Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel (23 page)

33

Soon, Natalie went back to the diner.

She despised Lock for having to work, but she never showed him that side of her. And most nights, when she got home from work, she tossed her bag onto the overstuffed leather sofa that Witt had bought for them (along with all the other furniture and household items), dropped down onto the bed, and demanded that Lock massage her aching feet. It was his fault that she had to work and that her feet hurt. Lock looked forward to doing it for her, and that made her despise him even more. He still wanted her to need him. He loved their son, and he did more than his share of taking care of him.
The least he could do
,
she often thought. But even the fact that he was a good father seemed to put her on edge.

In Augustus’s first month of life, he appeared to be happy and healthy. He’d cry often in the night and stopped right away upon being picked up and held, and Lock was grateful every day for having a healthy child.

Before he was born, Natalie and Lock had agreed to name their baby with an “A” in memory of Lock’s mother Abigail, yet they let Abby think it was in honor of him. It wasn’t long before they were calling the infant Augie.

Abby, who had
carte blanche
to visit Natalie’s condo when he wanted to, was nearly as excited about the child as Lock, and to a casual observer, he could easily be mistaken for the infant’s grandfather. He definitely acted like it.

Having a baby to love and hold was all that Lock had hoped for. Augie immediately smiled whenever Lock held the baby’s face close to his, and for Lock, nothing was wrong in the world. He loved that new-baby smell. When Augie cried out in the dark and Natalie faked being asleep, Lock sprang out of bed and was at the crib within seconds—way before the cries would have awakened Dahlia or Edwina if they happened to be there.

With Witt Mannheim’s encouragement and approval, Lock and Natalie had the girls four nights every week, plus every other weekend. The girls shared the room adjacent to Augie’s. Witt was a good sport, paying for the condo and all condo-related expenses—it was pocket change to him—sometimes throwing in a little extra for Natalie. He even gave Lock his seal of approval—not that Lock needed it—saying that if his girls liked Lock, then he liked him too. He stayed pretty much out of their lives.

Despite the exhilaration of finally having his family to love and worry about, Lock was often somewhat down. He was having a tough time trying to get a job that paid anything at all. He refused to label himself an ex-con, although that didn’t stop prospective employers from saying so. There was no way he could return to CPS, of course, but that didn’t prevent him from missing it. At least he had his own child to care for, plus he helped out with Edwina and Dahlia.

He wound up as a gofer on the evening shift at an auto parts distributorship. Ten bucks an hour. He spent his days with Augie and Natalie, when she wasn’t waitressing, or he’d go through the motions of answering want ads looking for something better. He was in a bad way financially, but just thinking about his son brightened him up.

Twice in one week, Natalie and Lock asked Abby to babysit so they could go to the 6:00 p.m. AA meeting at the Hang-About. Lock enjoyed it whenever Natalie accompanied him—he liked showing her off. She made plenty of acquaintances there, and outside of the rooms, she enjoyed needling Lock when she caught him acting out of sync with the program’s principles. After one of the meetings, they went to the movies, where right away Lock was infuriated by a loud-mouthed cellphone talker behind them. He was about to report him to an usher, but Natalie leaned over and whispered into Lock’s ear, “There are plenty of other good seats. Let’s just move.” Lock adored her for the way she could bring tranquility to him.

Natalie loved her two oldest children, Lock knew that much, but it wasn’t with the same intensity as she loved Augie. Maybe it was because the girls were part Witt Mannheim, maybe not. Maybe she was truly a changed person—it seemed that way—and so for the first time, she was raising a baby from her new perch, a bit banged up by life, but also presumably wiser. That wasn’t the worst condition a person could be in.

Lock loved all three of the children too. He’d do anything for them. He became adept at changing diapers in almost total darkness. Natalie breast-fed Augie—a benefit neither of her two girls had had—so at first, Lock wasn’t directly involved in feeding him. He read more than one article in parenting magazines and on websites about infant nutrition. He couldn’t wait to make Augie an organic banana-apricot smoothie. Lock pictured most of it on the baby’s face and bib, with him laughing and banging a dripping spoon on the tray of his highchair. But Lock wouldn’t care. He’d clean up Augie and the rest of the mess with delight.

