Nancy Herkness (12 page)

The child lay on her side facing the Beanie Babies. She looked peaceful, but when Charlie brushed against the pillow it was damp. The poor little thing. Charlie’s heart ached for the girl. She sat down gently on the side of the bed and touched Sallyanne’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”

“Mama?” a sleepy voice whispered.

“No, it’s Charlie.”

Sallyanne opened her eyes, and the misery in them made Charlie gather her up onto her lap. The little girl clung to her and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m here. Go ahead and cry,” she whispered as she stroked the girl’s sweet-smelling silky hair. “It’s fine to cry. I’m here as long as you need me.”

“I’m sorry for wetting your shirt,” Sallyanne said after the storm passed and she was wiping her eyes and nose with the Kleenex Charlie handed her. “I miss Mama so much.”

“Of course you do. I know all about missing mamas.”

“What happened to your mama?”

“Both my parents were killed in an accident when I was four years old.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“I was too but I’m okay now. I still wish I had them, but I’ve learned how to be happy even without them. You will too but it takes time—and some crying.”

“Yes, ma’am. Should I get ready for school now?”

Charlie reached out to smooth the little girl’s hair back from her face. “You don’t have to go today if you don’t want to. Your teacher will understand. You can stay home with me, and we can watch the boats going by in the channel.”

“I’d like to, ma’am, but I’m going to do what Mama wanted.”

“Then let’s get you to school.”

While they were eating pancakes, Rhonda called to say she was setting up a meeting with the school officials and wanted Charlie to come. “I’m introducing you as a friend of the family who is temporarily taking care of Sallyanne until relatives can be found,” the social worker said. “You might want to coach her a bit, so she doesn’t tell her teacher something else.”

“I hate to ask a child to lie,” Charlie said in a low voice, glancing at the kitchen.

“It’s for her own good, believe me. And I’m doing more lying than anyone here so don’t be so queasy.”

“I like you, Rhonda,” Charlie said, grinning. “You surprise me, but I like you.”

“That’s a great comfort to me. I’ll call you when the meeting’s set.”

Charlie was still smiling when she walked into the kitchen. But her good humor evaporated as she explained the necessary white lie to Sallyanne, who didn’t think it was right because God and her mama objected to lies. Eventually, Charlie got her to promise she simply wouldn’t discuss where she was living with anyone at school.

Packing lunch was an adventure. Charlie’s pantry wasn’t supplied with much in the way of a children’s menu. She borrowed all-natural peanut butter from Isabelle and used the least peculiar mixture of organic preserves she possessed. Potato chips were an immediate hit as were the Junior Mints Charlie was addicted to. All in all, she thought she improvised pretty well.

Making sure the little girl was securely buckled in, Charlie drove her to school. She ascertained that Sallyanne’s mama did not walk her to “line-up,” and much as Charlie wanted to do it, she decided not to change the routine any more than was absolutely necessary. However, she did get out of the car and give Sallyanne a hug and a kiss.

“If you decide you need to leave school any time today, you ask the teacher to call me. I put my cell phone number in your backpack, and I’m going to call the school office and give it to them too. I’ll come pick you up right away. Your mama would understand if you got upset or tired today. You’re allowed.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sallyanne said dutifully.

Then she turned and marched off toward the big brick school building, joining the stream of children headed for the lines forming on the playground.

Charlie waited and watched, and was relieved when two other little girls ran up to join Sallyanne. Having friends always helped. It had been a rare pleasure in her own childhood since she had been moved so often.

She went to the grocery store on the way home. After unloading the groceries, baking a chocolate cake, arranging for Major to stay with Isabelle afternoons and nights, and unpacking the newly-unearthed Chronicles of Narnia into the bookcase in the guest room, Charlie picked up the phone.

“Hello, Jack, it’s Charlie.”

“I think I can recognize my wife’s voice.”

Hearing him call her his wife brought memories of the weekend’s activities back to vivid life. “Yes, well, I suppose so. Listen, I have to be in New York on business tomorrow,” she lied. “I wondered if you were free around noon.” That gave her time to meet with Rhonda and the school officials first thing in the morning.

