You're My Baby Page 7

  THE MINUTE the aircraft rolled to a stop at the gate, Andy jumped to his feet, relieved to escape the old lady in the window seat, who’d asked him dumb questions all the way from Atlanta. Like his life was any of her business.

  As the line of passengers moved toward the exit, he maneuvered to the overhead bin and extracted his backpack and tennis racket, then joined the crowd inching toward freedom.

  It hadn’t been too bad a flight. The worst part had been his mother making a big scene in the Orlando airport. Which was kinda funny when you thought about it. It was her idea to go to Dubai, not his. But you’d have thought he was shipping out for World War III the way she carried on.

  Well, screw it.

  He shouldered his backpack and walked into the jet-way. That’s where the blast furnace hit him. Great, it must be a hundred ten degrees. He’d been to Fort Worth a coupla times before. It might be okay if you were a cowboy, but he missed the ocean and the palm trees.

  When he stepped into the concourse, he scanned the crowd for his father. All around him were these freakin’ family reunions, and several freckle-faced, snot-nosed kids were hugging the old lady who’d driven him crazy. Like seeing her was a big deal.

  As groups of people moved off toward the baggage claim area, the crowd thinned. Still no Dad. He usually drove Andy wild with his Mr. Punctuality routine. Not today. It figured. Andy tossed his backpack onto an empty chair and slumped into the adjacent one. Prob’ly his father was all tied up with important matters at that candy-assed school. How hard could it be teaching math and coaching basketball? It wasn’t like it was a real job or anything.

  The tennis racket had been a great idea. He’d tell Dad he was going out for tennis in the spring. That’d get the guy off his case about playin’ basketball. No way was he going to consider that. About the last friggin’ thing he needed was to be the coach’s son and play on his team. It was gonna be bad enough to go to the same school. At least he wouldn’t have his father for a teacher. He’d already taken geometry and wasn’t ready for calculus.

  Maybe Dad’d let him have a dog. That would be kinda cool. And when he turned sixteen next spring, he’d get Dad to buy him a car. Wheels. Freedom. He couldn’t wait.

  “Son?”

  Andy looked up. There was Dad, with this big dopey grin on his face. Taking his time, Andy rose to his feet and was engulfed in a bear hug. “Where ya been?” he muttered into his father’s shoulder.

  “Sorry. There was a wreck on the freeway. Say, looks like you’ve grown another six inches since Christmas.”

  His dad stood back, studying him. Andy shrugged, then picked up his backpack and tennis racket.

  “C’mon, then. We’ll get the rest of your bags.”

  As they made their way to the baggage claim area, Dad kept up this running monologue about how glad he was to see him and how he had everything arranged at Keystone about enrollment and all.

  Once they were in the car and Dad was weaving through the traffic, he didn’t say much. But when they turned into the neighborhood, ol’ Coach G. dropped the bomb. “With that additional height, I can really use you on the basketball team.”

  Might as well get it over with, and Dad’d never know the difference, since he hadn’t made it to a single one of his games last year. “About the basketball… Dad, I’m gonna play tennis instead. I know you were a high school hoops hotshot and all, but I’m no good. Last year I mostly sat on the bench.” Which wasn’t true, but how would his father know?

  Then his dad gave him one of these you’ve-let-me-down looks that was supposed to make him feel guilty. “Son, I’m really disappointed. You can play both basketball and tennis, you know.”

  “I hate basketball!” The words just slipped out, but they sure as hell got a reaction from the old man.

  “That’s no way to—” Then his dad seemed to catch himself. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping it was something we’d have in common.”

  “No chance,” Andy mumbled.

  The rest of the way to the house, neither one of them said anything.

  Crap. It was gonna be one long year.

  THANKS TO THE SODA CRACKERS she’d eaten before she got out of bed, Pam actually felt halfway decent this hot, sunny first day of classes. But no way could she go near the teachers’ lounge before school. Even during the best of times the acrid pungency of stale coffee was a fixture there. No, any tummy flutters she had today would be a result of nerves. Grant had called her late last night with the discouraging report that Andy had arrived not only with all his luggage, but with a capital A attitude. He’d made it known in no uncertain terms that he was not in the mood for a father-son chat. So their news remained to be told.

