by Imani King
Mother lifts an eyebrow skeptically. “You have the magic touch.”
“I think you mean the magic bottle.”
She smiles. “That too.” Then, she shuts her eyes. “I hate to admit it, but taking care of her took a lot out of me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her.
She cracks open an eye and studies me. “I’m not worried about it. Part of the reason is because, with all the commotion, I forgot to take my meds this morning.”
Oh no. So that’s why she’s so tired. Even holding Tamara must have hurt. Her hands must be killing her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you--”
Mother waves my suggestion away. “It’s not your fault. You have enough on your plate as it is without worrying about me...and Tamara.”
I’m very careful about choosing my next words. “What do you mean by that.”
“We need help, Jackson. I’d love to think I could take care of her myself, but I can’t. And as much as you are fond of the girl, you can’t either.”
I sigh, relieved. So that’s what she was working up to tell me. I’m glad that she came to this conclusion on her own. I knew that her caring for a baby full time was a stretch, and I also couldn’t take the time away from work. We could both agree that Tamara deserved better.
“Alright, what do we do?” I ask, jumping into action. “Call a nanny?”
Mother cocks her head to the side coyly. “Unless you think Anastasia would be interested.”
I snort. “Anastasia?”
The baby takes her head away from the bottle, makes a strange, gurgling sound (but matches my gusto), and smiles.
Mother shrugs. “I just think that she should be given the opportunity. Tamara is going to be a part of our lives, now.”
I look down at the beautiful, smiling baby girl. Yes, Tamara was part of my life now. Perhaps the most indispensable part of my life. And Anastasia…
Oh boy. She wasn’t going to like this.
“Anastasia’s a working woman, mother.”
“Oh, she works alright,” mother scoffs.
I roll my eyes. “Modeling is hard work,” I remind her.
Mother sighs. “You’re right, it is. But Jackson, the woman does not have a maternal bone in her body. Family means nothing to her, and it means so much to you. Don’t you think that’s a problem?”
I return my attention to Tamara. “We’ll work it out,” I tell her, ending the conversation. I’d think about this later.
Anastasia has the grace and beauty of a top model and, consequently, makes the money to match. Her bone structure is exquisite and there’s never a lock of perfect blonde hair out of place. Her monthly bill for manicures routinely runs $500 and she is wearing an ivory raw silk Tahari suit for which she didn’t hesitate paying $1300. A suit that was now splattered with vomit.
“Jackson!” she screeches. “She threw up on me!”
Tamara screams louder.
I trade her Tamara for a burp rag. Tamara stops crying and Anastasia dabs at the vomit.
“Look at me, my designer suit is ruined.”
“You could say it’s inspired by Jackson Pollock.”
“Very funny. Most babies who cry just want to be held.”
“I tried to warn you. She gets upset by strangers.”
Anastasia glares up at him from her perch on the edge of an antique Louis XIV chaise lounge. “I could use some sympathy here.”
I’m conflicted whether to calm Tamara or coddle Anastasia. “As soon as we find a nanny who is good with Tami, I promise you and I will have an evening out. In the meantime, send a bill to the office for the suit.”
Her perfect lips curl. “This isn’t about that. I can easily replace a suit, I can’t so easily replace you. It’s like the child has stolen you.”
I sigh, feeling guilty for wishing Anastasia was still on her photo shoot. Nannies were hard to find. The one we picked walked out the first day, and the slew of others didn’t last much longer. “She’s a baby. She hasn’t stolen me.” I grin. “Apparently Tami mistakes me for a binky. I don’t know why she gets fussy when I’m not in sight.”
Anastasia shrugs. “I’m going to the Bahamas in two days. When I return, call me if you’ve made arrangements for the child.” She stands and walks from the room, barely inclining her head to mother on her way out.
Mother sighs. “That didn’t go well.”
