Baby Christmas

by Pamela Browning

  He had more to say, mostly along the lines of how much he cared for her and that he wanted to get to know her better, but she surprised him by getting up and stretching. Then she thrust her hands in the pockets of her long skirt and shrugged. “I think I’d better make sure Chrissy is still asleep,” she said, rocking back on her heels and refusing to look at him. Then she went inside.

  Joe sat back, not sure what to do next. If he’d hurt her feelings, she hadn’t shown it. But if she cared for him, wouldn’t her feelings be hurt? Even slightly?

  He wasn’t normally confused by women, but this one was an exception. Earlier he had wanted to know what was going on in her head. And now he was more concerned about what was going on in her heart. If anything.

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel hardly had time to think the next morning between diapering and feeding and bathing Chrissy, but when she did think, it was of Joe Marzinski.

  She’d run him off. Mimi had said more than once that she would run off any man, just by acting weird. Not that Rachel had paid any attention to Mimi at the time. It had seemed like another of her grandmother’s peculiar notions, like the magnetic pad under the mattress, yellow everything and her crazy friends. But now Rachel would have agreed that something had happened to make Joe lose interest, and that idea was more painful than she’d dreamed it could be.

  She had to admit that she really liked this guy. Under other circumstances, she might want to pursue him or at least allow him to pursue her. But there couldn’t be any future in the relationship. It was better to nip the whole thing in the bud, which was exactly what Joe himself must have decided.

  Sighing, Rachel put Chrissy in the portable crib. “I guess he thought better of it,” she told Chrissy. “All that stuff about Christmas and wanting me to meet his family—it must have been because he wanted to show up with a woman. And a baby in the bargain.” Chrissy gave one of her vague gas-bubble smiles, and Rachel took the phone out onto the balcony to call the HSS people.

  Too bad that the balcony reminded her of Joe and what had happened there the past two nights. Well, she’d better forget that. Forget him. She’d probably never see or hear from Joe Marzinski again. Chalk it up to bad vibes; chalk it up to stupidity on her part, or perhaps naivete. But this was best. She would never have to reveal things about herself that she didn’t want him to know, and that in itself was a huge relief.

  Tapping her foot impatiently as she waited, Rachel listened to the HSS phone ring. Finally a woman answered. She identified herself as Madeline Ewing, social worker. Her voice was harried, and Rachel, relieved at least that someone had picked up the phone, launched into the explanation of how she’d found the baby in the manger, how she’d been caring for her over the holiday and how she’d expected someone to come to take custody of the child long before this. She even added that the police seemed to think that someone already had.

  The woman listened as Rachel poured out all the details, but when she spoke, it was impatiently. “I’m not familiar with this situation. We’re extremely busy and shorthanded besides, and the only reason you were able to reach me at all was that I decided to drop by the office for a few minutes and try to figure out this mess we’re in. We’ve got sick foster parents, kids who ran away and now an abandoned baby.” She heaved a giant sigh and added, “There’s a shortage of licensed foster parents right now, and those we do have are full up.”

  Rachel made a concerted attempt at remaining neutral. Not that this was easy. To tell the truth, she didn’t like to think of giving Chrissy up. As Madeline Ewing talked, Rachel listened, and as she listened, she walked inside to check on Chrissy in her crib. Chrissy was waving her little hands in the air as she tried to focus her eyes on her fists. The sight, so typical of newborns as they begin to explore their world, brought a lump to Rachel’s throat. This baby deserved to be cherished and loved, not bounced around from place to place only because there was no room for her.

  No room in the inn. The words from the Christmas story sprang into Rachel’s mind suddenly, and they seemed to have new meaning. Everyone had turned Mary and Joseph away, and their baby had been born in a lowly stable, the cradle in a manger.

  “…and so I’ll send someone by to get that baby, but I don’t know when. I’ll have to put her in a licensed home in the south part of the county, but they’re all down with the flu and I hate to do it. Where did you say you live?”

  “Wait,” Rachel said in a small voice.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ms. Ewing, I, um, I think I can help you out.”

  Silence on the other end of the line. Then a cautious, “What do you mean?”

  “I…I’m a licensed foster parent,” Rachel said.

  More silence. “In Florida? You have a license for foster care in the state of Florida?”

  “Yes.” The word was almost a whisper.

  “Why didn’t you say so in the beginning?” Ms. Ewing asked sharply.

  Why? Because of Nick and Lolly and Melissa and Derek. Because of what happened. But Rachel didn’t say that. “You can check if you like. It was in Cane County.”

  “Cane County, Cane County.” Ms. Ewing was clearly annoyed, and she seemed to be riffling through cards or files. “You’re aware, of course, that I’ll have to do a thorough background check.” She was brisk and businesslike, but at least she hadn’t said that it couldn’t be done.

  “I know you have to be careful,” Rachel said.

