by Kate Flora
Now it was my turn to sigh. I was about to bring MOC into a world where often the most basic standards seemed to be crumbling. Or was this just me becoming, prematurely, kind of an old fart?
“Let me check with my computer expert, and make sure she can do the date. I’ll plan to come anyway, and I’ll get back to you about her availability in the morning.”
We agreed on that, and I was just heading out to the yard again, hoping a bit of gardening therapy would be soothing, when the phone rang. I have developed a strong dislike for Alexander Graham Bell, and his predecessor, Antonio Meucci. The phone is a very mixed blessing.
This time it was my husband Andre. “I’ll be home early tonight, and I’m bringing a surprise.”
“What kind of a surprise?” I asked warily. His last surprise had been two of his sisters, who wanted to check out the nursery and my baby supplies and didn’t think I was doing anything right. I was definitely not in the mood for more of that.
“I’m bringing some people for dinner.”
I had the most marginal of dinner plans—mostly involving lettuce and that piece of fish.
When I hesitated, he said, “They’re bringing the dinner. And don’t worry. You’ll like them and the food will be good.”
“Can’t you at least give me a clue?” I said. “Male, female? More than one? Somebody I already know?”
He laughed. “One male. One female. And yes, you already know them.”
I didn’t think Andre would surprise me with any of my immediate family members, but I had to check. “Are we related to them in any way?”
He laughed. “Only by friendship. And that’s all I’m going to say. See you soon.”
Cops. They are way too good at not answering questions. True, even when they’re my own husband.
I decided not to worry about it. The kitchen was neat. The bathroom was clean. In case these mystery guests were staying over, I knew there were clean sheets on the guest bed, and I had been scrupulous about not using the room for storage. I had a couple of nice pieces of cheese in the fridge and some great crackers. I don’t like surprises. Too many of mine have been of the negative variety. But Andre knew that, so I trusted him. Maybe he wanted to show off the house? He was pretty smug about having found it while I was off slaying dragons at a client school.
Since the phone was already in my hand, I called my computer expert, LaDonna Marquis, and signed her up for Eastern Shore Academy.
“Should be a walk in the park,” LaDonna said. “Did you tell them I was expensive?”
“I did. Also, that you’re worth it.”
“You bet,” she said. “Email the info, okay? And directions. Let’s talk tomorrow, and I’ll see you there.”
LaDonna was perfect for this job. Part Black, part Asian, and looking like an exotic twelve-year-old, she was also a hundred percent genius.
“Watch out, little cheaters,” I said to my empty kitchen. “You are about to get busted.”
I shoved my phone in my pocket, grabbed my hat and gloves, and headed out to the garden.
A very entitled doe and her adorable fawn were snacking on my lettuce.
Three
I ran inside, grabbed two foil pie pans, and came back out, banging and clanging them together as I rushed toward the deer. After giving me a look that was pure attitude, mama deer turned and loped away, her still-spotted fawn trotting after her. The fawn gave one last, disappointed look at the lettuce and disappeared into the back forty.
I surveyed the damage. Not too bad. Yet. But now that they’d discovered “Thea’s Salad Bar,” I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that required a deer fence. I’d add it to the list of chores for Andre’s dad, who got restless if he didn’t have too much to do. Meanwhile, I was gonna hop down to the Agway and ask about deer repellents. Dammit. Now I had to change back into something that wasn’t faded, baggy, and covered with dirt and bits of grass. True, plenty of people showed up that way, but my mother raised me to be proper. Plus, we were newcomers.
Darn it! Gardening was supposed to be relaxing. That would only be the case in my life if I buried the phone in the compost.
Changed, and with my hair held back by a neat band, I went down the road to Agway, slowing as I passed my new neighbor Jessica’s house. Except for the driveway, the front of the lot was lined with a thick hedge of hemlocks, so I couldn’t see much. All I learned was her dark gray Volvo wagon had Virginia plates. Interesting. I knew that lots of people in Virginia worked for the government. And that Quantico was in Virginia. Did my mysterious new neighbor work for the government? Was she running from the government? I reined in my imagination before I constructed some government conspiracy or top secret mission that had forced her to hide out in rural Maine.
