Billionaire Baby Bump

by Chance Carter

  It dawned on Jenny that she had never spent time alone with any child, let alone her niece. Again, she felt guilt churning in her stomach for not having been more of a figure in Isabelle’s life.

  After leaving Ombrea, Jenny had never once felt the desire to return. Chloe was the exact opposite. Chloe had always been something of a homebody, and there had been no charming her into leaving the small town she lovingly called home. Unlike Jenny, she never harbored any big ideas about moving to a city. Instead, Chloe had been more than happy to stay settled in Ombrea where everything just made sense.

  “How are you doing, honey?”

  The clerk was doing her best to put on a friendly face but, the little girl still looked absolutely terrified of her surroundings. The pad and pen she had kindly been given to keep her busy while she waited lay unused on the steel table. A doll in a little, patchwork, red dress was clutched tightly in her grip instead.

  “This lady is your aunt,” the clerk said. “She is here to take you home.”

  Jenny watched as the miniature version of Chloe lifted her wide, blue eyes to her own once again. She didn't look at all reassured to be going home with this new stranger, no matter what their family connection was.

  The clerk glanced back at Jenny.

  “I'll have you sign some paperwork at the front desk stating that you accept full custody of your niece here.”

  “Right. Okay then.”

  Jenny watched as the other woman left the room, wishing their roles were reversed and she could be the outsider in this whole scenario.

  The little girl watched her silently, the grip on her doll becoming even tighter the longer they stood. Her little cheeks were flushed, a sign that she was only moments away from tears.

  Jenny could sympathize with the child. When she had lost her own parents in a car crash at the tender age of ten, life seemed incredibly unfair. Everything felt dark and desolate without even a trace of a silver lining.

  Her tears would come often and usually without warning. She sank into sadness while Joey used his grief to act out. Five days later, at only eight years of age, he was arrested for a petty act of vandalism. He got a stern talking to by the police chief and spent an hour in a jail cell, but it did nothing to scare the rebel out of the boy.

  To lose one parent at the hands of the other seemed an especially harsh circumstance. Jenny wasn't aware how much the child knew about what had transpired. She had never even thought to ask the Chief what the child’s involvement had been.

  “I'm your Aunt Jenny, your dad's older sister.”

  The words felt unnatural and strange on her tongue.

  “You were only little when I moved to New York. You probably don't remember me.”

  “No.”

  Isabelle’s curls moved as she shook her head.

  It was a start.

  “I haven't seen you since you were like,” Jenny said dropping her hand down to her knees while the girl watched, “this high. That's quite a long time ago, isn't it?”

  Isabelle nodded but said nothing. She passed the doll from one hand to the other for comfort.

  “Ah, here we are.”

  The clerk returned. Her reappearance had little effect on the mood in the small space.

  “You just have to sign in a couple places. We have all the other information we need.”

  Jenny stepped up to the table to sign the documents while Isabelle sank into a metal chair and waited, the doll clenched firmly in her lap. Jenny glanced at the child before reading over the paperwork, but her eyes remained downcast, her cheeks once more showing the pink tone that indicated tears were close.

  Jenny could only imagine what she must have looked like the day she was told that her parents would not be coming home.

  “Ma'am?”

  The clerk's voice brought her back to the task at hand, and she quickly regained her composure.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Jenny signed the necessary forms and then turned nervously back for the child.

  “Come on then, time to go home.”

  Jenny drove her silver Neon toward Chloe and Joey's home on the outskirts of town. Isabelle sat silent and wide-eyed in the back seat.

  What was she was supposed to say to her. She had never been alone with a child before and had never even once felt the urge to have any of her own. They were hard work, too much to be sure, and she had enough on her plate at the magazine as it was without having to worry about another person’s well-being.

  But Isabelle had no one else, Jenny reminded herself. She would just have to figure out what came next.

