BABY, BABY, BABY

by Mary McBride

  Connie laughed again. "I know. I know. How would you like it? Two tens or a twenty?"

  Mike waggled his eyebrows. "I'll get back to you on that later."

  Sonny seemed oblivious to the entire exchange. Melanie watched him as he lowered himself onto the sisal rug and settled next to the toddler. "How's that thumb, Jakey?" He gently nudged the plump little arm that was angled up toward a cherubic face. "Is it pretty good?"

  The little boy immediately plucked his pudgy, wet thumb from his mouth and offered it to Sonny. "Some?"

  "No, thanks. I've got my own." He reached toward his back pocket, and, with a, Ta-da! produced his thumb.

  Jacob whooped and chortled when the man beside him hunkered over and started sucking. "Mama, look Unca Summy!"

  While Mike and Connie laughed, young Michael wandered over, his nose slightly out of joint at the attention being paid to his sibling, and threw his arms around Sonny's neck. Melanie watched as her ex-husband raised his free hand to clasp the boy's arm and remove his thumb long enough to quietly inquire, "How're you doin', partner?"

  And then the oddest thing happened. While she sat watching him with his thumb in his mouth, with one little boy leaning on his knee and another draped around his neck, everything else in the world seemed to disappear. If Mike and Connie were still there, she was oblivious to them. It was as if she were suddenly looking through a narrow lens that focused solely on one man and two children. Or as if she were staring at a Norman Rockwell scene of a man who seemed utterly content, as warm as a hearth, as loving and dependable as any father ought to be. She longed to be in the picture.

  Then, as she watched, Sonny slowly lifted his blue, shining gaze to meet hers, and something passed between them—something so intimate, so visceral, that Melanie could hardly breathe. If she hadn't already been sitting, she might have sunk to her knees. As it was, it was all she could do to remain upright in her wicker chair.

  She wanted Sonny Randle that moment as she had never wanted him before. But more. She wanted…

  God help her. This couldn't really be happening, could it? Was this how nervous breakdowns began, with tunnel visions of Norman Rockwell scenes? Had the King of Chaos finally driven her completely around the bend?

  She wanted Sonny's child.

  Was she nuts?

  * * *

  On the drive back to Channing Square

  , traffic was fairly light and Melanie was much too quiet. There was no ragging on him about the Corvette, no advice on whether to turn right or left, not even a single helpful murmur when a red light changed to green. She wasn't herself, except for when she pulled her planner from her handbag, made a quick notation, then put it away again.

  Sonny started worrying that Connie might have said something while the two women were alone to make Mel feel sad or upset. Connie, after all, was on his side. She'd been even angrier than Mike when Melanie had ended their marriage after only six months.

  They were just a few blocks from home when Melanie suddenly said, "We need to talk, Sonny."

  His heart bashed against his ribs. He started to sweat. The last time he'd heard her say those words in that exact tone was when she'd told him she was filing for divorce.

  We need to talk, Sonny. This just isn't going to work. I'm seeing a lawyer tomorrow.

  Barely able to concentrate on the road, Sonny pulled over to the curb. He opened his window, sucked in a deep breath of air, then killed the engine.

  "Let me go first," he said, trying to keep his voice on an even keel and his temper on ice when inside he was screaming, You didn't even give me a chance, goddammit.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if Melanie would take pity on him if he cried, which was what he felt like doing. That, or ramming his fist through the dashboard.

  "Did Connie say something to you earlier?" he roared. "Because if she did…"

  "No. She didn't say a word. I just—"

  "Okay. Wait. I want to go first here."

  Sonny unsnapped his seat belt to shift around to face her. He draped an arm over the steering wheel, leaned back against the door a minute, closing his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order because these might be the most important words he would ever speak in his life. He had to make Melanie understand not just how much he loved her, but how badly he needed her.

  They'd spoken before about his childhood, but he had a tendency to make jokes about it and always glossed over the pain of being abandoned by his mother and then shunted from one foster family to another, each time having to learn new names, new rules, new everything, each time having to make his way through a new pecking order of kids who were usually angry at having to share a room or a parent's attention.

