The Black Sheep’s Baby

Chapter 13

S he drew in her breath with a shuddering gasp. The vision vanished, and the parlor was empty and silent again.

Cold and aching once more, Devon placed her gifts beneath the tree, turned off the lights and went back up the stairs.

At the door to her own room, she hesitated. She’d left it open; she could see the peace and privacy, the order and solitude she craved right there in front of her. The neatly made bed, the leftover wrapping materials in a tidy pile beside the dresser. But now for some reason the room seemed less peaceful to her than lonely. And suddenly she knew that, on this night, at least, it wasn’t solitude she wanted.

A little farther down the hallway, she could see a narrow strip of light showing under Eric’s bedroom door. There was no sound in the hallway; she could almost hear the pounding of her own heart. A shiver went through her, and she put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself. Drawing a slow, deep breath, she closed her eyes.

Devon…

She could feel his breath on her skin…smell his clean, wholesome scent. The longing to have his arms around her, the warmth and strength of his long, angular body against hers as it had been in her vision, was so acute she nearly whimpered aloud.

Her heart thumped against her breastbone as she pushed away from the doorframe. Her legs shook as she crossed the few yards of hallway to Eric’s door. Her mouth was dry; her throat felt sticky when she tried to swallow. More nervous than she’d ever been in her life, she lifted her hand to knock.

And froze-just in time.

Above the pounding of her own pulse she could hear Eric’s voice, not the low, crooning murmur he used when he spoke to Emily, but the recognizable cadences of adult conversation. Only one voice, though, with pauses between; he was obviously talking on the telephone. Devon couldn’t make out words, but there was no mistaking the intimacy and affection in his tone.

Her skin prickled; chagrin washed through her in a cold flood. Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid… She’d never thought to ask him if he was involved with anyone. If he had a girlfriend. Had she just assumed, because he’d kissed her, because he’d been all too ready to jump into bed with her, that meant he was unattached? Why would she assume such a thing when she knew so well from personal experience that not even solemn vows and wedding rings were enough “attachment” to keep some men from taking advantage of any opportunity that came along. She knew better. Why was she so surprised?

Thank God I didn’t knock.

Calmer now, her heart quiet and heavy inside her, Devon tiptoed back to her room and closed the door. She felt no less cold, no less lonely, but at least now she knew. She wouldn’t be so stupid again.

“Eric, just one question-are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?” Even on the bad cell phone connection, Caitlyn’s voice sounded tense.

He gave a short, uneven laugh as he tried with one hand to rub the ache out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s what I want to do, no. But I think…I know it’s what I have to do.” He paused, then added, “I’m still hoping I won’t, but I’m kind of running out of time, you know? This reprieve Mom engineered is only good through Christmas. Devon means to haul us both back to L.A. as soon after the holiday as she possibly can-the day after, probably-and at this point I think it’d take a miracle to change her mind.”

“You really think she’s got repressed memories of abuse?”

“I’m almost certain of it-yeah. She’s got no memories of her childhood at all, and she gets tense and scared if you push her on it. But unless I can get her to remember and acknowledge what went on in that house, she’s going to continue to do everything she can to get her clients-i.e., her parents-what they want. What they want is custody of their granddaughter, and…” His voice grew deeper with resolve. “I can’t let that happen, Cait.”

“No,” she agreed softly. And after a pause. “Too bad Emily’s not really yours.”

“You can’t fool DNA,” said Eric dryly. “No, without Devon’s testimony, I’m afraid the law’s on their side.” It was his turn to pause. “Cait, you know I wouldn’t ask-”

“Hey,” she interrupted in a brisker tone, “it’s what we do. Now-it’s kind of short notice…”

“I know-I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Never mind that. Let me get started on this-there’s a lot to do. Where do you think you’ll go, Canada?”

“For starters, yeah, it’s the closest. After that…who knows? Someplace warm.” His smile was wry, though she wouldn’t see it. “I’m not used to these Midwestern winters anymore.”