“Noon? Sounds good. Come to my apartment and we’ll have lunch.”

“Hmmm.” The last thing Charlie wanted to do was commit to sharing a meal with him after she dropped her bombshell. And she had to be home to pick up Sallyanne at school. “I’ll take a rain check on the lunch, thanks. I have a lunch meeting already scheduled.”

“Fine. See you then.”

She was not looking forward to announcing they had acquired a child slightly ahead of schedule, since it meant he was going to have to play father whether he liked it or not. During the night, it had occurred to her that she could probably have done some negotiating with Rhonda and negated the necessity for a husband. She had disclosed her marriage before she had thought things through. It can’t be helped now.

She and Jack would just have to make the best of it.

The phone rang. “Hello, Mrs. Lanett. This is Warren Bixby.”

She was about to tell him he had the wrong number when he continued, “The photographer at your wedding.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head.

“Your prints are ready. Can I drop them off about five?”

“Sure.”

After she hung up, she looked at Major. “Mrs. Lanett.”

He wagged his tail. She shook her head again.

Eleven

“Come on up, dear!” the voice from the intercom said.

“On my way!” Charlie took her finger off the talk button. “Babycakes.”

The doors swung open, the elevator beckoned, and soon Charlie was facing Jack in the doorway of his apartment. “You know, all this automation is sort of creepy,” she commented. “I’m glad you at least have to open your own door.”

“Actually, I don’t. I could press a button and it would open itself.”

“Weird,” she said, walking beside him to the living room.

“Good security. Doormen can be bribed. That’s why I rent this place. It used to belong to an art dealer.”

“I see.” She had safely navigated past the issue of whether to say hello with a kiss and sank onto the couch with a sigh of relief.

“Something to drink?” he asked. Jack was wearing a black shirt, black trousers and a blazer in a salt-and-pepper fleck. He looked quite devastatingly attractive.

“Some water would be great.” She stood back up and followed him into the kitchen. “Did you track down any meteorites from the fireball?”

“Not yet, but I have some leads.” He poured a glass of water and handed it to her.

“I know I can’t write a book but would you object to an article about meteor-watching with the world’s foremost meteorite hunter? It would be such a great story, especially if you actually find some meteorites,” she said wistfully.

For a moment she thought he was going to blast her. Then the corners of his mouth quirked up just the slightest bit. “And who would you sell it to? Hustler?”

She gaped at him a moment before realizing what he was hinting at, then laughed. “No, I’m going for a G rating, so I’d have to do some editing.”

“If I have final approval.”

“Deal.” She thought of offering a handshake but decided against it on the grounds that touching him was risky.

“I have a wedding gift for you,” he said, gesturing her back to the living room. He picked up a large black envelope from an end table and handed it to her.

“I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts…”

“We’re not. Open it.”

She lifted the flap and pulled out a large rectangle of black paper. Glittering bits of silver were embedded in the thick handmade stock. In stark silver letters she was invited to a private viewing of the Sahara-Mars meteorite at the Rose Center for Earth and Space in New York City the following Tuesday. She had read about this event in Page Six. Only the most serious dealers and collectors would be there. It was an invitation to die for.

“This is a wonderful wedding present! Thank you so much.” She tilted the invitation back and forth in her hands, creating little flashes of silver, and a thought occurred to her. “Will I be attending as your wife or a journalist?”

“That’s a question I debated at length,” he said “On the one hand, a wife might distract serious attention from the meteorite. On the other, she would definitely attract more publicity, as a sort of double story.”

“And any publicity is good publicity,” Charlie interjected.

“Also, it will make for more photographic coverage. A tall blonde is more interesting than a black rock. However, a tall gorgeous blonde standing beside a black rock from space will make the photographers salivate. So I’d like you to come as my wife who’s also a prominent journalist.”

“Why do I feel I’m being treated as an object? I’ll let it go only because you used the word ‘gorgeous.’”

