Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel

by Frank Freudberg

  But it was her company Lock needed, and she knew it. That she wouldn’t support him made Lock suspicious. She claimed to be working extra hours, but she didn’t appear to be earning more money. And there was an increasing number of excuses as to why she’d be late coming home after work. A dead battery, or someone called out sick and she had to cover the shift. He wanted to believe her, but down deep he didn’t. And that left the question about where she really was. Lock didn’t confront her. Maybe she’d tell him a truth he didn’t want to hear.

  One thing Lock definitely wanted was Abby’s favorite coffee mug, made of blue ceramic. He could use it in the mornings and be reminded of him. He searched in all the logical places—the drain board, the wall-mounted rack with glasses and mugs on its shelf, the practically never-used dishwasher—but he couldn’t find it. Lock checked one last place, in the glass-doored kitchen cabinet. Not only did he find the mug there, but also a pristine bottle of Glenmorangie.

  Lock removed the mug from the cabinet, wrapped it in a piece of newspaper, and placed it in a cardboard box. He carefully took the bottle off of its shelf and set it on the countertop. For a moment he considered taking the bottle with him as another reminder of Abby, but on second thought decided to leave it for the clean-out crew. They would not, of course, appreciate the scotch’s rarity, but that was irrelevant. Let them have it. He didn’t trust himself, relatively so early in his sobriety, to respect the bottle the same way Abby did.

  During the course of his search, Lock came across very few things he wanted to keep, except the only photograph of them, together at a Phillies game. The picture had been taken three years before, when Lock was still drinking. He remembered having four or five beers that afternoon while Abby simply looked at him and shook his head.

  Lock also found Abby’s copy of the blue Big Book—the AA bible. He noted how well-worn it was.

  After an hour and a half of going through the apartment and inspecting every drawer, closet, and shelf, Lock eased himself into Abby’s recliner to rest. A moment later, he sprung up, having remembered that he hadn’t inspected Abby’s medicine cabinet. He didn’t want to leave any painkillers—Abby had recently had surgery on his wrist for a fracture resulting from a fall. It wasn’t likely he would have swallowed many of the pills, fearing he might be in breach of AA’s program of recovery.

  Leaving a controlled substance for the taking would be irresponsible. It would also be negligent to leave Abby’s .45 revolver unattended. He had completely forgotten about it.

  But where is it? Lock wondered. It wasn’t in the most obvious place—his nightstand drawer—and it hadn’t been tucked under any of the clothes in the dresser or on the shelf in the bedroom closet. Where would he have put it?

  Twenty minutes later, Lock found the fully loaded gun. He had missed it on his first pass through the articles in Abby’s sock drawer. But what would he do with it? Until he could figure that out, he’d take it for safekeeping. He wasn’t up on the regulations for transferring a registered firearm from one owner to the next, but finding out what to do would be solved by a call to the county sheriff’s department.

  Lock wrapped the weapon in a dishcloth and put it into the cardboard box. Before he left the apartment, he flushed the pills from the medicine cabinet down the toilet, put the bottle of Glenmorangie back on its shelf and closed the glass door.

  In his melancholy, Lock forced his attention to thoughts of little Augie, and that brought him some relief. Images of his child eating in a highchair, splashing joyfully in a tub of warm water, clawing at the pages of a picture book.

  When his mind segued to images of Natalie, he felt worse. Was she turning on him? He was sure she was spending time with someone else, but he thought things would improve as soon as he found a better job and was better able to give her the things she said she wanted. They were both under a lot of pressure, and that never made for calm seas in any relationship.

  Despite Lock’s hope that the situation with Natalie might improve, it didn’t. A couple mornings after he had cleaned out Abby’s house, Lock noticed she had applied a little eye shadow and rouge while getting ready for work.

  “Why are you dolling yourself up?” he said, standing behind her as she checked herself out in the bathroom mirror. “Makeup for work? That’s not your usual routine.”

  “I feel like it,” she said, not turning to face him but addressing Lock’s reflection. “Is that a problem for you?”

  Lock shook his head.

  “Okay,” he said. He walked out of the bathroom to get dressed.

  “Actually,” she said, still in front of the mirror, “there’s a private party this morning at the diner—some kind of sales meeting or something—and that’s why I have to be there an hour and a half early.

  Lock accepted her explanation without comment and began to straighten up the living room, where the night before Augie had tossed a dozen DVDs on and around the coffee table.

  He didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. After he put the DVDs away and picked up the remaining things his son had scattered about, it hit him. He had seen with his own eyes how glibly Natalie could lie—he had been witness to her lying to Witt and Candice. Even to the girls. And now, Natalie was lying about why she used makeup and the excuse to leave early for work. He forced the thoughts from his mind by picturing himself hugging Augie. That did the trick. Whatever Natalie was up to—if anything—would eventually reveal itself. Sometimes it wasn’t good to speculate, especially without hard evidence.

  Before Natalie left that morning, Lock dropped Augie off at daycare and returned home. The daycare center was only a few blocks away, and the round trip was less than twenty minutes. Only Natalie would be home—the girls had spent the night at Witt’s—and Lock thought about pressing her on the makeup matter, but instead made a conscious decision to let it be. At least for now.

