Murphy's Child

by Judith Duncan

  He had the option of giving J.J. a bottle, but if Jordan went too long between feedings, her breasts would get so engorged that it would get really painful for her. And she was so wiped out, he’d like to give her another half hour if possible. Except he couldn’t find the darned soother. Wasn’t in the nursery. Wasn’t in the car seat Couldn’t find it anywhere. Finally he laid J.J. in the crib and poked around his sleeper. “Hey, kid,” he whispered. “We gotta find that yum-yum, or old dad will never keep you quiet.”

  J.J. gave a little squall and sucked noisily on his fist. He was not pleased about this nothing-in-his-mouth thing.

  Murphy’s search turned up zero yum-yums, and he knew he was going to have to widen the search zone. He pulled up the safety rail of the crib and locked it. “Just hang on a second, tadpole. I think there’s a spare in Mommy’s room. I’ll have to check it out.” Then Murphy did a very bad thing. He separated JJ.’s thumb from his fist and poked the digit into the baby’s mouth. “You just suck on your thumb until Dad gets back, okay? We don’t want Mommy to hear you fussing.”

  Closing the nursery door to muffle the sound, he went down the hall to Jordan’s room, and being careful to not make any noise, he eased the door open. Only Jordan wasn’t in her bed. The drapes covering the French doors to the small balcony were pulled open, and Jordan was outside. Dressed in a blue robe, she was standing with her hip braced against the balcony rail, staring across the street, her arms folded tightly in front of her. And even in the faint, ethereal light filtering up from the street lamps below, he could see the desolate expression on her face. He couldn’t be absolutely sure in the dim light, but he also thought he could see the glimmer of tears.

  She looked so forlorn and alone, and he remembered the little girl at the bus stop. A heavy, heavy feeling banded his chest, and he wished he could simply reach out and take all that hurt away. But he couldn’t. Having a child of her own had probably resurrected a whole lot of old pain from her childhood. Feeling the way she did about J.J., she had to be wondering what had been so wrong, so distasteful about her that she had been abandoned. If she had been abandoned.

  Knowing he couldn’t just leave her like that, and knowing exactly who would chase all those old ghosts away, he made a snap decision. He spoke, his voice just a little. gravelly. “Jordan?”

  She quickly turned so her back was to him, and he saw her wipe her face.

  Not waiting for her to answer, he tried to keep it light. “Our kid is rebelling, and he’s made up his mind that he’s not going to settle for anything but his mother.”

  Her voice was soft and uneven. “I’ll be right out.”

  “He’s in his crib, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Murphy studied her a moment longer, then closed the door. He went down the hallway, a determined set to his jaw. Okay. Enough was enough. He was going to have to give her something else to think about.

  Entering the nursery, he yanked the light quilt off the bed and collected the pillow, glancing at his son. “You’re going to dine outdoors, kid. So just keep your shirt on for a minute, okay?”

  J.J. let out an annoyed wail. Murphy figured he could make do with his thumb for another five minutes.

  Tucking the quilt and pillow under one arm, he went out onto the terrace. It was a beautiful night—full moon, a few clouds to make the night sky interesting. A little cool with a light breeze coming in from the mountains, but cool he could take care of.

  The terrace was large and sheltered, with various sizes of large urns of blooming flowers and potted plants scattered around, and the mixed scents from the flowers were filling up the night air with an unbelievable fragrance. Just what the doctor ordered. He adjusted the angle on one of the big, comfortable chaise longues, spread the quilt and fixed the pillow in place. Then he got the butane barbecue starter and lit every one of the citronella candles she had scattered around in various jardinieres.

  Jordan, dressed in a midnight blue velour robe and with their son cradled in one arm, was just coming into the living room when he went back in. Without giving her a chance to get her bearings, he caught her free arm and piloted her toward the terrace.

  He gave her what he hoped was his most disarming grin. “I promised my kid he could have a picnic outside tonight. So you’re going to have to help me out on this.”

  She looked at him as if he’d just lost all his marbles. Her tone was even more incredulous. “What?”

