His Perfect BabyA Miracle Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I have a lot of regrets. I don’t think I’ve been the best mother. Every spare moment I have, I spent it with Max, but more and more over the last few years I’ve been leaving the house and researching what happened that night. I have no friends, no lovers, nothing. All because of my single-minded desire to save the man that I love.

  And now he’s here. I feel like I should be happy. All my hard work paid off, I actually won. I found the right PI at the right time and gave him all the information he needed to crack this thing open. I saved Luke, he’s free because of my tenaciousness.

  And yet I don’t feel good about it. In fact, I’m embarrassed about how obsessed I was. Barely eating, barely showering, spending late nights on the internet researching the most arcane and absurd things, trying to find any loophole in the law. I called hundreds of lawyers, bugged so many people. My parents threatened to kick me out more than once if I didn’t stop, but I just got better at hiding it.

  I’m afraid Luke will be angry. Not that I got him out, but that I sacrificed so much to do it. I gave myself entirely and completely. Even though I didn’t contact him, I also never let him go, not for a second.

  I feel like a crazy person. I did this good thing for him, and yet I’m terrified of him finding out about it. I’ve done so much, so why can’t I just tell him the truth?

  “When are you going to see him?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

  “Not sure,” he admits. “Sometime soon, I think.” He sighs and looks over at me. “You okay?”

  I glance back at him. “Uh, yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

  He looks at me quietly for a second. I’m afraid he can see right through me, that he can tell I’m hiding something. Instead, he just smiles at me.

  “Can I see some pictures of Max?” he asks.

  “Of course.” I pull out my phone and scoot closer to him, happy to change the subject.

  We scroll through my photos app, which is basically full of Max. He’s quiet as we go through it, and I do all the talking. I tell him about Max’s life, his first words, the first time he walked, the first time he fell down and hurt himself, the first time he smiled. I tell him as much as I can as we go through the pictures.

  He reaches out and touches my hand. “Stop,” he says softly.

  I look at him, surprised.

  “Okay,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just… I don’t know him.”

  “Of course not. You’ve never met.”

  “But he’s my son. Shouldn’t I feel that?”

  I laugh softly. “No, I mean, not yet at least. You need to see him first. You’ll feel it then.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “The two of you are really similar.” I smile to hide how painful that actually is. Max has been a little reminder of Luke these past four years. “You look the same obviously. The same color eyes. But he’s stubborn like you. Other little things too.”

  “Like what?”

  I scrunch up my face. “It’s just the way you talk. I can’t explain it.”

  “So I act like a four-year-old?”

  I laugh. “Exactly.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. I do love Legos.”

  “He does too.”

  “And Star Wars.”

  “Loves Chewbacca.”

  He grins at me. “Okay. Maybe this kid isn’t half bad.”

  “He’s your son,” I say softly. “He’s half of each of us. I think you’ll get along with him. I hope so at least.”

  “Does he want to meet me?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t told him you’re back yet.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t?”

  “It’s not an easy thing to do. He’s young. But I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay.” He goes silent and looks back up at the sky. I realize we’re sitting very close to each other, shoulders touching, but I don’t move away. I put my phone in my pocket and I lean into him, letting myself feel it for the first time, really feel it.

  He’s real, and he’s home. I’ve been dreaming of this, just sitting next to him. There were nights when I would have given anything just to hear his voice, just to feel his hand against mine.

  He looks down at me. “You should probably get back soon,” he says softly.

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  He doesn’t go to move. “It’s familiar.”

  “What is?”

  “This.” He nods at me. “Sitting with you.”

  “I didn’t forget,” I say softly.

  “No, I didn’t either.” He looks away from me again. “There were nights I wanted to, but I never did.”

  “Luke…”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I get it. I’m not angry. You did what you had to do to survive.”

  I bite my lip again. “Yeah,” I say. “For me and Max.”

  “I wish I could have helped you, in those early years.”

  “Me too, but my parents were there.”

  He laughs softly. “Your mom and dad change a lot of diapers?”

  “None. Thomas did, though.”

  He looks surprised. “Really?”

  “Really. Well, at first. And then he stopped when Max started eating solid food.”

  He pauses a second. “Why?”

  “Think about it.”

  It takes him a moment but he laughs. “Oh, gross.”

  “Yep. That’s being a parent.”

  “I won’t pretend like I’m not at least a little happy I missed the diaper changing phase.” He hesitates a second and looks at me. “He is potty trained, right?”

  “Right,” I say, smiling. “He’s four.”

  “I have no clue what four-year-olds are like.”

  “You’ll find out.” I put my hand on top of his and he takes it, squeezing.

  We sit like that in silence for a few minutes until finally he lets go. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  He slides off the rock and helps me down. We walk side-by-side back through the woods toward the road. When we get to the streetlight, he stops just out of range of the glow.

  “I shouldn’t go further,” he says. “Don’t want to risk you getting seen with me.”

  “Okay,” I say, and stand there awkwardly for a second. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “See you.” And without another word, he stalks off, back into the forest.

