so would make it all go away. “This can’t be right.”
“Why not?”
He lifted his eyes to Dana’s. “Because I had a vasectomy. Five years ago.”
Silence stretched between them, painful and suffocating. Until, on a soft little “Oh,” Dana dropped onto the sofa with the baby on her lap.
The baby, C.J. thought, with eyes exactly like his.
But then, lots of babies had blue eyes. Tons of babies. Millions, even.
And somewhere, some deity or other was grinning his—or, more likely her—ass off.
“Wow,” Dana said. “You weren’t kidding about not seeing babies in your future.”
C.J.’s mouth pulled tight. “That had been the plan. But—”
“Oh, geez, sorry to have come down so hard on you. I should have realized … Especially knowing my cousin …” She frowned. “What?”
“I think I need to sit.”
“Uh … sure. Make yourself at home.”
C.J. shoehorned himself into a half-blocked club chair across from the sofa and stared again at the birth certificate. At the letters that formed, of all the crazy things, his name. Yeah, as screwups went, this one was in a league of its own.
He supposed Trish could have been lying, otherwise why wouldn’t she have surfaced sooner? Still, something deep in his gut told him she wasn’t.
“C.J.?”
He let out a humorless laugh, then collapsed back into the chair, meeting her gaze. “You really believe me, don’t you? About Ethan. Not being mine.”
“Um … yeah. Shouldn’t I?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m telling you the truth. But for all you know, I could be some bastard who’d say anything just to get out of accepting responsibility.”
“Are you?”
“A bastard?” he said with a weak smile.
“Trying to duck responsibility.”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, and he hauled in a huge breath.
“The thing is … I’ve been a bad boy.”
She smirked. “I don’t think you want to go there.”
“No, I mean …” He exhaled. “The procedure’s ninety-nine percent effective. About the same as the Pill. Which your cousin told me she was on, by the way. Why are you shaking your head?”
“Trish couldn’t take the Pill, she had bad reactions to the hormones.”
C.J. stared at Dana for a moment, then scrubbed the heel of his hand across his jaw. “I’ll have to get back to you on that piece of information. But as I was saying—”
“Ninety-nine percent.”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a long time. Then: “Bummer.”
In spite of himself, he felt his mouth pull into a smile. “See, I’m supposed to have things checked every so often. To make sure …”
“I get the picture,” she said, flushing slightly. “I take it you—”
“Oh, I did. Every six months for the first two years. No worries, they said.”
“But they were wrong?”
“Well, something sure as hell was.”
She made a funny noise, like a balloon beginning to leak air. “No wonder you look kind of sick. So you really didn’t know?”
His own anger, at Trish, at circumstances, but mostly at himself, erupted. “Of course I didn’t know! How could I know about something that wasn’t supposed to happen, for God’s sake?”
She hauled the baby up onto her shoulder, as if shielding him. “Sorry. I had to ask. Because you’re right. For all I know—which isn’t a whole lot, obviously—maybe you are a master at sidestepping consequences and I’m a fool for believing otherwise.”
“You’re not a fool, Dana. You’re nobody’s fool.”
“Unlike some people in this room,” she said, and he shut his eyes, his head on the back of the chair.
“I suppose I had that coming.”
She snorted softly, then said, “Hold on a minute. Did you tell Trish you’d been … fixed?”
“It didn’t come up. What I mean is,” he said quickly, pushing his head forward to look at her again, “since she volunteered that she was taken care of first, there didn’t seem to be any reason to mention it.”
“Or to use a condom?”
“You know, I think I liked things better when I thought you were a shrinking violet.” She glowered at him. “No, Dana, we didn’t use anything else. Since we’d both recently had insurance physicals, there didn’t seem to be any point. Especially since I thought, oddly enough, we were doubly safe.”
“One chance in a hundred is still pretty slim odds,” Dana said, nuzzling the baby’s soft, flyaway hair, and C.J. forced himself to take a good look at this kid who may well have beaten the odds, just for the dubious honor of being his son. For a moment, the room spun, as though the earth had shifted under his feet.
“Oh, God,” he said on a rush of breath. “What the hell do I know about taking care of a kid?”
Dana had wanted so badly to hold on to her anger, to not feel sorry for the obviously shattered man in front of her. Staying angry with him gave her some focus for her own turmoil, at least. But the shock contorting his features tore her apart. She’d been left with the child, true—but at least she’d always wanted children. C.J., on the other hand, had every reason to feel duped. By everybody.
Still and all, he was a big boy. A big boy who should be more than acquainted with the actions-have-consequences concept by now. Take enough swings at the ball, sooner or later you’re gonna break a window.
Even, apparently, one made out of safety glass.
However, in answer to his question, she now swept one arm out, indicating the disaster-stricken apartment. And herself. “And does this look like the living space of someone who does know what she’s doing?”
“But you’re such a natural with kids.”
A slightly panicked laugh burst from her mouth. “Loving them and keeping them alive are not the same thing. I’m an only child, never had any little siblings or anything to practice on. I never even babysat, because I was too busy being the nerdy straight-A student. So I don’t have anything more to go on than you do.”
“I somehow doubt that,” C.J. said, and there was no mistaking the bitterness edging his words. But now was not the time to pursue it. Especially when he asked, “Why do you think your cousin lied about being on the Pill? Why would she have taken that chance?”
Dana lowered Ethan onto his tummy in the playpen, then sat on the sofa in front of it, laying her cheek on her folded arms across the padded top. “Logic has never exactly been Trish’s strong suit,” she said, watching the baby. “Who knows? Maybe she …” She gulped down the pain. “Maybe she wanted to get pregnant.”
“That’s nuts.”
“No, that’s Trish.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me about the baby, for God’s sake?”
She shifted to look at him. “Because this wasn’t about you, it was about whatever was going on in my cousin’s head at the time. Although those I’d-rather-eat-scorpions-than-become-a-father