Natalie’s tattoo had long since faded away, and Lock found he missed it. It had always given him a rush when it came into view. It didn’t take long after giving birth for Natalie to become her old self in bed, and they started having sex again before the date the doctor suggested. Aggressive and demanding while somehow being submissive. It was a wonderful and odd combination. She always acted like she was really into it and she aimed to please, and she succeeded. Lust was still a strong element in their relationship, and Lock was happy for that. There was a real connection between them, and he was committed to making it grow.

It wasn’t lost on him that Natalie hadn’t mentioned the paternity test for weeks. That was mildly troubling, only because she had been so insistent about it when she was arguing her case for them to get back together. But the more he thought about it, the more the whole idea of a test bothered him. It was obvious Augie was their son. His eyes were Lock’s—just bigger and brighter, and Lock didn’t want to think about the fact that she had been with Freel while they were together. He put it out of his mind because he didn’t see any point in her lying about it. Lock had nothing, and Freel was rich, or close to it. If he were the father, he’d have to pay for Augie’s support, and that definitely wasn’t happening.

But after the first few months of Augie’s life, thoughts about the paternity test crept into Lock’s consciousness more and more frequently, yet at the same time, he began to think that it would be an insult to Augie to subject him to the test. The idea of having his son’s mouth swabbed to collect DNA was repugnant. And what if, by some long shot, he wasn’t Lock’s? Would Lock love him any less? The answer was obvious and therefore, he thought, there’d be no point in taking the test. Saving a few hundred bucks on the lab work was a consideration, too.

“Natalie,” Lock said late one evening after putting Augie into his crib, hopefully for the night, “I’ve made a decision. I want to skip the paternity test. Augie’s ours. I know that. End of story.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “I have nothing to hide, so go ahead if you want.”

“I don’t want to. It’s a waste of hard-earned money and totally unnecessary.” He wanted to believe that was true.

“Whatever you say, baby,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking his hand. “It’s your call. I’m happy either way.”

A couple of weeks later, Natalie came home from the diner one evening, and while Lock tended to their son and reviewed with her the events of the day, she sat down at the kitchen table and emptied her purse of all of her tips. She counted the bills and coins. “Seventy-four dollars and forty-five cents,” she said. “For an eight-hour shift. I’m getting tired of waiting on people, Lock. They should be waiting on me.”

“You also get a check from the diner for your hours, so don’t forget that,” Lock said. He knew she hated her job, and he felt helpless because they needed the money.

“Yes, but since I get tips, all they have to pay me is three dollars an hour. What I earn is still a joke.”

Natalie took two twenty-dollar bills and tucked them into an envelope. Lock watched her.

“What’s that envelope for?” he said.

“Saving up for a surprise. For you. I need three-hundred and fifty, and I’m now thirty short of the goal.”

“For me? Three-fifty? That’s some surprise. Can we afford it?”

“You’ll love it, honey. As much as I love you.”

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t. That’s why it’s called a surprise,” she said.

“I hate waiting,” he said. He reached into his pocket and found a ten and a twenty – almost all he had. “Here. Here’s the rest.” He handed her the cash. “Now, when do I get my surprise?”

“You can’t pay for your own surprise,” she said. She stood up from the kitchen table and hugged Lock.

“I didn’t pay for it, I just rounded it up a bit so you’ll have what you need.”

“I’ll get it soon,” she said. “Just be patient. It’ll be worth it.”

34

The next day, a Saturday, Abby arrived at the condo to babysit for Augie. He looked pale and tired.

“You okay?” Lock asked. “I can get someone else to sit.”

“No, you can’t, but thanks for asking,” Abby said. “I didn’t sleep well, but all I need is a little Augie to make me feel better.”

Edwina and Dahlia were spending the weekend at Witt’s estate. A half hour earlier, Natalie had left for her day shift at the diner. Lock got ready to go into work for a mandatory weekend safety meeting. “I’ll only be gone an hour,” he told Abby, “two at the most.”

Lock was always nervous when Abby was on his own with Augie, although that had only been twice before. The seventy-five-year-old had practically no experience caring for an infant, but he was doting, enthusiastic, not squeamish, and followed every last detail of the long notes and instructions Lock would compose and review with him before leaving. Lock wrote his and Natalie’s cellphone numbers in large, blocky letters at the bottom of the instruction sheet. He drew a star next to his own number.

