps for air. She swore loudly. “Christ, Jule, I gotta push.”

Webster scrambled for the bathroom, quickly stripping off everything but his jeans and boots. He washed carefully, drying himself on a clean towel from the linen closet.

“Get a clean shirt out for me, too,” Juliana called to him.

He slipped a T-shirt on, carrying another toward the bed.

Liz was between contractions, her legs up, knees bent. Her hair was soaked with perspiration, and sweat dripped from her face. The top of the baby’s head was clearly visible between her legs.

Juliana awkwardly began shedding layers of sweaters. Webster helped her, pulling off her long-sleeved undershirt, then pulling on the clean T-shirt. The thin white
cotton was nearly transparent, but there wasn’t enough time for him to be distracted.

Another contraction started.

“I’ve got to push,” Liz announced, “and you can go to hell if you don’t want me to, because I’m gonna!”

“Go for it,” Juliana said, helping Liz up into a better position.

Liz pushed, shouting with exertion.

“God,” Webster breathed, watching the baby’s head emerge from Liz’s body.

“Support the baby’s head!” Juliana said.

“Me?” But even as he asked, he reached out, holding the tiny little head in his fingers. It was warm, hot almost, and it moved, the tiny face grimacing. God almighty, it was alive!

Liz took a deep breath, ready for the next contraction.

“Are you okay?” Juliana asked him, and he nodded.

To his shock, Webster didn’t want to let go of the baby. It was warm and mushy, slimy as hell, but he didn’t want to let it go. He wanted to hold this tiny little new life in his hands. He wanted to catch it as it entered the world, be the first representative of the human race to welcome it to life.

Juliana smiled at him, as if she understood, and took Liz’s hand.

“One more big push,” she said. “The baby’s head’s out—the worst’s over. Come on, Liz, you’ve done this before.”

On the radio, Sam spoke, still at some rest stop along the Massachusetts Turnpike. His voice was low and soothing, sounding intimate as he spoke to his wife across the miles, through the airwaves. No matter that thousands of people were listening in, no matter that the
radio station was surely taping the broadcast for future use. This was the only way he could get close to Liz right now when she needed him. And that was all that mattered.

The DJ segued into Sam’s current release, and Liz braced herself as another contraction started. She pushed, holding tightly to Juliana’s fingers, and the baby slid out into Webster’s waiting hands.

“It’s a boy,” he whispered.

“Clear his nose and mouth,” Liz gasped, and Juliana reached out with her fingers and gently wiped the baby’s nose and mouth clean. The infant took one deep, shuddering breath and began to cry.

“Well,” Dr. Rogers said from the doorway, where he stood with Kurt and Chris. “Looks like you did just fine without me.”

“It’s a boy,” Webster said again, laughing through a blur of tears as he looked down at the tiny new life in his hands. “Chris, get on that radio and get the news to your dad. He’s got himself another son!”

Juliana went tiredly into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of the coffee that Webster had made. He was sitting at the table, and she could feel his eyes on her. Dawn had come hours ago, and as the sky got lighter, the temperature had started to rise. The rain kept falling, but now it melted the snow and ice. In another few hours, the plows would get through, and the roads would be cleared.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever been a part of in my entire life,” Webster said, his voice low and husky.

She walked to the table and sat down across from him. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”

She was still wearing only the T-shirt he’d gotten her from Sam’s drawer, and she shivered in the cold air. The thin cotton shirt
was
transparent, Webster realized. He could see her breasts as clearly as if she were wearing a diaphanous nightgown.

Webster felt the familiar tightening in his groin. God, he would never get enough of her, would he? And the twenty-million-dollar question was whether she still expected him to get up and drive away from her after they’d shared this miracle.

“I was really impressed that you thought of putting Sam on the radio as a way for him to talk to Liz,” Juliana said.

Webster shrugged. “It was nothing—”

“It was
everything
to Liz,” Juliana said, “and you know it.”

“Yeah, I do know,” he admitted. “I’m just … really glad I could help.”

“You did help,” Juliana said quietly. “And I’m glad you were here.”

