“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I said. “I’m totally lost.” I lowered my voice. “I’m in full panic mode, Ms. Willis. Janet is leaving the hospital today and going straight to a mental health facility for thirty days. I have an aunt who’s suffered a stroke and her business is failing. And I’ve an almost-fiancé who is letting all my calls go to voice mail because he’s pissed that I’m not there to help him with the biggest day of his life. I can’t keep doing this. Please tell me you have a family for Carrie.”
“Carrie?” She picked up a pencil and wrote it at the top of a form. “So her name is Carrie? Did you pick the name?”
I blew a strand of hair from my eyes. “No, her brother, er, half-brother picked it.”
“So he’s excited to have the baby?”
“He’s the only one. His dad, Janet’s ex-husband, isn’t thrilled by any of this. But he’s trying, for Eric’s sake.”
Ms. Willis made a note on her form. “Janet said the divorce was friendly and she and her ex-husband enjoyed a good relationship.”
“That’s not true. They’ve not spoken in years. Honestly, I don’t know if Carrie is the only child she’s delivered in the last seven years.” The thought made my head spin. “Shit, what am I going to do if there are more babies out there?”
Ms. Willis set her pen down. “Why don’t we worry about this baby and you? The rest, I can’t help with, but I can help now.”
“So you’ve found a family?”
“I’ve found a family. They are a nice older couple and are currently fostering six other children.”
Carrie gurgled and burped, forcing me to pause while she readjusted and latched back on. “Six other children? Carrie would be their seventh child?”
“Yes.”
I pictured myself holding a crying Carrie as six other children clamored for my attention. As loud as Carrie was, she’d get lost in the shuffle. “There aren’t any other families that have fewer children?”
“None that are set up to take an infant on a short-term basis.”
“What about other counties?”
“I can try.”
“How long will that take?”
“A few days.”
“It’s Wednesday. I’m supposed to be back in the country on Friday morning.”
“Have you told your almost-fiancé about the baby?”
“God, no.”
“But he’s your fiancé. Don’t you share burdens?”
“I don’t share my burdens with anyone. No one wants to hear me go on about my crazy family. I don’t need people wondering when I might go off the rails like my sister or my mother.”
“You think you’re going to have mental health issues?”
“Both Janet and Mom showed signs of illness in their late teens. So far I’m fine.” The fear always lurked in the shadows. “But it runs in my family.”
“Are you two planning on having children?”
“We won’t be having children,” I said.
She tapped her finger on the form. “You’ve discussed this?”
“No. Not in so many words.”
She shook her head. “How can you be sure there will be no children?”
“Because I had my tubes tied right after my mother committed suicide.” The words came out with an exasperated breath. “There will be no accidents.”
This secret, only shared with Grace, rolled out, clamoring for freedom all this time.
When I drove to the outpatient clinic almost ten years ago, I was alone. They almost cancelled the procedure when I couldn’t produce a friend or family member, but I convinced them that a work friend would pick me up. The nurse wheeled me to the back and the rest, to this day, remains a blur of surgical greens, hushed tones, and lights. After the procedure, when the nurse realized I didn’t have a ride, she insisted I wait while she called a cab. But I rose, dressed gingerly, and left alone. The deed was done, and rides didn’t matter. That night, I lay in bed and cried.
Ms. Willis stared at me a long moment. “Okay.”
“You don’t approve.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I think it’s important to be honest with your partner.”
“When the time comes, I will.” But I wouldn’t. Instead, I would find a million ways to make his life perfect without children.
Carrie relaxed into my arms, and her mouth went slack as she fell into a deep sleep. I raised her up on my shoulder and patted gently. No cloth on my shoulder, so I prayed she didn’t spit up.
Ms. Willis shifted to a stack of papers on her desk. “You’re good with her.”
“I’m not a mother.”
“Then I’ll call my foster family. They’ll come get her in a couple of hours.”
Carrie’s cheek rested on my shoulder and a little sigh shuddered from her lips. I might be a screwup excuse for a temporary mother, but she didn’t seem to mind. “What does the baby do until this new family arrives?”
“I’ve cared for my share of babies. I can watch her.”
The carpet, walls, and furniture were a sickly gray color and reinforced my unease about all this. “Can I meet the couple?”
Shaking her head, she shuffled through the papers, seeming to move on to the next problem. “I can promise you they’re good people.”
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. “I don’t doubt your word, Ms. Willis. But I want to meet them.”
“I could arrange a visit in a couple of days. With six children, my foster mom doesn’t have a lot of time, and she’s said she can only duck in and get the baby and duck out.”
I imagined Carrie in a room alone, crying in a crib while six other children ran around outside her bedroom door. “You said you could find another family for the baby in a few days.”
“Sure.”
“Early Friday?”
“Yes.”
If she picked the baby up by eight on Friday and I drove like the wind, I’d be in the country by noon, which was time enough to pull the party together. “You think or know you could have a family by Friday?”
Ms. Willis looked at me with vague curiosity. “I’m fairly certain.”
