At the Corner of King Street (11 page)

Her cries rose up from the backseat, madder and deeper.

“I know this is tough, kid. I know. But Social Services knows what they're doing. They'll know what to do. You want people who know what they're doing. Lord knows you don't want me in charge of your life.”

The words rang clear with my desperation and fear. Carrie cried louder. I shoved the car into drive, turned right onto Union Street, and headed south toward Duke Street. Up and around the block I headed back down Prince Street, which was lined with cobblestone. The route was a little longer, but I hoped the jostling would soothe the kid. I drove slowly up the street, the car rocking and bumping on the uneven road. Carrie's cries vibrated with the car, but the extra motion slowed her wails. By the time I drove up King and turned right on Washington Street, her breathing was slow and deep. The car was silent by the time I turned up Mt. Vernon Avenue toward the Social Services office.

The tree-lined street looked friendly enough and the brick façade gave me a little hope. It looked inviting. Nice.

I circled the block twice before I found street parking. The instant I stopped the car and shut off the engine, Baby Carrie woke up and cried. “Of course.”

Digging coins from the bottom of my purse, I got out of the car to feed the meter. I was struck by the quiet and how a little distance from the baby could lower my blood pressure. As I fished for quarters, I glanced in the backseat. Carrie was red-faced, mouth open in a full scream, and her fists were clenched.

My hands trembled a little as I found four quarters, which bought me about an hour's time. Confident that we would be finished sooner, I opened the back door and the remaining cool air rushed out as I wrangled with the release buckle on the baby seat. The heat of the day
was rising and my blood pressure was bumping against the upper limits. I ignored the sweat trickling down my back.

“How did I get here?” I mumbled as the button finally gave way and the seat came loose. With a crying baby in the car seat and my purse slung over my shoulder, I glanced both ways and crossed the street to the department's main entrance. “I'm a good person. People like me. I
am
nice.”

As I stood in front of the double doors, the bagel and three cups of coffee weighed heavily on my stomach. Grabbing the door, I yanked it open and stepped into the cool lobby, which magnified Carrie's cries. Several people in the waiting area glanced at me. More disapproval.

I hurried to reception, separated from the lobby by a thick glass partition. I leaned toward the microphone and in a voice loud enough to drown out Carrie I said, “I'm here for Ms. Willis. Addie Morgan. She's expecting me.”

The woman nodded. “I'll page her. Have a seat.”

Instead of sitting, I began to pace, swinging the car seat a little, hoping Carrie would fall asleep. She fussed. Wailed. Fussed. And though she wasn't quiet, the full screamfest eased.

Ms. Willis entered the lobby from a side door and smiled. Her gaze reflected hope until she met my eyes. “You doing all right?”

“Long night. Babies don't sleep.”

“That's true.” Smiling, she reached out for the handle of the car seat, which I gratefully gave her. Free of the child's weight, some of the tension in my shoulders eased as I followed Ms. Willis through a door and along the carpeted hallway lined with cubicles. Overhead fluorescent lights buzzed, mingling with the hum of conversations. Ms. Willis ducked into a tiny cubicle.

She took a seat and set the car seat on her desk while I sat in a hard gray chair. The walls of the cubicle were decorated with hundreds and
hundreds of children's faces. Some of the kids were smiling, but many were not. I focused on the smiling kids.

“These are the kids you've placed?” I asked.

“Yes. I've been at this almost twenty years.”

“Wow. So you really know what you're doing?”

She smiled at the baby and jostled the child's foot. Carrie, for whatever reason, was not happy and her cries grew louder, rising above the padded but short walls of the cubicle. I reached for a pre-packaged bottle in my purse, rose, and took Carrie from her seat. Cradling her awkwardly in my arms, I stuck the bottle in her mouth. Silence.

What did I do to deserve this?

Ms. Willis visibly relaxed. “You seem to know what you're doing.”

“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 would 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.