“That’s an understatement.” I place Tamara in the swing and rotate the handle. She looks up at me with her wide eyes and blinks several times before starting to cry again. I shake my head and lift her back into my arms. Though it’s been more than a week since her arrival, Tamara still hasn’t bonded with anyone except me. We need to find a nanny soon so I can return to work. There are limits to what I can do while Tamara naps.
“Do you think Tamara scared her away?”
I resist smiling at mother’s cautious optimism. I know mother and Anastasia barely tolerate one another, but at least mother keeps up the pretense.
“I doubt it. By the time she returns, she will be over the baby vomit trauma.”
“If she doesn’t?”
Tamara spares me from answering. She grabs a handful of my hair and yanks. Tears come to my eyes. How can I worry about anything but the little girl clinging to my torso? Tamara just came into my life, small and helpless, needing me to take care of her. Now she rides in my arms, pokes and prods and pulls on my hair, fully taking over the reins of my life. I’ve never felt so needed or so loved. I have also never felt so transformed. Tamara needs a nanny and I need to not let her out of my sight until I find one. My life has come down to getting through it one day at a time. In the meanwhile, Anastasia and work will have to sort themselves out.
4
Shawna
“It reeks in here, Shawna. When did you last take a shower?” Destiny asks as she pulls aside the drapes.
Sunshine pours in. Wincing, I turn away from the light. “Close the curtains. Leave me alone.”
Destiny plops herself down on the corner of the bed. “You have to get up. It’s been three weeks—”
“Three miserable weeks since I’ve seen my daughter!” I burrow deeper under the covers. “I just want to die.”
“Oh, Shawna, please don’t do this.” Destiny yanks the covers away from my face. “Your daughter needs you.”
“I can’t find her.” I sit up and cross my arms over my plaid pajamas. I’m aware I look like a petulant child but I don’t care. Nothing matters without Tamara. “CPS won’t help me look for her. What am I supposed to do?” Destiny unfolds a newspaper and spreads it out across my lap. “This was in The Gossiper.”
I frown, looking down at the article. I toss it aside. “Why should I care if a model was seen without her usual companion?”
Destiny picks up the paper and tosses it on my lap. “Read the darn thing.”
Wrinkling my nose, I struggle to concentrate on the blurry words. They gradually come into focus. I scan the article. Anastasia Bonham has been seen partying in Jamaica on the arm of a fellow model, whose exotic look is a perfect contrast for her classic beauty, according to the reporter. Nothing of relevance stands out until I come across a single line. Anastasia dismissed the absence of her usual partner, Jackson Reeves, by saying he was babysitting his niece.
I lift my head from the article, feeling the first stirrings of excitement. The first stirrings of anything besides rage and pain since Brad’s late night call three weeks ago, when he said she would never see Tamara again. “Do you think Tami is with his brother?”
Destiny shrugs. “I put Jackson Reeves’s name in the computer. A quick search didn’t mention children or a wife—only a brother named Brad, with whom he owns controlling interest of Reeves Worldwide. Who else would he be babysitting?”
I throw off the covers and stand unsteadily. “I have to find him. He has my baby.” I halt in mid-step toward the dresser. “Where is he?”
“He lives near Hood River, Oregon on
a ranch called the ranch. I couldn’t find an exact address, but information can probably give you a number so you can talk to him.”
I stare at Destiny with confusion. “Why would I want to speak with him?”
Destiny’s eyes widen. “So you can see how Tami is.”
“No! He might not tell me anything. I have to go and see her.” I open the top drawer of her dresser.
“I don’t think you should. What if you just make things worse?”
“How can things be any worse? Brad took everything precious from me. It was not enough to ruin my reputation, he torments me with not ever seeing her again. He stole her but doesn’t want to be a father. I’m done with trying to do the right thing.” I am shaking with rage.
Destiny bites her lip and frowns. “What will you do?”
