Many thanks, for so many things, to the two best writers in the genre today – Cheride and L.M. Lewis.
TAKE A FLYIN' LEAP
by
Owlcroft
Mark McCormick straightened up from dusting the coffee table in the den and crinkled his brow. Who could that be? I didn't hear a car drive up.
Shoving the dust cloth into his back pocket, he jogged up the stairs and opened the front door, to find a petite young blonde woman staring at him hopefully. He noticed her big blue eyes, her winsome smile and her very obvious pregnancy.
"Hi," she said shyly.
Mark peered out at the driveway, then back at the young woman. "Um, hi," he responded doubtfully. "Did you walk here? In your, ah . . . condition?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. My doctor says it's good exercise for me. And I live just down the beach." She gestured vaguely southward. "That way."
"I see. Well, what can I do for you?" McCormick suddenly recalled his manners and held the door open. "Come in? I'm Mark McCormick; if you're looking for Judge Hardcastle, he's out in the garage pretending he knows how to change a spark plug."
She shook her head at him. "No, that's okay. I'm Lisa Vance and I just to need to see Milt for a few minutes." Blushing faintly, she looked toward the garage end of the house. "About my baby's last name."
"Oh. I'll take you to him." Mark closed the door behind him and ushered her down the steps and across the grass toward the garage. "So, you're one of our neighbors. How long have you known the judge?"
"We only met once, about eight months ago. On the beach." She glanced up at McCormick and smiled again. "He was so nice to me, and he looked so distinguished smoking his pipe. We talked for a long time and I've never felt so . . . so close to someone in such a short time."
"Yeah, the judge is like that," Mark grinned back at her. "He tends to get real personal with people right away." They rounded the corner of the garage and he called out, "Hey, Hardcastle! You got a visitor!"
Judge Hardcastle straightened up from the open hood of the truck and turned just as Lisa cleared her throat tentatively and spoke.
"Milt. I need a little help from you."
The judge stared at her, then pointedly at her middle, then back at her face. "Lisa?" he asked.
McCormick felt an almost physical click as his brain finally made the assumption that had been tickling at him for a while. His mouth took over when his mind froze. "I'll . . . leave you two alone, then." And he escaped.
I don't believe it. I do notbelieve it. Automatically, he headed for the beach steps. Not Hardcastle. He wouldn't. His conscious mind seemed frozen, incapable of working logically. One thought pounded at him, over and over. He wouldn't do that.
McCormick reached the bottom of the steps and stood for a moment, undecided, then headed north. There were fewer people in that direction. Come on, not the judge. Think. What's reallygoing on? Well, his thoughts stuttered for a moment, maybe she's looking for a job and wants a reference from him. Okay, that's really stupid. She said it was about her baby's last name, you idiot. Sooo, maybe she just wants to know if she can give the baby her own last name instead of the father's. He stopped abruptly and stared out over the waves. Yeah, sure, he thought disgustedly. And the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus are waiting for me back at the gatehouse.
He dropped tiredly onto the sand and drew up his knees. Clasping his arms around them, he tried to consider the situation rationally. Right. Eight months ago was November. What was going on . . . oh, no. And she even said he was smoking a pipe. I really am an idiot. He was on the beach, smoking that damn pipe because he thought he only had six months to live. He was down here looking for comfort, for . . . for solace, and she came along with those big blue eyes and . . . damn, damn, damn. McCormick rubbed a weary hand over his face and sighed deeply.
Obviously, she never told him, but now the birth's getting close and she's thinking about the kid's last name. Oh, hell. I wonder if she needs money. I wonder if she's got a job . . . a family . . . a home. But he'll do the right thing. He'll take care of the baby and see that she's okay. He straightened suddenly, in shock. But what does thatmean? Will he marry her, just so the kid's not a -- so the kid's legitimate? What is the right thing to do? How responsible is he? I mean, come on, he's human and she was obviously willing, right? But was he taking advantage of her? Who seduced who? Oh, hell.
After a few minutes of circular thinking, Mark shook his head violently. They've both got to be responsible. They're both grown-ups, and it's their . . . situation and it's not even really any of my business. But yes, it is, too. He's my friend and if there's going to be a baby, well, I'll help out any way I can. He had a brief mental image of changing a diaper and shuddered. No matter what, he decided firmly. As long as he takes responsibility for what's happened, we can work through it. He doesn't even haveto marry her, as long as we can make sure the kid has a father figure of some kind.
McCormick stood slowly, brushing sand off his jeans. But how much am I letting my own experience influence me? And what if the judge says he's not gonna be involved with her orthe kid? Suppose . . . nah. Get real, Skid. You knowthe guy. Youknowhow he'll react. And I'm not there to help. What kind of friend do you call that?
Trudging through the dried kelp and driftwood, Mark started back for the beach stairs. But I wish it hadn't happened. Oh, Judge, I wish it had never happened.
ooooo
"Where've you been?" Hardcastle grumbled. He dropped the section of the paper he'd been trying to refold onto his desk and glared at Mark. "I drove Lisa home, and we hadda take the 'Vette because the truck wouldn't start and she wouldn't have fit in the Coyote. Where were ya anyway?"
