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His gaze slid to Bridget, then skipped to Jim sitting beside her, but there was no outward reaction, except a kind of resignation. Bob sat a can of beer in front of him and Evelyn passed him some hot dogs and chips. The conversation became general again.
Jonas had finished the first hot dog and picked up the second when a loud ringtone sounded, coming from where the cars were parked. He breathed in deeply and set the sandwich on the paper plate.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising tiredly to his feet and stepping over the bench.
He walked to his car as the ringtone blared a second time. Bridget watched him discreetly, her heart aching oddly at his lack of vitality, something that had always been so much a part of him. Leaving the car door open, he sat sideways in the driver’s seat. A second later she saw him flip open a cell phone and listen intently to whoever was talking.
“Let’s start clearing up this mess,” Connie suggested as she pushed up the sleeves of her sweater.
“We’ll get out of your way,” Bob laughed.
“You could help,” Evelyn told him.
“We could,” he admitted and grinned as he and the rest of his buddies hastily did the right thing, not caveman enough to leave the women with the dirty work.
Jonas returned a few minutes later, wearily rubbing his forehead. The plate with his food had been left on the table, but he didn’t walk back to it. Instead he wandered to where the men had gathered and leaned a shoulder against a tree a few feet away, a part of the group yet aloof.
“Bridget,” Evelyn spoke quietly, looking at Jonas with faint concern, “why don’t you take his plate over to him? He doesn’t look as if he’s had a decent meal in days.”
Bridget agreed, but she hardly wanted to be the one to point it out to him. She hesitated for a second, unable to find an adequate reason to refuse. Finally she nodded and picked up the plate, walking quietly over to where he stood.
“Jonas,” she murmured his name, and he turned. His gray-green eyes looked at her, yet his gaze was unfocused. It was as if he was looking right through her. She held out the plate. “You didn’t finish.”
He glanced at it and looked away. “I’m not hungry.”
“I admit it doesn’t look too appetizing now. The meat is cold, but you really should eat something,” Bridget persisted in a calm tone.
“Probably,” he agreed indifferently and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and chin. “I forgot to shave,” he said absently.
“You also forgot to eat. Please, Jonas.” She offered the plate to him.
His gaze shifted to meet her, held it for a second, then looked at the plate. Straightening from the tree, he took the plate from her hand. Bridget waited, guessing that the moment she turned her back he would set it down or dump it in the nearest garbage can. He eyed the hot dog, then unexpectedly and roughly shoved the plate back in her hands.
“Jonas—” Bridget started to protest.
“I lost the baby,” he declared in a low, angry voice.
“Oh!” she breathed in sharply.
“She was premature, an ounce over two pounds,” he explained gruffly. “We did everything we could. The hospital didn’t have a neonatal ICU and there wasn’t time to fly the mother to a hospital that did. We couldn’t save her baby.”
Bridget could sense his frustration, his feeling of helplessness when he felt he should have been able to do something. She wanted desperately to offer him some kind of comfort.
“I’m sure you did everything you could, Jonas.” The trite phrase came automatically to her lips.
“Yes.” His mouth twisted as he continued staring off into space. “But it wasn’t enough, was it?” he murmured rhetorically. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes for a second. When they opened, the brilliant fire in his gaze was focused on her. “I had to tell someone. I don’t know, for the life of me, why I chose you. You don’t care.”
“What?” His words were like a stinging slap, the pain intensified by the step he took away from her. Her fingers touched his forearm to stop him.
“That isn’t true, Jonas,” she denied tightly. “I do care.”
He studied her upturned face. “Yes, but not the way I mean. Excuse me.” And he walked away from her light hold.
Bridget watched him join the men and saw him refuse Bob’s offer of another can of beer. There was a lump in her throat as she walked back to the picnic tables. She swallowed it hurriedly at Evelyn’s frowning look.
“He wouldn’t eat?” she asked.
Bridget shook her head. “He said he wasn’t hungry and I couldn’t persuade him he should eat anyway.” She guessed that Jonas didn’t want the party spirit dampened with the explanation for his brooding mood. She would have to keep silent about the loss of the baby.
