Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel

by Frank Freudberg

  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.”

  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 th
ree-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.