  Back at the condo, they didn’t have much to say to each other, and Lock sensed that Natalie had to force herself to kiss him goodbye before she walked out the door.

  Lock waited sixty seconds and then left. He started his car and pulled out, keeping Natalie’s car in sight. Instead of turning left at the intersection—the typical route she’d take to get to the diner—she went the opposite way. He lost her in traffic once, but soon saw her ahead of him, stuck in a left-turn lane. He got behind a truck to obscure her view of him. If she saw him, it didn’t deter her from driving two more blocks and pulling up at a private residence. She took a parking spot on the street. In a driveway a few yards away sat Jerome Freel’s black Lamborghini.

  He tried to believe she was meeting him to work out the details of her settlement, but then a lump materialized in his throat, and he sat in his car for a long time and cried.

  His mind filled with an array of thoughts, all of them violent and none reasonable, though perhaps justified. The worst one was the fantasy that she’d leave him and find a way to take Augie with her. His stomach churned and nausea washed over him.

  Lock’s fantasy of destroying Freel did not include doing any damage to Natalie. She was Lock’s son’s mother. Augie needed her.

  Less than an hour later, Natalie, wearing her uniform and nametag, exited the house with Freel close behind. She smoothed her dress and smiled at Freel. He got into his car and lowered the window. Natalie bent over and gave him a long kiss before walking down the driveway, onto the sidewalk, and into her own car.

  Lock pulled out of his parking spot along the curb behind where Natalie had parked and floored it, lurching into Freel’s driveway, slamming on the brakes, and blocking the Lamborghini. He unhurriedly got out of his car, intentionally not looking toward Natalie, who was walking away from Freel toward her car. Lock approached Freel.

  Freel opened his car door and began to get out. Lock used both hands to slam it closed. Freel pulled his leg back just in time.

  “You can have
her if you want her,” Lock said. “Just lend her to me a few times a day until our baby no longer needs milk. Then you can keep her.”

  “Take it easy, buddy. This isn’t what you think.”

  “It is what I think.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Gilkenney,” Freel said. “We’re working on a modification to the custody agreement for the two girls.”

  “What?” asked Lock. “When did you start being her lawyer again? You think I would have stood for that? With your history with her?”

  Freel ignored Lock’s questions.

  “I don’t know why Nat doesn’t want you to know about it until it’s finalized,” said Freel. “Maybe she thinks the process will upset you. She loves you, man. She’s trying to get Mannheim to cough up more money every month. I don’t know why she wants it hush-hush, but that’s a woman for you. Everything always has to be a secret.”

  “You’re a lying son-of-a-bitch, Freel. I know what happened in there,” Lock said, nodding toward the house. He tried to control his anger. His jaw was set, his arms hung at his sides, and his hands were clenched into fists.

  Freel, watching Lock’s increasingly agitated body language, was getting jumpy. “You should calm down,” Freel said. “Nothing happened except what I just told you.”

  “Then why not at your office? Why here?”

  Lock craned his neck and saw Natalie standing on the sidewalk, observing them.

  “Lock!” she shouted. He ignored her and turned back to Freel.

  “Maybe I should just kill you here and now,” Lock said.

  Freel pushed his car door open, got out, and stood up. He was Lock’s height, but lighter and at least ten years younger.

  “Lock,” Freel said. “You just threatened me with murder. You’re on probation. You’re one phone call away from going back to prison. Let me give you some legal advice. For free.”

  “What are you charging Natalie? Exchange of services? She getting free advice too?”

  “No, I’m not charging her anything. Listen to me, Lock. Get off of my property right now. Turn around and walk away from here. You’re upset, very upset. I’m willing to let it go at that. Nothing happened between Natalie and me. Those days are over. Go home. Relax.”

  Lock stared at Freel and couldn’t find any words.

  “I’m not through with you,” Lock said a moment later. “And I’m not through with her.” He turned and began walking to his car. He looked to see Natalie, but she had driven off.

  Lock left Freel alone in his driveway and then drove around, not wanting to go home, not wanting to go anywhere. He pictured Freel’s dead body in the driveway, a pool of blood spreading on the asphalt. But that didn’t sit right with him, not for long, anyway. Deep down, Lock knew Freel wasn’t the problem. He knew who the real problem was, but that was an impossible dilemma for him to contemplate right then.

  With nowhere else to go, Lock headed home, and once there, checked his AA meeting schedule. If he hurried, he could make the noon meeting in Media.

  Prior to leaving, he went into the bedroom closet and reached under a pile of neatly folded bath towels. He felt for the paper bag that held a tiny, velvet-covered box. It was still there, apparently undiscovered by Natalie. He smiled and left immediately for the meeting.

  40

  Lock sat in the living room of the condo, mindlessly tapping his fingers on the coffee table and waiting for Natalie to return. He had plenty to talk about, but didn’t know if he’d have the courage to say a word. He’d wait and see Natalie’s demeanor. He’d take his cue from that.

  “That was some scene you made this morning,” Natalie said to Lock upon returning from the diner. She put her handbag on the dining room table and sat down. “Nothing happened in there with him. You made a fool of yourself, and Jerome could have had you arrested. Is that what you want? To be back in a small room? Again?”