  He didn't want to whine about the past. It was past, after all. Over and done with. He'd coped. He'd done the best he could for a kid who was forced through the revolving door of the system again and again.

  Maybe, just as in his marriage, he'd done it all wrong with one foster family after another. But that didn't matter now. After all these years, he finally knew how to do it right. Especially with Melanie, his lovely list maker, the keeper of his chaotic heart. If only he could find the perfect words to tell her.

  "Sonny," she said, putting her hand on his leg to get his attention.

  He opened his eyes. "Okay. Just listen to me, will you? I know what I want to say to you, Mel."

  "But, Sonny…"

  He clenched his teeth. "Will you just wait until I've said what I need to? Please?"

  More irritation sounded in his voice than he'd meant to convey, and he was just about to add an apology when Melanie interrupted him again, sounding pretty irritated herself.

  "Well, okay. But it's going to be hard concentrating on whatever it is you have to say with that weird man standing behind you at the window."

  "What?" Sonny jerked up, turned to his left, and very nearly touched noses with a man who looked like an extra in a werewolf movie.

  A cheerful, "Hi, Lieutenant," wafted past Sonny's nose like a cloud of sewer gas.

  "For crissake, Eagan." Sonny's startled heart slid back into its regular place. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Lieutenant I thought you knew I was here and you were just ignoring me. People do that, you know. All the time. Ignore me. I'm used to it."

  Sonny sighed. Carl Eagan was every cop's most pitied street person. The guy had lost half an arm and most of his mind in Vietnam. He'd been in and out of hospitals for decades, but no medication or treatment plan had been invented yet for his particular demons, whatever they were. Children shrank away from him. Cats and dogs even gave him a pretty wide berth. With wild black hair that shot out from his scalp and dripped from his upper lip and chin, he really did resemble a werewolf.

  "I wasn't ignoring you, Carl." Sonny swore under his breath. "This just isn't a really good time to have a chat."

  "Oh." The derelict's gaze wandered to Melanie on the passenger side of the van. He touched a nicotine-stained finger to the invisible brim of an invisible hat on his messed-up head. "Hello, ma'am. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thanks," Melanie answered in a voice that was unmistakably kind and sincere. She leaned across the center console, smiling. "How are you?"

  "Oh." His yellowed fingers slipped inside his black beard for a quick scratch. "Not too bad. I've been better, I guess. I appreciate your asking. Most don't."

  Sonny interrupted the love fest. "Eagan, this really isn't a good time. Can I catch up with you tomorrow or later in the week?"

  His werewolf face sort of crumpled underneath all the hair. Across the console, Melanie uttered a woeful little, "Aw, Sonny" as she put her hand on his arm.

  "Give the poor thing a few minutes," she whispered. "We're not in any hurry."

  No. Not anymore. Everything he'd been wanting to tell her had just fizzled in his brain. Right now, with Carl looming over his left shoulder, he wouldn't be able to persuade Me
lanie to take her next breath, much less marry him again and make him happy for the rest of his life.

  "Okay, Carl." Sonny sighed. "What's going on? Anything shaking out on the street?"

  "I'm glad you asked, Lieutenant." There was no sarcasm in the guy's voice. His embattled mind had probably already erased Sonny's attempt just a moment ago to brush him off. "People usually treat me like I'm stupid and don't know anything. But I do. I know things. I see things."

  "Like what?" Sonny asked, hoping this wasn't going to be about little green men in space ships as was often the case.

  "I know where Reva Edwards hid that grocery cart she stole from Kmart a couple days ago. I know ol' Dave Dellinger isn't cashing his own disability checks. And I know where Slink Kinnison is making his dope this week."

  "Whoa." Sonny sat up straighter. But as quickly as his cop antennae activated, so did his Melanie Meter. Don't screw this up, he warned himself. Do not screw this up. "I'm, uh, kind of on vacation, Carl."

  "Cool," the man said. "Florida's always nice this time of year. I was there once."

