Baby Christmas

by Pamela Browning

  “Christmas, Noel, what’s the difference?” huffed Ivan impatiently. “It all means the same thing.”

  “She can be Christmas Noel,” Joe said in an effort to keep peace, and Rachel smiled at him gratefully and said firmly, “Christmas Noel is a lovely name. We’ll call her Chrissy for short.”

  “Little Baby Christmas,” breathed Ynez, clearly captivated.

  “Well, Chrissy’s a nice enough name,” agreed Ivan in a tone of resignation.

  “I say we call her that.” This from Gladys, which clinched it.

  Joe cleared his throat. “I’d better check on the cleanup downstairs. Be right back.” He left everyone but Rachel debating the proper temperature of baby formula and how much the baby might drink at one feeding.

  As soon as he stepped off the elevator, Joe saw that Sherman, the doorman, had reappeared and was conversing in his usual nasal tones on the phone behind the lobby security desk. Andy, Joe’s second in command, was energetically heaving folds of soggy carpet out the open front door where a truck waited to haul it away.

  “Hey, Andy, you’re doing a great job.”

  Andy stopped what he was doing and tossed Joe a bag. “I found this near the Nativity scene. Maybe it belongs to your lady.”

  Joe peeked inside. The bag contained a package of printer paper. “If you’re talking about Rachel Hirsch, I might as well inform you that she isn’t my lady.”

  Andy removed his hat and wiped his brow before jamming it on again. “Whatever. Say, Joe, you can go now. Me and the guys, we’ve got everything under control.”

  “Who’s the boss around here, anyway?”

  “Oh, you’re the boss, which is why you should take Christmas Eve off.” Andy grinned at him.

  “I am the boss, which is why I’m dealing with this. That way more of my employees can spend the evening with their families. You and the crew can make like a tree and leave now, Andy. I’ll take over,” Joe said. He was accustomed to filling in for people on holidays since he didn’t have a wife and kids of his own. He always felt guilty if his employees had to miss out on their home life due to a holiday mishap.

  “We’re almost at a stopping point,” Andy said. “Besides, I saw how you looked at the woman. She’s a knockout, that one. Can’t blame you if you got a thing for her.” Two of Joe’s employees glanced at him and smiled.

  Jœ drew himself up to his considerable height. “I do not have a ‘thing’ for Ms. Hirsch or anyone else,” he said indignantly. Of course, he wasn’t about to admit it to Andy and the crew, but it was true that the thought of spending the evening with Rachel had crossed his mind.

  “Well, boss, want to come along with us? We’re gonna be leaving in a few minutes.” As if to emphasize the truth of this, Andy went outside and slammed the tailgate on the truck. The workers gathered there were already shucking their damp coveralls and exchanging lighthearted banter.

  But Joe didn’t want to leave.

  Before Andy could embarrass him further in front of his employees, Joe adopted what he hoped was a noncommittal expression, hastily stepped back into the elevator and pushed the up button. “I’ll see about getting someone out to repair the ceiling tomorrow,” he said to a bunch of upraised eyebrows as the door closed in front of his face.

  His lady.

  A thing for her.

  Right now Andy and his cohorts were probably gleefully elbowing each other in the ribs and speculating on the boss’s chances of getting lucky.

  Joe inhaled a deep breath. Well, okay. He was fascinated by Rachel Hirsch. Who was she, and why was she alone on Christmas Eve? And what exactly was it about her that made him want to stick around on a night when he could be going home to his family?

  Well, for once thing, he’d begun to feel alone even when he was in the midst of family activities. No one at those regular gatherings of the Marzinski clan was exclusively his, no one had his welfare primarily at heart Even a Marzinski could be lonely sometimes.

  If he allowed himself to be completely candid, he had to admit that a Rachel Hirsch under his Christmas tree would be a welcome present indeed.

  Chapter Two

  When Joe arrived back in the apartment on the eleventh floor, Rachel was sitting on the couch in the midst of a fascinated group. She was feeding the baby and retelling with much animation the story of how she found Chrissy.