  I stand there for a moment before I head back home. My mind is whirling from that meeting, my body full of conflicting emotions.

  I want him again, so badly it hurts. Every time he looks at me or touches me, it drives me nuts. But I’m terrified he’ll find Jason Slick and learn what I did to help free him. I don’t even know why I’m so afraid of him knowing, but I’m convinced he’ll be angry. I don’t want to risk whatever I have with him. It feels so tenuous, like we’re hanging on by a gossamer thread.

  I keep my head down as I walk, my emotions pouring out of me in all directions. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight.

  9

  Luke

  I sit outside of The Miller, my car idling, looking across the street at the trees crawling up a short hill. I’m waiting for the paper mill’s whistle to blow, indicating a shift change. It’s almost six, so it should be any second.

  The paper mill empties out after a shift change, and most guys come here. The Miller used to be called something else, but they changed it to Miller when they realized that it’s mostly just mill guys coming every day. It’s an unofficial thing, but it’s just what guys do in this town. They work hard, grab a few drinks, and then head home.

  I need to find out who bribed Ron the night clerk. There are only so many people in this town that could possibly afford to do something like that, and I figure the Walkers and the Sellers are the prime suspects. That means the guys who work for them just might know who I’m looking for.

  It’s probably a long shot, but I
might as well try. The whistle blows suddenly, forcing me to sit upright. I kill the truck engine and head inside before the rush starts, posting up at one end of the bar. I order a beer and hunch forward, sipping it and keeping to myself.

  The place slowly fills up. Mill guys all look alike, or at least they do to me: worn down, beaten up, eyes sunken in, bodies broken. They all dress in the same work clothes, jeans and dirty shirts, and their fingers are always stained. I have nothing against mill workers, they’re hard-working guys doing a hard job to support their families. No, I have something against the town that forces them all into the mill. There are barely any other opportunities in this place, and if you’re staying, you’re probably working in the paper mill.

  I watch as the guys filter in, and about ten minutes after the whistle blew, the place is packed. I sip my drink and try to decide how I’m going to do this.

  Before I can make a move, though, one of the guys sitting near me makes eye contact. He’s an older guy, probably in his forties, needs a shave and a haircut, sharp nose, brown eyes, and clearly recognizes me.

  “You’re that kid,” he says suddenly.

  I look at him. “Depends which one.”

  “The one that just got outta prison.”

  I shrug. “That’s me.”

  “Holy shit. Hey, Alex! Check this out!” He grabs the guy next to him and makes him turn toward me. “This is that kid that was in jail for the murder he didn’t do.”

  Alex is about the first guy’s age, though thinner with sharper features. “That right, Mick?”

  “That’s right. Tell him.” Mick motions at me.

  “I’m him.” I give them a bashful grin. “How about I buy you guys some drinks, huh?”

  “Oh, shit, listen to that. The kid wants to buy us drinks,” Mick says, laughing.

  “Hell, no, kid. We’ll buy you drinks. Hey, Tara!” Alex waves down the bartender. “Get us a pitcher, whatever beer he’s drinking.”

  “You got it.” The bartender walks off and returns a minute later with the beer.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say.

  “Hell, least we can do,” Alex says. “Five years of your life. And you’re just a fucking kid.”

  “How’d it even happen?” Mick asks, shaking his head. “It’s such a damn shame.”

  “The fucking cops, that’s how,” Alex says. “Right, man? What’s your name again?”

  “Luke,” I say.

  “Damn cops,” Alex continues. This sounds like a topic he’s familiar with. “Always busting you for shit you didn’t do.”

  “In your case, you usually did it,” Mick says.

  Alex ignores him. “That’s what happened to you, kid. Fucking cops needed to blame someone. You got stuck with it.”

  “Didn’t people say they saw you?” Mick asks me.

  “They did,” I say.

  “Damn, fucking shame,” Mick says, shaking his head.

  “Cops spooked ‘em,” Alex says.

  “Maybe,” I answer.

  I let the two of them go off about how much they don’t like the police. I get the sense that both Mick and Alex have had their fair share of run-ins with the law, and from the way they’re drinking, I suspect they usually deserved it. I don’t even touch the pitcher before it’s empty and they order a second one.

  “What’re you doing back in town anyway, kid?” Mick asks me. “If I were you, I’d be long gone.”

  “This is my home,” I say. “My uncle has a garage here. I’m working there.”

  “Got a job, that’s good,” Alex says. “You ever need something else, maybe something at the mill, you come find us.”

  Mick grins at me. “We’re here most days.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and hesitate. “Actually, there is something.”

  “Anything, kid. Damn shame what happened to you,” Alex says, leaning toward me.

  “I’m looking for a guy. Might work at the mill.”

  Alex and Mick look at each other. Mick looks back at me. “A lot of guys work at the mill,” he says carefully.

  “This one owes my uncle some money. Not a lot, not a big deal, but I gotta try and ask him for it. You know? Part of my job.”

