The Baby Agenda by Janice Kay Johnson Page A

parking lot.
    â€œIf you have an emergency, do you have someone to call?”
    â€œOf course I do,” she said. “But I don’t expect an emergency.”
    â€œNo.” He had that look on his face, the not-quite-a-frown one. “Four more months.”
    Moira nodded, unlocked her car door and opened it.
    He gripped the top of the door and watched as she got in and put on the seat belt. “I’d like to see you again,” he said quietly. “Before I go.”
    Her throat felt clogged, as if she wanted to cry.
    When she didn’t say anything immediately, his hand tightened until his knuckles turned white. But his voice stayed calm. “You’re not comfortable with me, are you?”
    Breathe in, breathe out. A chance to practice her Lamaze techniques, Moira thought a little hysterically.
    â€œI don’t know why you’re here,” she said. “You can’t possibly want this baby.”
    â€œYou don’t know what I want.” The timbre of his voice had roughened.
    She stared at him fiercely. “Be honest. You were horrified when you got my email.”
    â€œShocked,” Will admitted after a moment. “Yeah, I was. I’ll bet you were, too, when you first suspected.”
    â€œYes.” She had to be honest. Not just shocked: terrified. She wasn’t going to tell him that. “But I do want the baby now. What I don’t want is to…oh, count on you in any way then have you back out. Do you understand? It’s not money, it’s…everything.” She hardly knew what she meant herself. It was dumb to feel so distraught when she didn’t even know why she did. “I don’t want her to count on you if you’re not going to stick it out.”
    His gaze flicked to her belly. “Her? Do you know it’s a girl?”
    â€œNo.” Oh, damn, damn. Her voice was thick, and she would not cry. “I was just…”
    â€œTalking about yourself,” he said softly.
    They stared at each other.
    â€œMaybe,” she whispered.
    Will circled the car door and squatted close to her.
    â€œHave you told your mother yet?”
    Moira bowed her head and saw a tear splash onto her maternity top and soak in. She took an angry swipe at her face. “No. I don’t know why. I…keep putting it off.”
    â€œLike you put off telling me.”
    â€œI’m used to doing things for myself. I’m good at taking care of myself.” It seemed important that she convince him. She didn’t want him feeling guilty in some way.
    â€œI’m not telling you that I need you,” she said, looking fully at him despite a nose that had probably resembled Rudolph’s. “I just want to know. If you’re going to send support checks, that’s great, but then…then don’t comeand see me, and be nice, and…” Crap. Her vision was blurring again and she hated herself. She was doing the absolute last thing in the world she wanted to do, which was laying a guilt trip on him. “No,” she said suddenly. “No, I don’t want to see you again. All right? My hormones are going crazy, and I’m up and down, and I’m confused about you, and I don’t want to see you tomorrow or the next day when you won’t be around again for another six months.”
    Something happened to his face, although she couldn’t see clearly and didn’t want to. She thought it contorted briefly. Then he stood so she couldn’t see it at all.
    â€œAll right.” His voice was low and scratchy. “Thank you for this. For today. Please keep letting me know how you are. Will you?”
    She swallowed and nodded.
    After a moment, he said, “Goodbye,” closed her door and walked away.
    Moira sat with tears running down her face until she saw his pickup drive out of the parking lot and knew he was gone. And she didn’t even know why she felt like her heart was