I deliberately avoid Destiny’s worried eyes. I walk back over to the bed and then realize I haven’t taken the suitcase from the closet. I drop my pile of underwear then retrieve the suitcase. It was given to me by a foster mother. It hadn’t been an act of kindness. My foster mother was in such haste to pack my belongings she had ripped the garbage bag. I flick open the buckles and toss in my clothes. It’s battered and secondhand but it still does the job. “I’m just going to check on her.”
“How? What if they won’t let you see her?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Destiny comes over to me. “I didn’t think I could talk you out of it.” She drops a thick wad of bills on the bed.
I freeze for a second, before taking for the money. She thumbed through it before lifting her gaze to Destiny’s. “There’s almost two thousand dollars here. Where did it come from?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“We already used your emergency fund for the attorney. Where did you get so much money?”
She doesn’t respond.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Alright, alright,” she concedes. “I took out a loan.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Who would loan you money? Your credit is worse than mine.”
Destiny’s eyes skitter away, to settle on a picture of Tamara propped on the plywood nightstand. “Mr. Patterson gave me an advance.”
I shove the money back toward her, scattering $100 bills across the bed. “I can’t take this. Return it to him right now.”
Destiny leans over to push the pile back to me. “Take it. Without this, you can’t go after her.”
“I can’t let you take money from that man.” I can’t imagine what those loan terms must be. “The price is too high.”
A shadow passes across Destiny’s eyes. “I’ve already arranged to pay the interest, and then some,” she admits. She looks me directly in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter if I return all the money tomorrow. I’ll still have to pay him the rest. So use it. Otherwise it will all be for nothing.”
With a deep breath, I gather the bills and leave them across the foot of the bed. “Why would you do this for me?”
“We’re friends,” Destiny says in a shaky voice. “And Tami needs her mother.”
“I can’t ever repay you for everything—”
“You don’t have to.” Destiny wipes at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “Don’t do anything illegal, huh?”
“I won’t,” I promise and turn, breaking eye contact.
Destiny sniffs. “Yeah, right.” She clears her throat. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“After I check on Tami, I’ll be back to start the process to regain custody.” My voice breaks, and my face heats up. I hold my breath, wondering if Destiny will call me on the lie.
Instead, Destiny comes around the bed to wrap me in her arms.
I squeeze her hard and long. “Thank you for this. If I can do anything at all...”
“Maybe one thing,” Destiny releases me.
“Name it.”
Destiny wrinkles her nose. “Take a shower.”
I laugh for the first time in weeks. “You got it.”
That afternoon, I’m waving to Destiny from the window of a Greyhound. I wonder if I see tears streaming down Destiny’s cheeks, but I can’t be sure. The windows are tinted and it’s hard to see out because my vision is suddenly blurry.
I cover my face in my hands so the middle-aged man sitting beside me won’t see me cry. It will be a two-day drive from Topeka to Hood River. I’m going to see my baby again. And Destiny…
I sniffle.
I hope I see her again.
5
Jackson
I grab the diaper as Tamara’s little heel kicks it. I swear, getting her into her diapers is harder than pinning down a running back. The speed I’d developed from those drills back in my old football days are coming in handy.
“Mom?” I call out.
Mom shuffles into the nursery. “Yes?”
“Were you able to line up an interview with another nanny?”
She sighs. “I called around, but Tamara’s reputation has preceded her. Turns out nannies gossip more than teenage girls. I found one agency who had a nanny they were confident could cope with Tami’s quirks.”
“This one has to work. I can’t keep staying home from work, and you know what a disaster it was the day I tried to take Tami into the office with me.”
Lillian’s lips quirk. “I heard that horror story.”
I’m remembering how Tamara screamed her lungs out until she reduced the six man team down to one. I’m still her one and only. I smile down at Tamara cooing in my arms. Her tiny fingers manage to grasp the new chin hairs that have grown since her arrival. “Ouch.” I pry her hand from the unintended outcrop that I keep meaning to shave once I have a moment to myself. I set her on a large quilt covering a corner of the converted guest room. Mom put together a first-class nursery in a matter of hours after Tamara became the newest resident of the ranch. “When will the new girl arrive?”