  “What I want to know,” Ivan said loudly when Rachel had finished, “is where did the baby come from?”

  “We should not question Christmas miracles, Mr. O’Toole,” Ynez reminded him gently.

  “Christmas or no Christmas, babies don’t just happen.

  “Well, Ivan, it appears that this one did. Goodness,” said Gladys, glancing at her watch, “I still have to call my son in Seattle. I’d better get going. Rachel, are you sure that’s going to be enough diapers?”

  “They should get us through the night.”

  “You’re planning to keep the baby here all night?” Joe asked, somewhat disconcerted.

  “If the HSS is shut down for the holiday, I may have no choice,” Rachel said. Something in her tone, something raw and revealing, made him shoot her a keen look. In that moment he thought he saw desperation flare behind her eyes and a pain that surprised him. He would have thought that Rachel Hirsch, in her snug T-shirt and wild blond hair and short flippy shorts, didn’t have a care in the world except whether, say, the latest shades of fingernail polish complemented her suntan.

  Gladys gathered herself together and patted Rachel’s shoulder. “Well. I’m sure the baby will be safe with you. Good night, Rachel, dear. See you tomorrow.”

  “Now, Rachel, you call me, I’m just a few doors away, and you have my number if you need anything at all.” Ynez Garcia spared Rachel a nervous smile and headed for the door.

  “Good night, and merry Christmas,” said Ivan. He chucked the baby lightly under the chin before following the others out.

  “Whew,” said Rachel dispiritedly after Joe had closed the door behind them. “I’m sure my neighbors mean well, but I’m glad they’ve gone.” With her left hand she brushed her hair back behind her ear. Joe had noticed before that she wore no rings, and there wasn’t even a telltale white band of skin where one had been recently removed.

  He took off his tool belt and slung it over a chair back, then sat down opposite Rachel and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “How’s the baby doing?”

  “She seems healthy. And she’s eating well. The doll’s bottle works fine.” She grinned over at him, her face lit with pleasure. Her skin had the texture of a sun-burnished apricot, and her lips were luscious and full.

  “I don’t know when the HSS people will call back. We’ve got to keep in mind that it’s Christmas Eve, you know.”

  “I know,” she said softly. For a moment she looked inexpressibly sad. The expression was a fleeting one. Was she sad because she was alone? He saw no signs of the season in the apartment at all. Most people he knew went overboard with decorations—wreaths made of seashells were big this year, and so were electric candles in windows and Christmas trees trimmed all in one color.

  While he was pondering the lack of ornamentation in the apartment and its possible relation to the sadness he sensed in Rachel, she arranged the newly named Chrissy over a clean dish towel spread across her shoulder and began patting her back. Rachel handled the baby with gentle competence as if she were well experienced at motherhood. That was odd, too. Joe didn’t peg Rachel for a mother, since her personality was anything but matronly. He detected a mystery about her. A mystique. He considered himself a down-to-earth kind of guy, but he liked mystique.

  Chrissy began to wriggle. “I can’t get her to burp,” Rachel said.

  “Give her to me,” Jœ said with assurance born of long experience with all his nieces and nephews. He took the baby from Rachel and propped her on one of his knees in a sitting position, one big hand gently cupping the baby’s chin. With the forefinger of the other hand, he rubbed Chrissy’s delicate
little spine up and down, producing a burp after only a few seconds.

  Rachel shot him a frankly admiring look. “You know your stuff, Marzinski. You must have a couple of kids of your own.”

  He felt slightly abashed. “No. I’m not married,” he said, and the conversation paused a beat until he jumped into the awkward silence and told her about his big family and how all Marzinskis pitched in to help whenever one of them had a new baby.

  “You know, it must be nice to have so many sisters,” Rachel said, looking wistful. “I was an only child, and my father died a long time ago. My mother’s in a nursing home and doesn’t even recognize me anymore.”

  This, then, could account for the sadness. But before he could reply, Rachel glanced down bemusedly at a damp spot on the front of her shirt. “While you’re holding Chrissy, do you think you could feed her what’s left in the bottle? Before I changed her diaper, I got a little wet. I’d like to put on dry clothes.”

