"Scared," Oliver said.
Jennifer looked at him. "Maybe so," she said. "I thought we had a
family. I thought we were all set to go."
"Well, sure," Oliver said.
"'So,' Rupert said, 'who's the father?'
"'What do you mean?' I said.
"'It's not me,' Rupert said. I was shocked. Anyway, it came out that he
has a very low sperm count. He knew it all the time and never told me.
I told him that you and I had a one time thing last summer, and he
freaked out.
"'I'm not paying for his kid, bla, bla, bla.'
"I practically begged: 'Couldn't it be like we adopted him--or her?'
"'It's his problem,' he said. He called my baby a problem. How could he
love me if my baby is a _problem?_"
"Good question," Oliver said. "Jesus, Jennifer."
She put down her tea and held her arms out to him. "Come feel," she
said. She loosened the bathrobe and guided Oliver's hand to her belly,
warm and taut.
"Amazing!" Oliver said.
"I'm still getting used to it," she said. "I'm over the morning
sickness."
Oliver withdrew his hand slowly and straightened. "What are you going
to do?"
"Tonight?"
"Well, for starters . . ."
"I don't know. I just wanted to see you, to tell you. You weren't here
when I got home. I couldn't find a parking place anywhere close." Her
voice trailed off. "I've got a credit card; I can stay at the Holiday
Inn."
"No way," Oliver said. "You might as well stay here. Your clothes are
all wet." A relieved smile brightened her face.
"Thank you, Oliver."
"Music," he said. He was hearing hearing strains from _La Traviata_ in
his mind. He wanted to play the opera, but he was afraid Jennifer would
find it too heavy. He played a tape of Native American flute melodies
echoing down a canyon. Soothing stuff.
"Oh, I love this music," she said.
"Carlos Nakai," Oliver said. "Are you hungry?" He was newly concerned.
There were two of her. Check that--one of her and one of them, a new
one. Jennifer looked pleased.
"I've been so upset, it's hard to tell. I think so, actually."
"I have some red beans and rice mix--no canyon greens, though." She
looked puzzled. He explained, "I was thinking of the music--what would
go with the rice and beans and the music--veggies from a canyon."
"You're so imaginative, Oliver."
"Frozen peas, best I can do." He waved the bag in the air. They ate and
watched the news. Oliver slid a clean pillow case on the extra pillow
and put a lamp on the other side of the bed. Seduction scenes were
easier. They happened or they didn't in a great rush. Jennifer couldn't
find a book that she wanted to read. She took a copy of _Wooden Boat
Magazine_ upstairs, and Oliver followed her awkwardly.
They lay side by side while she paged through the magazine. "I like
this one." She pointed out a 32 footer at anchor in Penobscot Bay. The
builder and his wife were enjoying cocktails. A golden retriever was
slumped near the bow, his head between his paws.
"Nice," Oliver said. "I wonder if Verdi would like it. Remember Verdi,
my cat? Verdi, where are you anyway?"
"I haven't seen him since I got here," Jennifer said.
"He's hiding. Anti-social. He'll come out when he's hungry."
"I'm not hungry now," Jennifer said, putting down _Wooden Boat._ "That
was a good dinner. Thanks for taking care of me."
"You're welcome." Oliver turned out his light.
"Nighty night," she said and rolled to her side. The comforter went
with her. She switched off her light and snuggled back against him. He
pulled the comforter back over him and brushed her hip with his hand.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
"Don't be a stranger," she said, settling closer. Her body was warm and
self-contained. He patted her in response and said nothing. A baby? He
lay there as Jennifer fell asleep. Her breathing was steady and
unhurried. There was a lot to figure out. In the morning . . . He'd
figure out what to do in the morning.
He awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jennifer climbing the
steps. "Here you are, Sleepy." She put a mug and a small glass down
near his head. "Milk in here. You don't use sugar, do you? I don't
remember you taking sugar."
"Mmmughh. No. Thanks."
"I'll be right back." She returned with another cup and sat beside him,
leaning back on a pillow propped against the wall.
"Good," Oliver said, balancing the mug on his chest.
"Do you like it strong?"
"Yes," he said. "I mean--while you're at it. I usually buy a dark
roast."
"That's what I like," Jennifer said. "Organic." She drank and put down
her mug. "Do you think I'm awful?"
"Huh? No. Why should I?"
"Well, being a loose woman and all that. And then barging in without
any warning."
"What else were you going to do?"
"I'm not awful?" She smiled and turned closer.
"Of course not."
"You're not mad at me?" Oliver shook his head. "Well--could I have a
little hug?" She moved down and opened her arms. The bathrobe fell
open. Oliver put down his mug. He rolled over, partially covering her,
his arms around her. "I won't break," she said and drew him closer.
"Oh, Oliver . . ." She was deep chested with high flat breasts that
were beginning to swell. He fit his face over her shoulder, and she
hugged him tightly. "Oh." She moved her hands down his back and under
his shorts, pulling him to her. Oliver's thoughts skidded away.
"Jennifer," he breathed in her ear. "Jennifer?"
"God," she said. "Do something." She pushed his shorts down and reached
around for his cock. As he entered her, she quivered and pressed
against every part of him. "Oh! It's been forever," she said. "Oh!" She
wanted him on her. She wanted him to come, to fill her up, to take his
due. Oliver became a lord riding his finest horse, his property, his
right.
"God," she said an hour later when he woke up again. "Rupert never made
love to me like that."
"Yumm," Oliver said. He was in a pleasant haze. "I think . . ."