Breach of Honor by Naomi Porter
49 Miranda
WHEN I WAS sixteen, I fantasized about falling in love, getting married, and having a baby. I imagined love letters, a traditional church wedding, and a precious baby girl. My dad would walk me down the aisle on my special day, and my mother would cry happy tears. The church would erupt into cheers and clapping when my new husband dipped me for our first kiss as husband and wife.
My fantasy wouldn’t come true because real life was raw, messy, and unpredictable.
The moment I had stepped into the house, I was struck with sadness instead of joy. After months of Will and I being off, we were finally getting back on track. A baby might complicate the progress we were making.
Or drive Will away from me.
At least I knew he wouldn’t run from his child.
What if he thought I’d tried to trap him? The thought had entered my mind not long after Dr. Lee told me I was indeed pregnant.
A baby would bring challenges into my life as well. It wasn’t just about Will and our relationship. How could I care for a baby when I worked so much? How would I get through the day or the week being away from my baby twelve to fifteen hours a day?
My eyes misted as I laid my hand on my stomach… a baby.
I went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Then it occurred to me that a baby could be a good thing… a blessing. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind Will would be a wonderful father. A baby might be the thing we both need to stabilize our busy lives.
And maybe Jason would leave Will alone about going out.
A burst of excitement shot through me. I pulled out some veggies from the fridge and quickly chopped them for stir-fry. I prepped the rice cooker, marinated chicken, and set the table.
Will would be home in an hour. After we ate, we could go for a walk on the beach, and I’d tell him as the sun warmed the sky majestically at sunset.
Or maybe I’d wait to tell him at home in case he wasn’t happy about the baby.
I chewed on the corner of my lower lip, watching the wok heat up. A glass of wine would help calm my nerves. I couldn’t help but smile; no more alcohol because of the baby.
Suddenly, I wanted to dance, sing, and fantasize about the future. I grabbed the remote and pushed play, not caring what song started first. My heart squeezed with emotion when my dad’s favorite Stevie Wonder song started.
The day I was born, my dad sang to me in the hospital. Mom told me how he had cried while holding me, repeating over and over: Isn’t she lovely? That day was the one and only time she’d ever seen him cry. And they had been happy tears.
Could this song be a sign I’m having a girl? I squealed, enchanted by the thought.
As I sang along, swaying my hips from side to side and shimmying my shoulders, I cooked the chicken. I was just about to toss in the veggies when my phone rang. I reached for the remote and turned down the volume, then answered the call.
“Hi, Will!”
“Hey, what are you up to? Is that Stevie I hear?”
“It is! I’m cooking dinner and shaking my ass. You should be here for the show. I think you might like it.”
“Now that’s a show I’d love to see.”
“I’ll be doing an encore performance once you get home. When will you be here?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling…” He quieted, but I could hear the soft tapping through the phone. He was drumming his fingers, I assumed on his desk. “We have a working dinner tonight.”
“We?”
“My dad, grandpa, and Uncle Peter. And… Jason wanted to meet for drinks later.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t go working yourself up. I haven’t seen Jason in a couple of weeks. It’s just a drink.”
“It’s fine. I was just cooking—oh shit, the chicken is sticking to the wok!” I scrambled to scrape it off and added extra oil, but I really didn’t feel like screwing around with it anymore. I removed it from the burner.
“Did you save it?” Will’s voice was low. He sounded guilty, like the other times he’d called to let me know he would be home late.
My gut said the other woman would be meeting them for a drink too.
Shit.
“No. It’s ruined. I’ll munch on the veggies later. Should I wait up for you?”
“Probably not. Don’t you have that breakfast meeting at eight?”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
A tear rolled down my cheek, catching me by surprise. Then another followed. What the hell? “But I don’t usually go to bed before midnight anyway. How late do you plan to be out?” Tension overwhelmed my body, hardening my voice.
“I don’t know. Late. Just don’t wait up for me, all right?”
“Fine! Enjoy your evening! Goodbye, Will.”
“Fuck! Miranda? Miranda?” he yelled into the phone, panic in his voice.
“What?” I could hear his labored breathing. It pissed me off. If he felt awful or guilty about going out, then why in the hell was he? “What, Will? Seems there’s nothing more to say.”
“Make sure to soak the wok overnight.”
“Soak the wok?” A cynical laugh ripped from my lungs. “Soak the wok. That’s what you wanted to say to me? Wow. Don’t worry, Will, I’ll wash the fucking wok right this second!”
I slammed the phone on the counter. My tears dried up, and a fire ignited in my chest. If the other woman was back in Will’s life, what was I to do?
How could he do this to me? To us?
What about the baby?