When the girls were there, Edwina was capable of helping, at least a little, with Augie.
Everything will be all right,
Lock thought, trying as best as he could to soothe himself. The truth was, he didn’t fully trust anyone but himself to care properly for Augie. That included Natalie. In his eyes, she came up a bit short in the maternal instinct department. But she tried, he knew. She could be a good mom, but Lock believed it just didn’t come naturally to her, despite her having a lot more experience.

“Call me for even the slightest problem,” Lock told Abby, handing him the note. “Don’t worry about interrupting me. It’ll be okay if you need to reach me. Call if anything comes up, anything at all.”

The one time that Natalie had been there to hand off the kids to Abby, she hadn’t bothered with a note. How could she not let him know what time the baby went in for his nap, or when he might need to be fed some of the mother’s milk stored in bottles on the top shelf of the refrigerator? That had irritated Lock, but he’d let it go. They were different that way. Lock kissed a napping Augie goodbye, thanked Abby again for coming over to cover for him, and left for the meeting.

Lock got a call not long into the meeting, and he rushed home.

He arrived to find police cars and an ambulance—its rear door swung open wide—parked on the street in front of the complex. He identified himself to a police officer standing by the front entrance, who asked to see his identification. Satisfied that Lock was a resident of the condo, the officer informed him that the older gentleman was deceased, possibly of a massive heart attack.

Lock hurried past the officer, up the stairs to his unit, and entered the kitchen, which was cramped with three paramedics and another policeman. The paramedics were repacking their equipment. There was no need for them to continue working on the motionless body. They had spent a quarter of an hour trying CPR techniques in their attempt to resuscitate Abby. Lock couldn’t look at the body. One of the paramedics told him the body would be transported to Brandywine County Hospital to await the medical examiner.

It sunk in immediately and deeply. Lock’s friend and mentor was gone, and without warning. He had a sudden memory of the albino redwood in Witt Mannheim’s back yard, standing alone next to the mound where its parent tree once towered.
It must be dead by now
, Lock thought.

As Lock watched the paramedics put Abby’s body on the gurney and take him out, he imagined they were carting off his real dad, the drunken, abusive one from a lifetime ago. The real Abby, the man Lock loved like a father, was still with him, in his heart. He couldn’t be gone.

Lock’s impulse was to call Natalie at the diner, but he decided that would be imposing upon her. Besides, what would that accomplish? She’d feel obligated to rush home, disrupting her job. There was nothing she could do, except to comfort him. That could wait until later. And maybe even then she wouldn’t bother.

Lock usually never disturbed Augie when he was sleeping, but he felt a powerful need to hold him in his arms. Lock went to the baby’s room and picked him up. Lock whimpered when he cradled Augie, but the baby remained sound asleep.

“Abby’s gone,” Lock whispered, kissing the infant on the forehead. “He loved you so much.” Lock’s voice cracked and his throat tightened. He sat down with Augie, holding his tiny body against his chest.

Lock thought back to that morning in the hospital, the morning he’d overdosed and had been rushed to the emergency room. Later that afternoon, Abby had showed up with, of all things, an arrangement of white roses in a glass vase. Wired up to monitors and intravenous lines, with an oxygen tube down his throat, all Lock could do was make eye contact. But that had been enough. Lock knew he was loved.

Lock began crying quietly, muffling the sound so as not to wake the baby. But within moments, the sobs came out violently, loudly, and his chest heaved and tears streamed down his face.

Abby had unconditionally forgiven him for making terrible decisions, for breaking the law, for causing Dahlia to be injured, for going to prison and for humiliating him as the director of CPS. He had hired Lock and given him a golden opportunity, and Lock had paid him back with ingratitude, insubordination, and even betrayal.

But the vital thing was that through Abby’s example, Lock had been able to forgive his own father’s offences, just as Abby had forgiven Lock.

On the way home from the cemetery, Natalie sat with Lock in the rear of the funeral home’s limo. She held Augie because she’d forgotten about Lock’s request to bring the portable car seat, but Augie cooperatively slept through most of the day’s proceedings. When the limo pulled up to discharge them at the condo, Natalie handed the baby to Lock, got out, and turned to walk away.

“Witt’s really bugging me to discuss something with him,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s about the girls. I think something about the schedule.”

