Heather
I’m astonished to realize how much I’ve forgotten.
For all the first precious
moments, the new understandings, the determination to hold on and
remember,
many things slipped away. Only now are they returning, as I experience
them
again.
The sudden reminder that my acid stomach means I’m sharing
living space, not that
I’ve eaten something disagreeable.
The renewed wonder whenever I catch sight of myself in a mirror.
There’s no
visible difference yet, of course, but--
The awed look in Jim’s face when his gaze drops to my middle.
Different
man--thank Heaven--but that same humble joy.
The intensely private nature of the whole thing. So far, the only
people who
know are Jim and myself and Dr. Phal; well, and his receptionist, but
she
doesn’t count. Jim has kept silent. I haven’t told
Pauline, though I should; I
haven’t even told Zoë, and I really need to.
It’s frightening to realize that I
have no idea how my baby’s going to react to this news.
My rationalization--and it’s a weak one--for general silence
is that it’s early
days yet. So many pregnancies don’t last beyond the first
weeks, and losing a
baby is terrible enough without its being public.
That’s an excuse that’s reasonable for most people,
and perhaps even for my
mother, whose comprehension isn’t quite what it used to be,
but none at all for
my daughter or my friend. Not telling them is bordering on
irresponsibility.
And yet, and yet--
One more day,
my heart whispers. One more
day to keep this secret
between just the two of you.
I stand up, suddenly restless, and pace across my office. The ordinary
sounds
of nightly normality are all around, howls and shrieks and commands,
but they
are muffled by the walls. I’ve delegated most of my work
tonight, and Pauline
knows something’s up, but she’s saying nothing--she
just watches me out of
those gorgeous cool eyes and keeps her suspicions to herself.
Actually, it’ll be fun to tell her. Whatever she’s
thinking, it’s certainly not
that.
I’ll be curious as to whether my news actually surprises her,
though. “Imperturbable” was coined for Pauline.
And there she is, her knock on my door perfunctory and unique; she
pushes it
open even as she raps, in the old familiar pattern, knowing that if I
wanted
privacy it would be locked. “Derek says a party just booked
for tomorrow night,
and your 2:30 will be ten minutes late,” she reports calmly.
I sigh. Sometimes I think Pauline would be calm if the mountains
surrounding
Vegas were falling on our heads. “All right. Mr. Tresor is
testing his
boundaries again.” Striding over to my computer, I take a
look at tomorrow night’s
schedule and its new addition. “We can use the poolhouse--how
many in the
party?”
“Eight.” She’s looking particularly good
tonight in leather, though like most
of my employees she’ll probably change costume at least two
or three times
throughout a shift. The back of my mind goes off on a tangent of worry
on how
I’ll outfit myself when I start to show, but I shut it down
for the moment.
“Hmm.” We don’t usually take parties--my
Dominion is not a tourist
attraction--but Derek’s judgment is excellent, which is why
he is often
assigned to handle booking. “Yes, that will work. Tell
Sapphire and Chen.”
Pauline nods. The exchange would sound harsh to an outsider, but
Pauline and I
have worked together long enough to have communication down to an art,
and she
prefers efficiency to courtesy in private anyway. “Anything
else, Lady
Heather?”
The wild imp of impulse escapes its chains. “I’m
pregnant.”
Half of me is appalled that I let our secret slip--so much for my
heart’s
desire. The other half watches Pauline with interest.
One slender brow arches, slowly, and I know I have surprised her. She
steps
into my office and shuts the door carefully, but doesn’t lock
it; no one will
come in without permission, she is the only one with entrance
privileges.
“I thought you had a tubal ligation.” She cocks her
head, and I drop into my
desk chair with a sigh. Pauline takes another seat opposite me and
looks
inquiring.
“So did I.” There’s a certain relief in
telling her, I realize. The guilt of
keeping quiet, when my health and that of the baby could be at stake,
was
weighing on me. “Apparently, once in a while
they...ah...repair themselves.”
This time both brows go up. Her eyes narrow, and she’s silent
for a moment
before finally speaking. “Going to ask for a
refund?”
I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, and it feels so good
to laugh.
Pauline’s smirking now. “Don’t tempt me.
Anyway, I’m not that far along, and I
don’t know how this is going to play out with work.
We’ll just have to wing it,
I suppose.”
Which goes against the grain. I didn’t achieve my Dominion by
ignoring the
value of careful planning. But some things can’t be helped.
She nods, and I answer the question she doesn’t have to ask.
“So far, I’m
healthy.”
