The Baby Maker

by Tia Siren

  “Ah, so you’re good with numbers?”

  She gave me a blank look. “Good with numbers?”

  “You’re studying to become a bookkeeper,” I said. “I assume that means you’re good with numbers.”

  “Oh, no, not really. I suck at math.” Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away. I could tell she was mentally kicking herself. I resisted the urge to smile.

  “So, exactly why are you taking bookkeeping if you suck at math?”

  “Because the online classes are offered by the state and they say they will help me get a job once I complete the curriculum,” she said, her pretty forehead furrowing. “And they don’t offer physical therapy classes, so, yeah.”

  “Ah, so you don’t want to be a bookkeeper. You want to be a physical therapist.” I gave her a silly look. “Now it all makes sense.”

  She blinked at me a couple of times, and then her lips curled into a smile. She seemed to relax a bit. Her neck came out of her shoulders and the edge left her eyes.

  She said, “I went to school for two years to become a physical therapist. Then I met my ex-husband and my plans just sort of fell to the wayside.”

  I noticed her mood darken at the mention of her ex. I wanted to dig for more dirt, perhaps compare shitty spouse stories, but I thought I’d better let it go for now. I switched gears.

  “Well, I appreciate you coming over to interview for the position,” I said, turning to business and away from personal issues. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve already talked to a number of candidates a service sent over and none of them were very impressive. I’m probably overprotective when it comes to Lizzie, but I have to make sure the person I choose to look after her will treat her with the same level of love and care that I do.”

  “You can never be too protective of your kids,” she said quietly. “Especially little girls. There are so many heartless people in the world.”

  I took that as a reference to the fact that the world was full of little boys who would someday grow up to be big men who could either make a woman’s dreams come true or be the stuff of their nightmares. Again, I didn’t dig. Her issues were hers, my issues were mine. So long as her issues didn’t affect my daughter, I had no right to pry. Besides, everybody has issues. The difference between us is how we deal with them. When it comes to women, men can be aggressors or protectors, or sometimes both. Either way we don’t want to hear about a woman’s problems. We just want to solve them and get laid for our efforts. Fuck, I was writing stories in my mind again. I cleared my throat and moved on.

  I said, “You should know that the only reason I’m talking to you is because Gail says you hung the moon.” That made her smile modestly. “She said she would trust you with her own kids, and Gail is as protective of Lizzie as I am, so I take that as the ultimate recommendation.”

  “Oh, I love kids,” she said, trying to hold the smile. I could tell she was nervous. Her hands were in her lap and she kept wringing her fingers together. I’d intimidated her enough.

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “Do you have any experience as a nanny at all?”

  “Well, not formally,” she said. “But I was kind of the neighborhood babysitter growing up. And sometimes I watch the kids for the single moms who live in my building. I love kids. I really do. I’ve always wanted kids of my own, so…”

  I’d sweated her enough. If Gail believed she could do the job, that was good enough for me. I rubbed my hands together and said, “So, let me tell you about my daughter.” Just the thought of Lizzie always brought a smile to my face. Maybe soon, it would do the same for her.

  “She just turned two. She’s very smart, very inquisitive, very chatty in her own little language. She loves Barney and baby dolls and dancing while standing on daddy’s toes.”

  I had to pause to brush a tear from my eye.

  “She sounds wonderful,” she said with a comforting look.

  “She is,” I said. “She is the most wonderful child on earth. She is also wonderfully-active, and I have a deadline approaching for my next book, which is why you’re here.”

  “I see,” she said. I noticed her looking around the room. Her eyes quickly went over the rustic wood paneling and expensive artwork by artists with names I couldn’t pronounce. Bethany bought them because she thought they were cool. If push came to shove, they would be the first things I put up for auction to raise money. I hated the damn things.

  “I don’t see any pictures of your daughter,” she said, letting her eyes settle on me with a frown.

  I looked around the room. She was right. There was not a single framed picture of my daughter. In fact, there were no personal photos at all. None in the den, none in my office, and none in my bedroom.

  There had once been lots of pictures of Bethany and me at various stages of our relationship. I had thrown them in the trash long ago, expensive frames and all.

  “Um, that’s odd,” I said, pretending not to have noticed before. “I guess the cleaning lady took them out to be dusted.”

  I realized how stupid that sounded the minute I said it.

  So did Amy Lynne, but she didn’t say anything.

  What kind of shitty father didn’t have photos of his baby daughter all over the house?

  A shitty father like me, that was who.

  She said, “So, Gail mentioned that this would be full time, with room and board?”

  I cleared my throat and gave her a nod. “Yes. It would be best if you moved in here. You’d have your own bedroom suite with a walk-in closet and private bath. And you’d have full run of the house. You would just help yourself to anything you wanted to eat or drink. Think of it as your home. The only rule I have is no alcohol in the house of any kind. Ever.”

  “Oh, I don’t drink,” she said with a smile. “And I don’t eat much. Unless it’s chocolate. I could eat my weight in chocolate.”

  She smiled, and it made me feel all warm inside.

  What a wonderfully odd feeling.