  The mention of clothes caused a vision to flit across Joe’s mind of Rachel wearing that pretty satin bra he’d seen in the bedroom. Ho-ho-ho, he thought.

  “I don’t mind feeding the baby,” he said. “The guys have finished with the mess in the lobby, and it’s not as if I have to go anywhere.”

  Rachel’s eyes held a teasing light. “Don’t you have to put together a swing set or something? For one of those nieces or nephews of yours?”

  “I wiggled out of helping my brother-in-law assemble bikes for his twins after Sherman called about the leak from the fourth floor. So, no, I don’t mind bottle duty.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll be right back,” she said, and her bare knee brushed the leg of his jeans as she headed toward the bedroom. He caught a whiff of the fresh fragrance of her skin as she passed. She smelled like rain-drenched flower buds—the heady scent of night-blooming jasmine, maybe.

  While she was gone, he allowed himself to imagine Rachel walking toward him carrying great bunches of jasmine, her hair loose and free, and she was wearing—well, she wasn’t wearing much. She wasn’t even wearing the satin bra. As she was bending over to kiss him, the phone rang.

  Almost immediately Rachel, the real Rachel, strode out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a loose, yellow shortsleeved sweatshirt so short that it left a band of skin exposed at her midriff. A cordless phone was pressed to her ear, and she looked distressed.

  “Oh. Okay. Right” she said. She hung up with a beep.

  She stared at Joe blankly. “It was a social worker from HSS. She says she’s the only one on call tonight, but she’ll be over soon to take the baby.” She seemed agitated, on edge. She hadn’t been that way when she’d left to change clothes.

  “The HSS people are trained to deal with situations like this one,” he said, thinking that she needed reassurance. “The baby will be fine. They’ll find a foster home with people who will love and care for her, and—”

  To his dismay Rachel’s face crumpled, and her brown eyes, her beautiful eyes, filled with tears.

  “Rachel?” He couldn’t believe this.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands.

  Joe let her cry, not knowing what else to do. His instinct was to go to her and wrap his arms around her, but he intuited that she wouldn’t welcome such familiarity. Besides, he was sure he couldn’t put the baby down without her starting to cry, too. That would mean he’d be trying to calm two weeping females, and after growing up with five sisters, it was a task to which Joe knew himself to be unequal.

  Finally he shifted the baby over to one arm, hanging on to both baby and bottle with one hand as he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. He silently offered the handkerchief to Rachel, and she accepted it and mopped her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I think I’ve bonded with this baby, believe it or not. You wouldn’t think I’m be so emotional about her, would you?”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said sharply. He softened his tone. “What I mean is, you don’t have to hide the way you feel. You seem very real to me because you’re being yourself.”

  “Yep, this is the real me, all right.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

  “In our big Polish family,” he said, “emotion is standard. For instance, you should hear my mother every time one of us gets on a plane. You’d think we were going to the North Pole instead of Atlanta or Denver. She cries and brings fried chicken to the airport so we won’t have to eat airline food. It’s not good for us, she says. And she’s totally oblivious to the fact that fried chicken isn’t the most healthful of foods itself. What makes this all so funny is that Mom has no firsthand knowledge of airline food because she’s never been on a plane in her life.”

  Rachel managed a tentative smile before she sank down on the couch beside him. She looked drained.

  “Rachel,” he said carefully. “I don’t mean to minimize what you’re feeling. I only want you to know that you’re entitled to feel it and to express it. Okay?” He was touched that she could feel so much for this baby after so short a time.

  She looked rueful and studied his expression for a long moment before she spoke. “All right.” She made a visible effort to pull herself together. “How about letting me hold her again?” she asked in a small voice.

  If that was all it would take to make Rachel feel better, then she could hold the baby. She could hold a million babies as far as he was concerned.