  The small farmhouse was set back from the neighboring properties. Tall trees lined the drive in such a way that the house almost surprised people when they parted to reveal the plot of land.

  Chloe had lovingly cared for the Dale property. Flowers of all colors and shapes peppered the garden, making it feel friendly and welcoming. The path to the house, crooked and made of flagstones, showed signs of chalk from Isabelle's recent games. A slightly deflated soccer ball sat out on the lawn as if waiting for the next match to start.

  Jenny could clearly see Chloe's love in the old, two-story property. Its slightly wind-battered shutters had been painted in a deep shade of blue, matching perfectly the double-sided front door. Pots of more colorful flowers adorned the wrap-around porch, and even more brightly colored plants brightened the large windowsills of the home.

  Isabelle opened her own door and exited the car. Her little legs carried her in such a rush to the porch that Jenny thought she might fall over. She followed behind, letting the child lead the way. Jenny was in no rush to enter her friend's home and be taken in by all the memories.

  Tears stung her eyes at the sight of Chloe's distinctive, yellow, rain jacket hung on the peg by the front door. A pair of pink rain boots leaned against the old siding. Isabelle's smaller, yellow pair was propped up haphazardly beside them.

  Bright-yellow crime scene tape still hung across the doorway, and Jenny immediately ripped it down. She tossed it into a ball on the porch until she could find the will to face it.

  She had the impression from her brief encounter with Chief Cartright that he didn't think this was anything more than a simple, open and shut case. She hadn't felt the need, or the desire for that matter, to argue for anything different. He was the Law Man in town, so she assumed he knew what he was doing.

  Isabelle looked up, waiting silently as Jenny dug around in her pocket for the door key the Chief had handed over before they left the station. Although it fit inside the lock, the old door gave her some trouble. It took a small amount of shoving and pushing before it gave in and creaked open under protest.

  The hallway beyond was silent and dark.

  Jenny expected Isabelle to run in, grateful to be home after a long and, no doubt, unnerving night spent with Children's Aid, but there niece remained still on the porch.

  “It's okay. You're home now.”

  It was the only thing Jenny could think to say. She considered giving Isabelle a tight hug as a sign of affection, but it still seemed too soon. She didn't dare push their boundaries yet.

  “Okay.”

  It was only the second word Isabelle had spoken since they'd been introduced. Her little feet in their small sneakers rang out in the hallway as she darted inside. Jenny watched as she disappeared up the stairs.

  Jenny lingered on the doorstep. She kept her hand firmly on the frame steadying herself.

  This wasn't right. It had been many years sincere last visit to this farm. Chloe had greeted her at the door, a smile as wide as the sun on her face. The baby had been dancing in one of those Jolly Jumpers at the end of the hall. The smell of freshly baked apple pie wafted from somewhere beyond.

  And off in the darkness, her brother had stood watching the scene unfold, cautious. He knew he had burned his bridges with her long before, and other than the polite courtesies their close quarters had called for, he was careful to keep his distance. She hadn't min
ded. He was Chloe's to keep in line now. He was no longer her problem.

  The vivid image slipped from her mind as quickly as it had come forth. The dark hallway still lingered ahead of her, no longer full of the noises and smells she remembered.

  Turning her back on the silence, Jenny returned to her car for her overnight bag. She would be staying a while.

  An hour and a half later, Jenny had moved her belongings into the small, guest room at the top of the stairs.

  She didn’t bring much with her. She only packed enough to last her for two weeks, if that, and a dress that would be suitable for the funeral. It hadn't seemed necessary for her to pack up the rest of her belongings just yet. Not when everything was so uncertain. She still had hopes of making it back to her new position at the magazine.

  She had closed the door firmly on her brother and Chloe's bedroom when she first brought her bag upstairs. There would come a time when she would have to clean and organize it, but not just yet. It didn't seem fitting to invade that space before the funeral was even over.

