A Different Blue(89)

moved through the archway toward a section of the apartment I hadn't yet seen. She called over

her shoulder. “Come with me while I lay Henry down. I didn't get to visit with you today. Your

pieces are selling so well we need to start strategizing about establishing a bigger presence –

more pieces, larger pieces.” Tiffa talked as she walked, and I followed her obediently,

postponing my departure.

Tiffa laid the little boy down, and he sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. He was

completely limp as Tiffa removed his swim trunks. When she sat him up to put on his pajama top

he bobbed and swayed, drunk with sleep. We both laughed, and Tiffa guided him back against the

pillows, kissed him, and pulled a light blanket over his small form.

[page]“Good night, sweet boy,” she whispered as she looked down at him.

I felt like an intruder, a peeping Tom, watching her as she gazed at him.

“Tiffa?”

“Hmm?”

“I'm pregnant. Did you know that?”

“Yes, Blue. I know,” she said gently.

“Did Wilson tell you?”

“He told me when you moved into the little downstairs flat.” The light in the room was dim,

and we both spoke in hushed tones in order to not disturb Henry, but neither of us moved, a

silent acknowledgement that the conversation had taken an intimate turn.

“I overheard your mother and Wilson talking,” I said softly.

Tiffa tipped her head curiously, waiting.

“Your mother was upset.”

“Oh, no,” Tiffa moaned quietly, her shoulders slumping. “What did she say?”

“She told Wilson he shouldn't have brought me here. That it was hard for you.” I wanted to

apologize, but my lingering anger at Joanna Wilson kept me silent. I hadn't tried to hurt

anyone.

“Oh, Mum. She can be such a nitwit . . . and an old-fashioned one at that. I see now why Wilson

was keen to leave. She probably gutted the poor boy.” Tiffa reached out and clasped my hand.

“I'm sorry, Blue. Although I desperately wish I had a baby bump just like yours, you are

welcome in my home, with my brother, any time.”

“Have you been trying to get pregnant?” I asked, hoping I wasn't getting too personal.

“Jack and I have never used birth control, and we enjoy each other immensely, if you know what

I mean. I thought I would have several little Jackie's biting at our ankles by now.” Tiffa

paused and looked at Henry again. “A few years ago, Jack and I saw a specialist. He said our

chances are slim to none . . . and they favor none. But I'm an optimist, and I keep telling

myself it could still happen. I'm only thirty-two. My mum had a difficult time getting pregnant,

and she still managed it a couple of times.”

“Have you ever thought of adoption?” The words tumbled out of my mouth, and my heart begin to

race. I knew what I was going to say next, and it terrified me even as I felt the surety of my

sudden inspiration settle upon me.

Tiffa must have sensed my heightened emotion because she turned toward me, a quizzical look in

her blue eyes.

“Yes,” she answered slowly, drawing out the word as her eyes searched my face. All the nights,

laying awake, considering options, battling insecurities, weighing choices, seemed to coalesce

in this one moment. I stared back, anxious to communicate. Needing her to understand.