  Murphy aimed her toward the lounger he had fixed for her. “It’s a gorgeous night, the flowers smell terrific and he put up a real stink that he wanted a picnic. So I said okay.”

  She looked at the chair, at the candles, then up at him. There was a hint—just a hint—of a smile in her eyes. “I see.”

  He maneuvered her into the chair, made sure she and their son were comfortably settled, then he pulled the quilt around both of them, making a cozy cocoon. “I’m damned glad you do. Frankly, I think it’s bloody insane. But you know what a little tyrant he is.”

  She rewarded him with a little chuckle as she unzipped her robe, then fixed the nursing bra so J.J. could nurse. She winced as the baby latched on. Snuggling down, she whispered to her son. “I think your dad has finally flipped out, tadpole. He’s just up and lost his mind altogether.”

  Murphy dragged over the other lounger so he was facing her, then straddled the long footrest and sat down. Slouching back into a comfortable position, he propped his feet up and crossed his ankles. “Probably. Chronic sleep deprivation messes up a guy’s mind.”

  Her hair was loose, and there was an unusual wave left from the topknot she’d worn earlier. In the flickering light from the candles, it looked like spun silver. She watched the baby suckle at her breast, her expression intent and filled with such awe and tenderness that it made his chest hurt just to look at her.

  Without looking up at him, she spoke. “I want to thank you for being here for him,” she said, her voice soft and uneven. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  It was a kicker, that jolt of emotion he got square in his chest. And it took a long time before it eased enough for him to even think about speaking. And he knew it was time for a little honesty of his own. He looked at her, his expression suddenly very solemn. “And I don’t know what I would have done without you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I could name at least ten women who would have never had that baby, Jordan. So thank you for giving me a son.”

  She looked up at him, and this time she didn’t try to pull back or hide. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she held his gaze. Her smile wasn’t quite steady as she softly stroked their small son’s head. “You’re very welcome.”

  Murphy didn’t get a wink of sleep all night. And he could have. Jordan and J.J. both fell asleep in the lounger, and they looked so cozy and comfortable snuggled up in the quilt, he didn’t have the heart to wake them. So he ended up pacing from room to room, feeling as if the devil were chasing him.

  He was in a hell of a mess. And he knew it. The lack of sleep and drop-dead exhaustion had pretty well knocked the hell out of any heavy sexual urges. But he was also left vulnerable in other ways. Maybe because he didn’t have that low-grade anger to protect him any longer. Maybe because he’d done some growing up in the past few days. He wasn’t sure about the whys; all he knew was that her softly spoken admission had knocked him for one hell of a loop, and it had also knocked the lid off a whole set of other feelings. And he was so jammed up inside with this thing for her, he felt as if his rib cage might crack wide open.

  He wanted her. And it was separate from sex. This was something much bigger. He wanted her. In his life, as the mother of his kids, as his helpmate and partner, in good times and bad. He wanted to see her every morning when he woke up, and he wanted to go to sleep beside her every night.

  But there was this roadblock between them, and nothing was going to change until they got past that. And maybe things wouldn’t change even then. But he had to take a shot at it.

>   Once he made the decision, the awful knot in his stomach eased and the panicky feeling left him. Right or wrong, he was going to go for it. Feeling as if a huge load had been lifted off his shoulders, he went back out to the terrace. And he watched them sleep until the first vibrant fingers of summer dawn appeared—and for that space of time, Murphy felt as if all was right with his world.

  It was eight o’clock when he arrived at the construction shack. In spite of the fact that he had only caught an hour’s sleep from six to seven, he actually didn’t feel all that bad. In fact, he felt pretty good. And the reason he felt pretty good was that he’d made the decision to quit living in limbo and take some action. Whether it was the right move or not, he had to make an attempt to get by that roadblock.

  The first thing he did was phone a florist and order two dozen white long-stemmed roses to be sent to the condo as soon as possible. The second thing was phone up the Ford dealer he dealt with and place an order for a fully loaded Ford Explorer, with a top-of-the-line infant car seat already installed. And he didn’t care what color it was or what they had to do to get it, but he wanted it ASAP.

