Pretty Broken Baby: A Pretty Broken Short Story

by Jeana E. Mann

  PRESENTS

  DAKOTA

  Two weeks later I found myself crossing the city as a favor to Venetia. Fat raindrops splatted against the windshield of the car as Rockwell pulled in front of the Laurel Falls Center for Homeless Children. Dark, ominous clouds rolled across the mid-morning sky. I glanced at my cute new shoes and sighed. The soft vanilla suede would melt in the rain.

  “Stay there, Mrs. Seaforth. I’ll bring the umbrella around and walk you to the entrance,” Rockwell said. The car door shut silently behind him.

  I gathered my purse and my nerve while I waited for him to go around the front of the BMW. The thought of so many unwanted children broke my heart in a dozen different ways, especially when I wanted one of my own so desperately.

  This impromptu visit had been my sister-in-law’s idea. She waved to me from the front porch of the home. Peeling paint and broken shutters marred the exterior of what had once been a beautiful Victorian mansion. Although the air was warm, I shivered. Rockwell opened the car door, and together we sloshed our way across the muddy driveway.

  “About freaking time you got here,” V said with her usual directness. “Hey, Rockwell.”

  “Miss Seaforth.” Rockwell nodded and gave her a smile before turning to me. “Do you want me to wait?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. I shouldn’t be long, maybe an hour or so.”

  “Sure thing.” He winked and headed back to the car. I smiled, grateful for his loyalty. He’d become more of a father figure than an employee. I couldn't imagine my life without him, and I was certain my mother felt the same way about Rockwell.

  “Come on.” V hooked her arm through my elbow and led me into the building. “We’ve got a lot to see.” The worn floorboards creaked beneath our feet. “This is only a temporary location for the home. Their previous place caught fire and burned about a month ago. I reached out to them when I saw the article in the paper. I thought maybe our charity could offer aid.”

  I’d never been active in community service, but Venetia thrived on it. Samuel, seeking to distract my thoughts from our infertility problems, had suggested I accompany her on this visit today.

  A woman in her late thirties met us in the foyer. Her brunette hair was piled on her head, held by a banana clip, and she wore a navy track suit with white trim. She smiled warmly and extended a hand to me.

  “Hi. I’m Loretta. You must be Dakota Seaforth. Welcome.”

  “Hi.” I shook her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

  We entered the former dining room of the old house. A handful of somber children sat around a tiny television, watching an animated feature film. According to Loretta, they ranged in ages from two to fourteen years old. The quietness of the room seemed at odds with the bright colors on the walls and the toys strewn from one side to the other. They should be laughing and playing, not staring at a box on the wall.

  “How many children are here?” I asked, fighting to hide the break in my voice.

  “Twenty at this location. Twenty more at a site across town.” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s been tough on them.”

  Something moved in the shadows of the far corner. I squinted, bringing the shape of a child into focus. Loretta followed my gaze. “That’s Cassidy.” At the mention of her name, the tot shuffled into the darkness, squeezing into the crack between the sofa and the wall.

  “Why is she hiding like that?” My heart squeezed at the child’s palpable fear.

  “She was abducted from her mother at the shopping mall. Cassidy was sitting in the cart when her mother turned to put the bags in the trunk. When she turned around, the baby was gone. Cassidy was only six months at the time. Her father was in the military and died in the line of duty. Her mother committed suicide a year later. A relative of the kidnapper turned him in, but by then both her parents were deceased.”

  “I can’t imagine.” My voice turned into a whisper. I pressed a hand to my mouth, horrified on the child’s behalf. How could anyone be so cruel to an innocent baby? On impulse, I knelt beside the couch. Two bright eyes shone through the darkness. I searched my pockets, wishing I had something to give her. “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen months,” Loretta said. “She’s a little behind, developmentally, as you can imagine, but she seems to be making up for lost ground. Of course, we don’t have the resources or time to give her the attention she needs.” Her face fell, a noticeable undertone of resignation in her words. “There just isn’t enough of us.”

