His Baby Read Free

for some young women wasn't just a cliché. Zack wasn't that much older
than she was, although, looking at him, Diana felt old.
    Of course, some people said she had been born old. Most days
she felt like that way. Diana had been the big sister, in charge of her brother
and sister, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, reading stories, as long as she
could remember. Of course, Ma and Papa were sick too, both of them, first Ma
and then Papa.
    People called it a blessing when he died but Diana didn't
agree, exactly. She wished he’d figured out a way to stick around. She thought
that she might have even been able to figure out a way to get along with a
stepmother if he fell in love again. But Ma and Papa had been so much in love,
so tuned into each other that no one else mattered, certainly not their three
children. The children could take care of themselves.
    Or Diana could take care of them.
    She looked down at Lark, lying on her back, face smooth,
mouth slightly open. She was such a pretty baby, Diana thought. She took care
of Lark now. It had made Robin's loss easier to bear, somehow, fortified Diana
against the sudden loneliness of the house every night. It wasn't fair to Lark,
she thought. After all, although they had lost them early, Donna and Robin and
Carl had both parents in their lives. Lark didn't have any. Oh, she had Donna
and Carl, but it wasn't the same. Maybe Zack wouldn't try, maybe he would run
away, but perhaps Carl was right. They had to give him a chance.
    Donna leaned over to give Lark a kiss on her forehead, then
straightened up to stare out the window for a moment. She was tired and should
probably take a nap, but Carl and Zack were downstairs and-- she turned towards
the door, then caught her breath in surprise. Zack was standing there, watching
her. Her heart began to thud uncomfortably.
    "I'm sorry," he said.
    "You startled me."
    "I can see that." He glanced around the room,
which still bore the faded old wallpaper, cabbage roses and big green leaves,
that Ma and Papa had picked out years ago. An oval rag rug covered most of the
bare wood floor. The rocker was one that Diana had brought up from the living
room but the crib and changing table were modern, strikingly different than the
old room. She stopped taking inventory and looked back at him. He was staring
across to the crib, to Lark.
    He opened his mouth as though to say something but instead
sighed and took a step forward, hesitating as if asking her permission. Diana
nodded. When he had joined her, they turned to face the crib, but after a
moment, Diana stole a look at the man beside her.
    She couldn't tell what he was thinking. A muscle in his jaw
was jumping a little as though he were tensing it and he had crossed his arms
in front of his chest, tucking his hands in as though he were afraid to touch. He
hadn't asked to hold her yet. Diana wondered if he was unwilling to hold her or
if he had never held a baby. She saw him swallow, take a deep breath, and then
look up through the window across the back yard.
    "I didn't know, Diana," he said after a long
moment's silence. "Robin didn't tell me, but I should have guessed."
    "Why?" She settled down in the rocker.
    "She was so upset, distracted."
"She said that the two of you fought a lot, right before the wedding. She--
"
"We didn't fight much, we just didn't really talk. I was so surprised when
she agreed to marry me, I figured I shouldn't push my luck. I had tests to pass
and papers to turn in and interviews to go to." He stood with his hands
crossed, self-contained.
    "But you ended up working for your father." That's
what he had said downstairs.
    "He convinced me I owed him a couple of years. He said
he'd make me a partner in the business if it worked out."
    "You can't turn that down," she said, leaning her
head back against the hard wood of the rocker.
    "I could. I should have," he said bitterly. "I've
tried to please my father my whole life but somehow whatever I do is the wrong
thing. I