Another nod, and I know that the casual eye she keeps on me is about to
get a
lot less casual. It’s just something she does--she watches me
because of my
diabetes, and Frank because of his epilepsy, and Juanita because her
HIV-positive status makes her more susceptible to ills even if she only
works
the cyber end of the business.
Sometimes I wonder why Pauline hasn’t gone off and started
her own business;
she’s a superlative majordomo, but she could be a great
success as the mistress
of her own Dominion. But I’ve never asked. She seems content
to stay where she
is, and I am deeply grateful to have her.
We sit for a moment, content in the quiet of friends, and I make a
mental note
to find us both some time for tea this week. Her schedule is even more
hectic
than mine. But duty calls and clients await, and we both push to our
feet with
sighs.
“I still have some things left over from when the girls were
tiny,” she offers,
and I nod and thank her. The only thing I have left from
Zoë’s babyhood, other
than mementos, is the family christening gown--generations of hopes and
fragile
old lace. But it’s too soon to start stocking a nursery.
A nursery. Good heavens, where are we going to put the baby? Where are
we going
to put ourselves?
At the moment we have two houses, neither of which is
really large enough for one infant, two set-in-their-ways adults, and a
part-time young woman-- I shake off the dizzying questions. As Jim
said, we
have about thirty weeks or so. There’s time.
We go to work.
Jim
There are times, tonight, when I think that the only thing stopping me
from
buying a box of cigars and passing them out is the explanations
I’d have to
give. I mean, Grissom and Nick know about Heather and me, and
I’d bet a lot
that Catherine’s figured us out, and Sara knows I’m
seeing someone, but as far
as everybody else is concerned, ol’ Jim Brass is still a
confirmed bachelor.
That didn’t bother me. Heather and I weren’t really
a secret, but we’re both
kind of private people, and somehow we just never got around to
mentioning to
folks that we were dating. Or whatever it is you call it when
you’re both way
past adolescence.
But this is different. Call it male pride, call it whatever you like,
but I
keep having this urge to tell people that I’m going to have a
kid. Maybe it’s
because this time I know it’s mine--
Okay, ugly thought. Once I laid eyes on Ellie for the first time, her
DNA
didn’t make any difference at all to me. She was my daughter,
that was the end
of it.
But this is--I can’t help thinking, even though it makes me
guilty--this baby’s
a new chance. Another chance to try to get it right, to avoid the
mistakes I
made with Ellie.
That’s stupid. This kid isn’t a rerun, and thank
heaven, I’m not the man I was,
nor is Heather anything like Karen.
I shuffle some more paper around on my desk. There’s always
more paperwork, and
since I’m not currently chasing down any baddies, I have to
deal with this
stuff. Boring as hell, but it’s part of the job.
And while I’m checking boxes and signing forms, the back of
my mind is still
wrestling with the issue. I mean, Human Resources doesn’t
care what the
beneficiary name is on my insurance form, as long as I fill out all the
blanks,
but sooner or later I’m going to have to tell folks that
I’m going to be a dad.
Again.
And, by all that’s holy, I’m looking forward to it.
It keeps coming back to me in little rushes through the night. When
I’m called
out to a murder in suburbia, it’s there, reminding me to be
more careful
because there’s somebody depending on me now. Not that I was
careless before,
but...
And it’s pushing.
Not something I really expected, but then I wasn’t
exactly expecting the news that I was going to have another kid,
either. I told
Heather that I already wanted to marry her, and it was the truth, but
I’d been
letting things proceed in their own sweet time, which was slow. This
news, this
baby so small yet that I’m going on scientific faith that
it’s there, is
speeding it up.
Not that I really mind. I mean, Heather and I are both independent
adults, used
to spending the last chunks of our lives without a partner. But it was
getting
pretty lonely waking up alone every evening, especially when I knew
that
Heather was waking up by herself too, all warm skin and sleepy smile.
The murder’s no mystery; abused wife snaps and takes out
abusive husband with
his own gun. I keep my cheers to myself and thank God that
it’s Catherine and
Nick processing this one, not Sara. That girl still worries me
sometimes.
The upshot is that I have a little time on my hands afterwards, so I
take
myself down to Human Resources. Fortunately for us nightwalkers, they
have a
smaller staff running the place at night, and it’s actually
easier because
there’s usually no wait.
The guy behind the desk is probably ten years younger than me, and
skinny as a
rail. He finds my file without any problems, and we settle into making
changes
in my health insurance, life insurance, my retirement plan...and then
we hit a
snag.
“Name.” I stare blankly at the guy.
“Uh...we don’t have one yet.”
“Sorry?” He blinks, focusing on me, looking about
as confused as I suddenly
feel.
