Merry Christmas, Babies

He nodded, sipped his watered-down drink, then held the glass in both hands in his lap.

“I’m a survivor, Joe. I’m only telling you about all this so that you can understand.”

And because, as of today, there was no way her choice wasn’t going to affect his life, as well, at least peripherally.

“I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve got my body back, my career and financial security are set, but my sense of self, of being grounded, which I lost in that fire, is still missing. I have no significant other. I’ve been finding my solutions on my own for a long time.”

“And so you decided to have a baby, start a new family, on your own.”

The knot between her shoulder blades loosened and Elise almost smiled. “Yes.” He got it.

“Okay.” He drained his drink, sat forward. “You have my full support.”

Elise was tempted to stand, to leave it at that and let him leave, but knew she couldn’t. She’d opened the door to truth between them. She was no longer hiding.

“There’s more, Joe.”

Lips pursed, he nodded. “I kind of thought so.”

“I had an ultrasound today.”

He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “There’s something wrong with the baby?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was personally invested in her answer. But this was Joe. He’d chosen divorce over creating a baby with the woman he adored.

“Not as far as they can tell,” she answered slowly.

“So what’s the problem?”

“There are four of them.”

JOE DROVE HOME. His older brother Kenny was waiting on the lighted basketball court behind Joe’s home, just as Joe had requested from his cell phone immediately after leaving Elise.

Kenny, like Joe, was unmarried, unencumbered with a houseful of needs that couldn’t possibly be met. He was also unemployed—for the fourth time in almost as many years.

By choice.

His brother got bored easily.

“What’s up?” Kenny asked as Joe joined him five minutes later, having exchanged his shirt and tie for shorts, a T-shirt and three-hundred-dollar tennis shoes.

“Just needed a game,” Joe grunted as he sank a three-pointer.

Kenny swiveled, butted up against Joe as he dribbled and went up for a successful slam dunk. “It’s after nine o’clock. You work in the morning.”

“You don’t, so what’s it to you?” Joe rebounded, took the ball back and lined up another three.

With a quick jump, Kenny stole the ball from him.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Kenny said, turning to grin at Joe as he bounced the ball between his legs and caught it behind him. “I sold Wambo.”

One of Kenny’s many animated video characters. He named a well-known, international video game producer as the buyer.

“I’ve got some changes to make to him—he needs to be a little taller and more agile. And they want a woman to go with him.”

Joe stood while Kenny made the next shot. His brother was up on him four to three. “Congratulations!” he said, slapping Kenny on the back.

Kenny got his own rebound and shot the ball at Joe’s chest.

“Can’t let you be the richest guy in the family,” he joked, but Joe could tell that his big brother was proud of Joe’s accomplishments, too. Mostly Joe was relieved to see that Kenny was finally finding some success with what he most loved to do. What he was good at.

He deserved it.

Joe sank another three. And was in his brother’s face, up and down the half court, pounding the pavement, the backboard, anything he came in contact with as he trounced one of Michigan State’s most celebrated basketball stars.

Kenny asked him again what was wrong.

Joe insisted nothing was wrong. And he showered and went to bed telling himself the same thing.

Elise was a business partner who’d survived incredible odds.

Her private life was not and never had been any concern of his.

Sleep was elusive.

ELEVEN O’CLOCK and Elise still couldn’t quiet her mind at all. She’d taken a hot bath. Done breathing exercises. She’d watched a sitcom. Tried to read—and to coax her independent housemates out from under the bed.

And then she picked up the phone. It was an hour earlier in Arkansas. He’d be home by now after his evening jog. Turning seventy hadn’t slowed him down a bit.

“Elise! Good to hear from you.”

Standing in the middle of her bedroom, Elise studied herself in the antique free-standing, floor-length mirror. There wasn’t a single visible scar on her face. And her body was almost as beautiful.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late.”

“You are never a bother, my dear. But I hear something in your voice that concerns me. Need to talk?”

He’d know it was why she’d called. Why, after all the years since being his patient, she still called. At least once a month. She’d grown up with Thomas, confided her deepest secrets to him, trusted his advice.

After the death of her family, he’d become her protector.

There’d been a time of despair—of separation—when he’d fallen from his pedestal. He’d published photos of her at the various stages of her plastic surgery. She’d long since forgiven him, though.

Now he was just a man. And a very dear friend, with faults and failings like everyone else.

And he’d created the woman who now stood on expensive carpet in a spacious bedroom in a beautiful old home in Lowell, Michigan.

“I’m pregnant, Thomas.”