  Jenny checked in on Isabelle while upstairs. She found the young child curled under a mass of colorful blankets and toys, her back to the door. Recognizing Isabelle’s need for peace, Jenny closed the door behind her and headed quietly back downstairs.

  The kitchen was unnaturally silent when she entered, so Jenny set about creating whatever noise she could. She filled the tin kettle with water at the sink and set it carefully on the stove, waiting impatiently in the minutes that followed for it to whistle.

  Jenny turned on the small, wireless radio on the windowsill, but didn't bother to change the station. She didn't care what song was playing as long as it brought some noise to the space.

  Although it took a large amount of pushing and pulling to get the handle to turn, she opened the back door. She paused with her back to the doorway. She closed her eyes briefly, grateful for the late afternoon sounds of birds and crickets from the grass beyond. She made a mental note to get that door fixed when she had the time.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jenny turned to find Isabelle standing at the kitchen door. Her blue eyes were red and puffy from crying. This time, instead of her doll, a teddy bear in a red shirt was grasped firmly in her right hand.

  “Just making some noise. It is much too quiet in here.”

  Isabelle nodded once in agreement. An uneasy silence settled over them both once more.

  So far, they weren't doing well at building any kind of connection beyond basic conversation. They were simply two strangers who had no choice but to interact with one another. At least Isabelle was home, and she could feel somewhat comfortable here.

  It was the most stable place in the world for her, or at least it had been until just this afternoon. Now, Jenny was a stranger invading her space.

  “I'll make you something to eat,” she tried. “You must be starving.”

  It seemed like a good idea. Jenny hadn’t had an appetite since rolling back into town, but if there was anything she knew about kids, it was that they had to be fed on a pretty regular basis. What they ate, on the other hand, she wasn't too sure about. She chalked this up as yet another learning experience.

  Chloe was a whiz in the kitchen. High school nights had been spent baking brownies or coming up with some tasty treat she had only to read about once in a magazine to recreate.

  Her biggest success was Christmas dinner two years ago. It was the only time Jenny had come back in town to celebrate the holidays. A secondary table was brought in from storage to make room for the overwhelming amount of dishes on display. Chloe proudly called it the biggest Christmas dinner imaginable, and she wasn’t far from wrong.

  “Do you even know how to cook any food?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Jenny made a face as she pushed a wave of her blonde hair back from her face.

  “I guess. Some things.”

  “What are some things?”

  “I'm not a whiz in the kitchen like your mom was, but I can manage.”

  Jenny tried a friendly smile but the child stared back, unsure.

  “We are going to starve, aren't we?”

  “That is very unlikely. We'll just have to make do with what we've got.”

  “Can anyone survive on just air and water?”

  Obviously, Isabelle had inherited her father's dry sense of humor.

  Jenny opened the nearest cupboard door. She was grateful to find it stuffed full with a number of food items she could put to good use. She selected a chicken noodle soup can off the bottom shelf and then found a box of salted crackers to go along with it.

  “Soup and crackers. It's the perfect comfort food.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Jenny rummaged around in a number of bottom cupboards and located a medium saucepan. The can opener was easy enough to find in a top drawer. She set to work dumping the soup contents into the saucepan and set the stove on low.

  The kettle finally began to boil, and she selected a slightly chipped mug off the countertop mug tree, biding her time before offering a response.

  “Well?”

  Isabelle didn't like to be kept waiting.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Comfort food is something you eat when you want to be, um, comforted.”

  She smiled at the child nervously as if that would at once break down any barriers between them.

  “Alright.”

  Jenny let out a sigh of relief, hiding it behind a nervous smile when Isabelle shot her a suspicious look.

  “How about you set some crackers out on these plates?”

  Jenny reached for another cupboard door but the side plates were nowhere to be found. It took a sheepish nod from Isabelle to point her in the right direction.

  She busied the child with the chore, grateful when they fell back into silence. The drive from New York had been long and she was still reeling from the news. Right now she just wanted to get her mind straight so she could get everything to at least seem normal. The concept of normal having recently been updated.