“So call him,” Lock said, heading up the steps to the front door. He motioned for her to join him in the condo. “Come on.”

Natalie didn’t follow.

“No,” she said. “I promised him I’d come over. He said he wants it to be in person. It’s the least I can do. You know how much he does for us.”

“That’s weird,” said Lock. “Come in and call Witt. Tell him you can’t make it today. He won’t mind, under the circumstances.”

“No, honey, sorry,” she said, opening the door of her car. “I won’t be very long. I promise. I’m sure it’s much ado about not too much.”

“Natalie,” said Lock. “Please don’t go right now. I really need you to be with me. It’s not an easy day for me.”

“I know you want me to be with you, and I will. Just give me a couple of hours.”

Natalie started her car and drove off.

The black clothes Natalie had worn to Abby’s funeral were scattered about the room—on the floor, over the back of a chair, at the foot of the bed.

She pulled the sheet off her lithe form and slipped quietly out of the bed. She padded naked across the thick carpet to the dresser and looked at herself in the mirror. A ray of late afternoon sunlight fell through the window onto her bejeweled toes. They glittered, casting a rainbow of colors against the wall. Natalie continued to look at her reflection. She always thought she looked better without clothes.

She stepped back from the dresser. She reached high into the air and extended her arms up toward the ceiling, then out in front of her, and finally down toward the floor. She exhaled deeply through her nose and bent at the waist, placing her palms on the floor, easily, on both sides of her feet. Next, she fluidly lowered herself to the rug and executed a near-perfect
chaturanga
. She held the position for ten seconds, slowly arched her back into an upward-facing dog, and then, with a deep inhale, lowered herself into a downward dog.

“Nice view,” Jerome Freel said. He was sitting up in the bed, a blanket wrapped around his lower torso.

“You should try yoga sometime,” she said. “Whenever you want, I’ll be your personal instructor. It’s all about keeping your spine flexible.”

“Not now,” he said, rolling out of the bed and finding his boxer shorts in the tangle of linen.

“I can’t believe I have to put this outfit back on,” Natalie said. She gathered the clothes from where they had fallen when Freel tore them off an hour earlier. “The black. It’s not my color. It’s so morose.”

Freel thumbed open the latches of his briefcase on the settee next to the dresser. From under his leather toiletries bag, he pulled an eight-by-ten glossy photograph from a folder and held it out to Natalie.

“Tell the tattoo artist to make it look like this,” he said.

She examined the photo. “That’s great,” she said. The image was a multicolored snake. “Is that a scarlet kingsnake? I was thinking about getting that one.”

“No. It’s a coral snake,” Freel said. “Almost the same coloration. But it’s the coral you have to watch out for. A kingsnake is harmless. The coral is lethal.”

“Like me.” She grinned at him.

“Oh, that’s you, alright. For the record, I don’t much like that tattoo guy seeing you bare. It’s bad enough you let Lock touch you.”

By the time Natalie finished dressing, Freel had put on a robe. He sat on the settee watching her. He opened the toiletries case and took out a vial and an aluminum straw.

“That snake in the picture is a little more elaborate than I had budgeted for,” Natalie said. “And it will take longer and hurt more.”

“You can take it, Nat,” he said. “It’s just a little pain.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What’s a tattoo like that cost?” he asked.

“Maybe four hundred and fifty or something like that for a tat so elaborate,” she said. “Maybe even five or six hundred. I’ve been saving up for it. Lock saw me put money in an envelope and asked me about it. I had to tell him I was saving up for a surprise for him.”

“Oh, that’s just great.” Freel shook his head. “But don’t worry about saving your tips. The tat’s on me,” Freel said. He reached for his trousers and removed a thick leather wallet. He counted out ten one hundred-dollar bills. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he said, folding the bills in half. “Get that tattoo extra nice. And keep the change.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. He nodded for her to take the money. She took it and put the bills in her handbag.

“And I thought you were broke,” she said.

“I’m broke as shit. I’ve got thirty-nine thousand left on my line of credit, and I’m burning through it at about fifteen a month. The settlement from your divorce—and my fee—can’t come fast enough.”

Natalie picked up the photo and looked at it again. “I can’t wait to wrap that snake around your pretty little neck,” she said.

Freel didn’t respond. He leaned over the nightstand, picked up his aluminum straw, and snorted twice from a small mound of coke.