“The baby’s not born yet,” I explain, a
little heat rising in my face. “We
don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
I expect him to laugh, or to tell me to come back when I have a birth
certificate
and Social Security number, but instead he nods and starts typing.
“Okay,
that’s fine; we’ll put in ‘Brass
minor’ as a placeholder, but you’ll have to
come back and fill in the data when your child’s
born.”
I must be gaping a little, because he looks up from his screen and
chuckles.
“Believe it or not, Captain Brass, this is fairly common.
When they designed
the software, we asked specifically for this feature. We like to
encourage
responsibility.” He sobers a little. “Way too many
people don’t bother planning
for their own future, let alone their kids’.”
I blow out a breath and sit back. I know what he means; I saw it all
the time
as a beat cop, elderly folks trying to scrape a living out of Social
Security
checks, little kids whose parents took ‘em to the emergency
room for anything
because they didn’t have health insurance. It’s
easy enough to think of this
guy as just another bureaucrat, but it occurs to me that he probably
thinks of
himself as someone who tries to help people.
He types away for a few minutes, asking me questions about paycheck
withholding
and investments, and then looks up again. “Now that
that’s all squared away,
Captain, are you aware of the state’s college savings
fund?”
I blink at him. College seems like eons away for this kid
who’s not even a bump
in Heather’s tummy yet, but I know just how fast time can
melt away. But this
reminds me of something I’ve been putting off dealing
with--the fund I started
all those years ago for Ellie’s college expenses, the one
that she never
touched because she never went to college.
I need to talk to Heather before I make any more decisions.
“Do you have a
brochure or something?”
He laughs again and gives me three different ones, one with his card
attached.
“I’ll be happy to discuss them with you any time.
Just don’t forget that you
have to provide us with the name and Social Security number when you
have it.”
I thank him, take my copies of the forms, and get out, feeling a little
dizzy.
Ellie was the primary beneficiary of my insurance before, and Karen was
the
secondary, so I hadn’t bothered to change them after
Ellie’s death. Now I
wonder if Karen even remembers, and whether I should tell her.
And why.
My head hurts.
Heather
I’m glad that I set up the crockpot last night before going
to work, because
Jim looks like the night has wrung him out. His face is all drawn as he
sheds
his jacket, and I lean up to give him a kiss and take it from him. Once
in a
while I don’t mind playing the housewife role.
“Hard night?”
“Not really.” He shakes his head, then rolls it,
and I can hear the pop of his
vertebrae. “Just thinking.”
“What about?” I hang the jacket in my front closet,
watching him peel off his
tie and loosen his cuffs.
“Lotsa things.” He frowns, but thoughtfully.
“Can I tell you later?”
“Of course.” Something’s troubling him,
but that’s one of the beauties of our
relationship--it’ll come out in its own time. We
don’t have to say everything
at once. “Hungry?”
He smirks at me, turning my question into a double entendre.
“Starving.” And
I’m enveloped in an embrace that’s gentler than
usual but still wonderfully
warming, as his lips come down on my throat and he growls a little to
make me
smile.
I laugh, I can’t help it, but after a minute I wiggle free.
Decades spent
monitoring my own blood sugar has taught me to recognize when
it’s low in
someone else, and even though it’s not a danger for Jim, I
know it doesn’t feel
very good. “Dinner’s just about ready, darling, why
don’t you go wash up?”
It’s nothing special, just a good rich stew, but I stopped to
get a loaf of new
French bread, taking advantage of one of the perks of working
nights--the
bakeries are setting out their freshest goods just as I’m
heading home. It’s
not quite as good as the stuff one can get in
We sit, and eat. It does me good to watch Jim tucking into a second
plate of
beef and vegetables, to see the lines of strain in his face ease as his
stomach
fills. There’s a certain primal satisfaction in feeding
someone, no matter
their age, and it’s all the more satisfying when
it’s someone you care about.
We keep to light topics throughout dinner, both of us putting off any
sensitive
discussion until later. It’s a sign to me of how close
we’ve become, that we
make this sort of decision without having to say anything.
Jim insists on doing the dishes, shooing me out of the kitchen, and I
give in
and
leave him to it. But I can’t settle, and eventually I end up
out on the deck, watching
the backyard become slowly visible as the sun rises. I curl up on one
of the
chaise longues, seeking comfort. I don’t know why
I’m feeling nervous; I trust
Jim and his love for me.
But old doubts are oozing up from the bottom of my mind. We were pretty
content
going on as we were; this baby, as much as I love it already, has put
an
entirely different spin on things. Jim’s past fifty, and has
recently lost his
daughter; is he really prepared for another child, for starting all
over again
with an infant? Does he even remember how much time and energy a baby
requires?
