Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel (22 page)

31

Natalie sat alone in Jerome Freel’s waiting room. The receptionist’s desk was unattended. Freel’s office door was closed, but she could hear men talking.

She had only a few minutes before she had to leave for her waitressing shift, but there was something she was burning to say to Freel, something she hadn’t decided to tell him until yesterday. She knew he wasn’t going to like it, and that gave her a measure of satisfaction.

When she’d called and said she wanted to meet, he’d claimed he had back-to-back appointments all morning and that if she insisted on talking, she’d have to come to his office. He’d squeeze her in.
Squeeze her in?
That pissed her off.

Her round, pregnant belly made it impossible for her to sit comfortably, so she rose and paced. After a couple of minutes, the door to Freel’s private office opened and he exited, accompanying a man wearing work boots and carrying a file folder.

Freel showed him out and addressed the man’s back.

“Don’t worry, your wife will get exactly what’s she’s owed—nothing,” Freel said to his client. “My firm will see to that. Get me those documents as soon as you can. I’ll be in touch.”

The man left, and Freel motioned for Natalie to come into his office. As she walked in, he looked at the prominent bulge in her uniform without expression. She stood there while he spun his high-backed chair around and sat down behind the massive desk.

“What are you here to bitch about, Nat?” he said. “Everything’s going fine with the settlement discussions. Going to jail delayed the shit out of things, but now that you’re out, we’re back on track. Your husband’s first offer was much more generous than I expected. But I’m treating that as a sign of negotiating weakness and I rejected it out of hand. They’ll come back with more. Trust me.”

“What if they don’t?” she asked. She started to ease herself into a chair, but a shooting pain in her abdomen hurt too much. She remained standing. “I can’t take much more of ‘black coffee, rye toast, scrambled eggs and well-done potatoes.’ And why should I? Why can’t you advance me fifty thousand until this thing settles, so I can quit this fucking job?”

“Can’t do it, baby,” he said. “Don’t have it, you know that. And even if I did, giving you an advance on a settlement is unethical…”

Natalie snorted derisively.

“…and I could get suspended again,” said Freel. “And more importantly, you not only have to look destitute for the judge, you actually have to
be
destitute. Witt is paying for the condo, and that looks good for him. It shows good faith. So we need to balance that out by having you, essentially a single mom, working your ass off for low pay. Relax. It won’t be for much longer. Plus, you’ll be off work when you give birth anyway.”

“And where will you be then? On the ninth hole somewhere?”

Freel looked at her blankly.

“Here’s what I came here to tell you, Jerome,” she said. She patted her protuberance with the palm of her hand. “You see this baby? I love him. And I’m going to see to it he has the best of everything.”

Freel furrowed his brow.

“You came to visit me exactly once in jail,” Natalie continued. “And even though you said you came because you missed me, it was obvious you were there to talk me into getting an abortion. In jail. Great. I wouldn’t let those butchers near me. I’m glad I’m having our child.
Our
child, Jerome, and don’t forget that little detail.”

“Take it easy,” he said. “All I did was advise you that being pregnant with a child other than your husband’s would probably result in less—not more—of a settlement. That’s all. And I told you I’m not interested in starting a family. I’m thirty-two years old and just getting back on my feet after being readmitted to the bar. Plus, I’d be a terrible father. The kid would hate me in no time. And so would you.”

“You’re plenty worried the baby’s really yours,” she said. “And I can guarantee you he is.”

“I’m not worried, I just want to know whose it is. I don’t want to get into the gory details, Nat, but we both know you don’t really know.”

“I told you, I know. I’m certain. It’s you. It’s biologically impossible that he’s anyone else’s.”

Freel shook his head. “You only think you know. Don’t you want to know for sure?”

“If you weren’t worried,” she said, “you wouldn’t be spending twenty-two hundred dollars for an
in vitro
paternity test. You’d wait until he was born when it’d only cost three hundred.”

“It’s just better that we know. That’s all. Plus, if it is mine—and that’s a big if—then this isn’t my fault. You guaranteed me you’d never get pregnant.”

“It was an accident, and you know it,” she said. “I didn’t want this either, but now that it’s happened, I’ve changed, I guess. I told you, prison transformed me.”