“They say a couple of days. Something about her finishing her latest assignment first.” Mom frowns. “She specializes in difficult cases.”
I’m not sure I like the sound of this. “Difficult cases?”
“Recalcitrant children, special-needs, and behavioral problems. This woman—Ms. Sherry—apparently has a way with these children. She smoothes the way for more permanent caretakers to step in.”
My brows threaten to permanently knit together. “Tamara is not difficult. She’s just had a hard time adjusting.”
Mom pats my arm. “Of course, dear. I’m sure Ms. Sherry will sort things out.”
“She has to,” I say under my breath. If I can’t find a permanent nanny, I will have to take a leave of absence from Reeves Worldwide. I’ll be damned if I allow Brad to weasel his way into the CEO position. Sometimes, I wonder if Tamara is just Brad’s secret weapon to undermine my authority. She is a distraction for sure but I’m surprised how quickly she has overturned my life. Whether or not this is Brad’s secret plan all along, I don’t have the luxury of time and energy to care. Life, as I knew it less than two weeks ago, seems a distant memory. A life before midnight feedings, all-night walk-a-thons, and three A.M. colic. Tamara fills a place inside of me that I didn’t know was empty. I can’t give up on her, even if she is my downfall.
6
Shawna
I try to pass the time looking at the scenery. First there were plains. Then hills. Then mountains. It’s beautiful, but the majesty of the landscape can’t touch me. No matter what’s in front of me, all I see is Tamara.
I have to get her away from Brad. There’s only one way to make sure he’ll never be able to hurt her: this time, when I run, I have to make sure he won’t find either of us.
After two days on the road, we pull into a modest bus station in Hood River, Oregon. For the first time since my voyage began, I allow myself to take in my surroundings. Behind, Mt. Hood shoots into the cloudy sky. The Columbia river stretches before me. Supposedly this spot is a favorite hangout for windsurfers, but today its waters are as calm as glass. S
till, everyone around me seems to be ready to brave the great outdoors. They’re all dressed in knitted beanies, plaid wool jackets, and hiking boots. I feel a bit out of place in my worn out clothes.
It’s no matter. I won’t be here for long. I inhale deeply. Even the air out here smells green and full of new life…or maybe that’s just because I’ve had two days of breathing the stale recirculated air in the bus. It’s wonderful to stand in gentle sunshine. Dirty brown scallops of snow line the edges of the parking lot. A gentle rain is falling from the sky, but I barely notice that the drops cast a net of mist over my hair.
Refreshed, I retrieve my battered case from under the bus. The driver eyes my bag with a kindly smile.
“You must be a traveler,” I tell him.
He tips down his cap. “In my younger days, but not so much now.”
I thank the driver and walk around the lot. What now? My stomach growls, suggesting I focus first on lunch. I find a vending machine and fish out coins for a candy bar. I sit on a bench. Someone sits beside me just as I take a bite. I look up to find a young man facing me. He wears a hopeful smile. I give him a blank stare, hoping he gets the message that I don’t want company.
“Are you new in town?” he asks.
I nod.
“Okay, let me guess. You’re a yoga teacher.”
I almost drop my candy. “What?”
“Okay, not yoga. Though with that bod you coulda fooled me.”
I am about to throw skittles in his face. Instead, I dig into my purse and take out my well-thumbed map of Oregon and pretend he isn’t still sitting beside me.
“You looking for some place?”
“Hmmm…”
“A winery? Gluten free restaurant? I know a good one downtown that has great kombucha on tap.”
What in the world is kombucha?
He laughs. “Not a kombucha fan, eh? Well, we can always get vegan ice cream instead.”
Was this man talking in a different language? I squint at the map, but I can’t tell where anything is. Maybe he knows. Reluctantly I ask, “I’m looking for the Double Mountain Ranch, actually. Have you heard of it?”