  "What I mean is…" Okay, he thought. He was still doing his job if he handed Eagan off to Heilig or White. Of course, he'd done that with Lovey and Heilig had just brushed her off because it was quitting time and God forbid he put in one minute he didn't get paid for. But what the hell. Sonny wasn't getting paid anything at the moment.

  "I'm going to give you the name and number of a guy at the precinct," he said to Carl, then he asked Melanie, "Can I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?"

  "No," she said.

  "What?" He stared at her. Was she angry already? He hadn't even done anything. "What do you mean, no?"

  "I mean no. Kinnison's your guy, Sonny. Why let Stan Heilig have all the fun?"

  "Melanie." After he said her name, his mind went blank. In cartoons, characters always slapped the heel of a hand to their ear, just to make sure they'd heard correctly. Sonny felt like doing that now.

  He didn't know what to say. To further complicate things, Carl poked his horrible head through the window and breathed through his mouth as he pondered the miracle of the dashboard.

  "Uh, you want to step back just a bit, Carl? I need to have a few words in private with the lady."

  "Oh. Sure. I can do that."

  "Good. I appreciate it."

  After he could breathe again, Sonny turned to Melanie. "I don't get it. You want me to follow up on this thing with Kinnison? I'm not even officially working, Mel." He stared at her harder. "And what do you mean, fun? You never thought this was any fun."

  Her smile turned inscrutable again, a mysterious curve that Sonny couldn't begin to fathom, and she reached out to touch his cheek. "You're good at what you do, sweetie," she said softly. "Just be careful while you're doing it, okay?"

  "You actually want me to go with Carl?" He'd never felt more stupid, more thickheaded. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it, where you'll beat me up later for taking off right in the middle of a discussion?"

  The inscrutable smile turned sad. "I promise you it's not. We'll talk about it later, okay? Because I really do want to talk. How about if I whip something up from all those groceries you bought, and we'll have dinner whenever you're done with Carl and his information?"

  "Sounds like a plan," he said, although what that plan might be was way beyond his ability to comprehend at the moment. If nothing else, they had a dinner date, and by then he might be able to prepare an impassioned speech to replace the one he'd just forgotten.

  He turned to the window to see Carl Eagan, former marine captain, recipient of several Purple Hearts and a Silver Star that kept showing up in local pawn shops, standing on the sidewalk like a shaggy hitching post. "Hop in, Carl," he said, reaching back to slide the door open for the one-armed veteran.

  "Oh. Okay. I'll do that." He clambered in awkwardly, then settled on the seat and looked around, sort of amazed and full of anticipation, as if he'd just taken a seat at the opera. "This is nice, Lieutenant. You should probably roll down the windows. I haven't had a shower in a while."

  "That's okay, Carl," Sonny said. "You need help hooking up your seat belt?"

  "Oh. Do I have to?"

  "Yeah. You do."

  Melanie, seemingly unfazed by the odor that permeated the vehicle, wedged between the front bucket seats and latched Carl in. "There you go," she said.

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "You're welcome."

  Sonny started the engine. "I'll drop you off at your place," he said to Melanie, "then take Carl to the precinct. It shouldn't take too long. An hour. Maybe two."

  "That'll give me time to get dinner started," she said.

  He thought about all the times he'd ruined dinners she'd spent hours planning and preparing. It wasn't a given that he'd be back in time for this one. The odds were good that he wouldn't be.

  Before he put the van in drive, Sonny reached across the console for his ex-wife's hand. "I don't have to do this, Mel. Just say the word and…"

  "Drive," she said with a little laugh. "We'll talk later."

  * * *

  An hour after Sonny had dropped her off, Melanie stood in the kitchen, scraping carrots. If anyone had told her a week ago that she'd be fixing dinner for Sonny tonight—a dinner that might be served at eight o'clock, or nine-thirty, or half past midnight for all she knew, if it was even served at all—she would have laughed out loud and then bet every cent in her bank account that it would never happen.

  Never.

  Not in a million years.