There was a little silence, and then Caitlyn’s voice, sounding farther away than ever. “Eric? I’m sorry, but I have to ask. What about your mom and dad? They’ve missed you, you know. Your mom’s so thrilled to have you here. I know you’ve been away a long time, but are you sure you’re ready to give it all up? Forever? This is your home-”

Eric interrupted her with a pain-filled laugh. “If you’d asked me that a week ago, I’d have said, no problem. Now…” He took a breath. “Since I’ve been back it seems like everything-the place, my folks-somehow it all looks different to me.”

In the gentle, attentive way that had made her not only his cousin but his best friend, as a kid, and in the years since, so often his confidante, Caitlyn prompted, “Different how?”

Sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed with his elbows propped on his knees, he tried again to rub away the ache behind his eyes. “You know how it was when I was growing up. All I could think about was getting away from this place, getting out into the world. I was scared to death I’d be trapped here for the rest of my life, like Mom. Now, maybe it’s because I’ve seen the world, and I’ve seen how much misery there is out there, but I’m really beginning to realize for the first time, I think, how lucky I was-what a great childhood I had. I keep thinking how great my mom and dad are. Even thinking what a great place this would be to raise a kid.” He smiled crookedly at the floor between his feet. “Ironic, isn’t it? Now it’s impossible…”

“Eric?” Caitlyn’s laugh was gently teasing. “Is this you I’m hearing?”

He tried his best to erase it all with a snort. “Hell, maybe it’s the holidays. Anyway, look-I know it’s not much notice, but do what you can, okay? And I guess I’ll see you here, Christmas Day?”

“You don’t think I’d miss it, do you? Your first Christmas home in ten years? Sure, I’ll be there-with bells on. I’ve even got a present for Emily. Thank you for the book gift certificate, by the way. It came in today’s e-mail.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, don’t think you have to- Wait-hold on a minute, Cait.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think I heard someone…”

Placing the cell phone on the bedspread, he crossed the room in two long, soundless strides, listened for a moment at the door, then carefully eased it open. There was no one in the hallway, but Devon’s door was just closing with a soft click.

His heart gave a lurch and his skin shivered with a whole weird mix of emotions-curiosity and excitement, regret and alarm. Had she come to his door? If so, why? And why hadn’t she knocked? How long had she been there? What had she heard?

He thought about going down the hall and knocking on her door to find out the answers to those questions. The pulse thumping in his belly urged him to. So did the not-so-well-banked embers of earlier fires simmering farther down. But both of those things also told him if he went knocking on Devon’s door this late at night, in a sleeping house, it wouldn’t be because he wanted questions answered. Who was he kidding?

And Caitlyn was waiting on the phone, her very presence there a reminder, and a warning. Getting involved with Devon was a bad idea-for all sorts of reasons. Not the least of which was the fact that he was starting to care about her.

Oh, God. I’m starting to care about her.

He picked up the phone. “Cait? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay. False alarm. So, all right. You get everything together, and I’ll call you first thing Christmas morning to let you know if it’s a ‘go’ or not.”

“Right. And meanwhile…Eric?” He waited, and his cousin said softly, “Keep hoping for that miracle, okay? ’Tis the season, after all.”

He answered with a huff of laughter that gave him no comfort.

He broke the connection, but sat for a long time with the phone dangling between his knees, staring at nothing while his mind darted from one quandary to another, not knowing which to tackle first. No matter where he looked, his prospects seemed bleak.

I’m starting to care about Devon.

Oh, yeah, there was a happy thought. In fact, the realization that he was developing feelings for the woman who was trying her best to destroy his life had shaken him more than he’d thought possible.

Care about… What the hell did that mean? He’d cared about Susan, for sure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. His caring for Susan had been that of a friend, a big brother. His feelings for Devon weren’t remotely brotherly, and they were a long way from being friends. He couldn’t even chalk it all up to physical attraction, although he definitely had that. He couldn’t say why or how, but he’d had physical attractions before, and all he knew was that this was different.

So, what are you saying, Eric? Are you trying to say you think you may be falling in love with her?

Oh, hell.

He hoped to God it wasn’t true. Because even if it was, it didn’t change a thing. Except to make it hurt a whole lot worse.