  When the soup was warm, she dished it out into two matching bowls. She tasked Isabelle to collect two TV dinner trays from the kitchen table and led her out into the hallway.

  “Mom always serves soup at the kitchen table,” Isabelle pointed out as Jenny shouldered the living room door open and set the dishes down on the coffee table. “We are not supposed to watch television until after dinner. It's the house rule.”

  “What can I say?” Jenny gave her a small shrug. “I'm a rule breaker.”

  Isabelle gave her another one of her suspicious looks. She wasn't sure what to believe, but she relented anyway and took a seat on the couch.

  Jenny was grateful that there wasn't going to be any more pushing on the subject, for now. She took a seat beside Isabelle and reached for the remote.

  “Now, let's see what's on television tonight, shall we?”

  Isabelle didn't say a word.

  An hour later, the sun was beginning to set. Jenny stood at the living room window and watched as it slowly dipped below the hills in the distance. She hated Ombrea and its backward, small town ways, but the view was spectacular. She had to admit that much.

  The view of the rolling hills and farmland was more pleasing than the view she had of skyscrapers from her kitchen window in the city. From her apartment balcony, she could see a small, city park, but it was just a crowded neighborhood dog park. It didn’t compare to the natural surroundings of Ombrea.

  Now sufficiently fed, Isabelle curled up in a ball on the sofa with a couch cushion propped behind her head for comfort.

  Jenny left her to the television's care and began to clear the dinner dishes. She was grateful to have a little time to herself. Taking care of Chloe's young child was already tiring her out. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have one of her own.

  She ran the hot water in the kitchen sink and left the dishes to soak. She would get to them later
when she had more energy.

  She opened the fridge and found the one staple she knew she could count on Chloe to have on hand, chilled, white wine.

  Jenny turned the blue bottle over in her hands and carefully studied the label. The description left her puzzled as to why Chloe would have this particular wine on hand.

  Chloe had always been big on sweet wines, ones that came with a bright, colorful label and a less colorful price tag. Her wine of choice had always been what her dear grandmother had called cheap and cheerful. It didn't break the bank, not unless you planned to have a few cases on hand.

  Jenny had tried this particular wine on more than one occasion at her editor's annual, summer barbecue. She decided to pick up a bottle or two herself once but had been put off by the price tag.

  Jenny couldn't imagine that there was a high demand for this wine in Ombrea. She made a mental note to check it out when she had a spare moment.

  She uncorked the wine bottle with ease and located a clean wine glass in the dish rack. She hesitated for a moment, imagining Chloe standing before the sink, humming along with the radio as she took care of the dishes. Chloe had always been so cheerful, no matter what the day or situation. It seemed unfair to imagine her life cut short.

  Especially at the hands of someone she had loved so dearly. Jenny shook the thought from her mind. She was determined not to focus on her brother.

  The police had arrested him for the crime, and she had enough faith in the system, such as it was in Ombrea, to trust they knew what they were doing. If they thought he was guilty of murder, then he was. That was all there was to it. After all, he was one of them. To arrest one of their own, they had to have just cause.

  Jenny poured herself a glass of the chilled wine and sipped it slowly with her eyes closed. This day had been hell, and the alcohol would help her relax.

  A sharp knock at the front door summoned her back to reality.

  Chapter 4

  Isabelle hadn't stirred from the knocking, and a quick peek into the living room suggested she’d dozed off some time ago. Jenny closed the door gently as she crossed the hall to the front door.

  She expected a neighbor with a warm crock pot dish to comfort the grieving, but the man beyond the door didn't seem like the cooking type, much less the owner of a crockpot. He was tall with messy, dark hair that drifted over his forehead and almost into his eyes. His jaw was stubbled and in need of a good shave. His worn-out, navy T-shirt showed off his muscular body in great detail. It was clear that he did a lot of physical labor.