  Walking toward the office, she nodded at Ralph Hagood, the principal, who stood in the intersection of two halls, greeting the students and giving bewildered freshmen directions. Pausing by the bank of faculty mailboxes, Pam pulled out her updated class rosters to scan before heading for her classroom. Then she saw the name. Just when she’d thought she had her stomach under control. Sixth period sophomore English. Andrew Paige Gilbert. Of all the luck. She had only one section of sophomores. What if she asked for him to be changed? But what reason could she possibly give Ralph?

  Around her, the students’ voices swirled in an upbeat symphony of sound, charged with the contagious energy and excitement of the first day of school. Although she hadn’t met Andy yet, she empathized with him. If half of what Grant had told her was true, the poor kid’s first day at Keystone would be just another in a long line of disruptive changes.

  A round-faced, curly-headed young man caught up with her as she walked down the hall. “Ms. Carver, when are auditions for the fall production?”

  Oh, Lord, the play. That was so far down on her list of priorities, she hadn’t given it much thought. “I don’t know yet.” She beamed at the eager youngster. “But I hope you’ll try out.”

  “Are we still doing Our Town?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’m your man, then.” He ducked into the French room. “See ya later.”

  When she entered her classroom, most of the seniors, many of whom she’d had as students in the past, were already in their seats. They greeted her with familiarity. “You gonna be rough on us, Ms. Carver?” “Tell me this course isn’t as hard as last year’s seniors said.” “Let’s just ease into this year, huh?”

  With a knowing smile, she introduced her class guidelines, handed out the syllabi and then launched into a lecture on the origins of Anglo-Saxon literature. After class, Brittany Thibault stopped at Pam’s desk. “I think I’m really gonna enjoy English lit.” Before Pam could respond, the girl hurtled on. “Could I ask you a huge favor, Ms. Carver?”

  “Fire away.”

  “Would you be willing to write my college recommendations?”

  “I’d be happy to. Bring them to me when you’re ready.”

  Watching Brittany leave and the students in her second English lit class arrive, Pam had the urge to put her head down on her desk. Plays to direct, college recommendations to write, lectures to prepare, tests to administer, papers to grade, committee meetings to attend—it hadn’t taken long for her airy, hopeful balloon to settle back to earth. And she hadn’t even listed the most important job of all—a baby to nurture.

  The first day of classes was always exhausting, and by noon her adrenaline supply had dwindled. But she still had to face her afternoon class of sophomores. And Andy Gilbert.

  Looking around her classroom at the restless sea of sophomores, she identified several unfamiliar faces. Which one was Andy? The burly Scandinavian-looking boy by the window? The short, tense little guy with wire-rimmed glasses? Then she spotted him. She’d have known Andy anywhere, with his rangy body, deep blue eyes and Grant’s thick brown hair falling over his forehead. He sat on the back row, his long denim-clad legs sticking out into the aisle. With an air of detachment, he had his nose in a Stephen King paperback. His body language sent a clear sign
al—leave me alone.

  Her heart went out to him. He must be a master of camouflage. Sure enough, none of the other students was paying him the slightest attention.

  She allowed herself a glimmer of hope. If he was a Stephen King fan, maybe she could capture his interest with Edgar Allan Poe. She always started the sophomore year with Poe’s classic short story “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

  Only when she began speaking did he put aside the novel, but he never once looked at her, instead studying his fingernails with the intensity of one discovering the Rosetta stone.

  When the class ended, she stopped him at the door. “Andy, you’re new here, right?”

  “Yeah.” He fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, as if he was late for a pressing appointment.

  “I just wanted to extend a special welcome. I hope you’ll enjoy Keystone.”

  “Thanks.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Is that all? Can I go now?”