“Juliana—” he started to say.

But she shook her head and didn’t let him speak. She walked out of the room before he could say another word.

It wasn’t quite eleven o’clock in the morning when the sound of a helicopter drummed over the house. The big chopper headed for the field between the Beckwiths’ house and Juliana’s, and the doors opened almost before it set down.

Sam Beckwith was out, running across the field toward the house, slipping and sliding in the snow. Jamey and Chris met him halfway, and they all collapsed in one big pile of arms and legs, laughing and giddy.

Sam gave each of his children a kiss, then scrambled free, heading for the house—and his wife.

Juliana was in the bedroom with Liz when Sam appeared. He just stood there, watching his wife breastfeed his infant son. The big man’s dark eyes filled with tears as he looked into Liz’s smiling face. Juliana slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Kurt was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the earflaps of his hat raised, making him look more like
a cartoon character than a county sheriff. Dr. Rogers wound his scarf about his neck as he poured himself another cup of coffee. Webster just sat at the table, staring at Juliana, still wearing only a short-sleeved T-shirt, as if he weren’t affected by the cold.

She pulled her jacket more tightly around her, carrying her sweaters and long-sleeved shirt. Her ribs ached so much she couldn’t pull them on by herself.

As if reading her mind, Webster cleared his throat. “Let me help you,” he said softly.

She stared at him a moment, her green eyes wide.

What did she see, Webster wondered. He hoped with all his heart she saw a man worthy of a second chance, a man who loved her, heart and soul.

“No thanks,” she murmured.

Webster turned away, hiding the disappointment that he knew showed clearly in his eyes. She didn’t want his help. She’d accepted it for a while when the stakes were high, but now she didn’t need him anymore.

“Come on, Webster,” Kurt said cheerfully. “The roads are clear—they’ve reopened the Pike. I’ll give you a lift to your little car.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t give you a ride on that snowmobile of his,” Dr. Rogers said, rolling his eyes. “Aged me thirty years, that did.”

“You loved it, you old liar,” Kurt said. “I heard you whooping and hollering.”

“That was fear, son,” the older man said. “You get to be my age, and you don’t walk away from falling off one of those contraptions, going thirty miles an hour.”

“Oh, what are you? Fifty? That’s not old,” Kurt scoffed. He continued to tease the doctor, but Webster
stopped paying attention. Juliana had wandered out of the house, and she stood now in the driveway.

The rain had stopped, and a gentle wind blew, moving her red-gold hair. With the temperature continuing to climb, everything was dripping—the trees, the roof, the bushes.

Webster pulled on his sweater and his leather jacket and pushed open the kitchen door. He went and stood behind Juliana on the driveway, waiting for her to turn around, but she didn’t move.

He took another step toward her, and she spoke. “I guess this is good-bye for us.” She did turn, then, and her eyes were cool, detached—Miss Anderson’s eyes, not Juliana’s.

Webster just looked at her. With extreme clarity, he could remember the way that soft, moist baby had felt in his hands. He had felt the infant shudder as he took in his first deep breath of air. That child he’d held had just been born. That baby was a new life, tiny and perfect, with no past mistakes and no regrets.

Webster wanted to be able to make as fresh a start. He didn’t want to say good-bye, he wanted to say hello, to start over. He would say, “Hi, I’m Webster Donovan, from the
Boston Globe,
” and she would say, “My name is Juliana Anderson, and I’m dyslexic,” and there would be no room for misunderstandings.

She was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something. So he said something.

“No.”

There was surprise in her eyes now, but Webster didn’t say anything else.

He just stood there, remembering the sound of Sam’s deep voice talking to Liz over the radio. The country
singer had been unconcerned with how he sounded to anyone but his wife, unafraid of letting the entire world know how much he loved her. His love gave him strength and purpose.

Sam would never let Liz get away from him.

“No,” Webster said again. “I’m not leaving town.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I’m not gonna go. I’m in love with you, Juliana, and I’m going to marry you.”