“It’s black tie. If you need a dress, I can recommend someone.”

“I can dress myself, thank you.” Although she had no idea how—she couldn’t wear a pair of black silk pants and a beaded top, her usual formal attire. Lots of very rich people would be at this party and, of course, the photographers. She could feel a small bubble of panic forming in her throat.

“I’ll send a limousine for you.” As she started to protest, he cut her off. “I’m not having my new bride arrive in a beaten-up Volvo station wagon.”

“I understand. You have your image to consider.” She took a sip of water. “Jack, there’s something else we have to discuss.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m fostering a nine-year-old child, temporarily.”

“What?”

She quickly told him Sallyanne’s story. By the end, she was relieved to see him looking more irritated than furious.

‘That’s a hell of a way to start out in life,” he said with surprising compassion. Then his tone changed. “But if this Rhonda Brown trusts you enough to drop a nine-year-old in your lap without any paperwork whatsoever, why are we married? It seems to me we can file for divorce immediately.”

Charlie winced. “Being married for five days wouldn’t look good on my record.”

“So keep it off your record—”

“I can’t. Rhonda already knows.”

“Damnation.” He sat down, drumming his fingers on one knee.

“I’ve explained that you’re not going to be around much until the auction is over, but I think you’re going to have to spend a couple of days playing father and husband.” She tried to make a small joke. “Rhonda has an inside source now.”

Jack wasn’t smiling. He pulled an electronic calendar out of his jacket pocket and punched a few buttons. “I can come down Thursday afternoon and stay through Friday night. I have to be back here on Saturday to meet some dealers.”

“Great. That’s great!” Charlie said. He was taking the news with remarkable equanimity. She glanced at her watch, and put her glass down on the end table. “I have to get to my lunch appointment.”

“An editor? An agent?” He rose fluidly.

“Editor.” She couldn’t bring herself to embellish her lie anymore than that.

“What project are you discussing?”

“A travel article.” She made a beeline for the door.

“An interesting location?”

“Very.” She stepped out into the hallway before turning. “Thanks so much for the invitation. I’ll try to do you proud.”

“I don’t doubt you will.” He escorted her to the elevator. As the doors were about to close, he said, “Just one last detail. If you ever call me ‘babycakes’ again, I’ll tell Rhonda Brown you posed for the centerfold in Playboy.”

“No problem,” Charlie grinned, “stud muffin.”

The doors slid shut.

Jack didn’t start chuckling until he had his apartment door firmly closed behind him. Stud muffin. The only thing worse than babycakes.

When she picked Sallyanne up after school, Charlie suggested going down to the channel to watch the boats go by.

“Mama always made me do homework as soon as I got home, ma’am.”

“Well, then why don’t we bring your homework with us?”

So they set up chairs and a table down by the wall of the channel. While Sallyanne did her math, Charlie skimmed through the book the fourth grader was reading so she could help with the comprehension questions. But Sallyanne didn’t need much help. She answered the questions fully and with imagination.

“You’re a really good reader and writer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her face lit up. “I take books out of the library, and the librarian says I read three years above my grade level.”

“Have you read the Chronicles of Narnia?”

“The first two. I really like them.”

“I put the whole set in your room. Tomorrow we’ll go to the library.”

They both jumped as a fishing boat’s horn sounded right beside them. “Hey, Charlie. Who’s your friend?” the captain shouted from the helm of the Rosalie.

“This is Sallyanne. She’s come to live with me for a while,” Charlie called back.

“Ahoy there, Sallyanne! Welcome to Corbin’s Canal!”

“Thank you, sir,” the child called, waving.

“Now we’ve got two beautiful mermaids to greet us when we come home.”

Much to Charlie’s delight, Sallyanne giggled.

The Rosalie was only the beginning of the procession of returning boats. Sallyanne was introduced to every fisherman Charlie recognized. Pretty soon she was reading the names of the boats and asking who the captain was and what they caught. One young man even tossed her a conch shell. It landed unscathed on the grass and Sallyanne touched it as though it were the most delicate porcelain.

