Free Finding Home by Elizabeth Sage Page B

simple
gesture scared me. The last thing I wanted to do was fall in love
with him. But I knew there was a very real chance that I would.
Passionately. After all, I had once before. So what was to stop me
from losing my head again? Maybe I already had.
    “We must have a toast,” Nick said, holding
his glass high. “To Lucienne. We’re glad you came to Malagash, and
we hope you’ll stay.”
    Kiera giggled softly. Her hair had drifted
out of place and she reached up to smooth it back but she only
messed it up more. I thought she was probably quite drunk. “To the
future,” she said, and hiccupped. “We hope you ... we dream you ...
we dream you make our hopes ...” Stifling giddy laughter, she
buried her face in her hands. “Whoops! Not what I meant to say. We
hope you ... oh hell! Just please make our future come true!”
    I looked from Nick to Kiera and back to Nick.
All the arguments for and against having their baby swirled around
in my mind. They taunted and teased me. Then they flickered as
softly as the candlelight and drifted off into the dark Nova Scotia
night.
    My head felt perfectly clear.
    I raised my glass.
    I didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of
me. Not even Jay Williams. Not anymore.
    “To my pregnancy!” I cried. “To our
baby!”

Chapter 8
     
     
    I woke the next morning not hungover but
elated. I felt full of raw energy and eager to begin what I’d
committed myself to. Why delay? The sooner the better, now that I’d
made up my mind. And also because, whether by luck or by fate, my
body was ready, too. I knew I was mid-cycle by the nagging band of
tightness ovulation always stretched around my abdomen. This
coincidence, that the time was right for conception, made me even
more certain I’d made the right decision.
    I lay in bed awhile wondering what it would
be like to be artificially inseminated. Vulgar? Degrading?
Humiliating? Exciting? And how was it actually done? I’d heard of
people using a turkey baster, but surely a doctor would be more
professional? I went downstairs prepared for anything.
    After breakfast Nick put on a big show making
coffee. He’d brought a special dark roast blend of beans from a
gourmet store in Toronto, which he ground and then prepared
Bodum-style with spring water. He served us out on the south patio,
a wide expanse of flagstone off the living room. We sat in white
wicker chairs with puffy chintz cushions which Phoebe had set out
in front of the French doors.
    At any other time I would have been impatient
to explore the splendid gardens bordering the patio. But not that
morning. I didn’t want any new ideas for plantings. The only seeds
I could think of were the human kind.
    Kiera, wearing oversized black sunglasses,
barely spoke. But Nick talked non-stop. Apparently he’d come
prepared, because he just happened to have in hand a contract he’d
already drawn up. But his arrogance didn’t even bother me. I sat
sipping the perfect coffee, relishing the salty sea breeze and
bright September sun.
    “Lucienne?” Nick tapped at my head with his
gold Cross pen. “Hello? You with me?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “What did I just say?”
    “Uh, sorry. No idea.”
    “I was explaining how the adoption would
work.”
    “Oh. Well, whatever you think. You probably
know best, being a lawyer and all.”
    “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?
You seem a little distant.”
    I couldn’t help yawning. “Not at all. But if
we sit here all day discussing the boring details I just might. And
I should tell you I’m mid-cycle today, so let’s get on with
it.”
    “You’re incredible.” Nick shook his head and
grinned at me, his eyes so blue they seemed to reflect the sky.
Skyflakes, I thought, his eyes are like glittery skyflakes. How
romantic.
    Romantic? Absurd was more like it. But, hey.
The whole situation was unbelievable.
    I felt detached from Nick’s discussion of the
legal aspects, almost as if he were talking about someone else. All
that