  “And if you don’t check out, we’ll have to come and get the baby and put her in a proper home.”

  “I understand,” Rachel said. This woman couldn’t know that she was quaking inside. She wanted Chrissy to stay with her, wanted to be able to hold that small body morning and night, wanted so much to be able to look into those little eyes and see love and adoration and all the things she so missed from her own lost children.

  Ms. Ewing sighed again. “This is a surprise, I must say. But perhaps we can work things out. I’ll be back in touch soon.”

  “Soon,” Rachel whispered, and then she clicked the phone off. As soon as she’d hung up, Rachel despaired. She must be out of her mind. The background check would show her up for what she was, a totally irresponsible person. And then Madeline Ewing, who didn’t give a flying fig about what happened to this baby, would send someone to take Chrissy away, and Rachel would never see her again.

  Rachel buried her face in her hands, oblivious to the boats gliding past on the waterway, tourists sauntering up and down the beach and the sun shining on the ocean. In her mind all she saw was the house that she and Nick had refurbished, and it was in flames, and smoke was everywhere. And there were sirens and shouting people running past and television cameras and an ambulance, and then she was in the ambulance, and after that she didn’t remember anything until she woke up in the hospital, and then she’d remembered everything and she’d wanted to die.

  IT HAD BEEN IN DECEMBER four years ago that Nick had suggested that they get the puppy. One of his friends’ dogs had given birth to a litter of five, and the puppies would be ready to be taken from their mother at Christmas.

  “Kids need a pet,” Nick had said. “Lolly has been wanting a dog ever since she started to talk.”

  It was true. Dog had been one of Lolly’s first words. She was six on that Christmas, a happy, talkative kindergartner who had never met a stranger. Melissa was four, and she was entranced with her new baby brother, Derek. He wasn’t really her brother, he was a foster child, taken into their home because Nick and Rachel loved children and had plenty of room. Derek had, at the age of one, quickly become part of their family, and his birth mother had recently agreed to release him for adoption. Rachel and Nick had decided to adopt him only a few days before, and this news was going to be a Christmas surprise for the children.

  Not that Rachel and Nick would stop taking in foster children. In fact, they had already applied to care for another. They planned to have lots of foster kids to fill up their big house, children that t
hey would care for until their parents could afford to take them back, children who had health problems—all kinds of kids would enter into their care, now that they were official foster parents. They loved children, she and Nick, and Rachel thought that she’d been born to be a mother.

  Nick had brought the puppy home the day before Christmas, and they’d hidden him in a storeroom off the kitchen where the kids would be unlikely to see or hear him. He’d been a cute little floppy-eared, brown-and-white mutt, and Rachel had fallen in love with him from the start. She’d bedded him down in his new doggy bed and filled his new doggy bowl with water and set up a small electric space heater for him because a cold front was passing through their little North Florida town, and she didn’t want him to be cold on the first night away from his mother.

  On Christmas Eve, Rachel and Nick had put the kids to bed early and had set up the tree with the presents arrayed around it Lolly had requested a new Barbie doll, and they’d bought Melissa her first tricycle, a blue one. Derek, the baby, was getting pull toys because he had recently taken his first steps. After everything looked perfect, Nick and Rachel had cuddled close on the couch with cups of mulled wine, holding hands and anticipating how thrilled Lolly and Melissa would be about the announcement that Derek was officially to become their brother.

  And they talked about how much the kids would love the new puppy. They knew that tomorrow morning, when Nick carried him out of the storeroom in the big ribbon-trimmed basket that Rachel had fixed for him, Lolly would shriek with delight, and Melissa would hang back shyly, and Derek would dimple and bounce up and down in Rachel’s arms until she let him stroke Max’s silky-soft ears. Max was the puppy’s name, they’d already decided.

  Rachel and Nick had gone to bed before midnight, and Nick had fallen asleep right away. Rachel had lain awake, snuggling close to Nick with his hand curved over her hip, and she’d thought about how happy they were. And how lucky, and how blessed. Nick had recently gained tenure in his job as a professor at the nearby university, and they had their children and each other. Things couldn’t have been better.

  It was much later when Rachel woke up to the smell of smoke. At first she thought it was wood smoke from a neighbor’s fireplace, blown through the trees separating their properties by a rising wind that heralded the oncoming weather front. She snapped fully awake when she realized that the source of the fire was much closer than that.

  “Nick!”

  Beside her, he was awake too, scrambling to his feet, and he said, “I’ll get the kids! Call 911!”

  Rachel groped for the phone in the dark, the lights wouldn’t work, and when she couldn’t find it, she hurtled out of the bedroom to get another phone. The only one she could think of was in the kitchen, and she ran coughing down the stairs through a swirling curtain of smoke. She heard behind her Nick talking to the children, urging them, trying not to frighten them any more than they already were, and she heard Melissa start to cry. But she J knew there was no reason to worry, not with Nick there, and when she heard Nick in the upstairs hall behind her, she thought, Good, Nick’s got them.