“Look at the inside, ma’am. It’s like a sunset,” she said, showing Charlie the delicate pink-and-yellow interior.

Everything was going smoothly, better than Charlie could have hoped. Then, just before they sat down to dinner, Sallyanne gave Charlie a spelling test she had gotten back from the teacher.

“You got everything right and extra credit. That’s wonderful!”

“Mama says always do the extra credit, even if you’re not sure you’re right.”

Charlie’s respect for Sallyanne’s mama was growing by leaps and bounds. She walked over to the refrigerator, pried off her favorite cat magnet and posted the test right in the middle of the metal door. “There. Now everyone will see how smart you are.”

Sallyanne’s face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Charlie said, kneeling to put her arms around the girl. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Would you like me to take it down?”

“Mama used to put my tests on the refrigerator, ma’am,” a small muffled voice said from her shoulder.

As Charlie felt the little body shaking with silent sobs, she had to blink hard against her own tears. She called back those ancient, awful memories she had pushed into the farthest corner of her mind, and knew what Sallyanne needed most was to be held, to be touched the way a mother would, to be reassured that someone still cared about her. So she held her and told her she was there for her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the little girl said when the sobs had subsided.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for being sad,” Charlie said. “It’s called grieving, and you have to grieve for someone you’ve lost. If you don’t, you can’t go on with your life.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charlie wiped tears from her own eyes, and said in an especially cheerful voice, “So who wants mac and cheese?”

Their dinner consisted of macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes, Sallyanne’s favorites. When they were halfway done, Charlie broached the subject of the extended McGraw family. Through a conversation with one of the child’s neighbors, Rhonda had ascertained that her father was dead, and there had been some estrangement from the mother’s family. She had asked Charlie to try to find out more.

“You know, I lived with aunts and uncles when I was growing up,” Charlie said, as she spooned out more mashed potatoes. “Do you have an aunt or an uncle? Or maybe a grandmother or grandfather?”

“Granny passed on,” Sallyanne said, digging into the butter-laden pile. “I don’t remember her very well.”

“Did your mama ever mention playing with sisters or brothers when she was little?”

The girl thought for a minute and shook her head again. “No. She said I had cousins, but they were in Alaska.”

“Alaska! That’s a long way away.”

“That’s why I never got to play with them,” Sallyanne explained.

If she had cousins, she should have an aunt or uncle. “Do you know if McGraw was your mama’s last name before she met your papa, or after?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did your mama ever talk about your papa’s family at all?”

“No, ma’am. My papa was dead to us.”

Charlie almost choked on her pasta. Sallyanne hadn’t said her papa was dead. She had said he was dead to her. Those were two very different things. Maybe the neighbor hadn’t paid attention to the wording? “So your mama didn’t say your papa had passed on? She said he was dead to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sallyanne’s fork stopped in midair. “Do you think my papa might not be dead?”

The blue eyes were pleading, but Charlie had known too much disappointment in her own younger life to raise Sallyanne’s hopes too high.

“When you say a person is ‘dead to you,’ it sometimes means they’ve done something so awful you never want to see them again.”

Sallyanne looked at her plate, “I guess I wouldn’t want a papa like that.”

“But if you do have a papa, maybe he’s changed,” Charlie added because she couldn’t bear the slump in the little girl’s shoulders.

“But he might not want me.” Sallyanne went back to her mashed potatoes.

Charlie was feeling out of her depth. She needed to pass this information on to Rhonda immediately. She had a bad feeling about this absentee father. She had come to admire the way Sallyanne’s mother had raised her daughter; therefore she trusted the woman’s instincts about the father of her child.

“Do you have a picture of your mama?” Charlie asked to redirect the girl’s thoughts. “I’d really like to know what she looked like.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the child said with great emphasis. “It’s in one of the boxes Miz Rhonda brought over yesterday. I wasn’t sure if I should take it out.”

“Sweetheart, that’s your room. You can put out anything you want in it.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

Not ma’am. Charlie. That was progress.

“You’ve finished all your homework, right?”