“Maman, s’il vous plait,” Bibi sang out. In the background a chair scraped. Erica pictured her mother, hair tinted honey-blond and makeup in place, taking a seat in her black-and-gray art deco kitchen.
“What are you up to?” Erica asked, and listened with interest as her mother described how she and her sister Lily planned, while traveling, to pick out furnishings and fabrics for their interior design customers.
“I can’t wait to see the shops in Paris and Milan! And we’ll be able to write off the trip as a business expense.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun.” Erica took a deep breath. “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“You’re getting married! I knew you’d meet someone in California.” Excitement bubbled in Bibi’s voice. “Who is he? Have you set a date?”
“I’m not engaged, Mom. I’m pregnant.” She hadn’t meant to put it so baldly. Now that she had, she might as well spill the rest. “I’m planning to give up the baby for adoption. I just thought you should know.”
As she waited for a reaction, Erica wished her mother would agree to videoconference, because she’d like to see the expression on her heart-shaped face. Surprise and perhaps a little dismay, but also caring. Because I’m still her little girl.
A sharp expulsion of breath warned otherwise. “Isn’t that just like you!” Bibi said. “So selfish!”
“I beg your pardon?” Erica replied uncertainly.
“For years I’ve watched Lily and Mimi dote on their grandchildren. Now I’m finally going to have one, and you’re handing it over to strangers!”
A knot formed in Erica’s chest. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. But I have to lead my own life.”
“That’s all the matters, isn’t it?” Bibi snapped. “God, you’re cold. You’ve never had much feeling for others. Even when your brother died, it hardly fazed you. You drove away your husband and now you refuse to let me enjoy my own grandchild.”
The broadside was so irrational and so unexpected that it left Erica speechless. Surely her mother realized that, after Jordan’s death, she’d withdrawn into her grief. As for the divorce, she’d told Bibi all about Don’s cheating. “Mom, you can’t mean that.”
“For years I’ve been dreaming about the day I’d have a grandchild. You were my only hope. If your brother had lived… Well, enough about that. I don’t suppose anything I say will make you reconsider.”
It went against the grain to lash out at her mother, no matter how unfair the accusation. “I wish you would stand by me when I need you,” Erica said. “Let’s hang up now, because if we don’t, we might both say things we’ll regret.”
Then she rang off. She half expected her mother to call and apologize, but minutes passed in silence. Probably a good thing.
As for regrets, Bibi ought to have plenty. But her mother rarely apologized for anything.
Erica longed, suddenly and intensely, for a pair of strong arms to hold her close and a deep masculine voice to murmur reassuring words. For the first time she could recall, she desperately wished for someone to lean on.
Someone who looked, sounded and acted a lot like Lock.
Chapter Fifteen
Tonight, Lock saw everything from a fresh perspective.
Take Dr. Tartikoff’s low, palm-tree-shaded house on a cul-de-sac. Once, Lock’s first assessment would have been that it was a great place for a party. This evening, instead, he surveyed the bird-of-paradise and hibiscus plants and wondered if they were poisonous. He’d read that toddlers would eat anything.
As they walked along the path toward the front door, he mentioned the plants to Erica. “I don’t think they’re dangerous,” she answered. “You may be thinking of oleanders.”
“Oleanders are bad news?”
“Deadly.”
“How do you know this stuff?” Lock asked, impressed.
“It’s written on the double X chromosomes.” She rang the bell.
“Seriously?”
Erica bumped his hip with hers, or tried to. She was so much shorter that she only hit his thigh. “Of course not.”
“Oh.” He felt a bit foolish, but enjoyed the contact.
Owen ushered them inside, apparently unaware of a small blotch on the lapel of his dark suit. “Bailey’s almost done feeding the twins.”
“We’d be happy to take care of that.” Cautiously, Lock glanced at Erica. “Wouldn’t we?”
“We don’t give them formula,” the doctor answered. “Strictly breast milk. We should be home in time to feed them again, but if they get fussy, you can give them distilled water.”
“Bailey doesn’t supplement with formula?” Erica said. “That must be hard with twins.”
“Formula affects the beneficial bacteria in their gut. Fortunately, she has enough milk. She wanted to express some in case you needed it, but her supply isn’t quite that large.” The doctor led them to the living room.
Lock eyed the heavy chairs and massive couch. “Is this special kid-proof furniture?”
“No. Frankly, it’s rather old-fashioned for my taste. I inherited it from my parents.”
“It’s beautiful,” Erica said.
“It may not be so beautiful when the kids get done using it for gym practice, but I won’t mind.” Dr. T slanted them an ironic grin. “Back in a sec. I better find out what’s holding up Bailey.”
As he disappeared into a bedroom, Lock said, “I didn’t know that stuff about formula. Does that mean it’s bad for kids?” He didn’t see what choice a single father would have.
“No, but breast milk is better. Too bad we don’t have the tradition of wet nurses anymore.” Erica stayed close beside him, perhaps feeling intimidated in her boss’s house.