  The third thing. He got butterflies the size of dump trucks every time he thought about the third thing. It was underhanded and it was sneaky, and he knew Jordan would never speak to him again if she ever found out.

  But he honestly believed if he was ever going to work his way past Jordan’s defenses, he had to be damned sure what he was faced with. And there was only one way he could do it without hiring a PI, and he didn’t even know if this way would work. But Jill Richards was his only hope.

  Jill had lived across the street from the Munroes, and she and Murphy had started first grade together. They had been buddies all the way through school, and they had remained friends ever since. And Jill was Regional Director of Child Welfare Services.

  But there was a catch with Jill. She was a single-parent mom, and she had a fourteen-year-old son that had been giving her all kinds of grief. Murphy had taken the kid under his wing last fall. He’d put him to work, let him know that he was going to come down hard if he screwed up, paid him a fair salary and dragged him to the gym twice a week. It had turned out even better than he’d expected. The teenager’s bad attitude lasted maybe three weeks, and not only did he end up with this big, strapping kid who could move kitchen appliances all by himself, but the kid was also turning into a first-class framer.

  The reason he was putting off calling Jill was that he didn’t want her thinking she had to do him this favor because she owed him. But Jill was his only chance. And the only person on the whole planet that he would trust with this.

  Without weighing the pros and cons, Murphy flipped through the organizer on his desk. Tucking the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he used the end of a pencil to punch in the number for her private line.

  Two rings and she answered. “Jill Richards.”

  “Hey, Jilly. How are you doing?”

  He heard her heave a long sigh. “I knew this was too good to last. What’s he done now?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Murphy grinned and propped his feet on the battered steel desk, flipping the pencil against his thigh. “Lord, woman. Why do mothers always suspect the worst? He’s out there working his butt off, hauling concrete paving blocks all over the place, earning an honest dollar.”

  “How heavy are the paving blocks?”

  “About sixty pounds apiece and he’s packing two at a time. So cut the kid some slack. He’s doing nothing but getting humongous muscles.”

  There was a tinge of amusement in her voice. “I stand corrected. I apologize.”

  “So you should.”

  “So since my kid is the good citizen of the year, why are you bugging me?”

  His expression turning dead sober, Murphy rolled the pencil between his fingers.

  Her tone had altered when she prompted him. “Murph? What’s the matter?”

  He exhaled heavily and tossed the pencil on top of the paper clutter on his desk. “I need to ask you a favor, but I don’t want you to get involved if it’s going to cause problems for you.”

  “Murphy,” she said, her voice dry and chastising. “I wouldn’t do anything for you that might cause me problems, favor or not. I got into enough trouble because of you when we were kids. I don’t need any more grief, thank you very much.”

  Murphy gave up a small smile, but his mood remained sober. He pinched a crease in his jeans, then let out another sigh and responded. “This is a big one, Jilly,” he said, his tone serious.

  Her tone was equally serious. “So let’s hear it.”

  “There’s this woman I’m involved with. I thought maybe we had something pretty serious going for us, but she walked out on me last fall.”

  “Is this the mother of your new baby boy, by any chance?”

  Murphy slammed his feet down, glaring at the phone. “How in hell did you know that?”

  “Hey. I have coffee with your mother at least once a week.”

  “Well, damn!”

  “Now, now, Murphy.”

  “Do you suppose my mother has ever kept one thing to herself in her whole life?” he snapped.

  There was a distinct chuckle from the other end of the phone. “Well, she doesn’t tell me everything. For example, I don’t know what color underwear you have on this morning.” There was a change in the level of sound, as if she’d just shifted the receiver. “Congratulations, Pa. You’re going to make an outstanding dad.”

  The genuine goodwill in her voice made Murphy’s throat close up a little. “Thanks. He’s pretty great.”