“You didn’t change a bit. You were in prison for five months. That’s an easy twenty weeks. You act like you were away for twenty years of hard labor.”

“You try it sometime,” she said. “Anyway, my maternal instinct must have kicked in. I’ve accepted my pregnancy. I’m fine with it. Plus, I’ve always wanted a little boy.”

“That’s just terrific. And now you’re getting your wish.”

“You’re right, I am.”

“And I’ll own up to my responsibility,” he said. “If he’s mine. When are you going for the test?”

“Thursday, and it’s a complicated procedure,” she said. “They fish a catheter up me through my cervix to test the amniotic fluid. It might hurt. All you have to do is get your cheek swabbed. Real fair.”

“I’m sure they have anesthesia.”

“Know what, Jerome? You’re a son-of-a-bitch.”

“How soon do we find out?”

“About ten days,” she said, “by mail. I used your address on the form, so you’ll get the news first.”

“Why would you use my address? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. You’re my lawyer. I want you see the results first-hand.”

“Why couldn’t you just show me the document once you receive it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Who cares? Leave me alone.”

Freel shrugged and Natalie smiled inwardly. Although it was a minor detail, she thought that including Freel’s name and address in the paperwork would involve him more in the situation. And she was going to need him to help her. The more entangled he was, she knew, the harder he’d work to help her. He could be a lazy bastard, and getting him more involved would motivate him to try to get her the settlement she wanted, as if his outrageous fee wasn’t enough.

And proving to Freel that he was the father, if that was the case, would really prod him to find a convincing way to pin it on Lock. She knew it was only a fifty-fifty chance. The truth was she’d been with Lock and Freel repeatedly around the time of conception, and she had a bad habit of often skipping her birth control pills—they made her gain weight.

32

Two weeks later

Freel, still in his business suit after spending the afternoon in court on a personal injury case, stood in the foyer of his house and flipped through the stack of mail that had been delivered earlier in the day. Most of it was junk.

One envelope caught his attention, and he removed it from the pile. He dropped the rest of the mail on a side table and picked up the steak knife he kept there for opening envelopes. He slit it open and removed a single sheet of paper.

The letterhead read “Global DNA, Alcohol and Drug Analysis, Inc.” Beneath that, there was a graph filled with a half dozen columns populated by small, hard-to-read numbers. His eyes scanned the page and came to rest on the bold-faced type below the graph. The words were clear and legible:

Conclusion

Jerome Freel: Probability of Paternity – 00.000%

Just as he’d suspected.

“Close call!” he said out loud, beaming. He’d call Natalie later. Right now he had to get ready for the golf course.

The joke’s on her,
he thought as he ascended the stairs to change.
She won’t be able to hold this over my head. Thank you, Jesus!

He re-read the letter to make certain he hadn’t misinterpreted anything and that he was definitely off the hook. He’d have Natalie for fun and games. Let that chump Lock be the babysitter.

Later that afternoon, despite knowing that Natalie was in the middle of her shift, Freel dialed her cellphone. She was seated at a table in an empty booth and had just begun a ten-minute break. Seeing Freel’s number on the caller I.D., she answered.

“What’s going on?” she asked, wondering why he’d called at that hour. It was hard for her to hear him—a group of rowdy high school kids sat in the adjacent booth.

“Got some interesting mail today.”

“Well?”

“I need Lock’s address,” Freel said.

“What? Speak up. What for?”

“Got to send him a bottle of champagne. He’s going to be a proud papa,” Freel laughed. “And I’m not.”

Natalie pushed her cup of chamomile tea forward and rested her head on the tabletop. She said nothing for a moment, then sat upright. “Congratulations. I know that makes you very happy.”

“Damn right,” he said. “We’re free to carry on without the complication of a baby wedged in between us.”

“You’re a fool and a half,” Natalie said. She slid the cup back toward her. “The baby is the most important thing in my life, even before he’s born. I may not have much time for you. This is the greatest news possible. And you’re right, you’d suck as a parent. The baby’s lucky Lock is his father.”

“Lock’s the sucker, Natalie.” Freel laughed again.