  They seem to accept that, and Mick softens a bit. “Sure, sure kid. I get you. What’s his name?”

  “I don’t have a name. My uncle said he used a fake.”

  “Damn,” Mick says. “Dishonest.”

  “Bet he’s a cop,” Alex grumbles.

  “He’s bald,” I say. “Kinda tall. With a tattoo on his wrist. Darker skin, not black, but like Hispanic or something.”

  “Huh,” Mick says. “That sounds like Dominic.”

  That comes out so quickly and he instantly looks like he regrets saying it. I raise an eyebrow and glance at Alex, but he avoids looking at me. Suddenly, his drink is really interesting.

  “Who’s Dominic?” I ask Mick.

  “Uh, ah, forget it,” he says. “I shouldn’t have, you know.”

  “Does he work with you guys?” I press.

  “He’s just this guy, you know? Hispanic guy. Puerto Rican, I think. Got a sun tattoo on his wrist.”

  “What’s he do at the mill?” I ask.

  Mick looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Security for Mr. Walker.”

  I nod my head, heart pounding. Mick looks like he’s sweating all of a sudden, and Alex wants to get out of there. Just mentioning that name was clearly a mistake. This Dominic guy scares them and he clearly holds some power at the company.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

  “Hey, uh, if that’s him, don’t say I said his name? Okay?”

  “Sure,” I answer, finishing my beer. I drop some money on the bar. “I’ll forget I was here.”

  “Thanks,” Mick says. “And uh, good luck and stuff. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

  “Damn shame,” Alex echoes.

  I nod and leave. I don’t want to linger any longer than I have to.

  I get into my truck and sit there a second before searching Dominic’s name on Google. I get a hit on the mill’s website, listing him as the director of security, whatever that means. And he seems to match the description.

  This would make a lot of sense. Dominic definitely would have the resources to bribe someone if he was doing it on behalf of the Walker family. More than that, he’d be scary enough to get it done, intimidating the witnesses and Ron. If this guy came to me, offering me a bribe to say something or to keep quiet, I just might do it.

  Well, probably not, but I would if I were a spineless fuck like Ron.

  But why would the Walker family care about this? I’ve had my suspicions, and this goes a long way toward confirming it. The Walkers and the Sellers are involved. They’re the only ones that could possibly be rich enough and connected enough to cover this all up and get it pinned on me.

  I don’t know why yet. But I’m going to figure it out. I start my truck and head back home, feeling a slight glimmer of hope for the first time in a while.

  10

  Avery

  I thought Luke coming home would fix things, but I can’t shake this feeling. It’s there every time I wake up and there every time I try to fall asleep.

  I’m filled with anxiety. It’s like the first days he was put away, and I was learning to live without him. Now I’m learning to live with him back in my life, and I don’t know what to do.

  I’m torn about how to introduce him to Max. I’m worried my family will catch me trying to see him and kick me out. I’m afraid he’ll learn about my involvement with Slick and his release. I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid and get sent right back to prison.

  There are a million reasons to worry, and I’m worrying about all of them, all at once, all the time.

  I need to get a hold of myself. I have to find a way to unload some of this stress before it eats me alive.

  Truth is, I have a lot to be happy about. I got Luke back, all my hard work and sneaking around actually paid off
for something. I thought I would just keep toiling away forever, the only one in the world to believe that he’s an innocent man, but now I’m vindicated. He’s free and he’s home and he seems to still want me.

  Or at least he wants to be in Max’s life. Raising a child on my own is an impossible task, though I managed to do it for years. I had the help of my family, of course. But I can’t imagine Max growing up without a father forever. I’d hate it if he were cursed with having a father stuck in prison.

  But I don’t have to worry about that. Luke is home, and he’s innocent, and now the world knows.

  Except it’s not that simple. People still look at him strangely. I still hear whispers about him, especially from my own family, but also from people close to us. My mother and father run with the most elite people in Maine, and they all look at Luke and people like Luke as if they’re trash. My father doesn’t care if Luke is innocent, he genuinely thinks Luke should be locked up anyway, just for being born in his family.

  It’s awful. I hate very second of it, but I have to pretend like it’s okay, or at least not let on that I despise them so much.

  After a few days of stressing, I finally give in. I can’t keep going on like this. So one afternoon, when Max is out playing in the yard, I make a phone call.

  “Yeah?” Slick always answers his phone that way, short and to the point.

  “Hi, Slick, it’s Avery.”

  “Avery, what can I do for you?”

  I hesitate a second. “Well, I have a request to make.”

  “Got another job?”

  “No, no job.”

  “What is it, then?”

  I sigh and look at the grass. Slick’s an older guy, the sort of person you’d see in a movie about a private investigator. He’s an ex-detective, left the police force for some mysterious reason he never actually talks about. He smokes like a chimney and always carries a gun on him, and he’s smart, maybe the smartest man I know. Except there’s a darkness about him that I can’t put my finger on.