In Memoriam (19 page)

“Would you like something to drink?” Lisa offered, but Cara declined.

“Let’s sit in here,” she said, pointing to the living room. Leading the way, she offered Cara a seat on a beautiful, white-linen-covered settee, and when she sat down, it was obvious that the cushions were filled with down as she sank in five inches.

The girl’s mother must have decorated this room,
Cara thought.
Either that or she had a decorator.

Lisa offered Cara a pillow to place behind her back and one to prop her elbow, and then put the bundle in her arms.

“Wow, look at that hair!”
Stop with the wow, will you, please?
The awkwardness in the room was palpable. Not being able to speak appropriately was her first clue.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to hold him for long. The baby began to fuss, and Lisa bent over to take him back. “I need to nurse him. Are you okay if I stay in here?”

“Of course,” Cara said, mixed emotions surging about seeing the breasts of Dan’s wife. There was something so primitive and carnal about a woman nursing her baby.

“My milk just came in, so this should be interesting,” Lisa said.

The expression
milk coming in
was so barnyard, Cara thought, like a cow. Unable to imagine Dan participating in this procedure, she watched as Lisa pulled up her T-shirt and pulled the top of her lacy bra down, exposing a huge breast with an even bigger brown areola. Shocked, Cara thought a nursing bra would be more like an orthopedic device with trap doors and absorbable padding. Mesmerized, how did such a young girl have such mature, useful breasts? Watching the procedure, tears came to Cara’s eyes again. It seemed a contradiction. With poise and experience, Lisa held the tiny head up and somehow the itty-bitty mouth was able to encompass that gigantic nipple.

Cara thought of her own useless breasts. Silicone implants had augmented them years ago, and they were now like two perky rocks on her chest. She was so sorry she’d had it done. If a miracle happened and she ever had a child, would she be able to nurse it? Suddenly a priority, she
would
nurse her own baby.

Forced to sit still and watch, she listened to Lisa talk about the garden in their front yard. When did that topic get introduced? Trying to focus, Cara remembered a man she’d dated the previous winter, a great guy, successful, well traveled and single, but older and out of shape. Those were the only two negatives. She’d made an excuse not to date him anymore, and now she wondered if it was too late to try to make something happen with him. They had chemistry, but she allowed her pride to interfere. What would her friends say about such a dumpy man after Dan?

There was a baby-monitoring device on the table next to Lisa, and a little voice called out, “Momma, up.”

“Oops, that’s Megan,” she said, reaching for the monitor. “I’ll tell her to hold on.”

“I can get her,” Cara offered, standing up. “Is she upstairs?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lisa asked, but Cara shook her head. “Third door on the right.”

The staircase to the upper level was wide and ostentatious, like those found only in older, grand homes. Cara climbed, looking at the artwork on the walls and the beautiful handwoven runners on the steps. She reached the little girl’s room and knocked. What was the proper way to enter a child’s room?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

When there was no answer, she opened the door to a fairy princess bedroom: white walls and lace curtains, ice-blue carpeting and a canopy-covered crib with lace linens she knew had to cost a small fortune. A little girl, the spitting image of her mother, sat silently as she walked toward the crib.

“I’m Cara,” she said. “Would you like to get out?”

The child nodded and sprang up on her feet, extending her arms. Cara wondered if Dan ever took care of her. Picking her up, she was surprised the child was as light as a feather.

“You’re so light!” Cara trilled. She turned to go back downstairs.

“Down,” Megan said, so Cara put her down, and when she was on her feet, she reached up to hold Cara’s hand. “Where’s Momma?”

“I’ll take you to her,” Cara said.

It was such an odd experience; for the few seconds she’d been with the little girl, nothing else mattered. It was a pleasant sensation of suspended animation. Dan didn’t matter; Lisa certainly didn’t. It was almost healing. Megan was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit in Cara’s dilemma of the Dan problem because she was blameless and had no attachment to him. Taking the steps slowly, time no longer mattered. Being in the presence of such innocence placed her in the moment.

