Baby Boy

During the flight to Boston I tried to keep myself amused with the latest copy of 'People' magazine. As I flipped through the pages it occurred to me that all of the people inside were just the same as me. With the exception that they were all rich and powerful but they had the same hurts as the rest of us. As dazzling and exciting as their lives were, they all cried the same salty tears and had the same rejections as the normal population had accept that their problems were widely televised and wrote about in every newspaper and magazine known to man.

That had to be the worst part about it. If my husband cheated on me with the executive producer of his show, I sure as hell wouldn't want to read about it in the news. My thoughts turned to my son's and what an article they would make. 'One brother impregnates the other's wife.' I could see it now. Wow, I was glad that we weren't famous.

I set the magazine into the small pocket on the back of the seat in front of me and folded my hands in my lap. I glanced out the window and wished that I could just fly away from all of my troubles into a land where there was no pain or hurt or betrayal. That was me; forever wishing for something that would never be.

I felt guilty about the fight that Bosco and I had and I knew that I would feel that way until I saw him face to face again. Funny how these things would embed themselves in my conscious and unconscious thoughts until I felt my stomach seize and turn over. I hated fighting with the only man that I had ever truly loved. I knew he was hurting the same as I was but I still felt that he should have come with me. He and I were partners for better or worse, and that included the raising of our children and all that went on with them. And as much as I hated to admit it, and that was why I rarely did, the thought did occur to me that it really wasn't my business unless one of the children brought me into it. In this case, Brett had asked. And so, I was going to see if I could be of assistance to my son and daughter-in-law.

I just hoped that I didn't run into my second son, for fear that I could grab him by the ear and bend him over my knee and let him know just how awful he had been. I desperately hoped that Mikey had come home and was going on with his life. He wasn't needed at the hospital or anywhere near Brett or Carly. Cath was due any day and Bosco and I had both promised to come over to visit as soon as she felt ready. Anger burned in my heart, wondering how a child that had come from my body could act so cruel and unkind. I really didn't know what I'd do if I saw him. I prayed that I wouldn't have to figure it out.

The plane landed uneventfully and I grabbed my carry-on and walked up the ramp and through the small corridor, into the main area. I could see Brett standing on the outside of the glass wall because he had to have a ticket in order to get into the room that the other passengers were in. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a navy blue polo shirt. His expression was grim but his eyes lit up a bit when he saw me. He had on a pair of blue Nike sneakers and a blue and red Boston Red Socks baseball cap, with a small lock of his blond hair peeking out from beneath. It had been a while since I had saw him so casual. He still had a wonderful build with his shapely chest and wide shoulders. I noticed how just about every female passerby looked at him, some coyly and some not so much. He had about four or five days growth on his handsome face but that only made him more handsome. I could see the blond stubble on his perfectly shaped jaw.

I missed the days when he was small and counted on me for everything. Those days were gone.

I came though the door and quickened my steps, a kind of desperate anxiousness to finally see him in person. It had been months since I had saw him last and I noticed how thin he had become as I grabbed him into a hug. I could also smell weed on his shirt, something for which I never thought he would go for.

"Hey ma. Thanks for comin'." He said gruffly, pulling away from me and not really looking me in the eye.

"Hi."

He looked around wistfully in the direction that I had come from. "Where's dad?"

I put my head down and let my hair fall in front of my eyes, thus concealing my true feelings. "He's...he had to stay home and look out for Little Faith. He's sorry he couldn't make it." I lied.

"Ma..."

I looked up. His eyes narrowed as he looked me over critically.

"I know he didn't stay home to look after Little Faith. I called dad an hour ago. He told me exactly what he thought of you coming here and why he didn't want to have anything to do with it."

He had checked up on me to see if I would lie. Round one lost.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he grabbed my carry-on and started to walk away. "I don't blame him. I don't want to be in this situation either." He grumbled as we made our way through the airport.

I had to practically run in order to keep up with his long strides. He didn't say another word to me until we had hopped into a cab. I was desperately trying to figure out what I was going to say to him

It wasn't until we were safely on our way that he spoke to me and actually looked me in the eye. I turned sideways so I could get a real good look at him. He looked tired, really tired and his eyes were bloodshot...maybe that was the weed or maybe he hadn't been sleeping...I couldn't tell. His eyes looked bluer as the lights of the city flashed into the cab.