  “Sure,” he said easily. “I think this kid’s eaten all she wants for the time being.” He carefully massaged Chrissy’s back until she brought up another air bubble, then he checked her diaper and settled the baby in Rachel’s outstretched arms. Chrissy made little smacking motions with her mouth, and he was prepared to pop the pacifier into her if necessary, but the motions subsided and the baby looked around wide-eyed until her eyes fixed on Rachel’s face.

  “She’ll probably fall asleep now,” Rachel said. She gazed at the baby with an expression of such devotion that Joe might not have been there at all. Rachel’s long eyelashes curved shadows on her cheek; Joe had never seen such abundant lashes.

  Suddenly restless, Joe stood up and walked over to the sliding-glass door leading to the balcony.

  “Nice view,” he said.

  Rachel glanced up. “I know. I feel really lucky to be here for the season. Mimi won’t be back for another month or so.”

  He kept his back to Rachel, but he could see her reflection in the glass.

  “Where are you from?” In the mirror of dark glass, he watched her.

  “North Florida originally. New Jersey lately,” she said. She left it at that.

  He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Suddenly he remembered something. “I brought a package upstairs. Andy found it near the Nativity scene.”

  “Oh, it’s my printer paper. I was going to work tonight. That’s before I found you,” she said to the baby. Her voice changed when she talked to Chrissy: it became gentle and solicitous. She sounded the way his sisters sounded when they talked to their babies.

  “You work at home?” Through a door to the left of the kitchen he’d spotted a computer monitor and stacks of papers strewn across a desk.

  “I have my own secretarial service. In the past couple of months I’ve developed a steady client list of businessmen who live in Coquina Beach during the winter season and need a personalized typing and faxing service. One of the men I work for has a major report due on the last day of the year, so I’ve been working steadily for the past couple of days.” She looked worried for a moment. “I should be working now,” she said.

  “I’ll be glad to look after the baby until the social worker gets here if you need to be doing something else,” Joe offered.

  “Thanks, but I really want to hold her until she leaves.” Rachel nuzzled the baby’s cheek. “She’s so adorable. So sweet.”

  “Who could leave a child like this, that’s what I’d like to know. If you hadn’t come along, there’s no telling what could have happene
d.”

  “It was a good thing I had to go buy paper,” she said. She paused, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, Joe, I’m not much of a hostess am I? Would you care for a drink? There are drinks at the bar.”

  Joe had noticed the well-stocked wet bar in the corner earlier. He shook his head. “Nothing for me.”

  He wanted to add, I could be happy looking at you all night. He wanted to say, When the baby’s gone, don’t kick me out, too. But he said nothing. He only watched Rachel, admiring the curve of her high cheekbones and the swanlike elegance of her long neck. He had pegged his initial reaction to Rachel Hirsch as primal, a born instinct. But what had kept his attention after the first few minutes was his sense that she needed someone, that she was lonely. And vulnerable. And she was immensely appealing to him because of that.

  She saw that he was staring at her, and he thought she flushed slightly. “Tell you what,” she said. “You deserve a reward for not leaving me in the lurch with the baby. After Chrissy is gone, we’ll see if we can do justice to those brownies I made earlier today. I used Mimi’s recipe, double-chocolate-chunky everything. How does that sound?”

  “Like dessert. I didn’t eat tonight. How about if I order out for dinner first?”

  She looked taken aback. “I didn’t think to offer you a meal.”

  “No matter. I like Chinese food. How about you?” He reached across for the phone and sat down facing her. He didn’t want to position himself where he couldn’t see her.

  “I ate earlier.”

  “You might want a midnight snack. Do you like moo goo gai pan?” he asked as he dialed Fat Choy’s Chinese Take-Out.

  “Oh, I don’t think—” she began, and he thought that maybe she didn’t want him around that late. But then, “I am a little hungry,” she admitted.

  “Egg roll?” he asked. She nodded.

  “You knew the phone number by heart,” she remarked after he’d hung up.

  “I eat a lot of take-out.”

  “Don’t you cook?”

  “I often get home late from a job and don’t feel like making a mess in the kitchen. Especially since it’s only me.