I nestled the baby very carefully back in her bucket seat. I adjusted the child’s arms into the straps and held my breath when I clicked the lock in place. She settled back into her seat, asleep.
“I’m keeping her until Friday. I can juggle, take care of her, and get my work done over the phone.”
Ms. Willis leaned back in her chair, studying me. “Are you sure?”
No. “I’ll make it happen.”
Ms. Willis smiled. “I know this is hard for you, but you’re the best fit for this baby right now. She’s more relaxed when you’re around.”
Carrie’s sock dangled halfway down her foot. I tugged it up. “Tonight at two A.M., when her head is spinning like Satan because I’m not making her bottle fast enough, I’ll tape it and send you a text. Then we’ll talk about relaxed.”
Ms. Willis patted my arm. “You’re doing a good job.”
“I’m not, but it’s nice you said so.” I picked up my purse and the arm of Carrie’s bucket seat. “You won’t tell anybody about what I told you in here, right? No one knows.”
She touched the baby’s foot. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks.”
Outside the front door of Social Services, the heat of the day hit me hard. The glass doors closed behind me. How was I going to make this happen? Carrie fussed and kicked, and I hurried to the car, anxious to get the engine started and the wheels moving.
Carrie and I were halfway home and I was still processing this entire mess when the Check Tire light blinked red and bright. Silence from the backseat told me Carrie slept. But when the car stopped, I was fairly sure all hell wou
ld break loose. “Please, let me at least get home.”
The light stopped blinking, but it now burned a bright red. Not good. I kept driving until the car bumped, lopsided and unsure. Gripping the steering wheel, I glared at the bright, bright light. “Haven’t I paid enough today? Please don’t do this to me.”
The car, stubborn and mutinous, wobbled, and the steering wheel jerked, and finally I pulled over to the side of the road and slid into a parking spot. For a few long, tense seconds, I sat and didn’t move, my heart hammering in my chest as the air conditioner blew cold air. Tears welled in my eyes. “Universe, what have I done to deserve this?”
When no answer came, I left the engine running and got out of the car. I left the door slightly ajar, fearful if I closed it, the doors would lock. Visions danced of breaking the door’s window glass with a brick to rescue a crying baby as the cops arrived.
The front tires were full and hard. The trouble came from the back driver’s side. Flat. As a pancake.
Chest tightening with a frustration not really felt since Mom died, I kicked the tire. Traffic buzzed past, and I glanced up and imagined the remaining walk home. Temperatures were forecasted to reach ninety today, and I pictured walking the additional two miles carrying the car seat while sweat soaked my blouse and the baby wailed. I got back in the car and dug out my cell and wallet. Exactly twenty-one dollars and six cents. Enough for a taxi ride, but I’d be cleaned out.
The baby stirred.
With the baby time bomb ticking in the backseat, I searched on my phone for cab companies in Alexandria.
Seconds passed as I waited for the search engine to find a cab. The baby squawked. Tick-tock. Tick- tock. “Go back to sleep, Baby Carrie,” I sang. “Sleep is our very, very good friend and Aunt Addie’s nerves are shot.”
A knock on the window made me jump and turn to find a curious Zeb Talbot staring at me. What were the odds? Top off this stellar day with a heaping helping of embarrassment.
I rolled down the window. “Flat tire.”
“So I see.” He wore a dark T-shirt branded with Talbot Construction over the left breast pocket, worn jeans, and scuffed work boots. A thick belt looped around a narrow waist and a brass belt buckle was engraved with the letter T. Dark sunglasses tossed back my haggard reflection.
“I’m calling a cab.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do, if I don’t want to walk.” The less we interacted, the better. He didn’t have much use for the Shires, and I wasn’t in a mood to be judged.
“Stupid for you to wait in the heat with the baby. I’ll take you where you’re going.” Without waiting, he reached into the backseat and easily unhooked the car seat. Seconds later, he untangled the seat belt from the base.
The efficiency with which his strong fingers worked annoyed me more. He glanced at the fussy baby, frowned, then strode toward his red truck, easily loading the baby in the backseat. Irritated, I shut off the engine and locked up my car as my phone’s search engine finally found cab companies. I hurried after him.
“Thanks.”
He clicked Carrie’s seat into place and shut the back door. “I’ll send one of my men to change the tire if you leave me a key.”
I paused, my hand on the front passenger door handle. “Really, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do you have AAA?”
“No.”
A brow arched. “I’ll need your car key.”
Judgment rolled off him without a word spoken as I unfastened the car key from my ring and slid into the passenger seat. The cab was spacious and large and the cool air a welcome relief. He slid behind the wheel, his large, broad shoulders eating up the space and his body filling the cab with the fresh scent of soap and lumber. I handed him the key, which he tucked in his pocket. “Where to?”
“Back to the warehouse.”
“Don’t you have an appointment with Social Services today?”
“I did.” I half wondered if that’s why he was in the area, to check up on me.
He shifted gears and pulled into traffic. “And?”