The day before Christmas-Christmas Eve Day, some people called it-dawned clear and cold. It would be a beautiful, sunny day. The snow was melting on exposed southern slopes and the livestock yards were a trampled, muddy mess, but it lay thick and crusty in the shady places, and there was plenty left with which to build a snowman. From her bedroom window, Devon watched Mike and Lucy assemble one in the front yard, working together to roll and lift the heavy parts and between times laughing and pelting each other with handfuls of snow, their chore-buckets abandoned in the driveway. The sight made her smile, even laugh a little. It also made her throat ache.

How happy they are. How is it that they-two middle-aged people-can laugh and play like this? Like children?

The answer came to her, sparkling clear as the day outside: They love each other. Love their lives, their home, this place.

But, she thought, I love my life, too. I love my home, my place. I could never live here-I couldn’t.

The fact that she could even have such a thought shook her to her core.

The day that began on a note of whimsy continued the same way. After breakfast, Mike unearthed a long-handled pruning saw from somewhere in one of the sheds and cut mistletoe out of a tree in the front yard. Lucy tied sprigs together in bunches and hung them from every door casing and ceiling light fixture in the house, and she and Mike took turns “catching” each other standing under them.

Eric, who happened to be passing through the kitchen during the traditional consequence of one of those occasions, paused in the process of shrugging into his coat to roll his eyes at Devon. “Don’t mind them. They get like this at Christmastime.”

“Like what?” Lucy, roused and bristling, was struggling to free herself from Mike’s rather theatrical embrace.

“Nuts,” said Eric, and punctuated it with the growl of his ski jacket’s zipper. Devon caught the grin he tried to hide.

“We’ll have no ‘Bah Humbug’ in this house today,” Mike warned his son’s retreating back as the door banged shut behind him. He looked over at Devon and winked. “Don’t mind him. He has a tendency to take things a tad too seriously.”

“Eric always did have a hard time having fun,” Lucy agreed, and her voice held a note of wistfulness. “I think he just needs for somebody to show him how.” Then she looked at Devon, and for some reason her eyes seemed to warm, and then to sparkle, like embers kindling.

Devon murmured something ambiguous as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, but as she looked away from Lucy’s glowing eyes she was seeing another pair very much like them. Eric’s eyes, going wide with surprise as her snowball plunked him in the chest, then suddenly igniting.

She remembered the thrill of excitement that had shot through her then, and her wildly pounding heart as she’d tried to escape inevitable reprisal. How they’d laughed, hurling and ducking snowballs, floundering and wallowing in the snow. She hadn’t felt cold, only exhilarated, carefree. Like a child, she thought-and the realization came to her: We were like them, Eric and I…like Mike and Lucy this morning.

And then he’d come so very close to kissing her. She’d so very much wanted him to. And then…yesterday. And last night.

Tears came from nowhere to sting and blur her eyes, and she plunked down the coffee cup and blinked them away in a panic. What would Mike and Lucy think?

But she heard their voices and laughter, now, moving on down the hallway. She was alone in the kitchen. For that one moment she could safely let her shoulders sag, close her aching eyes and lower her face into the cradle of her hand.

Ironic, she thought, that here in this house, surrounded by so much warmth, so much love, for the first Christmas in memory she should feel the desperate misery of loneliness.

It was like every day-before-Christmas he remembered-the whole household bustling with preparations for that evening and, of course, the Big Day, his sensible mom and dad behaving with uncharacteristic giddiness, and over everything a fog of suspense he could almost touch…smell…taste. Smelling and tasting being the operative words to describe the activity in the kitchen, from which cooking odors wafted through the house all day long in a confusing, ever-changing stew made up of everything from pungent onion and sage, to turkey giblets and cornbread, to pumpkin and cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla and rum.

All that cooking had always been Eric’s cue to make himself scarce, and in that respect, too, this Christmas was like the others in his memory. He managed to spend most of the day in his darkroom putting together his gift for Devon, leaving Emily in his mom’s care-although mostly it was his dad he’d spotted, during occasional forays into the house for food or some forgotten item, walking a fussy baby up and down the hallway. Which was definitely one thing about this Christmas that was different, the other being the presence of a redheaded stranger working side-by-side with his mother in the kitchen.