  Lock looked out the window and said nothing.

  Natalie emptied her purse and counted her tips. Seventy-seven dollars and a few coins.

  “You lied about where you were going,” he said, turning back to Natalie, “so it makes sense you lied about what you did. Why would you hide it if all you were doing was some paperwork?

  She stood up tall and stiffened. “Listen, Lock—” Natalie started to speak. Her voice was loud.

  “Shhh,” said Lock. “Augie’s asleep. He must have been tired, because he went down without a fight.”

  Natalie put the cash in a white envelope and returned it to her purse.

  “I want to talk to you about something, Lock, and I’m not looking for another episode like this morning.”

  Lock swallowed hard. He had no idea what was coming, but it didn’t sound good. He gazed out the window. He held his breath and looked back at Natalie. In his eyes, there was no woman more beautiful—or impossible. But before she could spout something unpleasant, he knew how to derail her. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and decided to make his move now and hope for the best.

  “Natalie,” he said. “I don’t want to argue with you. I love you so much that it makes me crazy. Maybe I over-reacted this morning.”

  “Maybe?”

  Lock slid forward from his sitting position on the sofa and down on one knee onto the carpet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Lock half turned back to the sofa and reached under one of the cushions and retrieved the small, blue ring box. He held it out to her.

  Natalie’s eyes narrowed and focused on the box. “What are you—?”

  “Take it, Natalie,” he said, stretching his arm forward and up toward Natalie. She took a step toward the kneeling Lock and reached out and took the box. A cruel sneer formed on her face as she opened it.

  “An engagement ring?” she asked.

  “Natalie. Marry me. We’ve had some low moments, I know, but those were glitches. Most of the time, things are perfect between us. I know we can build something great together. It will be amazing. You, me, Augie. And the girls, when we have them. We’ll build a life beyond our wildest dreams. Say yes.”

  Natalie squinted as she continued to examine the ring without removing it from the box.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings or make you feel bad, Lock, but the truth is I didn’t know they cut diamonds this small. It’s really microscopic.”

  “It’s not the cost that matters.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “But to even offer me something like this speaks volumes about how little you know me. How could I wear that out in public?”

  “But …”

  “I have to spell it out for you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “The answer is no. N-O, no. Absolutely not.”

  With that, Natalie used her thumb to snap the lid closed. She held the box out for Lock to take, and when he didn’t react immediately, she lobbed it onto the coffee table. Lock stood up and then, mouth slightly open, pale and blank-faced, sat back on the sofa.

  Lock couldn’t bear to look at her. He spoke so softly he was almost inaudible. “You were going to say something a minute ago?”

  “Yes,” she said. She stood up tall again and folded her arms across her chest. “I want to talk to you about something, Lock, and I want you to agree to stay calm.”

  It was hard for him to focus on her words. His eyes fell on the ring box. He decided to leave it on the coffee table, hoping against hope that she’d pick it up again, remove the ring, and put it on her finger. She’s changed her mind in the past, so why not now?

  “Okay,” he said, still quiet. “Okay, I’ll hear you out.”

  Natalie took a step back. “Here goes, Lock,” she said, unfolding and re-folding her arms. “It’s not working out, you and me.”

  Lock’s heart thumped. He could feel it in his belly.

  “At first,” she said, “it w
as wonderful. I was out of jail and finally free. I wanted you, and I needed a father for the baby. But I guess when the stars cleared out of my eyes, I began to see this wasn’t going to work. I’m more ambitious than you. You’re content to live here on Witt’s dime and just hang around with me and the baby. Well, I’m not content to have him support me. I hate his guts.”

  “What are you doing, Natalie? I’ve learned gratitude, that’s why I’m happy with what we have. That doesn’t make me complacent.”

  Natalie shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment.

  Lock continued. “We have a great life, and things will get even better. I’m never happier than when we’re right here on the sofa holding Augie between us. You can’t tell me that doesn’t melt your heart.”

  “Whatever it does, it doesn’t matter. I’m unhappy, I want more, and I want out. I want a nice car and a pool. I want money to spend whenever I feel like it, and I want to go back to my old yoga instructor—the one I can’t afford now. And I want to travel and go to classy restaurants where you need to dress up. I deserve more, and it makes me sick to see you so oblivious to my needs. And that’s it. Don’t try to talk me into anything. It won’t work. My mind’s made up. I’m moving on, and so are you.”

  “Don’t do this.” Lock stood up and took a step toward Natalie. He wanted to take her into his arms. He thought hugging her would bring her around. But he didn’t. He stood still, sick to his stomach.

  “I’m sorry, Lock. But that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  “This is about Freel, isn’t it?”

  “Keep asking questions. That’s a good way to make this tougher on you than it needs to be. But, yes, it is about Jerome. The ugly truth is that he can give us the life we deserve and you can’t.”

  “Us? What are you talking about? If you mean Augie, you’re insane. He’s not going with you and Freel. You can’t just take him, he’s not a football you can just pick up and run with. He’s ours. Yours and mine. Ours.”