"Ma, thanks for comin. I know this is hard for you and it's harder for us...but thanks in advance." He said quietly.

I reached over and squeezed his hand lovingly. "It's okay baby. I'm glad to be here. It will be a real nice thing for me to be there when this baby arrives."

"Ya. Another grandchild only this one wasn't wanted." He said matter-of-factly. "And one that will forever remind me about my wife's infidelity and my brother's betrayal. Great way to have a kid." He looked away from me and out the window. He tried to pull his hand away but I tightened my grip on him.

"Brett, I know that this is killing you inside and I'm so sorry for Mike and for Carly and everything....I just want you to know that running away isn't going to fix how you feel." I said softly.

He didn't respond.

I took that as an encouraging gesture and continued on. "Honey, do you think that you'll be hurting less when you're in Japan? Do you think that the memories will go away? Please think about it before you leave."

When he turned to me again his blue eyes were full of unshed tears, the pain accentuated within those orbs, making my heart tear and bleed just a little more for what had happened.

He leaned over a bit and looked hard at me and strait in the eye, making sure I understood what he was about to say clearly, very clearly. I could smell the sweetness of his cologne mixed with the contraband substance and at that moment he looked so small and helpless and pitiful. He really couldn't deal with what had happened between Carly and Mike-but who could blame him for it? I sighed as I prepared myself for what he wanted to say.

"Ma- Don't think for one minute that I think going away will make it better. I won't ever forget what he did to me. I will never accept that kid as my own. Never. So don't even try. Mike is welcome to it. Hell, I wish she'd had an abortion."

I felt my heart flip flop at the mention of ending a pregnancy in such a heinous way. I was a firm believer that abortion was nothing but murder. Plain and simple. After many years of hearing about it and learning about it, I had totally changed my mind about the whole thing after seeing pictures of fetus's in garbage cans, their heads and legs and arms ripped off. Who ever passed the law's would surely be burning in hell when they died. I sighed. If no one was going to stand up for the rights of the unborn, who would? And what makes a woman have the right to chose to kill her own child? And I had done the same thing when I was with Fred. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't ask God to forgive me for my sins.

"Don't say that! Don't you dare say something like that. That baby is still your flesh and blood you know it! And nothing, nothing makes it right to kill your own child. I don't care what the circumstances are!" I flared hotly, releasing his hand and putting mine back in my own lap.

I hadn't even seen him for five full minutes and here we were, arguing, when I wanted to be friends.

"Ma..times have changed. It's not murder. It's not even a person until it's born, so don't get all hysterical on my ass about it. I don't care what happens to that baby. I hate it already. I've hated it since the moment she told me that it wasn't mine." He said so coldly and matter-of-factly, that it sent chills down my spine. He truly didn't have one sympathetic bone in his body towards this innocent baby.

"I'm not getting into this with you, Brett. I know what I know and I've done research on it and I've seen the pictures and I have read stories about woman who spend the rest of their lives wondering about the baby that they aborted–"

"Pleeze...ma...just give it a rest." He ordered me. "I don't care about any of that. You're here to be with Carly. She asked for you since her own mother couldn't be here...so please just concentrate on the task at hand. Can you do that for me?" He asked patronizingly, like he was talking to a small child.

I narrowed my eyes and turned to look out my window for a moment. Anger, like a tidal wave, was building up inside my stomach. I clenched my teeth for a minute and clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

It wasn't that he was speaking to me disrespectively that bothered me the most. It was the apparent lack of love or feeling or anything accept coldness, that had taken over my third son and made him into someone that I didn't know– at all. I realized that I really didn't know either of my sons. Not having been around Brett for years, I hadn't realized the depth of his nastiness and his cold rebuking words and I actually wondered how Carly had put up with him for so long– or had he just turned like this after the betrayal? Either way, I wasn't putting up with it anymore. I had listened to his rudeness and his callous words, his nasty looks, his yelling and his lying for too long. I had had it.