But while almost everything was the same, it felt different to him in all ways. What he couldn’t decide was whether that had to do with, as he’d suggested to Caitlyn last night, some sort of epiphany he’d experienced “out there” in the big cruel world, or whether he’d just grown up.

One thing that was different was that today his reason for clearing out of the house had less to do with avoiding KP duty, and more to do with avoiding Devon. Developing feelings for the woman was a complication he hadn’t counted on. And while there wasn’t much he could do about that now, at least, he’d thought, if he didn’t have to see her, be around her, maybe he could keep a bad situation from getting worse.

What he hadn’t realized was that he didn’t have to see her or be around her for that to happen. It happened anyway. It happened while he was working on her gift, or while he was looking at the snapshots he’d taken of her that day in the snow, and her red hair arresting as a single cardinal in all that white. It happened when he closed his eyes and memories invaded-sensory memories so keen he could feel her cool wet cheek against his skin, smell her hair, taste her mouth. See the confusion and accusation in her eyes.

It happened. Like an avalanche. A natural disaster. It was going to cause him grave damage and immeasurable pain, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Immeasurable pain. That was the second thing that was different this Christmas. Coloring everything, underlying the excitement and childish anticipation and feverish preparations, was the dull ache of knowing this would be the last time he’d ever be a part of it. While it was true he’d been away for a good many years, that he’d missed a decade’s worth of these Christmases, the knowledge had always been in the back of his mind that he could come home any time he wanted to, that everything would still be here waiting for him-the warmth of this house, his parents, their love for him, all unchanged.

But after tomorrow… Once he’d embarked on the course Caitlyn was mapping for him even now, he could never come back. For the next eighteen years, at least, until Emily was legally an adult, they would be fugitives. If he saw his parents or any of his family again it would be brief visits in another place…another land.

That knowledge clutched at his insides like a cold hand. His heart, his throat, every part of him ached. But what could he do? Barring a miracle, it was the only choice he had.

When Devon’s gift was finished and wrapped, Eric went down to the barn where he spent the rest of the day shoveling out stalls. He found no particular comfort in the solitude; it simply hurt too much to be around the people he loved.

Lucy was worried. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was beginning to be afraid something had gone drastically wrong with her plan. And whatever it was, it had happened literally overnight. Yesterday, when she and Mike had gotten back from town to find Eric and Devon just leaving the bunkhouse and the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife, she’d been certain everything was proceeding nicely, just as she’d intended. Now this morning, the two were barely speaking to one another, Devon drooping around like somebody with a bad case of Holiday Blues, and Eric looking so grim and purposeful, spending all afternoon in the barn…

Inwardly, Lucy shivered. It was Eric who worried her most. The way he was acting reminded her of that summer, the summer he’d graduated from high school, when he’d announced out of the clear blue sky that he wasn’t going to Iowa State in the fall. He’d left not long after that, and they’d barely seen him since.

“I don’t think I can stand it if he leaves again,” Lucy told Mike on the way down to begin the evening chores. “We only just got him back, after so long… And then there’s Emily. I just hate to think of losing her, too.”

“I’m afraid we won’t have much to say about that,” Mike said in the annoying way he had of saying out loud what Lucy already knew and didn’t want to admit. “And the way it looks, I don’t think Eric will, either.”

Lucy sighed. “I wish I could hate Devon for trying to take Emily away from us-” she ignored Mike’s smile at her use of the pronoun “-but you can hardly blame her for wanting to help her parents. She’s a lovely girl, really-pretty and smart, and I think she’s got a good heart, too. Oh, I know she’s ‘city’ to the bone, but I don’t think she’s near as sophisticated as she pretends to be.” She turned her head to look at her husband, and the cold December wind whipped a strand of her hair across her face. She fingered it back behind her ear and anchored it under the edge of her ski cap. “Mike, I know she likes Eric-I’ve seen the way she looks at him when she thinks no one’s watching. And he likes her, too, in spite of everything. I know he does-a mother can tell. It would solve everything if they’d just…”

Mike looked down at her, then away. “What?” she demanded; Lucy knew that look.