McCormick picked up the newspaper, folded it correctly and put it back on the desktop. "On the beach. I had to think about things for a while."
"What things? Look, we gotta have dinner a little early, 'cause I'm taking a coupla forms over to Lisa's place later. So, let's get going on that meatloaf." The judge rose and came around the corner of his desk. "You okay? You look a little peaked." He plucked at McCormick's shirt sleeve. "Come on. Some of my meatloaf'll cure anything that ails ya."
Mark followed him to the kitchen, and started setting the small table there as the judge assembled various meatloaf ingredients. He cleared his throat, said, "Judge," then stopped again.
Hardcastle cocked an eyebrow at him. "What's the matter with you, anyway? You're acting even goofier than usual."
"Um," McCormick picked up a paper napkin and began toying with it, "I just wanted to say that, uh . . . I'll be happy to help out . . . I mean, if you need any help or . . . anything . . ." By this time, he was tearing the napkin into careful shreds. "I mean, if you want any help--"
"Yeah, yeah, you can cut up the onion. Here." The judge turned to hand over an onion and a knife. "Little pieces, not like last time." He stared at the devastated napkin and then at McCormick. "Okay. What's going on? Sit." He pointed to one of the chairs. "Talk."
An unhappy Mark sat, scooping small pieces of napkin into a neat pile in front of him. "Well." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, I know you'll do the right thing, the responsible thing, and I don't know if that means marrying her or just letting her live here with the baby or maybe adopting the kid legally or something . . . but I want you to know I'll do whatever needs doing, help out in any way you want. That's all." He stopped talking abruptly and bit his lip.
Hardcastle pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand and held up his left, palm out. "Hold it, hold it. You think Lisa Vance's baby . . . wait a minute. You think--"
"It's okay, judge. She pretty much told me about it. How you met on the beach, you know, when you thought you were gonna die. I understand, really." Mark looked up at the judge tentatively. "I'd have to find out some time, you know."
"You'd have to find out . . .? Oh. Oh, I don't . . ." Hardcastle started to chuckle, the chuckle became a laugh, then a roaring guffaw. "You thought--" the judge held his ribs and laughed some more as McCormick watched in an odd resentful relief. "You . . . hoo, hoo. Oh, oh." He dabbed at his eyes with his fingertips and tried again. "I think I pulled a muscle. Oh, I haven't laughed this hard--"
"Since I tripped and sat in the fountain," interrupted Mark morosely.
"Damn straight," chortled the judge. "You idiot. She said something about her baby's last name, didn't she? Oh, sure." He swiped at his eyes once more, then sat heavily at the table and leaned on his forearms to look at McCormick with affectionate amusement. "Listen up, kiddo. It's a question of whether or not her maiden name can be the baby's middle name with or without a hyphen on the birth certificate. We met on the beach about eight months ago and got talking about stuff, but that's all." He shook his head in disbelief. "She's a happily-married high school algebra teacher and I'm old enough to be her grandfather, for Pete's sake. Okay?"
McCormick sat slumped in his chair, staring at Hardcastle in undisguised chagrin. "That's it? That's all there is to it?"
"Come on, get serious. I mean," the judge grinned a little, "yeah, it's flattering as hell for you to think she might be . . . interested, I guess. But yeah. That's it. How could you possibly believe I'd do something like that, huh?"
"Well, look at when it happened," Mark paused for a moment, then continued, "or didn't happen, I mean. There you were, skipping stones and being, I dunno, easy-going and laid-back and all. You were acting totally unlike the gruff, tough Hardcase Hardcastle I've come to know and . . . get used to," he finished lamely.
The judge snorted at that and picked up a napkin of his own to toy with. "So, you figured I slipped off the straight and narrow because I was mentally traumatized or something. Didn't happen." He folded the napkin into quarters, then carefully unfolded it. "But, you know, it really is kind of flattering that you just assumed I'd do the right thing. Marrying her or adopting the kid or whatever. That's suspiciously close to a compliment, you know."
"Hell, you're the guy who's always preaching responsibility. How could I figure you'd do anything else?" McCormick sighed. "So I was an idiot, but a complimentary idiot, huh?"
Hardcastle nodded. "And you were what . . . offering to be the Permanent Live-In Babysitter or something? I can just see you," he smiled slyly, "getting up for the two o'clock feeding and rocking the baby back to sleep."
"Yeah, well," Mark scowled at him, "I'm good at baby-sitting. I get a lot of practice."
"Hah! That sounds like we're back to normal." The judge put down his napkin and looked across the table seriously. "Look, next time, just don't be so fast to leap to a conclusion, okay?"
Mark stood and brushed the shreds of paper into his palm. "More like a leap of faith," he muttered.
"What?" asked Hardcastle.
"Nothing," McCormick replied lightly. "Where'd that onion go?"
finis