I turned back to him, my own eyes flashing in anger. When I wanted to, I could have a pretty good way with words. I flicked my eyes toward the front of the cab and saw our driver watching us through the mirror. You couldn't really blame him for listening, we were in his cab discussing our family business. I turned back to Brett, who was looking out the window and ignoring me.

"Brett–"

I breathed in through my nostrils and clenched my teeth together again. "Brett, look at me." I demanded.

When he didn't, I reached over and grabbed his ear and turned his head toward me, roughly.

"What the hell–" He began.

"You listen to me." I said viciously, looking him strait in the eye, my words coming from between my barred teeth. "I am your mother–you got that?"

I waited for him to answer. He nodded, while trying to release himself from my painful grip. I tightened my fingers on his ear and leaned in closer. His eyes widened.

"You do not speak to me like that–do–you–understand?"

"Ma...listen..." He spat back, embarrassed that his mother had him by the ear. It was embarrassing!

"NO–you listen and listen good because I've had about all I'm gonna take from you. I'm here for you! For you! You call me up and ask me to come to you and I hopped on a plane as fast as I could to get to you and this is how I'm treated? Like I'm interfering with your life? You Called me! Remember that and for the record–it broke my heart and your fathers heart to know what Mike and Carly did you to...your father cried...do you know that? Cried over how hurt you were and you're acting like a real asshole right now. I am so sorry for what happened to you, but I will not, I repeat, will not listen to you talking to me like I'm a child, when in fact, it is YOU who are acting like a child in this situation—"

"I'm not—" He practically yelled, slapping my hand from him and shooting me a hateful look and scooted closer to his side of the cab. "I'm SORRY! I know you're here to help..but you're in my business and you're lecturing me about everything...don't you think I know everything you're tellin me? I know!" He spat. "I know! But do you think that makes it any easier?" He questioned me.

I didn't answer.

"Do you?" He asked again, his eyes about full to overflowing with tears. "Do you think it makes it easier for me when I know that my wife has slept with my brother? Do you think that if I could block it from my memory that I wouldn't? I've loved Carly for my entire life. I love her so much it hurts...physically hurts. I can't get over what happened. I can't do it. So, tell me, what can I do? Stay with her and watch her with my nephew or niece? Pretend that I love this kid that is responsible for ruining my marriage? If she'd only have gotten rid of it this wouldn't be happening."

"The baby isn't responsible for this! Brett, get your head on! It isn't the baby's fault..it's Mikes and Carlys but not that baby's----" I began.

The cab came to a lurching stop outside of Brett's building. Before I could say anymore he had paid the cab driver and got my bags out of the trunk and we were proceeding upstairs to the apartment. How nervous I was thinking about what I'd say to Carly when I saw her. My stomach did a million flip flops as we walked up the narrow carpeted stairway to the second floor where they lived.

He stopped outside of the door and inserted the key and turned the lock. He stepped back to allow me to pass through first and then stepped inside and shut and locked the door. They really did have a beautiful apartment, I thought to myself as I stared at the cozy livingroom and kitchen before me. It was a pretty big apartment that had french doors opening up to a balcony that looked out over the busy city street. They had decorated tastefully and quite in context for two literary students like themselves.

Tall cherry wood bookcases lined one wall, filled to capacity with all kinds of books. There was a forest green couch and love seat along with a matching chair in the middle of the room with a dark pine coffee table in between them. There were magazines on the top of the coffee table along with two pictures in small frames. Even from a distance I could tell that one of them was Sasha and the other was a picture of Brett and Carly with their arms around one another.

I felt a flash of sorrow pass through me as I looked at my dead friend's picture, smiling up at me, her eyes sparkling and happy. Oh, Sasha, I miss you so.

It was especially difficult to deal with the situation before me when I didn't have my best friend to confer with. Sasha had been the only female that I had become friends with. I wasn't the female bonding type until I met her. We did everything together. Raised our kids together, went shopping, talked on the phone until three in the morning when something was wrong. Even though it had been months since her death, seeing her picture in the apartment of her daughter brought familiar sadness to my heart. I missed her so much it hurt to look at the picture.

