Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2)

by Fran Louise

  “There sure is,” I said.

  “I should tell you that we got a very generous offer yesterday,” she told me.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she had. It had been on the market for months now with no takers. How, I couldn’t fathom.

  “It’s above the listing price,” she added. “If you want it, you’ll have to act fast.”

  I wanted it, all right. Not just the house; I wanted my life back. The question was: would Jay help me, for Nina’s sake, to get back to this life I’d spent so long trying to build up? Could I ask him? He’d told me to swallow my pride. He’d insisted I accept his support.

  The real question was: was it just support, or would he want to share it with us one day?

  “What number would let us close the deal today?” I asked the realtor, pulling my phone from my bag.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jay

  I only noticed I was wearing odd socks after I’d been let into the large office in the hospital. They stared back up at me with gleeful rebellion from inside the assured sheen of my Italian leather shoes. The realisation alerted me to the fact that I barely even remembered getting ready this morning. Everything seemed very slow and simplified where babies were concerned, but it was deceiving. I was starting to realise that it was impossible to get anything else done when they were around.

  “Lost something?”

  Fueller’s jovial tone snapped me out of my reverie. I rummaged up a smile. “Just my mind,” I said. “Nothing serious.”

  “It’s a full house today,” he said.

  Shaking his hand, I was momentarily buoyed by the sight of my friend’s rumpled appearance. Here was a man with a full, meaningful life. Work that mattered; a wife he adored and three kids with good values. Wearing matching socks seemed like a futile accomplishment in the wake of such success.

  “You okay?” Fueller asked, laughing. “You look kinda dazed. Was it a rough morning?”

  “You have no idea.” I frowned. I couldn’t quite process the last forty-eight hours yet, certainly not enough to vocalise it, and so despite Fueller’s concerned frown I asked, “Is my lawyer here yet?”

  “Outside. She’s laying into the FBI already, threatening to call the whole thing off if they don’t get rid of the recording devices.”

  The bleak walls were adorned with anatomical diagrams. Metal furniture was slumped up against one wall. I could smell disinfectant and something stale. I shifted in the tiny plastic seat. “Can they do this?” I asked Fueller. “Without any notice?” He shrugged but I continued to stare at him, hoping—hoping for what? That someone would barge in an put a stop to this farce? Annex me from this family for good?

  Bull scraped his chair across the concrete floor and surveyed the grey mist outside, the only view evident from so high up. “They don’t want you. Not really. They’re after your old man.”

  I exhaled to ease some tension. It didn’t work

  “Don’t worry about it, kid,” Bull went on. “This is a good thing. They get everyone in a room together, and the truth comes out. Good for you,” he added, “but maybe not for your old man.”

  “He just had a heart attack. There’s no way he’s up to this.”

  The door opened. My stomach clenched at the sight of my father, sitting up in the bed. Two attendants wheeled him into the room. Despite the shabby surroundings, he managed to look like an aristocrat in a litter, his gaze on me as fierce as it had ever been. Fierce and sharp, because he lost interest before I could even throw together a reaction. In his wake two men arrived, their suits as rumpled as Fueller’s, followed sharply by a woman who looked to be in her early sixties, and a man in a white coat who I presumed was a doctor.

  “Try not to agitate him,” the doctor’s was saying in a low tone. “We’ll be keeping an eye on the heart monitor, and I’m telling you—if we don’t like what we see, we’re taking him back to his room.”

  “We can’t have anyone outside the investigation in the room, doc,” one of the rumpled men said. “We’ll keep it slow and easy, I promise.”

  The details were agreed. My father ignored me for the best part. I couldn’t look at him, either. My chest was aching as though it had been split. The old bastard was really going to put us through this ... if he had another heart attack—

  The fissure in my chest seemed to fill with tar. He only had himself to blame. I just had to get through this. There was nothing I could do for him. Nina needed me now, and she needed me a free man without a black mark against his name, someone who could provide for her. She needed me there. As did Stella, I hoped, and not just for Nina’s sake.