  “Yes, that’s all. Bye.” She watched him walk away, eyes averted, melting into the river of students flowing toward the next class.

  She leaned wearily against the doorjamb, then closed her eyes. Thank God her planning period was next. She didn’t know when she’d ever been so tired.

  “Pam, are you all right?” Connie’s voice brought her to attention.

  “Oh, sure. It’s been a long day, that’s all, and I just met Andy Gilbert for the first time.”

  Connie stepped inside the empty classroom. “And?”

  She sighed, rubbing her hands together, oddly aware of her vacant ring finger. “I think Grant and I have our work cut out for us.”

  “When does Grant plan to tell Andy about you?”

  “Sometime today. Before I move in.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Stepmother is a role I haven’t played before.”

  “It’s a challenging one, but if anybody can pull it off, it’s you.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence.” Added to the demands of the day was the overwhelming sense that she had gotten herself into something way beyond simply providing a father for her unborn baby.

  A bell shattered the air, and Connie patted Pam’s shoulder. “I’m late. Not setting a great example, huh?” Then she hurried off toward her history class, leaving Pam wondering how she and Grant could have been so naive.

  IMMEDIATELY AFTER SCHOOL Andy disappeared upstairs, claiming homework. He’d spent most of last night unpacking and arranging his room. Then on the way home from school today, when Grant had hoped to tell him about Pam, he’d pulled out a portable CD player, plugged in the headphones and played air drums on his knees to music Grant could hear only as a disjointed metallic beat.

  Grant found himself prowling through the house, unable to settle to any task. How long was the kid going to shut him out? He knew better than to pry. Yet he had to tell Andy about Pam. Hell, she was supposed to move in tonight. Maybe the family dynamic would change for the better with her around. He’d never met a kid who didn’t warm to Pam. Surely Andy would be no exception.

  Okay. He’d bite the bullet at the first opportunity.

  That settled, he wandered into the kitchen and began patting out hamburgers for the grill. Then he tossed a can of pork and beans into a dish, stirred in some brown sugar, catsup and pickle juice and put the casserole in the oven to bake. That plus the deli potato salad he’d picked up yesterday ought to do it.

  Grant made himself watch the evening news, then went upstairs and knocked on Andy’s door. No answer. He rapped louder. He heard a shuffling, then Andy opened the door, his head phones eased away from his ears. “What?”

  “I’m putting on the burgers, son. Dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” Then Andy shut the door, leaving Grant standing in the hall feeling helpless.

  Fortunately the dinner was a hit. There was nothing wrong with the kid’s appetite. He’d even extended Grant a grudging “good beans.”

  Grant made small talk about a late-breaking national news story, then began inquiring about Andy’s day at school. “Did you find your classes all right?”

  Andy lifted his eyes from the hamburger he was devouring. “It’s not that big a place, Dad. We’re not talking electronic circuitry.”

  “Meet any of the other kids?”

  “The principal introduced me to some guys, but I can’t remember their names. I checked out a coupla chicks in Spanish, but mainly I just hung loose.”

  “What about lunch?”

  “You call that sewer cuisine ‘lunch’?”

  “I meant did you sit with anyone there?”

  “The jocks were all in one big group. I wasn’t about to crash that. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit with the dweebs, so I ate by myself.”

  “I guess it takes a while to get used to a new school.”

  Andy shot him a look as if he’d just made the dumbest remark of the century. “Uh, Dad, that would be a big ‘Roger.’”

  “So basically your day—”

  “Sucked. There. Are you satisfied?”

  “No, Andy. I want you to enjoy your year here. But you’ll have to make some effort. You can’t rely on everyone else to make you happy.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know that.”

  They ate in silence broken only by the snap of corn chips and the crunch of dill pickles. Grant chewed mechanically, swallowing with difficulty. Andy’s belligerence hurt. But the hell of it was, in the long run it would probably hurt the boy even more than it did him.

  He had a sudden wild need for Pam—for her common sense, her ability to laugh, her understanding. But needs like that were dangerous.

