Mary Jo entertained until I get back, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
Grace hurried out, and Cliff claimed the chair next to Mary Jo. As he did, he eyed the crumpled tissues. “Looks like you two had a good heart-to-heart.”
“We did,” she said and then with a sigh told him, “I’ve been very foolish.”
“I’m sure Grace told you we’ve all made mistakes in our lives. The challenge is to learn from those mistakes so we don’t repeat them.”
“I don’t intend to get myself into this predicament ever again,” Mary Jo said fervently. “It’s just that …” She hesitated, uncertain how much to tell him about her brothers. “I feel like my family’s smothering me. I have three older brothers and they all seem to think they know what’s best for me and my baby.”
“They love you,” he said simply.
She nodded. “That’s what makes it so difficult. With my parents gone, they feel they should be the ones directing my life.”
“And naturally you take exception to that.”
“Well, yes. But when I tried to live my life my own way and prove how adult I was, look what happened.” She pressed both hands over her stomach, staring down at it. “I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes, but I discovered something … interesting after I found out I was pregnant.”
“What’s that?” Cliff asked. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back, holding his coffee mug. She noticed that his hand-knit socks had a whimsical pattern of Christmas bells, at odds with his no-nonsense jeans and shirt.
“Well, at first,” she began, “as you can imagine, I was terribly upset. I was scared, didn’t know what to do, but after a while I began to feel really excited. There was a new life inside me. A whole, separate human being with his or her own personality. This tiny person’s going to be part David, part me—and all himself. Or herself,” she added, refusing to accept her brothers’ certainty that the baby was a boy.
Cliff smiled. “Pregnancy is amazing, isn’t it? I can’t pretend to know what a woman experiences, but as a man I can tell you that we feel utter astonishment and pride—and a kind of humbling, too.”
“I think David might’ve felt like that in the beginning,” Mary Jo whispered. He really had seemed happy. Very quickly, however, that happiness had been compromised. By fear, perhaps, or resentment. She wanted to believe he’d loved her as much as he was capable of loving anyone. She now realized that his capacity for feeling, for empathy, was limited. Severely limited. Barely a month after she learned she was pregnant with his baby, David had become emotionally distant. He continued to call and to see her when he was in town but those calls and visits came less and less frequently, and the instant she started asking questions about their future, he closed himself off.
“It’s not all that different with my horses,” Cliff was saying.
His words broke into her reverie. “I beg your pardon?” What did he mean? They hadn’t been talking about horses, had they?
“I’ve bred a number of horses through the years and with every pregnancy I feel such a sense of hopefulness. Which is foolish, perhaps, since even the best breeding prospects don’t always turn out the way you expect. Still …”
“I met Funny Face today.”
Cliff’s eyes brightened when she mentioned the mare. “She’s my sweetheart,” he said.
“She seems very special.” Mary Jo remembered the moment of connection she’d felt with this horse.
“She is,” Cliff said. “She’s gentle and affectionate—a dream with the grandchildren. But as far as breeding prospects go, she was a disappointment.”
“No.” Mary Jo found that hard to believe.
“She’s smaller than we thought she’d be and she doesn’t have the heart of a show horse.”
“But you kept her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of selling Funny Face. Even though she didn’t turn out like Cal and I expected, we still considered her a gift.”
Mary Jo released a long sigh. “That’s how I feel about my baby. I didn’t plan to get pregnant and I know David certainly didn’t want it, yet despite all the problems and the heartache, I’ve come to see this child as a gift.”
“He definitely is.”
“He?” She grinned. “Now you’re beginning to sound like my brothers. They’re convinced the baby’s a boy.”
“I was using he in a generic way,” Cliff said. “Would you prefer a girl?”
“I … I don’t know.” She shrugged lightly. “There’s nothing I can do about it, so I’ll just leave it up to God.” She was somewhat surprised by her own response. It wasn’t something she would’ve said as little as six months ago.
During her pregnancy, she’d begun to reconsider her relationship with God. When she was involved with David, she’d avoided thinking about anything spiritual. In fact, she’d avoided thinking, period. The spiritual dimension of her life had shrunk, become almost nonexistent after her parents’ death.
That had changed in the past few months. She thought often of the night she’d knelt by her bed, weeping and desperate, and poured out her despair, her fears and her hopes. It was nothing less than a conversation with God. That was probably as good a definition of prayer as any, she mused. Afterward, she’d experienced a feeling of peace. She liked to imagine her mother had been in the room that night, too.
“You’ve got everything you need?”
She realized Cliff had spoken. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She hated to keep asking Cliff to repeat himself, but her mind refused to stay focused.
“I was asking if you have everything you need for the baby.”
“Oh, yes … Thanks to my friends and my brothers.” Mary Jo was grateful for her brothers’ generosity to her and the baby. Their excitement at the idea of a nephew—or niece, as she kept telling them—had heartened her, even as their overzealous interference dismayed her.
Linc, who tended to be the practical one, had immediately gone up to the attic and brought down the crib that had once belonged to Mary Jo. He’d decided it wasn’t good enough for her baby and purchased a new one.
Mary Jo had been overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. She’d tried to thank him but Linc had brushed aside her gratitude as though it embarrassed him.
Mel was looking forward to having a young boy around—or a girl, as she’d reminded him, too—to coach in sports. She’d come home from work one day this month to find a tiny pair of running shoes and knew they’d come from Mel.
And Ned. Her wonderful brother Ned had insisted on getting her a car seat and high chair.
Mary Jo had knitted various blankets and booties, and her friends from the office had seen to her layette in what must have been one of the largest baby showers