Is he really willing to risk the heartbreak all over again?
He’s still tired when he comes out to join me, but he looks a
lot less
stressed, rolling down his sleeves. I expect him to take the other
longue, but
instead he bends over, and in a show of the strength he so rarely
displays, he
scoops me up into his arms and then sits down with me in his lap. He
sighs,
arms tight around me, and finally speaks. “What’s
the matter, sweetheart?”
“I think I’m supposed to be asking that,”
I tell him, smiling a little even
though I can’t see his face; my head’s tucked into
the curve of his jaw and
neck.
He snorts, the sound rumbling under my ear. “How much do you
want to bet we’re
worrying about the same thing?”
I laugh, but it fades quickly. “Jim...”
“Give, already.” There’s humor in his
voice, but it’s also firm, and I sigh.
There’s no point in hiding my doubts, and I won’t
weaken our relationship by
trying to keep my fears from him.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” I
ask softly. “It’s all
happening so fast. If you need more time to think about
things...”
The chuckle surprises me a little. “I figured this was what
was bugging you,”
he says. “Heather, yes, this is moving fast. But I told you
I’ve wanted to
marry you for a long time now. This baby is just one more
reason.”
He hugs me closer, his voice going serious. “Besides,
it’s more practical.
Heather, what if something happens to you? Heaven forbid, but if it
does I want
to--I need to have some kind of legal status in the tadpole’s
life.”
I hadn’t quite looked at it that way. And the knot just under
my breastbone
starts to loosen. Jim is one of the most responsible men I know, but
the
urgency running under his voice isn’t mere responsibility.
It’s need.
Jim
I didn’t mean to push this right now. But all of a sudden the
conversation’s
got a lot more serious than I meant it to get, and I can feel the
tension in my
shoulders even though I’m trying to keep my arms loose.
I hope she understands. I keep my voice light. “You know
they’ll only let me
into the maternity ward with you if I’m your husband--and you
gotta have
someone to cuss at.”
Her shoulders start to shake, and I realize she’s laughing.
“All right, Jim,
all right! You win. We’ll get married before the baby
arrives.”
“Good.” Relief makes me feel a little lightheaded.
“Good.”
Leaving one arm around her, I feel in my pocket for the item I picked
up a few
nights ago. I keep a safe deposit box at the Half Moon Casino--much
easier than
a bank for my hours--and the little box has been waiting a long time. I
pull
out the contents and put my arm back around Heather.
“When I asked Karen to marry me, we went shopping for a ring
the next day,” I
tell her, the ache now gone from the memory. “She wanted
something shiny and
new. But this wouldn’t have been right for her
anyway.”
I hold out my fist in front of Heather, and open it. “It was
my mother’s,” I
say.
It’s nothing spectacular; just a simple gold band, with a
diamond in a classic
cut. But it’s elegant and timeless, and I knew it was right
for Heather the
first moment it occurred to me that I wanted to marry her.
She sucks in a breath, and reaches out to touch it with one long
finger. “Jim,
it’s beautiful.”
It occurs to me, a little late, that it might not be what she wants,
though.
“If you’d rather have something else--“
”No.” Her voice is firm. “No, darling,
I’d be honored to wear it.”
So with that, I pick up her left hand and slide the band on.
It’s a little big,
but getting it resized will be no problem. For a long moment I look
over her
shoulder at her slender hand in my square one, and again I get this
entirely
blissful feeling of everything being right.
“I love you,” I tell her,
because I do.
She turns in my arms, and I can see the tears in her eyes, but
I’m old and wise
enough now not to worry about them. Her hands go up around my face, and
I can
feel the band pressing against my right cheek. “I love you,
James Thomas
Brass,” she says sternly, and I kiss her.
It seems the thing to do.
It’s much later that I wake up, surfacing in the warmth of
Heather’s bedroom,
feeling her head resting on my chest and my own muscles aching a
little. Making
the promise formal seemed to set something off in both of us, and I
tried to be
gentle at first, but Heather ran out of patience somewhere along the
line and
explained that her body was perfectly capable of protecting the
tadpole, thank
you very much, and I could quit holding back now.
I never argue with a lady. At least, not under those circumstances.
Her hair’s all over my chest, and she’s got one arm
wrapped around me and one
leg between mine, and I feel thoroughly owned. Suits me just fine, by
the way.
Her other arm’s pulled up to her chest, but I can see the
ring sparkling a
little there in the muted light.
There’s still a million things to discuss and decide, but
they’re not so urgent
at the moment. Whatever happens, we’re together. The three of
us.
That’s the important part.