Or maybe she felt cuddly. He hoped so. Trying to stay on topic, he asked, “What else should I know about babies?”
Erica indicated an electrical outlet fitted with a plastic cover. “That’s a safety plate so the little guy or gal can’t stick a knife or a fork in the holes.”
Lock flinched instinctively at the notion of an electric shock. “And, uh, why would they do that?”
“Because it’s there.”
Lock glanced down to see if she was joking again. She didn’t appear to be.
Moving into the kitchen, Erica opened a low cabinet to display a locking device. “These help prevent poisonings from household cleaners and the like. All the same, it’s best to store those things high up. Children are amazingly resourceful.”
Until recently, Lock had thought in terms of external threats like kidnappers and car crashes. He was beginning to realize that kids might be their own worst enemies. He’d have to do a lot of retooling in their house, whether Mike liked it or not. “How old are they before they use common sense?”
“Eighteen,” Erica said.
“Months?”
“Years. And that’s a best-case scenario.”
He laughed. “How old are the twins?”
Dr. T came into the kitchen in time to overhear. “Three months. At this age, the main safety precautions are putting them to bed on their backs and making sure they don’t roll off the couch or the changing table.”
“And keeping small objects out of reach,” added his wife, following him in. A flowing green dress flattered Bailey’s well-rounded figure. “We’ll be home before midnight. There are bottles of distilled water in the fridge.” She proceeded to give Erica instructions for warming them.
Too soon, the Tartikoffs departed. When the door closed behind them, Lock felt an unfamiliar twinge of panic at being entrusted with two helpless infants. “We should check on them,” he told Erica.
“Good idea.”
In the nursery, soft light picked out the images of cavortin
g teddy bears on the walls. Two cribs, one green and one yellow, flanked a chest of drawers topped by a padded tray. The scent of baby powder brought back memories of the nursery at the Aarons’ house, although Lock had never lingered there. He wished now that he had.
“Isn’t he sweet?” whispered Erica, peering at a sleeping baby. The green one-piece sleeper, complete with little feet, looked adorable—until a problem occurred to Lock.
“How do you get that thing off to change the diaper?” he asked.
“There’s a panel that opens.” In the other crib, a yellow-clad infant stirred at the sound of their voices. “Shh!” Erica said.
“Sorry,” Lock whispered. The tiny girl’s name was Julie, he recalled, recognizing the tot who’d caught his eye at the hospital auditorium. She looked so cute as she settled back to sleep.
They hadn’t come here to stand around, though. “When do we start?” he murmured.
“Start what?”
“Taking care of them.”
“They’ll let us know.” In the low light, Erica’s face took on a luminous tenderness. “Watching babies sleep is the best part, my mother used to say.” She turned away sharply, but not before he saw a glimmer of tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s leave them alone.”
In the living room, Lock cast an appreciative eye at the large TV surrounded by gadgets. He’d be willing to bet they could stream some really good movies with this equipment and play the latest games. But not tonight.
He wished Erica would confide in him. Women liked to talk about emotions, he’d learned, and over the years Lock had made an effort to be sympathetic to his girlfriends. Why did Erica have to be so reticent?
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, drawing her onto the couch beside him.
She shrugged. “I had a fight with my mother.” Her voice caught.
“Tell me about it.” In his experience, that should be enough to open the floodgates.
To his surprise, Erica said, “I’d rather talk about your mother.”
“My mother?”
“That email you sent her.” She spoke quickly, as if taking a plunge. “I agree she should answer your questions, but remember, she was only seventeen. She didn’t mean to ruin your childhood.”
Had he told Erica about that and forgotten he had? Lock wondered. No, impossible. He’d been out of town since he’d sent the message, and when he saw Erica earlier, they’d been arguing about his investigation. “Where is this coming from?”
She made a rewind gesture with her hands. “Sorry. I got ahead of myself.”
“You got ahead of me, too.” How could she have found out? He hadn’t confided in anyone, not even Mike or Patty. “Who told you about the email?”
“There’s this volunteer at the hospital, an older woman. We’ve become friendly the last few weeks.” Erica watched him intently. “Yesterday she said she’d heard from the son she gave up for adoption, and to my shock I realized it sounded like you.”
Erica and his biomom had met? “What did you tell her?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing. I didn’t want to say anything until I talked to you.”
“Thanks.” Although Lock had figured his mother might still live in the area, it hadn’t occurred to him they might have acquaintances in common. Worse, that she and Erica might be friends. “Surely you don’t think we can kiss and make up just because we both know you.”
“No, of course not. But I’d like to tell her about you.”
“Why?”
“Because that way she won’t find you so threatening. Then you two can meet and hash this out.”
Once, Lock would have seized on the idea. But after all he’d endured growing up, his mother’s indifference rankled. “She made it plain she doesn’t want to see me or talk to me.”
“She’s hurting.”
“She’ll get over it.” He was in no mood to sympathize with the woman.
“But you won’t,” Erica told him earnestly.
What made her think that? “I’m already over it.”