  Stella. Just thinking of her caused a shaft of searing light to cut across the doom. Did she need me? I realised with a rush of something akin to panic that I needed her. God, I needed her. Right now, I felt that cautious, even expression watching over me in this dank room. That slight citrus scent that always permeated the air around her head; when I rested my face there and closed my eyes, I could block out the rest of the world. Only me, and her.

  “Shut the door behind you, would you, doc?”

  The door had to be banged shut in the ill-fitting frame. Sitting up, I gritted my teeth, aware of my father’s sharp eyes on me. “How long is this going to take?” I asked the eldest of the investigators.

  He seemed unimpressed by my, admittedly, supercilious tone. “As long as it takes, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” he said with a thick New York accent. “Unless you got something to tell us that’ll speed things along?”

  “My client has nothing to say to you,” my new lawyer said in a gravelly voice. “He’s here as a gesture of goodwill to assist with the investigation into his father’s business, but we’ll answer the indictment charges in court in front of a judge. Until then, anything you have to say, you can say to me.”

  The investigator seemed to be barely listening. Instead, he was regarding me with open curiosity. “Must be a hell of a thing to see your father all laid up in bed like that,” he said. He scratched his chin. “Cuts a man up inside.”

  Abel sighed loudly. When I looked over he was smiling—not at me, but at the investigator. They could have been old friends riling each other for all the generosity in his expression. “Cut the crap, Mancini,” he muttered. “Leave the heart strings out of this and just get on with it.” He gestured towards the wires on his chest. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t got all the time in the world.”

  “Do you know each other?” I asked, the words coming unstuck from my throat.

  Abel looked away, disinterested. “Sure,” Mancini said with a grin. “Your pop’s been a regular fixture down at the precinct these last few months.” He turned. “Ain’t that right, Abel? We’ve got a special chair for you down in interview room four.”

  The door handle rattled, as did the disquiet in my chest as I processed this new information. Abel had been visiting a police precinct? My eyes flickered to the door as it jerked open. Visiting? Clearly Mancini was implying that there had been no obligation involved, so why had my father been spending time with the very people he’d been under investigation with? More importantly, why hadn’t he mentioned this before?

  There was no time to contemplate the unnerving reasons for this as my gaze settled on the newcomer behind the door. I was on my feet in seconds. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

  “Whoa, slow down!” Mancini said, lifting his hands in surrender.

  Elizabeth stared at me with shocked, if dull, recognition. In fact, everything about her was dull. It was as if someone had turned down the colour on an old television set; her eyes were small and strained to focus, the long hair rendered wispy from neglect.

  “What,” I said, barley able to formulate the words through a clenched jaw, “is she doing here?”

  “She’s here to corroborate your evidence,” Mancini said with an obvious air.

  My jaw slackened. “She’s under arrest for the kidnapping of my daughter!” I kicked the plastic chair in
frustration, afraid of what I might do to her. My hands itched to get at her slender throat. “Are you fucking kidding me? Last night, she took my daughter from our house! Why is she even allowed to be walking around?”

  “She’s still in custody, Mr Fitzsimmons,” Mancini said. “She’s not going anywhere, I promise you.”

  Bull’s imploring hand was on my sleeve but I remained standing. I stared at her. Her face seemed to have literally fallen a few inches. Everything about her was weighted—loaded. “She’s sedated,” I insisted. “Look at her.”

  “Just sit down, Mr Fitzsimmons.”

  “Yes, please, don’t get up, darling,” Elizabeth slurred, “not on my account. Is my mother here already?” She noticed my father in the bed. “Oh, Abel. How are you feeling?” Her voice increased noticeably in volume. “Is the food any better? I had a word with Cook.”

  “Come on, guys,” Fueller said to the investigators. When I looked down at him, he seemed as shocked as I felt. “She couldn’t corroborate her own name,” he said. “What is she doing here?”

