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rising from her chair. “I think we both know how. The question is what. What are you going to do about it? Knowing that you can’t possibly tell her you know. You do realize that, don’t you? I mean, I’m not going to have to hold your hand through every step of this, am I? I’m still recovering from leading Maddy about by the nose until she finally saw what was just under it.”
Closing his mind to the rest of that short, embarrassing conversation with Jessica’s grandmother, Matt left Ninth Street, turned left at the beginning of the beach block, and headed north, on the way to Brighton Place and the Chandler summer house.
Almira had been right, of course. He couldn’t tell Jessica he knew she was pregnant. Just as he shouldn’t have apologized for making love with her.
And he couldn’t possibly confess that he’d been in love with her for months…for years.
She wouldn’t believe him for one thing, and, for another, he couldn’t blame her. He’d made mistakes. He’d made some real whoppers. And now he’d gotten her pregnant—not a solo exercise by any stretch of the imagination—but certainly a result Jessica, the born career woman, couldn’t be doing handsprings about, overjoyed.
So, without telling her he’d be there for her, without asking her to marry him, without so much as hinting that he knew she was pregnant, he was here, in Ocean City, without a plan, without a prayer, and with only his stupid, apologetic speech to protect him.
He might as well be going into battle carrying an anchor.
Is anybody else feeling some sort of excitement in the pit of their bellies? Something’s coming. Someone’s coming. Something’s about to change.
Maybe everything is about to change.
And I’m feeling good, feeling really good. Must be some good stuff coming at me now, something sweet and cool that seems to be making Mom’s belly happy. Wish I could taste it.
She’s doing all the right things. Eating a lot, sleeping a lot. Getting plenty of exercise and fresh air. But still crying too much, and now even talking to herself.
She should talk to me. I am here, right? Yeah, she should be talking to me. I could tell her. Everything is going to be all right. She’ll see. I’ll take care of her….
Chapter Three
J essica heard a car pulling into the driveway and held her breath, waiting for it to back out again. The only drawback to living on the beach block was that it was a necessary dead end against the boardwalk, so that lost drivers were forever turning around in the driveway.
She was silly to be worried about a car, silly to think that this car had anything to do with her, that anyone in that car had anything to do with her.
But that was how she’d been, how she continued to be. Jumpy. Sometimes even a little irrational. About as far from her usual unflappable, reasonable, sensible self as possible. Wasn’t it enough that she was pregnant? Did she have to lose her mind, become nothing more than a supersensitive bundle of over-active hormones and an imagination to match?
It was just a car. Nothing to set off alarms in her head, set her ridiculously sensitive stomach to doing flips.
Only this car didn’t pull out, then head back up the street. She heard the engine die even as her heart leaped into a quick double-time beat. A car door slammed shut.
That couldn’t be a good sign, could it?
Maddy? She and Joe were back from their honeymoon, after all. It would be natural for her sister to ignore her plea to be left alone and come crashing in on her solitude.
The solitude that had seemed such a good idea at the start, but that was now rapidly driving her crazy.
It couldn’t be Allie. Allie never came to the shore until late September, after most of the tourists had gone home, leaving the beach empty enough for her to enjoy it. If her grandmother hadn’t barged in on her within days of her leaving Allentown, she sure wouldn’t come now, more than a week later. Too anticlimactic. It just wasn’t Allie’s style.
Who did that leave?
Ryan? No, not her brother. He had to be swamped at work without her there to help. Besides, Ryan rarely “played.” Like her, he was a sober Chandler, somewhat lacking in the fun-loving spirit of their grandmother and baby sister. Working bees, that was what she and Ryan were. Not that Maddy and Allie were drones.
They were natural queen bees.
All of which, Jessica reminded herself, wasn’t telling her whose car had just pulled into her driveway.
The process of elimination had left her with one name, one person, and she didn’t know if she’d be delighted or angry to see him. If she’d tell him to go to hell or fall into his arms. If she could look at him, remember what had happened—all that had happened—and not completely dissolve into a puddle of unrequited love, confusion and more than a little guilt.
Not that she was given time to sort through these possible reactions, for, as she walked off the porch and onto the grass, Matt was coming straight at her across the lawn, looking as bad as she felt.
So accustomed to seeing him in impeccably tailored business suits, she was always rather shocked by how good he looked in casual slacks and knit shirts, both of which skimmed his tall, slim body in most flattering ways. She liked his hair, black as a moonless night, but had never before seen it looking as if he was two weeks past a good trim.
There seemed to be an added purpose in his always confident stride, as if he had come on a mission of sorts, and she wished she could see past the mirrored sunglasses into his eyes, two blue pools she considered to be the window to his calm, cool, collected, almost analytical mind.
But she couldn’t see into his eyes. She could only see the tight set of his mouth, the long strides that were rapidly eating up the distance between them. Why, he almost looked angry.
Who was he to be angry? The nerve of the man!
Jessica tilted up her chin, ready to do battle. She’d give him what for, coming down here uninvited, barging in on her solitude…looking so damn sexy and irresistible.
Damn! Her chin wouldn’t stay still; it began to wobble. Ready tears, always on standby lately, sprang into her eyes, stinging them.
Deserted by her courage, betrayed by her rampantly out-of-whack emotional responses to every stimulus from ice cream to a robin’s morning song, Jessica did something brilliant. She turned on her heels and all but ran back toward the door to the kitchen. Safety.
A bolt-hole and denial—they weren’t much, but they had worked so far, hadn’t they?
“Jessica, wait,” Matt said. “Please, Jessica.”
It was probably the “please” that stopped her. Either that or the defeated, yet still faintly hopeful, tone in his voice.
Without turning to face him, she allowed her shoulders to slump and said, “What do you want, Matt? Because if you feel some burning need to apologize to me again, I have to tell you you’ve wasted a trip. I don’t want to hear it.”
The next time he spoke, he was right behind her. She could feel the heat of his body, the warm brush of his breath against her bent neck. “How about if I apologize for apologizing? Would that work?”
Matt winced as he heard his own words, which sounded miles too flippant, even as he meant each word with every fiber of his being. He watched Jessica square her shoulders as she resumed her usual perfect posture, then whirl around to face him.
“Do you know how you made me feel, Matt?” she asked, not able to guard her own words or even to remember that they were standing in the side yard, the one facing the sidewalk and the dozens of passing tourists on their way to and from the boardwalk and beach.
“Pretty lousy, I’d imagine,” Matt answered truthfully, taking her by the elbow and trying to, gently, steer her back