“You’re thirty-five years old and you still have mom issues. I understand, because I’m thirty-one and I still do, too.” Erica paused, then admitted, “Tonight my mother called me selfish and cold. All because she wants a grandchild and I refuse to spend the next twenty years doing the hard work of raising one. I guess to my mom I’m nothing but a means to an end.” Her lower lip trembled.
She looked so vulnerable that Lock drew her onto his lap. “Your mother doesn’t deserve you.”
“You can be a real sweetheart.” Erica curled against him. “Renée, your mom— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say her name. But Renée would adore you. She’s just scared.”
“Scared?” That was hardly his impression of the woman.
“I don’t think it’s my place to tell you her story. You should hear that from her,” Erica said. “But she never imagined things would turn out so badly with your adoptive parents.”
“She hasn’t apologized. Or even indicated that she gives a damn.” Despite his irritation, Lock was glad to be cradling Erica. Usually, touching a woman meant a prelude to sex, but tonight he understood why women sometimes simply wanted to be held. The connection strengthened and soothed him.
“She’s intimidated. Apparently, your message came across as really angry and it frightened her,” Erica told him. “She doesn’t know you.”
“How can she when she refuses to communicate?”
“I could serve as a mediator,” Erica offered. “If you want, I’ll arrange a session on neutral territory. Like my place.”
She wasn’t the type to meddle in other people’s business, so Lock appreciated the effort. Still, he wasn’t ready to make a decision. “I gather you and your mother need a mediator, too. I could take a crack at that.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “There’s the little matter of a few thousand miles between us. And the fact that you and she are basically on the same side about keeping the baby.”
“Not about your keeping it,” Lock stated firmly. “That’s your call.”
Whatever she might have responded was forgotten when a wail issued from the bedroom. As he and Erica got to their feet, the cries came in stereo.
“Okay, daddy-in-training,” she said. “Let’s roll up our sleeves.”
“I’m ready.”
He hadn’t given her an answer about his mother. Saved by the yell, Lock mused, and followed her into the nursery.
ERICA STRUGGLED NOT to look amused as Lock made a third stab at fastening baby Richard’s diaper. She’d laughed aloud when his first attempt sent the clean diaper sliding to the floor, but subsided after seeing Lock’s embarrassment. In the second attempt, he’d ripped off the adhesive tabs and had to start afresh.
Holding Julie against her shoulder, Erica watched Lock’s large, gentle hands tug the diaper tighter. On the changing table, the infant had stopped fussing at last.
Catching Lock’s questioning look, she reached down to check the diaper. It held fast. “Good job.”
“Finally!”
She nodded toward Richard, who was regarding Lock gravely. “You’ve won his respect.”
“I’ve terrified him into silence,” he corrected. “What now?”
“Go wash your hands.”
“Right!” After setting the baby in the crib, he hurried into the adjacent bathroom and returned a minute later in a more sanitary condition. Richard was still wide-awake. “Can I pick him up now?”
“Be sure to support his head.”
Lock obeyed, taking great care. He was dead serious about this whole process, Erica had to admit. While she still doubted he understood the c
hallenges ahead, she gave him credit for dedication.
Maybe he could make a go of it. As he’d said, plenty of moms did.
Something tickled Erica’s neck. It was Julie, trying to suckle. “Guess it’s time for the water bottle.” She had mixed feelings about that. “Usually it’s best to put babies back to bed quickly so they get in the habit of sleeping through the night.”
In Lock’s arms, Richard burbled happily. “Do we have to? We’re getting along so well.”
Erica wasn’t eager to part with this adorable bundle, either. “You do need to learn how to hold a baby bottle.”
“There’s a trick to holding a baby bottle?” Dismay creased Lock’s face.
“You bet.” Keeping a careful grip on Julie, she moved toward the door.
A short while later, as Erica sat on the couch beside him, she was glad to see that he’d mastered the correct tilt much faster than he’d learned to diaper. “You’re good at this.”
“Think so?” Gazing down, he addressed the baby. “What do you think, Rich? Am I daddy material?”
The baby cooed.
“Is he named after a family member?” he asked suddenly.
“He’s named after Richard Rodgers, their favorite composer. As in Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
“And Julie?”
“The heroine from the musical Carousel.”
“I’m not sure what I’ll name our child,” Lock said musingly. “I mean, assuming it’s up to me. It seems like a huge responsibility. I’d hate for my kid to get teased for some stupid name all the way through school.”
Erica’s throat tightened. She knew what she’d call a little boy: Jordan, after her brother. But it wasn’t going to be her decision. “Of course you can pick the name, since…if…you’ll be raising it.”
“You still have doubts?” He sounded hurt.
Despite her respect for his intentions, she did. “You just rushed out of town for a week. What would you have done with a baby?”
He frowned. “That doesn’t happen often.”
“What about getting called in unexpectedly on a weekend or at night?” Erica disliked throwing cold water on his enthusiasm, but he had to be realistic. “Babysitters aren’t available at all hours or on short notice. Is your foster mother willing to serve as a last-minute backup?”
SH Medical 07 - The Detective's Accidental Baby Page 15