  “Just sit down,” Mancini said. “Everybody just sit down and shut up, for Pete’s sake.”

  We did. Elizabeth was shown to a seat next to me. She touched my arm; God help me but I couldn’t stop myself shrugging it off. Disdain wavered around the peripheries of her expression. “Have you been drinking?” she asked me.

  “A dog and pony show,” a low voice said. I looked towards the bed. My father shook his head at me.

  “A touching family reunion,” the younger investigator said. “Doesn’t matter what given us—you’re still in a lot of trouble, Abel. You know that, right?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid,” Abel threw back. “I had a heart attack. I’m not senile.”

  “Not yet, old man. Health care down at Ellis Island isn’t quite up to these standards, though. No private rooms, if you get my meaning.”

  “Can we just get on with this?” I asked. Desperate to get out of the room, I shifted in my seat again. “What do you want?”

  The questions started shortly afterwards. They were all leading towards the same conclusion—if I could offer up someone else, I’d save myself. My head was thick was suspicion and through the fog I wondered how many people Abel had already thrown under the bus. Was I one of them?

  I agreed, after a small conference with my new lawyer, to disclose my side of the story. It was the truth, so I didn’t have to worry about tripping up in a story. Abel actually laughed through some of it, as if amused by his own antics. Elizabeth kept trying to leave in search of coffee and was threatened with physical restraint.

  “So, you deny all knowledge of your father’s attempts at stripping assets from your firm?”

  I nodded.

  Finally Mancini turned his wary eye off me. He turned it on Elizabeth. “What about you, Mrs. Fitzsimmons? You said in a previous statement—part of your divorce petition—that your husband was well aware of your father’s pyramid scheme. You went as far as to say he was part of it.”

  There was a pause. “What scheme?” she asked. She was looking at her finger nails with faint horror. “I’ve just had these done. Those bodyguards are very heavy handed.” Her accusing tone centred on me. “This treatment ... it’s unconscionable.” She mangled the last word and started to cry, before stopping furiously. “Your handling of the entire situation leaves a lot to be desired, and I don’t mind telling you that that’s an understatement. Abel, tell him. That woman in my house…”

  Chest tight with rage, I stared out at the grey mist.

  “Can I speak now?” Abel said in a bored tone.

  The younger investigator shook his head, in dismay rather than disagreement. “Sure,” he breathed. “Why not?”

  “I haven’t finished!” Elizabeth cried.

  “I thought she was sedated,” Abel said.

  “Who are you?” she asked the investigator. Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care. She turned back to me. “I want a divorce,” she announced.

  A burst of astonished laughter escaped me.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Jay Fitzsimmons,” she said. “In case you hadn’t noticed we are not divorced, despite all of your flimsy efforts.”

  “I noticed, Elizabeth, trust me.”

  “Well, now I’m telling you that I want a divorce. I plan to get it done, too,” she said, “the way I get everything done around here.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Abel said again. “Could somebody please get her to be quiet? If this is supposed to get me to talk, it’s working.” He glared at the investigators. “What do you want? I’ve already given you Benson. As convenient as it would be, I can’t see my son topping your wanted list, so what’s this little show in aid of?”

  “We want everyone,” the investigator said. “At the moment, you’d better hope you talk before any other of your buddies opens their mouths. Because trust me, they’re all getting real nervous lately, what with all the surveillance-”

  “I get it,” Abel said.

  “I don’t think you do, Mr. Fitzsimmons. You and your kid here are starting to look like a good catch. We’ll get the others eventually with or without your help.”

  “You might,” he agreed. “You might not.” His weathered face hardened for a moment. He glanced at me; tiredness seemed to grip him and he suddenly looked every day of his sixty-six years. “Get them out of here,” he said, laying his head back on the pillows.

