Child of Mine Page 2

  Jack was about to check on Nattie when his cell phone rang. He rose from the sofa and snatched it from the end table. He greeted his sister, San, whose given name was Sandra—though she had been known to give him a withering stink-eye if he dared to call her that. “Well, you won’t believe it, brother dearest.”

  Jack could see Nattie’s closed bedroom door from where he stood. “Just a sec.” He covered the receiver. “Nattie?”

  He waited a moment and heard a muffled reply, “I’m okay.”

  Meanwhile, San had been barreling forward with details of her terrible day. While she chattered, Jack wandered to the tall window and observed the heavy cloud cover darkening the sky. The stars and the full moon were no longer visible. Another stormy night in Wooster, Ohio.

  Across the side yard, recently married Diane Farley, her strawberry blond hair cut short, stood next to her new husband, Craig, in the kitchen washing dishes. Sometimes, like today when Laura had to leave a few hours early, Diane would watch Nattie for him. Diane and Craig spotted him and waved.

  “Distracted, aren’t we?” San muttered into the phone.

  “Greeting my neighbors,” Jack said.

  “How’re they doing, by the way?”

  “Terrific,” he replied, ignoring the insinuation in her tone: “You sure missed the boat with her, didn’t you?”

  Sparing him further grief, San asked about Nattie. Jack filled her in. The fact was, nothing much had changed since they’d talked last. San went silent for a moment. “So, tomorrow’s the school meeting?”

  “The final one for the year,” Jack confirmed and wandered into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and looked inside. Remnants from Laura Mast’s Amish feast—chicken, flavored with garlic—filled his senses. His mouth watered, but he closed the door.

  “What’s Laura think about all of this?” San asked.

  Jack was surprised she would solicit their nanny’s opinion. “She thinks Nattie will grow out of it.”

  “Laura said that?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  San paused. “Okay, change of topic, Jack-O’-Lantern. Someone asked about you today. Anita Goodrich. You and Nattie met her last summer at my office picnic. Remember?”

  Faintly, Jack thought.

  “She’s pretty. And funny. And she likes kids. Nattie hung all over her.”

  He nodded as if San could see him and noticed that Laura had forgotten to start the dishwasher. “I’m sure Anita is very nice,” Jack replied, meaning it. With his free hand he opened the washer, finding the dispenser loaded with soap and ready to go. That’s strange.

  Jack pressed Cancel, waited a moment, then pushed the series of buttons. This time when he closed the door, the dishwasher began its soft humming, followed by the swishing of water.

  Don’t die on me, he thought. He’d just replaced the furnace last fall, and two months ago the transmission in his pickup had gone out.

  “So why not ask her out?” San suggested.

  Call Waiting was beeping in his ear, cutting out San’s words. It was Laura. Didn’t she just leave the house? So this had to be important, but San was still making her case for Anita, and before he could excuse himself from his sister’s vise grip, he heard the final beep beep beep.

  I’ll call her back, he decided.

  “I’ve got Anita’s number if you want it,” San pressed him.

  Jack flicked off the kitchen light, then went to the living room and turned off the lamp. In the darkness, the now steady rain sounded ominous.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you got back in the dating scene?” she quipped, then added, “Before you’re a certifiable old man.”

  He chuckled, then glanced upstairs to the sliver of light beneath Nattie’s door. “I’d better check on Nattie-bug. Love you, sis.”

  “Take care of my darling,” San said, sounding mildly peeved at his brush-off. “And call me after the school meeting, okay?”

  Jack promised and hung up, but instead of rushing upstairs, he returned to the fridge, grimacing at San’s determination to get him married. While pouring some orange juice, his thoughts returned to Nattie, but he resisted the urge to hover more than he already was, recalling San’s frequent refrain, “Give the kid some breathing room, Jack!”

  He noticed Nattie’s latest list of favorite foods, taped to the outside of the refrigerator, written in red marker:

  Top Five Summer Foods:

  1) Pop-Tarts—(Big Shocker! )

  2) Anything Amish, but only if Laura makes it, otherwise not so much.