  A caregiver emerged from an adjoining room to fish Cassidy from her hiding place. Brown ringlets floated about the child's head. With a thumb firmly stuck in her mouth, she ducked her head into the woman's neck, but not before I caught a peek at wide, intelligent blue eyes. Those eyes haunted me for the rest of the visit.

  On the trip home, I called Sam. "We have to do something. You wouldn't believe the living conditions of these children. There isn't enough help or money to properly care for their needs."

  “Slow down,” he said. “You’re talking too fast. I’m only catching every other word.”

  “You asked me what I wanted. Well, I want to help these kids.”

  "Okay. Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."

  This was why I married him. He accepted the request without question. I had no doubt that he would do everything in his power to grant my wish.

  For the last couple of years, the former home of Infinity Enterprises had been sitting empty and unused. I hadn’t been back since Sam closed his offices there. Standing on the front steps of the three-story Greek Revival mansion with his hand in mine brought back a slew of memories. We’d fallen in love for the second time while working here. I bit my lower lip and cast a sideways glance in his direction, wondering if he remembered.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  It was a Saturday morning, a time usually reserved for cuddling and coffee on the terrace at our house. He wore faded jeans and a loose-knit green sweater; the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I loved his forearms, their tanned skin, the smattering of gold hair over sinewy muscle. When I lifted my gaze to his face, one of his eyebrows arched, and I realized more than a minute had passed since his question.

  “I think it’s a beautiful house,” I replied. “But I’m still not sure why we’re here. Do you want to move?” He’d brought me here with no explanation. “Because we’re just getting settled into our house, and I like it there.”

  “Not for us. For your orphans.” As he spoke, he leaned his back against one of the enormous white columns.

  “Really?” I followed him, pressing my front to his hard chest, overwhelmed by his generosity. “You’d do that?”

  "Of course. It's just sitting here, and it's the perfect place. Good neighborhood, huge yard, plenty of rooms." He shrugged like it meant nothing when it meant everything to me. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of his stubbled jaw, the firm line of his chin, his straight nose. "I can have someone in here on Monday to get the ball rolling."

  “Have I mentioned today I how much I love you?” I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and lifted on tiptoe to press a kiss on his lips.

  “No, but now would be an appropriate time.” His eyes, made greener by the misty rain, crinkled at the corners.

  I swiped a thumb over his lower lip, tracing the curve of his mouth. “I love you, Samuel Seaforth.”

  He bit the tip of my thumb gently before replying, “I love you more.”

  “Not possible.” Sliding my arms around his narrow waist, I rested a cheek on his chest. Beneath my ear, his heart thudded, synchronizing with mine.

  “I’ve already spoken with Venetia about the possibility. She’s pulling together donations for furnishings and supplies. Renovations should take about 90 days. The kids could be in here before Christmas.” His large hands skated along my sides to palm the curves of my bottom. He squeezed, and a thrill tightened my inner core.

  “You’re freaking amazing,” I muttered against the soft wool
of his sweater.

  “Thank you for noticing.” The deep tenor of his voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating my ear.

  “You’re a cocky bastard.” I shoved him playfully.

  “True. You love that about me.” His gaze found mine. We smiled at each other.

  “Yes. I do.” Our grins widened. I brought my hands to his shoulders, enjoying the swell of his hard muscles beneath my touch. “Don’t ever change.”

  “Deal.” Closing his eyes, he leaned in for another kiss. This one stole my breath. I relaxed into him, savoring the taste of our morning coffee on his tongue, the softness of his mouth. When he pulled back, he left me reeling and wanting more. I moaned in protest, and he chuckled. “So, what’s my reward?”

  “Giving is a reward in itself,” I murmured, still foggy-headed. I closed my eyes and puckered my lips, inviting another kiss. Instead, he chucked me under the chin.

  “You’re getting spoiled.” His tone teemed with pride. I opened my eyes to find him smiling down at me, lids lowered.