  “Is there any dessert?”

  Grant pulled some store-bought cookies from the bread box. “Try these. Remind me to pick up some ice cream at the store.”

  “Dad, pick up some ice cream at the store.” The glimmer of a smile shone in Andy’s eyes. A tiny, but significant breakthrough.

  Grant seized the opening to ask one more question. “What about your teachers? Like any of them?”

  Andy popped an entire cookie into his mouth, but managed between bites to say, “They’re okay, I guess. Except for world history. Old lady Flanders is screwy. She’s so ancient she prob’ly witnessed Custer’s last stand.”

  Smothering a grin, Grant agreed. “She is a bit long of tooth, isn’t she?”

  “Actually, there was one teacher who seemed really cool.”

  “Who was that?”

  “English. Hot-looking redhead.”

  Grant couldn’t have said it better himself, but he had more important things to think about than Pam’s tantalizing physical features. “Ms. Carver, you mean?”

  “That’s her.”

  He had an opening. “Er, about Ms. Carver…”

  “What?”

  Forcing himself to look directly at his son, Grant continued. “I have something important to tell you, and there’s no easy way to say it.”

  Andy looked mildly curious. “Yeah?”

  Grant waited a beat for his heart to stop threatening to explode in his chest. “Uh, she’s my wife.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANDY STARED at his father, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Pam and I were married Saturday.”

  “Well, ex-cuze me, but isn’t this kinda sudden?” Jeez, that was only—what?—three days ago. You’d think somewhere along the line his old man could’ve given him a clue, for cripe’s sake.

  His dad pushed his hands through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. “I know it seems that way, but—”

  “If you’re married, how come she isn’t here?” He might not be a certified adult, but he knew newlyweds slept together. “Does Mom know?”

  “Hey, son, one question at a time. Pam will come over later with the first load of her stuff. We thought it would be better for you to get settled before she moved in. Kinda get used to the idea.”

  Get used to the
idea? It was bad enough he had to stay in Fort Worth with his dad for a whole year, but now he had to live with honeymooners, one of whom was his friggin’ English teacher! Ol’ Mafia Harry was looking better by the second.

  “Son?”

  Andy shook his head, trying to clear his brain. “Tonight? She’s coming tonight?” His father was staring at him, a tight-ass expression on his face. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded wisely, “I guess the sooner the better, huh, stud?”

  “Andy, please. That’s no way to talk.”

  “No way to talk? How’d you like to be me? I hafta go live with my old man that I hardly ever see and after I get there, he throws in a small detail he’s forgotten to mention. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m married.’ Whaddya expect me to do? Turn handsprings?”

  “I know it’s a shock, but you like Pam, don’t you?”

  “It’s not about ‘Pam.’ Oh, hell, that’s great! Am I supposed to call my teacher ‘Pam’ or call my stepmother ‘Ms. Carver’? And, anyway, what does it matter if I like her? It’s not as if I have a choice.”

  “Can you help me out here? At least try to make her welcome?”

  Andy crossed his arms and stared icily over his father’s head.

  There went his dad’s hand through the hair again. “Let me try to explain this better.” He sucked in a big breath like he was about to shoot a game-winning free throw. “Pam and I have been friends and colleagues for several years. This summer we, er, we were both in Austin for summer programs, and, well, we suddenly saw each other differently.”

  Oh, brother. He could go a long time without hearing the details of his dad’s hot romance.

  “When we got back here,” his father’s voice droned on, “it didn’t seem practical to wait to get married.”

  Then it hit him. Of course, it didn’t. “Especially when you needed a housekeeper for me, right?”

  If Andy had slapped him, his father couldn’t have looked more stricken.

  “Jeez, Andy—”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. It was kind of a cheap shot. “But, Dad, this is nuts!”

  “I suppose it seems that way now. But Pam is a wonderful woman, and she’s really looking forward to getting better acquainted with you. Please, give her, give us, a chance. That’s all I ask.”