  3) Ice cream, especially cookies and cream

  4) Spaghetti (Did I spell it right?)

  5) Green beans—Ha, Ha! (You know I’m kidding, right?)

  He smiled at number two but seriously doubted Amish food was Nattie’s second favorite. Certainly not before ice cream. Placing Laura’s cooking at number two and posting it on the fridge was Nattie’s way of telling Laura, “I love you.”

  Jack glanced up again at Nattie’s closed door. Relax, he told himself, heading for the stairs. She’s fine.

  But that wasn’t true, was it? As far as Jack was concerned, Miss Natalie Livingston—known to one and all as Nattie—hadn’t been fine in a very long time.

  Just after nine-thirty that night, Kelly Maines tried to start her finicky fifteen-year-old Toyota Corolla and marveled when it actually turned over. She eased the car out of the corrugated metal car shelter, the motor ticking like a time bomb. Turning on the windshield wipers, she headed for the convenience store where she worked, ten miles from the tiny walk-up apartment she rented in town.

  Joe Callen, the general manager, graciously allowed Kelly to set her own hours, sometimes as few as ten a week, depending on her circumstances, whether she was in town or out, or whether she was busy trolling for money, a task that was becoming more difficult as the years passed. Without her friends Chet and Eloise, she would have gone broke years ago.

  While she needed little money to exist, just enough to pay rent and keep the fridge minimally stocked, she needed a lot of money to pay the bills that mattered most: airline tickets, hotel bills, and of course, Ernie’s investigating fee, well deserved but expensive nonetheless.

  Kelly arrived at work ten minutes early, wearing her convenience-store uniform, with enough time to psyche herself up for a shift that was becoming more and more daunting. The work wasn’t difficult, but getting to sleep afterward often was.

  While waiting in her car on the dimly lit side of the building designated for employees, she listened to the local Christian station. She detected the scent of hickory smoke from the steak place across the street and jumped at the sudden clang of the metal Dumpster behind her. She jerked around to catch her co-worker Len’s bright grin as he waved to her while heading back in the rear door. Attempting to calm her nerves, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, focusing on the imminent test results from her excursion to California.

  She mustn’t let herself get too excited, but it was nearly impossible not to imagine what if.

  Tense at the thought, she plugged her phone into the cheap cassette tape adapter and switched to her own music mix, then opened her wallet and stared at Emily’s baby picture, taken nearly nine years ago. She hummed along with an older worship tune.

  The memories rushed in. Music had a way of doing that, taking her back to that pretty pink-and-white nursery where she’d soothed her newborn baby in the wee hours, sometimes gently moving about the room to the beat, whispering along with the words, imparting her own love of Jesus to her infant. How she’d lovingly dreamed of their future as mother and daughter, a future that once seemed so bright with possibility.

  With five minutes until the start of her shift, Kelly cut the music and prayed silently, finding it impossible not to think back to her visit to Malibu and the encounter with adorable Sydney, her latest prospect.

  She finished her prayer and opened the car door, then headed up the shimmering sidewalk to begin work for the night
. The gentle rain misted her face, but she paused long enough to take in the convenience store sign, bright red against the darkened sky, a harsh reminder of what her life had become.

  It won’t be forever, she promised herself, whispering the prayer she’d been praying for more than eight years. Please keep her safe.

  Chapter 3

  Jack knocked on Nattie’s door. “Sweet pea?”

  A tiny voice answered, “Okay, ready.”

  Jack pushed the door open and entered Nattie’s world of cool green walls, accented with a flowery wallpaper border, purple footprints, and posters of Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel, and Nemo. In the right corner a large net housed her stuffed animals above her dresser.

  “Hasn’t she outgrown these yet?” San had recently asked.

  “Let her be a kid,” he’d told her. “For as long as she needs.”