Inside the Agway, I consulted the wisdom of the old men behind the counter, and found what I needed. They were happy to see me and give me advice. I’m quickly becoming one of their best customers. In the course of the conversation, I learned that Jackie Bell, the assistant town clerk, had sprained her ankle, the local boys’ baseball team was having a great summer, and that I really ought to bring Andre to the band concert on Friday. Mr. Blake, a farmer out on the Old Warren Road, had some really great compost if I had a truck to haul it in. I never expected to find the idea of compost exciting, but this was great news, and Andre’s father had a truck. Then I really would have someplace to bury the phone.
Along with deer repellent, I picked up two flats of cosmos, two pots of cheery orange and yellow calendulas, a rosebush in a lovely shade of salmon, and a bag of enriching mulch. Hardware stores and the helpful guys who run them are fast becoming my new love. Last week it was a green flowered trowel and weeder and a pair of gauntlet gloves for pruning. Andre thinks I’m hilarious. My credit card is getting weary. But, given a choice between dealing with dishonest students and watching my garden grow, there was no contest.
I slowed again as I drove past Jessica’s house. This small town curiosity was contagious. The black Honda was gone, but the Volvo was there, and she was putting a plastic trash bag in the back. I beeped the horn. She looked at me, startled, then smiled and waved. She definitely was jumpy. She’d changed from her bright colors to black jeans and a loose tee shirt and was clearly more pregnant than I’d thought. I wondered if she’d dressed up for her shopping trip with me.
On an impulse, I turned into her driveway and got out. I took one of the pots of calendulas from the back and held it out. “I thought you might use these to cheer the place up.”
She looked at the cheery flowers and I could swear she blinked back tears. “That is so kind of you,” she said. “It will take more than flowers, but these are a great start.” She gave me a quick hug, which had to be kind of a hilarious sideway encounter because of our shapes. We both laughed. I said, “Don’t be a stranger. If I can help, I will.”
“I may need that help, Thea. Right now, poor Amy is going to be sleeping in a drawer. I’m trying to put the crib together, but the instructions are jibberish and I’m not very handy with tools.”
“Call me if you can’t do it. Seriously. I can send Andre’s dad over to help. He can do in seconds what we can do in an hour.”
She said thanks, and I left.
Back home, I put my new plants on the back deck, applied nontoxic deer repellent remedies to the vegetables, and then dumped myself in an Adirondack chair that I’d painted a lovely shade of blue. I closed my eyes, meaning only to rest them for a minute, and fell asleep.
The slam of the screen door woke me. The door and the sound of a familiar voice. “Wake up, Princess. We’ve come to make sure Andre is taking proper care of you.”
Dominic Florio. My second favorite cop. Dom has been my knight in shining armor more than once. He’s rescued me from idiot baby cops. Comforted me when someone tried to kill me. Helped me fight back against some crazed militia members. Even washed out my bra once so I’d have something to wear. Few men will go that far, even for a damsel in distress. I opened my ey
es to find Dom and his wonderful wife, Rosie, staring down at me, each with their own particular brand of assessment. I was out of my chair in an awkward, pregnant woman’s instant, wrapping both of them in a hug. Andre hung back, grinning a grin that needed no words to say, “See. I told you that you were going to like this surprise.”
Once we unwrapped from the hug, Dom and Rosie finished inspecting me. Their inspection, unlike my very judgmental mother’s, was delighted, caring, and mostly uncritical, though they’re always looking for signs I’m not taking care of myself. They are the parents I’ve always wanted, and they love me like I am a daughter. A wayward one, perhaps, who tends to get herself into dangerous situations and doesn’t always heed their advice.