Back in the living room, Lisa had the other perfect, albeit gigantic-nippled breast out. How much milk did a three-day-old baby need? Cara let go of Megan’s hand, and she ran to Lisa, climbing up on the couch and snuggling next to her mother.

Cara sat back down and watched the little trio. “You each have a clone. Megan looks exactly like you, and Marcus looks just like Dan. It’s a little unsettling.”

Lisa burst out laughing. “It is! My mother and grandmothers think Marcus has my mouth. But when I look at him, I see Dan through and through. Megan does look like me, but her father and I looked enough alike to be brother and sister.”

Cara smiled, but she was far from happy, the peace and timelessness she felt a few minutes ago now replaced by anxiety. She wanted to get back home and contact the man she’d dumped. In the presence of Lisa and the children, Dan’s importance withered into ash.

Standing up, Cara walked to Lisa and held out her hand. “Thank you so much for inviting me over today. Your family is beautiful. Dan is a very lucky man.”

“Why thank you,” Lisa said. “Can you see yourself out? There’s still a small person attached to my breast.”

“Of course. Bye bye, Megan.”

Megan waved good-bye, and Cara turned to get out quickly before any more conversation could take place. By the time she was in her car, the tears came again. Shame and remorse that she’d slept with that adorable woman’s husband flooded over her. The temptation to call Dan and read him the riot act was overpowered by the need to pretend he never existed. One thing was certain, at least at that moment; she was never having sex with him again. She might even have her telephone number changed. But he had a powerful presence, and only time would reveal how much she could distance herself.

Lisa finished nursing Marcus and got up from the couch to look out the window. She probably wouldn’t be hearing from Cara again anytime soon. The poor woman was unmistakably bothered by seeing Marcus. Taking Megan’s hand, they headed toward the kitchen.

“Come on, baby, let’s go start dinner.” She was going to make food for her family; boiling water was easy enough, and Dan liked pasta.

The big question, should she tell him about Cara’s visit? It would be weird if she didn’t and Cara told him. That answered the question.

As usual, he called her when he left the office. “I’m on my way home. How’d you do today?”

“Surprisingly well! I might actually have this thing down after three days. Of course, the baby is so good, I’m sure that’s what made it so easy.”

“If you need me, I can always stay home unless it’s a court day.”

“Oh, by the way, I had a visitor today,” Lisa said.

“Who?”

“Cara Ellison,” Lisa replied.

Dan felt like he’d been kicked in the chest, wondering for a second if he was having a heart attack, his heart was pounding so hard. “How’d that come about?” he managed to choke out. He was going to go to her townhouse and kill her.

“She called me early this morning, before nine. I was in the shower, but I called her back. She wanted to see the baby.”

“Oh,” he said, at a loss. He was taking a shower at Cara’s at the same time she called his wife. “So how long did she stay?”

“Not long at all. Marcus was up and needed to be fed.”

“Did your milk come in?” Cara forgotten momentarily, the ability of the human body to create life and provide food still intrigued Dan.

“Yes, it did, and you won’t believe the size of my boobs,” Lisa said, laughing.

“Well, I’ll check them out as soon as I get home. Do you need me to stop anywhere? What would you like for dinner?” Dan was accustomed to bringing food home unless Gladys was there.

“No, believe it or not, I’m cooking,” Lisa said, laughing.

“Well! I can’t wait!”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s sauce from a jar on spaghetti and a salad from a bag. I might even see if I can figure out how to turn on the oven and put frozen garlic bread in to bake.”

“I can do that part if you want. Listen, I can’t wait to get home, so I’m going to hang up now. Love you!”

They hung up, and Dan grabbed his briefcase and jacket and left for home, excited to see his new baby and wife, given a temporary reprieve from his insane slip that morning. With his heart still banging in his chest, he promised the universe he’d never do it again. At least never again that day.

Chapter 18

The department manager placed a file folder on Isabell Riker’s desk Friday morning. Black clouds scuttled across the sky; Diagnostic Laboratory was on a high enough floor that fog passed by the windows, adding to the creepy atmosphere as flashes of lightning brightened the office, and rumbles of thunder heard over the din of electronics sent chills up her spine.

“What’s this?” she asked, leery about hand deliveries, which usually signified something negative.