  “Chocolate is my and Lizzie’s weakness, too,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to make sure we keep the candy drawer well-stocked, if you take the job.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Amy Lynne

  Once I shook the case of nerves I’d dragged inside with me, I found Jackson Ritter to be cordial and charming (those were words that didn’t apply to many of the men I knew).

  And I liked him immediately.

  I couldn’t tell you why, exactly. I just did.

  He was certainly the best-looking man I’d ever seen in person, and I had a hard time concentrating when he locked his baby blues onto my dull browns.

  There was just something about him that made me want to give him a hug and tell him everything would be okay. And I wouldn’t have minded in the least if he had hugged me back.

  I felt my insides tingle a bit when he smiled at me.

  A little of me melted and pooled in my panties.

  It was almost like we were two lost souls, brought together by an angel named Gail. Maybe she thought that together, he and I could find the healing we needed to pick ourselves up and carry on with our lives.

  I didn’t think she was matchmaking, God forbid.

  Gail had the gift of healing. Maybe she thought Jackson and I might help heal one another through his daughter, Lizzie.

  “So,” he said, clapping his hands together, “what do you think?”

  “Um, well, it all sounds great actually,” I said. The nerves started biting at me again. “So, I would move in here and would I have a set schedule or…”

  “Oh, yeah, duh,” he said, playfully rolling his eyes. “I think we can just play it by ear as we figure it out, if that’s okay with you. I’m very flexible. I like to get Lizzie up and have breakfast with her every morning. Then I prefer to write between nine in the morning and three or four in the afternoon. I take a break somewhere in there for lunch, which I’m more than capable of fixing myself.”

  In the old days, I drank my lunch at my desk.

&
nbsp; “So, you’d need to look after Lizzie during that time. If you could also run a few errands during the day and handle grocery shopping, that would be great. I have a minivan in the garage I’ve never even driven that you’re welcome to use anytime you like. The keys are around here somewhere. I’ll find them for you. Then we can all have dinner together around five and I’ll take over from there. That way you can continue your online classes at night, and of course your weekends would be free.”

  “Wow, that sounds…great,” I said. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but what would the pay be?”

  He snorted a laugh and shook his head again. “Boy, I’m lousy at this. I was thinking five hundred dollars a week to start, plus the free room and board. If you don’t think that’s enough, I’m certainly open to negotiation.”

  I fought the urge to smile and do a happy dance. I barely made five hundred dollars a month working part-time at the convenience store. Now this wonderful man was offering me five hundred dollars a week, plus my own room, access to a van, and all the chocolate I could eat. I’d have to be a fool to turn him down.

  “I think that’s more than fair,” I said.

  “Fantastic.” He smiled and slapped his hands on his knees. “Can you start right away?”

  “That depends,” I said. “Can I borrow the minivan to go get my stuff? My car ran hot on the way over and I’m not sure it’ll start yet.”

  He smiled for a moment, probably thinking I was joking, and then he stood up and held out his hand.

  I put my hand in his and he helped me to my feet.

  His hand was soft and warm.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll find the keys.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Amy Lynne

  It didn’t take long to pack up my meager belongings and load them into Jackson’s two-year-old minivan that only had thirty-six miles on it.

  The van had been parked in the garage next to a gorgeous red Mercedes SL convertible that looked like it hadn’t been driven in a while either, judging by the film of dust covering its gleaming red body.

  I wondered why he had a minivan if he didn’t drive it, but I didn’t dare ask. I didn’t want to seem too nosy right off the bat. I’d call Gail later and ask her the list of questions I was compiling in my mind about Jackson Ritter.

  All I had to pack was my measly wardrobe, an old laptop I’d bought off Craigslist, and some makeup and toiletries that I stuffed into a plastic bag. The furniture and everything else, such as it was, came with the apartment.

  It was pathetically sad, knowing my entire life could be packed up so quickly in one suitcase. Most homeless people had more shit than I did piled in their shopping carts.

  I stopped by the convenience store to give notice to the manager, Brad. I hated leaving him in a lurch, I explained, but I had another offer I simply couldn’t pass up.

  I offered to give him two weeks’ notice, but he was nice about it and said there’d be no problem.

  He even gave me a hug and wished me well.

  I told him I’d see him soon, since I couldn’t shop at the FoodMart anymore.

  I climbed into the van, buckled my seat belt, and then pulled out onto the highway, hopefully heading for a better life.

  I had been dealt another hand.

  Let’s hope I played this one better than the last.

  * * *

  “Lizzie, this is Amy Lynne,” Jackson said as he held his daughter in his arms to introduce her to me. He beamed when he looked at her. I could tell right away that she was his entire world. “Amy Lynne, this is my Lizzie.”

  “Hi, Lizzie,” I said in a high voice. It was funny; people used the same high, sing-song tone to greet cute little kids that they used to greet cute little dogs. I held out my arms and wiggled my fingers at her. “Can I hold you?”

  Lizzie hid her eyes behind her hands for a moment, and my heart stopped. If she didn’t like me, my new job would end as quickly as it had started. Then she peered through her fingers at me with her big brown eyes and her mouth widened into a toothy grin. She practically jumped into my arms.