Seeing them was lovely but instantly filled me with shame and regret that I’d seen so little of them lately. Instead, I’d filled my time with work issues: student drug dealing, a porn-collecting professor, and an unexplained pregnancy at a client school. By the time I was done with crises on top of all my other work, I had no time for the people I loved. I barely made time for Andre. Of course, he also had trouble finding time for me. This summer, we were reforming. We had to. MOC would be too young to fend for him or herself.
“I see that look. No guilt. We didn’t come here for that,” Dom said, wagging a finger. “We’ve come to insist on our right to be Godparents.”
“What a great idea,” I said, and Andre nodded in agreement. “You’re getting a wild one, I warn you.”
Dom just grinned and looked at Rosie. “See,” he said. “You didn’t have to worry.” To us, he said, “She’s always wanted to be a godmother.”
She gave him a playful cuff, then linked her arm through his.
Andre moved some chairs together so we could all sit, but of course, first they had to be given a tour of the house. Before that, Rosie directed Dom to bring in the food. Because Rosie and Dom are Italian, and believe in the importance—and restorative value—of food, they’d brought enough to feed a football team. That was fine with us. Rosie is a fantastic cook. I like to eat. Andre loves to eat. And MOC is always hungry. I may be no good at taking care of myself, but I’ve learned that if I don’t feed the little acrobat, I get kicked a lot. And MOC is nocturnal.
They loved our kitchen. Our bright and airy living room and wide front porch. Our huge bedroom with a sleigh bed and a bright summer quilt and one wall that still needed plastering. They admired our bathroom with the rainfall shower, a half-tiled floor, and tub for two. Right now, the tub for two was a tight fit as a tub for almost three.
“Now,” Rosie said, “let’s see the baby’s room.”
She’d gone up the stairs so easily my jaw dropped. When I first met Dom, who was the detective investigating my friend Eve’s mother’s murder, Rosie was in a wheelchair after being hit by a drunk driver. Doctors said she’d likely never walk again, but Rosie is the toughest woman I know. She beat the odds, and now here she was, looking almost like that accident had never happened. Her husband is still crazy in love with her, a model I hope will work for me and Andre.
Why had I let so much time pass without a visit?
As if she was reading my mind, Rosie said, “You’ve been pretty busy.”
“I shouldn’t let myself get too busy for friends, but yes. I’ve been too busy. I think Andre picked this house because it needs my attention and will keep me at home. But work never slows down. I have no idea what I’m going to do about child care.”
“Andre picked the house?”
“I was working down in Massachusetts. He heard about it, looked at it, and snapped it up before someone else could. By the time I saw the pictures, he’d already made an offer. You know how long we’ve been looking.”
“A search complicated by finding a body in your last dream house,” Rosie said. “But seriously, you were okay with Andre picking the house?”
“I was nervous. But it worked out. We love this house. And we were running out of time if we wanted a place for this baby.”
Rosie smiled. “I don’t think I’d trust Dom to pick out a house. He’d miss some important things, like a decent kitchen and bathrooms. Just as long as my jock had a man cave in the basement and a big screen to watch sports, he’d be happy.”
“Your jock is still a catch, Rosie.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Rosie paused in the upstairs hall. “Do you have a name for this baby yet?”
“Same as always,” I said. “We’re calling it MOC, for Mason, Oliver, or Claudine.”
“You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl? I thought everyone did these days.”
I shook my head. “We want to be surprised.”
“Oh, you’ll be surprised all right,” Dom said.
“We’re having an acrobat,” Andre told them. “A nocturnal acrobat. Thea’s mother says it serves her right. That she was a difficult baby.”
“More likely,” Rosie said, since she knows how my mother can be, “Linda was a difficult mother.” She focused on me as she asked, “Is your mother excited about the baby?”
I shrugged. Since my experience with a student’s surprise pregnancy and her toxic family at one of my client schools, I’ve tried to be more accepting and forgiving. My mother and I have reached a pretty good détente in our strained relationship. I thought she was excited about MOC’s upcoming appearance. I was happy to be spared her criticisms and her endless queries about when I’d give her a grandchild, but I knew better than to expect her to smother me with love and attention. “My father is. My brother and his wife have a new baby, so she’s pretty focused on that.”