  Wearing her pink-patterned nightgown, Nattie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, arms folded, her face splotchy. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes, her fine chestnut brown hair swirling around her shoulders. The overhead light cast a halo-like sheen on it, and Jack noticed a tear on her cheek. Wiping it away quickly, Nattie forced a smile, eyes glistening. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “You okay, sweetie?”

  She made a face. “I just got carried away.”

  “Carried away.” One of Laura’s trademark expressions, a response to just about anything out of the ordinary, like when Nattie went back for seconds at American Buffet, or if she wore mismatched socks, or came home exhausted at the end of a few hours at the park. “Oh my, didn’t you get carried away?”

  Jack sat beside her, tousling her hair. “Whatcha thinking about?”

  She shook her head, scrunching closer to him and leaning against his arm. “I’m just sleepy.”

  Already? Jack glanced at her Hello Kitty clock. It was only nine-thirty, and summer break had just begun. He asked if she wanted a story, and she agreed, with little enthusiasm.

  He began to weave yet another tale about the handsome young prince who flew his plane into a black hole in the sky.

  “Which plane?”

  “Marvin,” he replied. It was Nattie’s nickname for their Cessna 182 Turbo.

  He told her the story, adding a few new flourishes just to keep things interesting. This time, the fairy princess had long red hair and wore a golden gown and a diamond-studded crown.

  The phone rumbled in his pocket. Most likely it was Laura. He’d forgotten to call her back. “Just a sec,” he mouthed to Nattie.

  “Who is it?” she mouthed back.

  Jack kissed the top of her head and headed toward the hallway, then closed the door behind him. He walked toward the master bedroom, apologizing to Laura for having missed her call.

  “I just wanted to check in ’bout Nattie.” She sounded worried.

  Jack caught her up to speed. “She seems fine. At least for now.”

  “Something happened at the park,” she added. “Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Uncle Jack?” Nattie called from her room.

  “Ach, I’m interrupting,” Laura said, hearing Nattie’s voice. “This can wait till tomorrow.”

  He wondered about that, since she’d called twice. They exchanged good-byes and Jack hurried back to Nattie, where she was engrossed with her fluffy animals.

  “Okay. Time for prayer.”

  “Nice try,” Nattie replied. “I have questions.”

  “I’m impervious to questions. I eat them for breakfast. Fire away.”

  Nattie smiled at that, taking a deep breath. She pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, and finally she blurted it out. “Do you think I look like Laura?” She extended her neck, twisting her head from left to right.

  Jack made an exaggerated effort of studying her face. “Hmm. Maybe a little.”

  Nattie came unglued. “So she could be my mother!”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t mean she is, but she looks like she could be, right?”

  “Well . . .”

  “So, if you married her, everything would seem normal.”

  “Whoa there, sweet pea.”

  Nattie was just getting started. “When people meet us, they wouldn’t ask if I’m adopted. Instead, they’d say things like, ‘Wow! She has her mother’s eyes. And her nose. And even her fingers.’ Don’t you think so?”

  “Her fingers?”

  “Be serious!” Nattie exclaimed. “I mean, you like Laura, right? She works really hard here. And she’s pretty cool for a grown-up, not old like some of my schoolteachers. She already knows my favorite foods.” She paused, then added, lowering her voice, “And you can’t say she’s not pretty, Uncle Jack.”

  He tried to rein in this galloping horse. “Well, sure, but—”

  “And that’s without makeup,” Nattie added.

  “I think you’re forgetting a few important things,” he said. “Laura wears Plain clothes—a white head covering, long aprons, and clunky square black shoes.” He paused, studying her face. “That’s big, honey. Huge.”

  Nattie shrugged. “She’s just Amish, silly. Besides, what would be so different? She’s over here all the time, and she acts like a mom, and you guys act like you’re married.”

  Jack frowned. “Honey, people don’t just marry other people. They go on dates first.”

  Nattie inhaled, which seemed more like reloading. “So ask her out on a date!”