Closing my eyes, I rolled my head from side to side. “I’m keeping Carrie until Friday. The foster family the case worker picked already has six kids.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak as he drove through traffic, expertly weaving in and out of lines of cars. “And after Friday?”
“The case worker has promised to get a smaller family.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Another weight settled on my shoulders. “I’m only crossing the bridges in front of me right now. Distant, far-off bridges are too much to worry about.”
“So, you don’t know what you’re going to do.”
Ass. “Nope. I have no plan other than to go back to the warehouse and feed the baby. If I get really lucky, she’ll fall asleep, and I’ll be able to make business calls this morning.”
Silence settled, and I assumed we would not speak for the rest of the drive. Good. I wasn’t in the mood to chat. Carrie, lulled by the car’s movement, grew silent.
Zeb pulled onto King Street and wound down the road until he reached the warehouse on the corner. He pulled into the alley and parked. He threw the car in park but didn’t rush to turn off the engine. “I remember days like this when Eric was a baby. Trying to take care of an infant and working is tough.”
“Any words of wisdom?”
“Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you’ll make it.”
I rubbed my eyes, which now itched with fatigue. “God, I hope you’re right.”
He turned toward me and slowly pulled off his sunglasses. Words seemed to catch in his throat and, for a moment, I thought he’d say more but he simply nodded and got out of the car. He unloaded the baby and when I got out and came around the car to take the car seat, he shook his head. “I’ll get her upstairs.”
Grateful for the help, I climbed the front stairs to the apartment. “I’ve got a makeshift crib for her in my room. This way.”
Steady booted feet followed me into my room. His shoulders filled the door frame as he surveyed the room: unmade bed, three half-empty coffee cups on the nightstand, and a spit-up shirt dumped on the floor. Overseeing it all, the woman in the portrait, frowning. Always frowning. “Where’s the crib?”
I eased past him and moved to the dresser lined with blankets. “Not fancy, but it gets the job done.”
He didn’t speak as he set the car seat on the bed. He unfastened the straps and carefully lifted her up. In his large calloused hands she looked so, so small and helpless. He laid her on her back in the makeshift crib. “I’ll have my guy bring your car back in an hour.”
“Thanks, Zeb.”
He turned to leave. “Sure.”
“Zeb?”
He hesitated, his gaze still turned toward leaving.
“I know this isn’t easy having Janet back. Eric wanting to love her . . . It has to be hard.”
He reached for sunglasses tucked in his pocket and stared at the dark lenses. One earpiece was well worn, chewed a thousand times while he worried. “It’s natural for him to want to love her.”
“Has she seen him in the last seven years?”
“Seen? No. A few random phone calls, but they always came at night while he was sleeping. She sent a card or two, which he still has. But that’s about it.”
“But he’s still excited to see her. I’m guessing you’ve only kept your words kind, so he thinks she’ll be easy to love.”
He shook his head. “I never meant to mislead the boy, but to talk against Janet didn’t make sense either.”
My purse slid from my shoulder to the floor. “Do you have any idea who Carrie’s father might be?” I asked on the off chance he knew.
“No.” The short, curt word cut. “She hasn’t called for a couple of years.” He
lifted his gaze to mine, and I saw his struggle with anger and frustration. “Car will be here by lunch.”
“Thanks.”
His booted feet echoed in the hallway and down the stairs. The front door closed behind him and I was alone with Carrie. I slid to the bed and my weight quickly settled. A few minutes of sleep would do the trick.
I lay on the bed, wincing as springs squeaked, and very carefully brought my feet up to the mattress. Slowly, I closed my eyes to Carrie’s steady breathing.
Thirty minutes later, I woke to her crying.
October 2, 1750
Two young boys were stricken with typhus. Dr. Goodwin went to attend them but said there was little he could do but bleed them. He told their mother to say her prayers for God’s good grace.
Mr. Talbot, who is fond of the boys and their families, sent Faith to attend them. Mistress Smyth told me Faith mixed some of her potions and gave the boys an elixir. Both boys showed steady improvement and I’ve been told they are both eating again.
Dr. Goodwin fears Faith is spinning magic, for no medicine he knows of would have assisted the boys. Mention of Faith struck me with a shiver of fear. My hand went to my belly, and I wondered if she cursed my child when she stood on the street corner and pointed her pale, slim finger at me.
Chapter Nine
That afternoon while the baby slept, I took the chance Carrie would sleep five more minutes while I called Scott, knowing that this was a quiet time of day for him.
The phone rang once, twice, three times, and I expected his voice mail again. But on the fourth ring, Scott’s breathless, “Addie” touched my ear.
“Scott.” I turned away from the baby and lowered my voice a notch.
“Where are you? God, I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m still at Aunt Grace’s.”
“Addie, what’s going on?”
“She’s not been well.” That was not a complete lie. Grace wasn’t herself. “I’m trying to get her situated with doctors.”
His breath rushed over his lips in a frustrated sigh and I imagined him digging his fingers through his thick blond hair. “Honey, are you all right? I’m worried about you.”
At the Corner of King Street Page 11