that presented itself, sobbed softly and hid behind Jon’s back.
This. She had always imagined it to be like this. She tired, happy, content in the bed, and Jon, their baby in his arms, standing by the window, counting his son’s fingers in wonder and gazing into his black eyes.
Only it was not Jon now, with a child and the expression of rapture, but Russ; and it was Solveigh in the bed, eating breakfast and laughing at her new family.
Silently, her heart breaking, Naomi fled back to the lobby.
chapter 9
J on found her outside, on a bench in front of the hospital, where she sat looking out across the bay, nursing a cup of coffee and a cookie.
He didn’t go over to her right away but stood in the shade of the entrance for a moment, watching her. She looked so young in the jeans, and he could have sworn the shirt she was wearing was the same one she had worn when they had met for the very first time. It almost seemed as if no time had passed, as if it was that summer day in Geneva and he again a young musician, naive and excited about his blossoming career, overwhelmed by his success and the fact that he was a girls’ magazine centerfold.
Naomi, his one and only love, and here she sat, her head bowed, the paper cup between her hands like a candle meant as an offering.
“You should have been here.” She made room for him when he sat down beside her. “You had a right to be here and see your son born, and I took that from you. It was my fault.”
The old, well-known pain tugged at his soul. “Yes. Should have, could have. We’ve been over this a million times, Naomi. It’s over and past.” He thought for a moment before he went on. “When Solveigh told me she was pregnant, when she was on the point of leaving Russ because she was afraid of the future, I told her that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. You did what you thought was best when you ran from me in LA; you were scared by the life there and of what was to come. I told you I accept that. Please stop breaking your heart, and mine. I’m happy to have you and Joshua in my life now. It’s way better than not having you at all.”
The wind ruffled his hair. Jon had almost forgotten how beautiful it was here in summer, how every ray of sun seemed like a gift, how the landscape seemed to bloom and blossom with a vengeance in the brief period of warmth. Even the cold waters of the bay looked inviting, frisky, the little white-capped waves like the curls on a baby’s head.
“We could have another child.” He said it carefully, tasting the words on his lips.
A small, sad laugh shook her shoulders. “It’s not as if we are trying to prevent having a baby. It isn’t from the lack of trying. I guess I’m just too old, and too hurt.” She turned his hand over in hers so she could see his narrow wedding band. “You have the right to see a child of yours grow up, Jon. You’re young enough to have another. Maybe…”
“No!” He gripped her fingers hard. “No. Don’t even say it. Don’t you dare say that, Naomi!”
A tear dropped from her cheek, landing on his thumb.
“I will not set you aside for a younger, healthier woman just because she can give me children. There were many who would have loved to do just that, and you know it. Look at me, Naomi. Look at me!” Gently, he dried her face with his fingertips. “I have exactly what I want. I’m in the place I want to be, with the woman I love and my son—my wonderful, talented, and beloved son. I’m a happy man!” A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “And hell yeah, let’s try for another baby. If there isn’t one, at least I’ll have all the pleasure I can think of with you in our bed.”
“Oh, Jon, you’re never serious.” It came out as a tired sigh, a joyless statement.
Jon rose and dusted off his trousers, then held out his hand to her. “Yeah, I’m serious. Can’t you see? I rented a bloody jet, again, to come here to you. Sal had a fit, asked me why I couldn’t
This. She had always imagined it to be like this. She tired, happy, content in the bed, and Jon, their baby in his arms, standing by the window, counting his son’s fingers in wonder and gazing into his black eyes.
Only it was not Jon now, with a child and the expression of rapture, but Russ; and it was Solveigh in the bed, eating breakfast and laughing at her new family.
Silently, her heart breaking, Naomi fled back to the lobby.
chapter 9
J on found her outside, on a bench in front of the hospital, where she sat looking out across the bay, nursing a cup of coffee and a cookie.
He didn’t go over to her right away but stood in the shade of the entrance for a moment, watching her. She looked so young in the jeans, and he could have sworn the shirt she was wearing was the same one she had worn when they had met for the very first time. It almost seemed as if no time had passed, as if it was that summer day in Geneva and he again a young musician, naive and excited about his blossoming career, overwhelmed by his success and the fact that he was a girls’ magazine centerfold.
Naomi, his one and only love, and here she sat, her head bowed, the paper cup between her hands like a candle meant as an offering.
“You should have been here.” She made room for him when he sat down beside her. “You had a right to be here and see your son born, and I took that from you. It was my fault.”
The old, well-known pain tugged at his soul. “Yes. Should have, could have. We’ve been over this a million times, Naomi. It’s over and past.” He thought for a moment before he went on. “When Solveigh told me she was pregnant, when she was on the point of leaving Russ because she was afraid of the future, I told her that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. You did what you thought was best when you ran from me in LA; you were scared by the life there and of what was to come. I told you I accept that. Please stop breaking your heart, and mine. I’m happy to have you and Joshua in my life now. It’s way better than not having you at all.”
The wind ruffled his hair. Jon had almost forgotten how beautiful it was here in summer, how every ray of sun seemed like a gift, how the landscape seemed to bloom and blossom with a vengeance in the brief period of warmth. Even the cold waters of the bay looked inviting, frisky, the little white-capped waves like the curls on a baby’s head.
“We could have another child.” He said it carefully, tasting the words on his lips.
A small, sad laugh shook her shoulders. “It’s not as if we are trying to prevent having a baby. It isn’t from the lack of trying. I guess I’m just too old, and too hurt.” She turned his hand over in hers so she could see his narrow wedding band. “You have the right to see a child of yours grow up, Jon. You’re young enough to have another. Maybe…”
“No!” He gripped her fingers hard. “No. Don’t even say it. Don’t you dare say that, Naomi!”
A tear dropped from her cheek, landing on his thumb.
“I will not set you aside for a younger, healthier woman just because she can give me children. There were many who would have loved to do just that, and you know it. Look at me, Naomi. Look at me!” Gently, he dried her face with his fingertips. “I have exactly what I want. I’m in the place I want to be, with the woman I love and my son—my wonderful, talented, and beloved son. I’m a happy man!” A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “And hell yeah, let’s try for another baby. If there isn’t one, at least I’ll have all the pleasure I can think of with you in our bed.”
“Oh, Jon, you’re never serious.” It came out as a tired sigh, a joyless statement.
Jon rose and dusted off his trousers, then held out his hand to her. “Yeah, I’m serious. Can’t you see? I rented a bloody jet, again, to come here to you. Sal had a fit, asked me why I couldn’t
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