  “Don’t blame me. It’s all your fault.” I nestled deeper into his embrace.

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you the one thing you want most,” he whispered into my hair, his arms finding my waist again.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” I ached for his loss, for the children we’d never have, for my inability to help him carry on the Seaforth name. We clung to each other on the porch, giving and receiving comfort. For the first time, I felt at peace with our fate. A biological child just wasn’t in the cards for us.

  “I want to give you everything, Kota. Maybe we won’t have kids, but I’ll move heaven and earth to make you happy. If it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.” The rawness in his voice touched my soul. I lifted my head, resting my chin on his sternum, an idea taking root in my mind.

  “Um, about that—there is one more thing,” I said, my heart pounding furiously against my ribs. “I want you to meet someone.”

  BLESSINGS

  SAM

  For the third time in thirty minutes, I called up the stairs to Dakota. If she didn’t hurry, we were going to be late. I paced the floor, glanced at my watch then sighed. Nothing tried my patience more than tardiness, even if it was for a good reason.

  “Are you coming or not?” I shouted.

  “Yes. Calm down, would you?” She appeared at the top of the steps and paused, one hand on the curve of her back, the other underneath her swollen belly. "By the way, you're acting people will think you’re having this baby instead of me.”

  “No one is going to think that.” Over the course of the last nine months, her stomach had swelled to the size of a watermelon. “You’re enormous.”

  Her brows met over the bridge of her nose, her tone argumentative. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  “I would never say that, baby.”

  I took the stairs two at a time to meet her. Grasping her hand in mine, I led her down to the first landing. She moved laboriously, gripping the railing with her free hand, and groaned at each step. When we reached the bottom, she stopped.

  “Are you okay? Why are you breathing so hard?”

  “I’m pregnant, dumb ass.”

  “You don’t have to yell. I’m well aware of the fact. I’m the one who made you this way, in case you’ve forgotten.” Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t hide the smug male satisfaction in my tone.

  “To hear you tell it, I didn’t have anything to do with it.” Her face contorted as she rubbed her belly.

  "All I did was show up," I said, feeling my insides turn to mush at the sight of my wife and the miracle in her belly. "You’re incredible." I dropped a kiss on her mouth, savoring the sweet taste of her lips. Her strength and perseverance never failed to impress me. I patted her bottom gently. "Now, shake a leg."

  “Don’t you dare rush me, Samuel Seaforth. You try carrying another person around inside you and see how fast you move.”

  We glared at each other then burst into laughter. I pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips, warm and soft, pillowed against mine. She placed a hand on my chest. My heart thudded against her palm. Emotion too overwhelming for words swept through me.

  “Did you get my suitcase?” she asked.

  “Yes. Chandler has the car out front. Rockwell went to get your mother. They’ll meet us at the hospital.” I cupped her elbow in my hand and tried to herd her toward the front door.

  “Wait.” She halted in the foyer.

  “Baby, please.”

  “It’s the last time we’ll be a family of three.” Tears misted her eyes. “When we come back home, we’ll have a brand new person with us.”

  As if on cue, Cassidy appeared from the kitchen. Her chubby toddler arms extended, and her bare feet slapped against the floor as she raced toward us. The morning light bounced off her curls, the same shade of brown as her mother’s. I bent down to scoop her up before she knocked Dakota over. The scent of cookies and baby powder settled over me—the best smell in the world.

  "Mom, mom, mom, mom," Cassidy repeated the name like a mantra. She opened and closed her little fist in Dakota’s direction.

  “Mommy can’t hold you right now. She’s got a baby in her tummy, remember?” I pressed a kiss to the round curve of Cassidy’s cheek.

  “We’re going to the hospital so the doctor can take the baby out.” Dakota smoothed a hand over Cassidy’s mop of hair. “When I come home, we’ll have a little brother for you to play with.”