  The kitchen was engulfed in flames, and the worst of them were in the direction of the storeroom. She knew she should get the puppy out, but the flames beat her back. She whirled, stamping out a spark that threatened to ignite the hall rug, saw that the stairs that she had so recently descended were on fire. There was no sign of Nick and the children, but she knew he’d gotten them out. He’d been right behind her.

  She ran out the door, the hem of her gown on fire, and rolled on the ground to put it out. Then she raced frantically through the woods toward the neighbors’ house,

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  Knowing that she had to get the fire department there as soon as possible, knowing that Nick would look after the children, shepherd them to a safe place.

  She collapsed on the neighbors’ front porch, and when her friend Cindy flung the door open and said that they’d called 911 already, Rachel insisted on going back to her house. She wanted to be with Nick and the children, to feel Nick’s strong arms around her and to do her part in comforting the kids.

  By the time she and Cindy and Cindy’s husband Stuart reached the clearing where their house stood, flames were leaping from the windows, black smoke was curling away over the trees, and sparks were flying everywhere. Other neighbors had arrived, and Rachel anxiously searched the milling group for Nick and the children. Where were they? Shouldn’t they be there?

  Cindy had tried to calm her with reassurances, and other friends had wrapped her in a blanket, but still there was no Nick, no Lolly, no Melissa, no Derek. Rachel tore away from Cindy and tried to run back into the burning house, tears rolling down her cheeks, but Stuart pinned her against a tree and wouldn’t let her go. Finally, when she grew hysterical, he threw her over his shoulder in a classic fireman’s carry and took her to the ambulance where they gave her a shot and started an IV.

  She woke up the next day, Christmas Day. She hadn’t had to ask; she’d seen the answer to her unvoiced question in the nurses’ eyes when they found her awake. Her whole family was gone. So was Max.

  Rachel learned later that the puppy had chewed through the electrical cord on the space heater that she’d put in the storeroom to keep him warm, and the resulting sparks had ignited his bedding. Flames had spread rapidly through the old house, which was constructed of heart pine harvested from the surrounding piney woods. The fire department had been slow to respond because they were operating with a skeleton crew so that their employees could be home with their families. The fire had taken her husband, her children and the puppy and left her with nothing.

  Including any reason to celebrate Christmas again.

  THE PHONE RANG, startling her out of her thoughts. She blinked at the bright sunlight, the blue sky and the cheery yellow of Mimi’s decor. For a few minutes she’d been back in that flame-lit clearing, reliving those terrible moments. Images from that night were still so vivid, as if they were indelibly burned into her brain. So many times she’d gone back there in her mind and in her heart, and every single time she was left with one gut-wrenching certainty: she could have done more. She could have saved them if
she hadn’t gone to the neighbors’ house before making sure everyone was safe.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks with a trembling hand and answered the phone.

  “Rachel?”

  Still struggling to control her tears, she recognized Joe’s voice. It was amazing how happy the sound of it made her feel.

  “I’m coming over. I’ve asked Gladys Rink to baby-sit this afternoon.”

  Oh, this was too much. He had no right to involve Gladys.

  “Are you crazy, Joe?”

  “Crazy? Maybe I am, Rachel. I’m crazy about you. Last night I was awake all night thinking about us.”

  Rachel closed her eyes. She felt as if she was on an emotional see-saw—first up, then down, and sometimes landing with a thump.

  “Rachel.”

  “Joe, what’s this about?”

  “You and me. Not the baby, not HSS, not the Christmas holiday, not anything, I have to see you.”

  “Joe,” she said, wondering why all she could say was his name. Maybe it was because Joe Marzinski didn’t belong in her thoughts right now. It was easier to cling to the past and all that it represented. It was easier not to move on, move out, move away.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Joe hung up the phone unceremoniously.

  One thing Rachel knew for sure, and that was that Joe meant what he’d said. He was coming over, and so was Gladys Rink. To try to stop him, Rachel knew from past experience, would be like trying to put brakes on a runaway freight train.

  Rachel went into the bedroom and gazed down at the baby, who was sound asleep.

  “What does he want?” she said plaintively. Not that Chrissy was going to say anything; not that Rachel wanted her to say anything.

  She went into the bathroom, feeling slightly dazed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Unruly hair, no makeup, a T-shirt that Chrissy had spit up on, and shorts.

  Should she put on something more flattering? No. She didn’t care what Joe thought about her. She wanted him to go away. She wanted—

  She wanted to kiss him again. There, that was the truth of it. But why? He wasn’t her type. Her late husband had been a college professor. Joe was definitely blue-collar. What would they talk about? What did they have in common? Nothing except the baby. Nothing at all.