  No matter what he said, Nattie would play paint Uncle Jack in the corner until he gave in. So he went for a truce. “What do I have to say to get you to go to sleep?”

  Nattie smiled with mischief. “Just say yes.”

  He could almost hear San’s voice: “You are so wrapped around her finger, brother dear.”

  “Sweetie?” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, wishing he could pull some kind of string and give her everything she wanted. “Is this why you were sad before . . . because of Laura?”

  Nattie blinked.

  “Laura’s not going anywhere, okay? I don’t have to marry her just to make sure she doesn’t escape.”

  Nattie giggled at first, then narrowed her eyes. She was only eight, but old enough to know life held few guarantees.

  “Laura loves you very much,” he assured her.

  Nattie nodded and crossed her pink-clad legs. “Did she say that?”

  “Laura doesn’t have to. I have eyes in my head.”

  “You have two—two that I know about, and probably more I don’t.”

  “And I love you, too, you know. More than spaghetti, even.”

  Nattie brightened. “You must love me a lot.”

  Staring at her, he bit his lip, holding his emotions in check.

  Seeing this, Nattie wiped her cheek and then, reaching up, smudged the moisture onto his cheek. “Here. Have one of mine. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I have more, you know.” She looked serious.

  At last Nattie folded her hands, closed her eyes, and began to pray for her friends at school, for help finding her lost library book, which was the first he’d heard of it, and for world peace, or as Nattie put it, “For everyone to just get along.” She continued with a few words of concern for her birth mother, for her adoptive mother who was already in heaven, and waxed on, praying for her “wonderful-good” nanny, Laura.

  When she opened her eyes, Jack kissed her cheek again and stood up, ready to leave her to the company of Bear Bear, Cheetah the cat, and Grover the dog. Not to mention a hundred other surrogate brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, all brilliantly disguised as stuffed animals. Most important, all of them had mothers.

  Nattie reached behind her and handed over Felicia, the stuffed unicorn. “This one’s yours for tonight.”

  Affectionately, Jack examined the blue horse with a horn in her forehead.

  “She has secret powers,” Nattie explained. “You never know when that might come in handy.”

  Indeed, he thought. “T
hank you.” Straddling the unicorn on his shoulder, he stood by the door, poised at the light switch. “G’night, sweet pea.”

  “Uncle Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you more than spaghetti, too.”

  Chapter 4

  In the dim light of his room, Jack pulled on a well-worn T-shirt and his striped pajama pants. Rain was falling harder now, hammering the roof. Lightning flashed across the sleepy middle-class neighborhood, and sheets of rain flickered in the glow of the streetlight. The storm was moving closer. No sooner had he thought this than another flash of lightning illuminated the windows. He counted two seconds before the thunder cracked.

  Oh boy. The evening was about to be extended. Waiting, he sat in the leather chair near the dresser and tightened the belt on his robe. He stared at the picture of his father standing in front of his single-engine plane, the same one Jack had flown in as a boy. Other photos of his dad were on display downstairs in his office and another at his airfield office. The only photo he owned of his mother, a photo he rarely displayed, was stored away in the darkness of his bottom drawer.

  As expected, there was the squeak of a door, the padding of feet across the hallway, and the soft tapping of Nattie’s fingernails against his door.

  “Uncle Jack?” She peeked in, her eyes pleading as she held on to Bear Bear for dear life. Grinning, Jack motioned for her, and she ran to him, leaping onto his lap. “I don’t like storms.”

  “And you don’t like sleeping, either.”

  She nuzzled her face into his neck, curling herself into his arms.

  “What am I going to do with you, sweet pea?”

  “Well, you could feed me.” Her lowered tone had an almost mock desperation, as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  He laughed. “To the lions, I’m thinking.”

  “No . . . to the ice cream!”

  He carried her downstairs, where they scarfed up bowls of mint chocolate chip on the family room sectional, huddled beneath tan blankets, watching The Little Mermaid for the umpteenth time.