Juliana’s eyes flashed. “Forced marriages are frowned upon in this state.”

Webster shrugged. “I’m not going to force you. You can say no. But I’ll just keep hanging around until you change your mind.”

His blue eyes held crystal determination as he looked at her steadily. Juliana crossed her arms and laughed without humor at his audacity. “And what makes you think I’d even agree to let you ‘hang around’?”

“Eternal hope,” Webster said.

“Well, forget it,” Juliana said. “It’s never going to happen.”

Webster shrugged again. “So I’ll get an apartment in town. And
then
I’ll just keep coming by until you change your mind.”

“That’s … ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” Webster said. “Every day, I’ll come to see you, and I’ll tell you that I love you, and I’ll beg you to forgive me, and I’ll ask you to marry me. Sooner or later, you’ll believe me, and sooner or later, you’ll give in. So you might as well make it easier on yourself and tell me that you’ll marry me right now.”

She turned away from him. “Just go back to Boston, Webster.”

He stepped toward her, close enough to brush a wayward curl from her face. “I can’t do that, Jule,” he said gently.

She pulled away from him. “And I can’t forgive you.”

Webster smiled, suddenly. “You have to. You promised me you would.”

Juliana sighed. “Webster, please—”

But he was pulling something out of the back pocket of his jeans. “When I went into your apartment to get your ace bandage,” he said, “I found this.”

It was the letter he’d written to her, the morning after he had first told her that he loved her. “Did you get Alicia to read this to you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“ ’Bout time you heard what I wrote, don’t you think?”

“No, Webster—”

“Dear Juliana,” Webster read. “Words are my tools, my trade, yet my mind is blank as I try to express all that I’m feeling in my heart. I love you. I’ve never written those words to another person before. I’ve certainly never had these feelings before. The strength and power of what is in my heart scares me to death. I want all of you, all at once, all the time. It’s more than wanting you physically, though, I can’t even think about you without getting hard. Still, when we make love, I’m fulfilled in ways I’ve never even imagined, ways that go beyond sexuality.

“Juliana, my love for you is endless and overpowering, and it’s so new to me. I only ask one thing of you. If you accept my love, you must also be prepared to forgive me for all the mistakes I’ll probably make. Please remember that if I act crazy, if I lose control, it’s only because I love you so much.

“And I signed it, ‘Yours always, Webster.’ ”

She laughed, looking up at him, and shaking her head. “You are
such
a jerk. You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not.” Webster took a step closer to her. She was weakening, he could tell by the light in her eyes.
Please God
, he prayed,
don’t let me mess this up
. “Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll read you the first draft of my book.”

She laughed again. “Yeah, and you’ll make
that
up as you go along, too.”

Webster grabbed her wrist and pressed the letter into her hand. “Go inside,” he urged her. “Have Kurt or Dr. Rogers read it to you.”

“You think I won’t,” she said. “You think I’ll be too embarrassed.”

Webster smiled, his eyes an odd mixture of crystal and soft blue. “If it does say those things I just said, will you marry me?”

Juliana snorted. “Oh, come on, Webster. I play poker, too. You’re trying to bluff me. Well, I’m calling your bluff.”

She turned to go inside. Webster leaned against the Jeep.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, turning back to look at him. He looked so calm and relaxed, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his hands casually tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. He had a small smile on his face, and his thick dark hair tumbled over his forehead.

She jammed her own hands in the pocket of her jacket, forcing her eyes down to the beat-up toes of his boots. Damn this man for being able to look so gorgeous when she was trying to be angry at him …

He shook his head. “I’ll wait out here.” This was one work he’d prefer not to hear read in front of an audience.

She turned, a flash of red-gold, and went in the kitchen door.

Webster stood, kicking at the chunks of ice still on the driveway for a long, long time. For a man who didn’t consider himself very religious, he was spending an awful lot of time praying lately, he realized. He closed his eyes, letting his head tip back against the Jeep. He was going to win this one, he knew, because he loved her. Even if it didn’t happen today it would happen another day. He loved her, and he knew that she still loved him. He
knew
it.…