He shook his head, grinning. “Nothing.” The smile faded. “Except that it might not be that simple, Luce.”

“Why not?” As far as Lucy was concerned, it certainly should be. That was the whole crux of her plan, actually; when two people were perfect for one another and didn’t know it yet, all they ought to need was a push in the right direction.

Mike’s head was up, his face, so familiar and beautiful to her, golden in the last light of the rapidly sinking sun. “I just think there may be more to Devon than there appears to be. I told you that first day she reminded me of Chris, remember?” He paused to take a deep breath. “Well, she still does. More and more, in fact.”

“Chris… Chris? Oh, Mike. You mean, you think-” She broke it off with a shake of her head, and walked a few steps in silence, thinking about all that might mean. Then she said, “Well. And look what happened to Chris-she met my brother, and he saved her life. Maybe Eric is meant to be Devon’s-”

“Lucy,” Mike said in a warning tone, “that’s not for you to decide. If it’s meant to happen, it will. Don’t you try and manipulate Providence.”

“That sounds like something Gwen would say.”

“Yes, and think how often she was right.”

Lucy tried her best to follow her husband’s advice and stay out of Providence’s way. Since Christmas Eve’s activities were governed pretty much by tradition, that wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it would be.

Potato soup for Christmas Eve supper had been the tradition in Lucy’s family as far back as she could remember, though she couldn’t have said whether it had actually begun then, during her childhood, with her own parents, or whether it went back farther than that. Gwen had said she thought it might have had something to do with the Great Depression, which certainly made sense to Lucy. She thought it a sensible tradition, and saw no reason to change it. The wholesome, everyday meal made a nice change from rich holiday food, and a simple preamble-rather like taking a deep breath-before the huge feast they’d all be consuming tomorrow.

It was Christmas Eve, and everything was just as she had hoped for, longed for. Prayed for. Here they were, she and Mike, sitting down to the traditional supper with their family gathered around-half of it, anyway-with a precious grandbaby dozing in her lap and Eric home at last. And this year’s batch of soup was especially good, if she did say so herself-just the right amount of pepper, perfect balance of potatoes, celery and onions-and the cornbread, Gwen’s special recipe, was delicious, as always. So, why didn’t it feel like a joyous occasion? Why didn’t it feel like Christmas?

How could it, Lucy thought in exasperation, with Eric staring moodily into his soup and not saying a word to anyone, and Devon sitting so still and straight, her face pale as death, composed and beautiful as a statue of some ancient goddess. And yes, Mike was right, now that he’d mentioned it, she did remind Lucy of Chris, sitting right here at this same table that day so many years ago when Earl had brought her to visit for the first time…lovely Chris, with her desperate secrets and buried pain.

“Eric,” Lucy said brightly, determined to lighten his mood, at least, “have you talked to Caitlyn since you’ve been back?” Eric cleared his throat, but before he could answer, Lucy turned to Devon to explain, “Caitlyn is Eric’s cousin-my brother Earl’s daughter. They were such good friends, growing up-the closest of all the cousins in age- Caitlyn’s just a year younger. I hope you’ll have a chance to meet her tomorrow. The last I talked to Chris-her mother-she still wasn’t sure she was going to be able to get away. Caitlyn’s a social worker in Kansas City, you know. Christmas is their busiest season…”

“She’s coming,” Eric said.

“Really? When did you talk to her? Did she say for sure?”

Eric shifted and once again cleared his throat. “I talked to her last night. She said she’d be here.”

“Oh,” Lucy breathed, “I’m so glad.” Then she frowned. “Last night? When? I didn’t hear-”

“It was late. You and Dad were already in bed.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Lucy subsided, but she was definitely losing faith in Providence.

On the one hand there was Eric, whose mood, far from being cheered by the prospect of a visit with his favorite cousin, now seemed blacker than ever. And on the other, well, what in the world had come over Devon? All of a sudden her pale-as-marble cheeks had warmed to a lovely shade of pink, and after not so much as glancing his way all evening long, now she was gazing at Eric with her eyes all aglow like Christmas stars.