  “I go too.” Cassidy's bottom lip protruded, and a fat tear rolled to the point of her chin. She gripped the collar of Dakota's shirt and clung to it like a drowning man in a churning sea. Since we told her about the baby, leaving the house had been an issue. Every time Dakota tried to walk out the door, Cassidy broke into a screaming tantrum. Over the past few weeks, the episodes had increased in frequency and severity, her attachment to Dakota bordering on obsession. The trauma of her short life had given her a severe case of separation anxiety. Now, the threat of another person vying for Dakota’s precious time had sent Cassidy over the edge.

  “You have to stay here with Mrs. Pittman and get the house ready for the baby.” Dakota peeled the tiny fingers off her collar and gave them a playful kiss.

  “No.” Cassidy’s forehead scrunched.

  Although Cassidy wasn’t our biological child, she had startling green eyes and enough physical similarities to pass as our own. And she was ours—in every way—except by blood. This mischievous little bandit had stolen my heart the moment I laid eyes on her. I gave her a squeeze, reveling in her squeal.

  “Baby in my tummy.” Cassidy patted her belly.

  “There better not be,” I said with mock sternness. Peals of girlish laughter rang through the room. I lifted her dress and blew a raspberry on the soft skin of her round tummy. Heaven help me when she became old enough to date. The thought sent my blood pressure skyrocketing.

  “Cassidy, are you ready for pancakes?” Mrs. Pittman asked from the kitchen doorway.

  “Yes!” She wriggled until I set her feet on the floor then ran to the kitchen.

  “Go.” Mrs. Pittman flapped her apron at us. “Before she realizes you’re gone.”

  “Venetia and Beckett will be here to pick her up after work. I packed her overnight bag. It’s in the closet,” Dakota said, her tone hushed. She pressed a palm to her forehead. “I think I forgot to pack her doll.” She turned to me. “Can you run upstairs and see if it’s in there?”

  “Everything will be fine, Mrs. Seaforth. I’ll take care of it. You worry about having this baby.” Mrs. Pittman’s eyes glimmered with tears. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, she leaned forward and hugged us both. “Now, off with you. Call me when you’re able.”

  In the delivery room, I held Dakota’s hand and tried to act like I wasn’t going out of my mind with worry. I never dreamed I’d be here. Little Cassidy had been the answers to all our prayers, and we’d given up trying to get pregnant. A week after we brou
ght her home, Dakota found out we were expecting.

  “Sam?” Dakota’s eyes went round as the nurses began to scurry about the room.

  “It’s fine, baby.” Despite my reassurances, her fingers tightened around mine until the circulation stopped flowing. “You’re doing great.”

  The doctor peered at us over her mask. “Everything looks good. You might feel some pressure, Dakota, but that’s perfectly normal. In just a minute, you’re going to be parents again.”

  “I can’t feel anything,” Dakota said.

  “Great,” replied the doctor. “Keep up the good work. We’re almost there.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” I kissed her knuckles. Feeling the blood drain to my feet, I drew in a deep breath through my nose.

  “Are you okay, Dad?” One of the nurses paused to glare at me over the sheet draped between us. The room tilted.

  “Don’t you dare pass out,” Dakota said, her tone agitated. “If I have to go through this, you do too. So help me, Sam—”

  “I’m fine.” Although I wasn’t so sure. I swallowed down the panic. I had to be strong for her. “No way am I leaving you to do this by yourself.”

  Fear clouded her eyes. All my reservations floated away with one look at her pale face. I clasped her hand in both of mine. “Look at me, Dakota. I’m right here, and I’m never going to leave you. You’re the love of my life, did you know that?”

  “You mean besides Mimi-In-The-Closet?”

  "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" I gave a mock sigh. If she was joking with me, she was going to be okay.

  “It’s my duty as your wife.” Her luscious lips curved upward. Even without makeup, her skin glowed, and she was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen.

  “Minx.” I pressed my lips to her forehead, doing my best to distract her from all the activity at her feet. A loud wail pierced my eardrums. My pulse tripled.