“Maybe, but he’s capable of being an awesome father. Unlike you, he has patience, genuine emotions, and a big heart.”

“Yeah, sure, Nat. Good luck.”

“As I said, my baby’s fortunate, and so am I,” she said, trying to suppress the despair in her voice. “And thanks, Jerome. That lab report made my day. And by the way, I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Without another word, Natalie ended the call. Again, she pushed the cup away and put her head down on the table. She left it there for a long time.

Although she was more than eight months pregnant and pretty much exhausted all the time, Natalie was nothing if not a good actress. It was a week after the DNA test had come, and she had agreed to live with Lock. As far as he knew, she enjoyed playing house with him, and she smiled when he came home.

She bought Lock flowers, took him to inexpensive restaurants (referring to those outings as “dates”), and made him vegetarian dinners often and without outward complaint. But it was nothing more than a ruse and Natalie cursed herself. She didn’t want Lock anymore, but she needed him, so she’d have to make do, at least for now.

Natalie preferred the lavish, low-stress, no-strings-attached company of Freel. She felt trapped by circumstances of her own making that were now beyond her control.

When she ruminated about how she had gotten herself into this mess, she’d remember that once she really did believe she loved Lock. Before she went to prison, she realized, her attraction to him was based on her need to use him and his expertise for her own ends.

Once incarcerated, alone with her thoughts, she believed again that she loved him unconditionally. Now she knew that had just been loneliness speaking. The reality of raising a newborn on a preposterously small budget, coupled with being with a man she didn’t have much respect for, was too much. Her resentment toward Lock, once just irritating, intensified. She’d have to do something to ease him out of her life. Ease him or force him. Whatever was needed to get the job over and done with. Then she’d be free to find someone better than Lock, better than Witt or Freel. She knew she’d get her body back after the baby, and there were plenty of men looking for a woman like her.

On the last day of February, in the birthing center at Brandywine Community Hospital, an obstetrician—a tiny Asian woman with a heavy accent—finally managed to get a good grip on the baby’s head and gently tugged, guiding its attempt to emerge into the world. Natalie gritted her teeth and moaned quietly but appeared otherwise calm. As the baby was halfway out, the doctor turned her masked face to Lock and said, “What is the baby’s name?”

“We’re calling him Augustus,” Lock said, using his forearm to blot a bead of sweat from his forehead.

The doctor continued to pull, and when the baby was three-quarters out, she said, “Well, in that case, meet Augustus. Great name.”

Lock exhaled slowly and saw his child. He had waited for this moment forever. An attending nurse reached over with both hands, took the baby, swaddled it, and used a sterile cloth to wipe mucous from its face and nose. She performed a cursory check of the baby’s airways.

“Oh my God,” panted Natalie. “That was a breeze compared to the other two. How is he?”

“He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous,” said Lock. “But he’s not crying. Isn’t he supposed to cry?”

“Let’s do the Apgar,” the doctor said matter-of-factly, directing her instruction to the nurse. She turned next to Lock. “Don’t worry, he looks in fine shape.”

“What’s an Apgar? Is something wrong?” Lock asked.

Natalie spoke, and it would have been hard to tell that she just gave birth thirty seconds earlier—she was relaxed, almost detached. “They discussed it at Lamaze, if you were paying attention. It’s a score of a newborn’s health. They check the vitals. They’re looking for difficulty breathing or heart trouble. I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Yes,” said Lock. “I’m sure he’s perfect.”

The nurse examined the baby. “A good score,” she said. “A nine out of ten.”

Another nurse entered some information into a computer, then took the baby from her colleague and held him out to Natalie. He let out a loud, healthy cry.

“I’ll take him in a second,” she said. “Let Lock hold him for a minute. He’s never done this before.”

Lock took the baby and fought back tears. The boy was beet-red and incredible.

Then Lock frowned. “A nine? Why not a ten?”

“Hands and feet are slightly blue,” the nurse said over the baby’s increasingly loud wails. “But that happens all the time. He’ll pink up fast, I’m sure.”

Lock pressed Augustus to his chest and gave him the gentlest of hugs before handing him over to Natalie.

“I’ll hold him later,” she said. “What I really need now is to sleep.”