  “Wow, she’s usually more standoffish,” Jackson said. He watched us interact for a moment. The look of love in his eyes for his little girl nearly brought tears to my own. I would have given anything to have someone look at me that way.

  “I’m going to let you two get acquainted while I take your things up to your room,” he said. He looked around the foyer and saw my single suitcase. He pointed at it. “Is that all you brought?”

  I bounced Lizzie in my arms and smiled. “I travel light.”

  “Well, that makes it easier on me,” he said. He poked Lizzie in the belly with a finger. She laughed and slapped a hand at him. He picked up the suitcase and stared into my eyes.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Amy Lynne,” he said softly. “This house has been a sad place for so long. Lizzie deserves better.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I said. Our eyes locked for a few seconds, as if time had momentarily paused, and then he turned and disappeared up the stairs with my pitiful suitcase in hand.

  * * *

  I’d never been good at sleeping in strange places. Not that my bedroom in Jackson’s house was strange. On the contrary, it was the most amazing bedroom I’d ever seen.

  It was as big as my old apartment, with a plush king-sized bed and antique white-washed furniture that looked like something out of a magazine.

  There was a bathroom en-suite that had a huge soaker tub and a walk-in shower big enough for two.

  The towels in the closet were thick and soft and expensive, so unlike the thin, scratchy towels back at the apartment.

  There was a large walk-in closet. Sadly, my clothes only took up a fraction of the space. I had four pairs of shoes. They looked ridiculous all lined up neatly on the closet floor.

  Maybe I’d take some of the fortune I was now making and buy myself a new wardrobe.

  Or at least a new pair of jeans and some panties that didn’t have holes in them.

  I spent the evening playing with Lizzie in her playroom, which was bigger than my bedroom. Talk about extravagance. Her playroom looked like a branch of Toys-R-Us. She had every toy imaginable, even toys that were meant for much older kids. I made a mental note to go through them at some point and put some of them away in storage until she was old enough to enjoy them.

  I bathed Lizzie and put her to bed at eight. I had never bathed a child before in my life. I somehow ended up soaking wet with soap in my hair and eyes.

  Lizzie cackled as I made a show of spitting out bubbles and shaking my head. She was a glorious child.

  It was easy to see why her father loved her so.

  Mr. Ritter—Jackson, he told me to call him—left us alone to bond but checked on us throughout the evening. When I went to bed at nine, he was locked in his study working.

  I tossed and turned until midnight. I was tired, but my body was still on my old schedule. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

  I’d just be getting off work about now.

  I’d grab a taco or a burger to eat on the way home, and then I would stay up until two or three, struggling with the accounting courses.

  It was no wonder I was wide awake.

  My body was still on “old life” time.

  My stomach growled.

  I thought of the leftover takeout chicken we’d had for dinner in the refrigerator downstairs.

  My stomach growled again.

  I swear it said, “FEED ME!”

  I tried to ignore it, but it was no use. I knew my stomach. If I didn’t feed the monster, it would keep me up all night.

  I pushed back the covers and tiptoed to the door.

  I had on a long nightshirt that came almost to my knees, with no panties. It was what I always slept in. My mom always said, “A girl’s cooch needs airing out at night.” I know. With motherly advice like that, it was no wonder I turned out to be such a train wreck.

  I didn’t own a robe, but I figu
red I’d be the only one up at this hour, so it wouldn’t be a big deal to sneak downstairs without getting dressed.

  I eased into the hallway and started toward the stairs at the other end. All the lights were out except for a nightlight burning at the end of the hall.

  I tiptoed to Lizzie’s room. Her door was ajar. I peeked inside to see her sleeping with her binkie tucked under her chin and a thumb in her mouth.

  Jackson’s room was the last one on the right. His door was open a crack, probably so he could hear Lizzie if she called out during the night. I was easing past his door when I thought I heard him moan. I froze in my tracks. Was he sick? Was the takeout chicken coming back to haunt him?

  I peered through the crack in the door.

  The room was dark except for the glow of the moon shining through the windows.

  Jackson was lying on the bed.

  The moonlight bathed his body in a warm glow.

  The covers were kicked off.

  He was naked.

  His hand was wrapped around his stiff cock.

  He was slowly moving it up and down his shaft.

  I felt a lump lodge in my throat. I knew I should have backed away from the door and retreated to my room, but my feet refused to move.

  I felt my nipples go hard beneath the thin material of my nightshirt.

  I felt a dampness between my legs that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  My mouth was suddenly dry.

  I wet my lips and watched Jackson’s hand slide up and down the length of his cock.

  I couldn’t tear myself away from the door.

  Nor could I resist the heat that was building inside me like a volcano preparing to erupt.

  I couldn’t tell if Jackson was awake or asleep.

  He was on his back, his cock standing up from his dark pubes, straight and thick and tall.

  It was more than a handful.

  His eyes were closed.

  His mouth was open.

  I could hear him breathing now, panting as his hand moved up and down.

  I cupped my left breast and rubbed a finger across my hard nipple.

  I could feel the juices flowing hot between my legs.