“That cute couple who came in on Monday? His results.”

“Why are you giving it to me? Isn’t that Paulina’s case?”

“She’s out today, and I don’t want to wait until Monday,” she said, walking away.

Isabell picked up the folder and looked at the numbers. “Great.” The day, which started out petrifying enough with a thunderstorm beginning before she got to the subway entrance, just got worse.

It was better not to waste time in a case like this, so she found the phone number and keyed it in. He answered on the first ring.

“Detective Adams.”

“This is Isabell from Diagnostic Labs, Detective Adams. May I speak to you about your test results?”

As soon as he heard the name, his heart started to pound. “Yes,” he answered.
Just get it out.

“For privacy, can you give me your date of birth?”

“July 12, 1982.”

“Last four digits of your Social Security number.”

“8000,” he replied, a little more forcefully than he meant.

“Okay, regarding your DNA test to determine paternity for Thomas Brent Adams, there’s a ninety-nine percent certainty that you are not the baby’s father.”

“That I’m
not
?”

“Correct.”

He didn’t bother saying good-bye, pressing the end button. He never thought the baby was his, but Pam and Sandra and that goddamned baby picture of her got his hopes up. In less than a week, he’d developed a fantasy scenario that he had almost succeeded in believing. Now this. The problem: he loved Sandra. He’d accepted she was who he was meant to be with for the rest of his life. But he didn’t know if he had what it would take to stay with her now. He picked up his radio and called in to the precinct.

“This is Adams. I have a personal emergency and am leaving my district now.” He threw the phone on the passenger seat, turned his flashers on and made an illegal U-turn in the middle of Wall Street. He thought about calling Sandra, asking her to leave work so they could resolve…something. But what? It was his decision. Remembering his mother and Nelda were back at the brownstone, he couldn’t even go home. He turned around again and headed toward Exchange Place and called her.

“Come down. I’m waiting out in front,” he said when she answered.

“Tom, I can’t leave. I’m working. And the baby is here.”

“I just got a call from the lab. I’m not your baby’s father. We need to talk. I need help right now. If our relationship means anything to you, come down.”

There was silence on the line for a few moments.

“Okay, I’m coming,” she answered, resigned. She was sorry the baby wasn’t Tom’s, but it didn’t change anything for her. She wasn’t going to beg him to stay with her. Either he wanted her or he didn’t. It was so simple, really. But it was entirely up to him.

Not bothering to tell her partner, Peter, she was leaving, she rang the receptionist and told her. Taking the back staircase and freight elevator down ensured she wouldn’t run into anyone.

Tom was parked at the curb, watching her walk out of the service entrance. His expression completely changed his appearance; the handsome, chiseled face was sallow and pinched, unrecognizable. Stomach flipping, her mouth filled with acid. This might be worse than she thought.

Not opening the door for her as he usually did was a sign in itself. Tom was going to punish her.

“Let’s go to the diner,” he said. It was originally her favorite spot—under the Brooklyn Bridge, good food, hot coffee, and usually empty. He pulled up, and the few people in the parking lot watched the beautiful couple getting out of the unmarked cop car.

“Is she famous?”

“Why would he bring her to this dump if she was famous?”

They didn’t speak until the waitress brought coffee to the table. Sandra felt the hopelessness of the situation before he opened his mouth, but let him talk.

“I feel terrible. All week I pretended we could be one big happy family and now this. I don’t know what to do.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked softly.

Tom looked at her, aware that fear was exactly what he was battling. Fear he couldn’t love the baby, fear his anger at Sandra for betraying him would resurface. It was true she wasn’t fully to blame. But she admitted she was attracted to Brent, and if she hadn’t been with him, none of it would have happened. She might be able to look at the baby’s birth like a blessing in disguise, but he wasn’t there and doubted he ever would be.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to love him. I guess that’s all it is.”

“Do you want to try? I’m willing to give it a while, if you are. No expectations except you want to raise him as your own and are able to be kind to him. You’ll know soon enough if it’s possible. We already have the family.” Sandra looked out the dirty window at traffic streaming down off the bridge.