Ty had been missing Sasha so much that he was now a daily drinker. He never came over to our house anymore and only went out when he had to. Now that Carly was back in Boston, he didn't have anyone to tell him to get out of bed, to stop drinking himself to death, to eat, to do anything. Tyrone and his girlfriend were too busy raising their son Elijah to be able to spend any amount of real time with Ty and I think that made it worse. And with the news about Carly being pregnant by Mikey, it sent him further and further into his own world. He even refused to discuss the situation with Bosco unless he was drunk, which was most of the time. Thank heavens for Bosco, Ty's one true friend.

Just thinking about my husband made me feel guilty again for the way I had left things. I made a mental note to call him as soon as I could and apologize for my rudeness and insensitivity. I took off my sweater and draped it over the back of the couch and then took off my shoes and set them neatly on the shoe rack beside the door.

Brett kicked off his sneakers and proceeded down the hall, to what I had to presume was his and Carly's bedroom. I took a seat on the couch, tired from my trip and all the emotional tension that had become mine and gazed around at the kitchen area.

There was a round wooden table with four chairs by the large window that was covered by lacy white curtains. The appliances looked shiny and new and the entire place actually looked like it wasn't even lived in. The only thing that gave it away were the two photographs on the coffee table, otherwise the place looked like a bed and breakfast.

"Where's Carly?" I called from my seated position.

He either didn't hear me or just plain ignored my question. I sat back on the couch and swung my legs and propped them up on the coffee table. I was getting so tired that I felt my eyes willing themselves to shut and let me seek the oblivion that comes from being asleep.

A few minutes later Brett came back down the hall and into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses. He was wearing a pair of green pajama bottoms and a white Harvard t-shirt. He made his way over to the love seat and sat down heavily. He opened the wine and poured some in a crystal goblet and handed it to me and then poured one for himself.

"Where's Carly?" I asked again as I took a small sip, wondering if she were asleep or if I should go down to the bedroom and say hello.

He glanced up at me and nodded his head a bit and took a large gulp of the wine and then refilled the glass to the top and took another drink of that. He was obviously fortifying himself for whatever was to come. Nervously, I sat waiting for him to speak. In the silence all I could hear was the tick, tick, ticking of the red clock on the wall next to the couch. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke again.

He set his goblet down on the coffee table and leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, lacing his fingers together and looked hard at me. "Ma– I have to tell you something that I couldn't tell you before now." He set his jaw squarely and squinted his eyes.

I sucked in my breath and waited. "Okay, what is it?"

"Carly isn't here." He began. "She's–"

I sat forward and brought my legs down and set them firmly on the floor. "Where is she?" I asked suspiciously.

He licked his bottom lip and looked down at the floor. "She's in the hospital. She wasn't feeling well a few days ago and she started having pains in her stomach and she went to her doctor and he admitted her." He glanced up to look at me for a moment before continuing. "Anyway, she was in labor for quite a few hours before she was admitted and------"

I felt a wash of anger and surprise come over me. I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. "You mean she's been in the hospital for days? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't we go strait over there? Shouldn't someone be there for when she delivers so she doesn't have to be by herself?' I fired my questions one after the other, not giving him a chance to answer.

"Ma...she doesn't need anyone there."

"What? How can you say that? Every woman needs someone there to comfort her and be with her–"

"She doesn't need anyone because–"

I stood up and shook my head at him, utterly disgusted at his attitude. "What kind of man are you, Brett Boscorelli? I didn't raise you to be some pigheaded — "

In a flash he was up from his seated position, standing inches from me, his temper starting to fail him, and he was looking quite like his father at that moment and all I could think about was that this child had come from someone else's womb, because I certainly hadn't raised him to be like this!

'She doesn't need anyone there because she already had the baby two days ago. She had a boy. His name is Davis Monroe Boscorelli" he said angrily, saying the name with such disdain it chilled me, dropping the bomb with a huge splash, making me feel sick and confused and dazed all at the same time. He had deliberately lied to me, to everyone.

I felt my legs become like two sticks of butter as I sank slowly back down onto the couch. My head began to pound unmercifully and I had to suppress the urge to run to the bathroom and empty myself into the toilet. I reached up and touched my forehead. It was incredibly hot but my hands were clammy. Brett followed suit and sat back down and refilled both of our glasses and handed one to me. I don't even remember drinking it now. All I could think was this couldn't be happening...it couldn't be happening.

But it was.