  “We’re going to have a long talk about this kid of yours later. But right now, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

  He told her what he wanted and why. An old weariness had surfaced in him by the time he finished it all. “I don’t know if you can find out if she was ever a ward of the court. I don’t know if those records are even still around.”

  “Do you know her full name and birth date?”

  He gave her both, then added, “All I know is that she did her high school in Edmonton, and she went to university there. But that’s about it.”

  There was a long pause, as if she was making notes, then she spoke. “I won’t guarantee anything, but I’ll see what I can do. Records that old, they might be on microfiche, or they might be gone. It’s hard to say. But I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “Jill?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Just between you and me, okay?”

  There was a quiet assurance in her voice. “Just between you and me, Murph.”

  “You can get me at the number here at the trailer or at my cell phone, okay?”

  “It’ll probably take at least a couple of days ”

  Closing his eyes, he rubbed a sudden throbbing in his temple. “Thanks, Jilly.”

  Murphy couldn’t concentrate on anything after that. He was antsy, wired and irritable. So he did his crew a favor and shut himself up in the construction trailer, forcing himself to process paper for a couple of hours. But that only made matters worse. After he snapped at one of the drywall crew for simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time, he decided he’d better give everybody a break and dump it all back on Marco’s shoulders. Before he left, he wrote out a work order for his bookkeeper, instructing her to give his brother-in-law a hefty raise. Hell, the way he’d been staying away from work, Murphy should give him half of the business.

  Needing to be away from everybody, he went home—to his still and empty house. He’d bought it as an investment a couple of years ago, intending on doing some cosmetic improvements, then putting it back on the market. But that hadn’t turned out quite the way he’d planned. Because somewhere along the line, he’d developed a strong attachment for the place. The house was located in an older part of town that had, in its day, been very affluent. Big lot, huge trees in the yard, quiet street with hedges and stonework fences—it had everything he’d been looking for. T
he house, with its huge wraparound veranda, was basically a Dutch Colonial built in the late thirties. The story-and-a-half structure was sound, but the inside had been badly run-down and allowed to deteriorate. When he started the renovations, it had been about upping the value of his investment, which meant he had to decide what was worth saving time-wise, and what wasn’t. But he found himself trying to save everything—the beautiful old lath-and-plaster walls, the water-stained press-molded ceilings, the solid-oak woodwork and trim that had so many coats of varnish and paint that it had taken several months to strip them down. And the floors, which, once stripped and sanded, revealed a very rare find in that they were made of spectacularly grained maple instead of the expected oak.

  But as attached as he’d become to what his sisters referred to as the Eternal Work in Progress, it echoed with emptiness now. Pretty much empty of furniture, except in his bedroom and study. Empty of clutter. Empty of baby sounds. Just empty rooms in various states of renovation.

  Knowing that kind of thinking was going to get him into more trouble than he could handle, he launched himself into a make-work project outside. He could tell from the state of the large perennial garden along one whole side of the backyard that Baba had been sneaking over, trying to instill some order into flower beds gone wild. And it was obvious that the little kitchen garden in the back corner of the lot had been freshly weeded. As crappy as he felt, Murphy had to smile—his grandmother thought everyone in the family should have a garden whether they wanted one or not. So she had taken it upon herself one weekend in the spring and planted him one. Which he needed like a hole in the head. But Baba loved to garden, and her own small yard didn’t have the scope she needed, so if she couldn’t garden there, she’d garden wherever it suited her.

  But the make-work project had nothing to do with gardening. It had to do with the wobbly honeysuckle-covered trellis and gate leading to the backyard. The entire structure was so rickety, he was surprised it hadn’t fallen down long ago.

  It was going on two in the afternoon when his cell phone rang, and his heart gave a violent start. He swore at himself. This was nuts. It was going to be a damned long couple of days if he had that kind of reaction every time his phone rang. Forcing himself to get a grip on the wild flutter in his chest, he crossed to the flagstone patio, and to the round table where he’d tossed his shirt and cell phone. Knowing just how slow the wheels of bureaucracy moved, simple common sense told him he’d be lucky if he heard from Jilly by next week.