“Probably for the best,” Dom said. He’s seen my family get very judgy, based on their refusal to listen before rushing to conclusions. He thinks I’m better off having limited contact with them.
Dom and Andre left us admiring the baby’s room while they headed out to the barn to look at the emerging workshop.
Rosie stayed with me, admiring the color we’d chosen. “It’s so soothing and peaceful,” she said.
“We’re just not into pink or blue,” I said.
“Are you doing okay? I mean really okay. You’re not working too hard?” she asked, plunking herself down in my upholstered rocking chair. “Oh. This chair is so comfortable.”
It was covered in a print in soft shades of gray-green and white that went well with the walls. Another unsuitable choice for a baby’s room. But it fit me, which many chairs don’t.
“The minute I tried it in the store, I could imagine being in it with MOC in my arms. As for how I’m doing? Except for getting tired, and when MOC keeps kicking me, I feel fine.”
“You’re excited?”
I’d been so busy I never thought about that. Too much of my life is reactive. But when she asked, I realized that I was excited. And I really didn’t mind looking like I’d swallowed a basketball, except for how difficult it was to find decent clothes.
“MOC’s excited enough for both of us. I’m working on calm and contented. On getting through this pregnancy without a catastrophe.”
Rosie stood, shaking her head, and opened her arms. I stepped into them. She and Dom really were my second parents. This set of parents, at least, had some idea of my challenges and abilities. “That won’t be easy,” she said. “The calm and contented part, I mean.”
She was facing the windows that looked out toward the street, and something caught her attention. “What’s going on over there?” she said.
I turned, and the two of us went to the windows in the unfinished bedroom. Across the street, a black car, like the SUVs you see the FBI using on TV, was cruising slowly to a stop near Jessica’s little cottage. Two men in windbreakers got out and headed rapidly down her driveway. I couldn’t see whether her Volvo was there, nor the undistinguished black Honda which had brought the woman Jessica was arguing with. The woman who wasn’t a guest.
“You have a criminal living across the street?” Rosie asked.
I shook my head. “As far as I know, I’ve
a pleasant, strikingly pretty woman named Jessica who is quite pregnant, and who is extremely careful not to reveal anything about herself. There’s no husband or partner in the picture, and I sense some tension about that. Otherwise, I know nothing. I just met her for the first time yesterday. This morning we went shopping for baby gear. We had fun, but she wasn’t very talkative. Forthcoming, I mean. She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
“Well, something’s up,” Rosie said. “Neither Fed Ex nor UPS arrive in vehicles like those. Looks like law enforcement to me.”
We stayed in the window, watching. I had to force myself not to rush over there and demand to know what was happening. I have a bad habit of sticking my oar into things, especially where someone seems vulnerable. And there’s no doubt in my mind that a very pregnant woman is vulnerable to an aggressive pair of guys in a black SUV even when she isn’t trying to meet the challenge of making a tired cottage into a home. Of course, for all I knew, she might be a bank robber or a serial killer. Or they were her friends, stopping in to see how she was doing. But I didn’t think so. Their behavior was neither casual nor friendly. I’ve been fooled, it’s true, but I’m generally a good judge of character and situations.
They must not have found what they were looking for, because after a bit, they both came back down the driveway, the man in the lead in a very bad mood. Even at this distance, I could tell that. Maybe from the way he kicked the tire and yelled at the other man? I’m such a fine detective. He was tall and stiff, with graying hair, a brusque way of moving, and a definite propensity for bossing people around.
“That is not a nice man,” Rosie said.
“You think?”
“I know,” she said softly. “And now, like you, I am worried about your neighbor.”
Four
I wish that I could report we then sat on the back deck, drank wine, ate my good cheese, and enjoyed the peaceful evening before digging into Rosie’s great lasagna and a salad from my very own lettuce. But that’s not what happened. Instead, as Rosie and I were turning away from the window, the angry man and his buddy got into the SUV, drove a couple hundred yards, and turned into our driveway.