  But here she was, grinning like a complete fool, peeling carrots, about to put together a red sauce and let it simmer for however long it took for Sonny to come home. It wasn't so different from the way she'd felt two years ago when they'd first met, when the King of Chaos kissed her for the first time, when the Prince of Pandemonium played havoc with all her plans and for a while, a wonderful while, set her free from her burdens of caution and taking care.

  My God, he'd done it again! He'd done it with a single look. A look that found her heart with the precision of a heat-seeking missile and exploded any plans she might have had that didn't include him.

  It had to be drugs, she thought as she ground the carrot peelings in the garbage disposal and finished up the sauce in a blur of chopping, measuring, remeasuring and stirring. Since she was already under the influence, she opened Sonny's bottle of Château Margaux, splashed a bit of the wine into the red sauce, then poured herself a glass and carried it into the living room where her father's stained-glass lamp cast its magic colors.

  When she really thought about it, Sonny wasn't half as chaotic as her father had been. Sonny at least knew how to follow through with a plan once he'd begun, whether it was hunting down a drug dealer or pursuing his former wife. Pop, on the other hand, seemed unaware that there was any world at all outside of his artworks. He left all that to the women in his life—to her mother and then to Melanie. They'd both loved the man to pieces in spite of his carelessness and detachment. Who knew? Maybe they'd loved him because of it.

  Maybe, in spite of all her protests, that was why she loved Sonny. He wasn't obsessed with crossing t's and dotting i's. God forbid she should find herself with a man who was exactly like her. They'd probably kill each other with perfectly sharpened pencils. Worse, they'd probably doom all their children to terrible tics and early nervous breakdowns.

  She pictured Sonny again as he'd sat this afternoon on the Kaczinskis' screened-in porch, sucking his thumb, with Jakey at his knee and Michael clinging to his neck. She revisited that incredible look he had given her, the one that had melted her resistance along with her bones.

  They could make this work, the two of them. She could make it work single-handedly, if she had to, because this time she would know how to bend rather than break.

  When the phone rang a few minutes later Melanie sensed immediately that her bending skills were about to be put to the test, and she had a pretty good idea what Sonny was going to say before th
e first apologetic word was out of his mouth.

  "This is going to take longer than I thought, Mel."

  "Okay." She took another sip of the mellow wine.

  "The DEA guys are swarming all over this. They want to take down Kinnison's new place tonight, but…" He paused long enough to swear. "But it turns out Carl doesn't know the address. He says he'll know it when he sees it, but he won't go with these guys unless I go, too."

  "Poor Carl. I can understand that."

  Even as she spoke, Melanie could hear herself thinking, Let's see… Dinner was simmering on the back burner, not to mention the simmering that was taking pace in several of her vital organs. She had plans for the evening that were unraveling. So, why wasn't she upset?

  "I'm sorry, babe. I know you're making dinner…"

  "It'll keep," she said. "In fact, the longer it simmers, the better it will be."

  He was quiet a second before he asked, "Are you okay, Mel?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

  "You just sound … oh, I don't know … subdued or something."

  "I'm bending, Sonny," she said, stifling a laugh. "Listen. You take care of Carl and get home when you can. Use the key under the W in the Welcome mat."

  He sounded as if he were only half joking then when he asked, "You're not going to be behind the door with a rolling pin or a cast-iron skillet in your hand, are you?"

  "No." She laughed. "As a matter of fact, I'll probably be in bed, which is where I hope you'll be joining me sometime before dawn."

  She actually heard him swallow. It was nice, once in a while, to be able to flabbergast the King of Chaos.

  "Let's make a baby, Sonny," she said.

  He swallowed again, louder. "Mel, I… Aw, dammit. They're getting ready to…" Away from the phone he called, "Yeah. Okay. Okay. I'm on it."

  Then he was back, his voice low and sensual. "Are you sure about this, Mel?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Under the W in Welcome, huh?"

  "Yes," she said, smiling. "Hurry."

  "Oh, yeah, babe."

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  It was nearly three in the morning when Sonny got back to Channing Square