  Frozen, only my heart seemed to be functioning. It beat, slow and determined, as though encased in ice. The true horror of what I was slithering through my consciousness. Abel and Harry had been friends since boarding school. Good friends. Best friends.

  Fueller touched my arm. “Let’s go, kid,” he said quietly.

  Confused, I glanced around to see my lawyer getting up. An orderly had come in and was helping Elizabeth to her feet.

  “Wait a minute.” I got up and turned to the Abel. There was so much I wanted to say to him—so much anger and resentment, and yet underlying this, a aching wound that wouldn’t heal. There was nothing in his expression except impatience as he watched me.

  He sighed. “Just get out, Jay.”

  “You’d better know what you’re doing,” I said, warning, worrying.

  “I always know what I’m doing,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling. “You’re the one who couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

  The insult was so typical of Abel, and yet so unexpected, that I wanted to laugh. Only regret held it at bay. I took in the sight of his surprisingly frail profile as he studied the grey mist outside and then turned away.

  My father’s reign of terror seemed to be slipping away. With it, I could feel myself being pulled away from the darkness and outside, towards a light. I let my lawyer exit the room first and paused in the corridor just in time to see Elizabeth being led around the corner. She didn’t look back. Like my father, I knew she’d be focused elsewhere now, focused on what she needed to survive.

  Like my father, she had never really needed me.

  But Nina did, I reminded myself. And if I was lucky, Stella did, too.

  On impulse, I turned and hugged Fueller. “I’ve got to go,” I said, overwhelmed by the urge to start running down the long corridor and out of this murky place, far away to a house on a street with lemon-yellow curtains. “Thank you, Bull.”

  He patted me roughly on the back. “Go on,” he urged. “Get back to your family. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  Then I ran.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Stella

  “It’s not worth it.”

  That was all the text said. The realtor had inflated the price by ten percent, assuring me that it would easily outbid the, apparently, aggressive bidder from the day before. I’d left a message for Jay. Promising him I’d found the perfect house to bring Nina up in, I’d carefully outlined a payment plan. He, however, clearly had his own ideas about the worth of my little brownstone.


  I slumped down on to the stoop and stared at the phone. The familiar sounds of my street drifted by: traffic; families on the school run; laughter; life. I didn’t want to be a spectator to this anymore.

  Maybe Jay was just distracted at the hospital? Despite the homely family scene this morning, this probably wasn’t a good time to be discussing real estate. I’d told him I’d take care of things; find a place for us to live. Instead I’d hit him with mortgages and loans and questions. I breathed out and rubbed my face. The timing wasn’t good. Clearly this house and I were never meant to be.

  Did it matter if it was this street or another one? Putting the phone down, I adjusted Nina’s blanket, unable to resist touching her tilted nose as she slept. I traced the wide forehead, too. I’d traced Jay’s forehead this morning in the same way, brushing his hair aside in an effort to soothe him.

  No, the street didn’t matter. I was starting to realise that a family could be a family anywhere, as long they were together. It was about trust. All I had to do was work on that. A house didn’t make people happy. Even a perfect house—at this I glanced back at the gleaming red door mournfully—even a perfect house didn’t make people happy. I knew this.

  A pair of feet entered into my vision as someone came to a stop in front of me. As he leaned down on his haunches, I noticed he was wearing two different socks.

  “How did you know I’d be here?” I asked as Jay’s face came into view.

  He was smiling. He looked ridiculously pleased with life, considering how dejected he’d been this morning. With the sun shining behind him, it was all a little overwhelming, especially when he leaned in to kiss me. I touched my hand to the back of his head, tasting his mouth like a rare delicacy.

  He loosened his tie. “You two are a sight for sore eyes.” He nodded at the car seat. “Did she just go down?”

  “About five minutes ago,” I said. I experienced a small pang as I recalled playing with her this afternoon in the nursery upstairs. The realtor had left me the keys as a gesture of goodwill. I’d been so sure this was the place for us...