by Sharon Sala
Clay crossed the floor and took her by the hand.
“Come here.” He led her to the side of the bed. “I like to touch you when we talk.”
Her expression crumpled. “I need to ask you something.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away all the bad things in her life, but he could sense her need for space. He settled for holding her hand.
“You know you can ask me anything and it will always be all right,” he said.
Her mouth felt dry, her palms sweaty. There was a sick knot in the pit of her stomach, like the kind she used to get at the orphanage before visiting day, the kind she had gone to bed with each night, knowing that there was no one on earth who wanted her to be their little girl.
“I may just be borrowing trouble,” she began.
“Then we’ll owe it together,” he said, and brushed a stray lock of hair from the corner of her cheek.
She tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, it turned into a grimace that threatened to grow into something worse. Something that, once started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Your mother made a comment this morning that got me thinking.”
Clay stiffened. He couldn’t imagine his mother ever insulting Frankie, but if she had, he wouldn’t stand for it.
“What did she say?” he asked.
The abruptness of his tone alerted Frankie that she’d given him the wrong impression.
“No, no, Clay, it wasn’t anything bad. In fact, she was commiserating with me because I kept throwing up. She said she knew how I felt, because she’d done the same thing every morning for weeks after she got pregnant with you.”
“And…?” he prompted.
She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.
“And I can’t remember when I had my last period.”
A slow smile began to spread over Clay’s face. Frankie groaned. Before he started handing out cigars, she needed to finish.
“But I do remember looking up into Pharaoh Carn’s face and knowing I was going to be raped.”
He grunted, as if someone had punched him in the gut. For the length of a heartbeat he saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes, a concern that, once again, she was going to become unwanted. He sighed and leaned forward until nothing but their lips were touching. She didn’t move. He cupped the back of her head and tasted the fear on her lips, then pulled back.
“Francesca.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes were wide, her expression questioning.
“Do you remember our deal?”
She blinked. This wasn’t the response she’d imagined. “What deal?” she mumbled.
“I get to name our first baby.”
She took a deep shaky breath and tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
Our. He’d said our.
“Do you remember?” he asked.
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Yes.”
“So, if you’re pregnant, I’d better get busy making my lists, because our baby’s going to need a good name.”
She threw her arms around his neck and started to cry.
“I am so scared. Ever since the day I saw you, I imagined giving you babies, but now…Oh God, oh, Clay, what if it’s not your—”
He kissed her, hard and fast, swallowing the horror of her words before they were said. His breath was short and choppy; his emotions were barely in check. He wanted to laugh—and, dear God, he needed to cry. Instead, he made her a promise he knew he would keep.
“I swear to you, and to God, that I will love the baby as much as I love you.”
Before Frankie could voice another fear, she heard a car pulling into the driveway of their house. She got up and ran to the window.
“It’s Winston,” she said. “He’s back from the store.”
Before he could stop her, she was out of the room and running up the hall. Curious as to what his dad could be bringing that was so all-fired important, he followed.
“Did you get it?” Frankie said as Winston came through the door.
He rolled his eyes and handed her the sack with the kit inside.
“Hell, yes,” he muttered. “That smart-ass girl at the checkout counter took one look at the box, then at my gray hair and wrinkles, and grinned. If that wasn’t bad enough, she winked at me, too.”
The somberness of the moment was broken with an outburst of Betty’s laughter, which added even more confusion to the moment as Clay entered the room.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
Betty couldn’t do anything but point at her husband and laugh, while the tears ran down her face.
In spite of Frankie’s fears, the image of Winston at odds with the world made her smile. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you very much,” she said softly.
“Come on, everybody. Let me in on the joke,” Clay said.
Frankie held up the sack. “Your mom sent Winston to the store for a home pregnancy kit.”
The sight of the little brown sack hit Clay like a kick to the gut. That sack held the answer to the rest of their world. And yet, knowing his dad as well as he did, he could appreciate what it had taken for him to make the purchase.
A slight grin tilted the corner of his mouth. “So, Dad, I guess the answer is, when you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
Winston gave his son a go-to-hell look, while his wife erupted into a new fit of giggles. He glared at Betty, as well as his son, and then gave Frankie a quick kiss.
“I’m taking that cackling old hen over there home now, and I suppose that I’m going with her.” Then he grinned. “Besides, it’s too damned cold—and I’m too damned old—to be looking for another roost.”
“Thank you,” Frankie said.
Winston squeezed her arm. “Just give us a call later on—one way or the other.”
Frankie nodded.
Moments later, they were alone. She turned to Clay, the sack clutched to her chest.
“Will you let me come with you?” he asked.
She lifted her chin and held out her hand.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Across town, another set of questions was about to be answered, as well. Avery Dawson plunked another mug book in front of Anna Rafferty and opened it up.
“Mrs. Rafferty, we really appreciate you helping us out like this.”
The old woman sighed. “This is the seventh book, I believe.”
Dawson winced. The old woman was already giving out on them, and there were dozens still left to view.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Rafferty sighed again. “Well, maybe a couple more.” She opened the book and began peering at the pages. Suddenly she pointed. “Oh look!”
Dawson jumped to his feet. “Is that him? Is that the man who rented your apartment?”
“Oh no,” she said. “But he looks just like Papa did when he was young. Isn’t that amazing? I always heard that everyone in the world has a double. My goodness, Papa would have had a fit, knowing that he and some common criminal shared a face.”
Dawson dropped back into his chair and swallowed a curse.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll bet he would. Now, if you don’t mind, just keep looking. It’s very important that we get to talk to your renter.”
She nodded and went back to her task, leaving Ramsey grinning and Dawson rolling his eyes.
A short while later, she had finished that book and started on number eight when she suddenly pointed.
“Him!” she cried.
“What about him?” Dawson asked, half expecting to hear that this one looked like her dear, departed husband, Edward, of whom much had already been said.
“That’s the man! That’s the man who rented my apartment!”
Dawson stood abruptly and looked over her shoulder. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I never forget a face. Besides, see the way one eyebrow goes higher than the other?
Of course, I never said anything to him, but it gives him such a confused expression.”
Dawson looked, reading the name beneath.
“Simon Law.” He looked up at Ramsey. “Run a make on this man. See what you turn up.” Then he turned back to Mrs. Rafferty. “Ma’am, you’ve been a big help to us today. Detective Adler here will escort you down to the main lobby.”
“Will someone please call a cab for me?” she asked.
“That won’t be necessary. One of the officers will see you home in his patrol car.”
She perked up at the news. “Oh my! A real police car! I do wish my Edward was alive to see this day.” Then she giggled. “Papa always said I’d wind up in the arms of the law.”
Dawson threw back his head and guffawed. After the day they’d had, the old lady was a welcome respite. He shook her hand as he helped her to her feet.
“You go easy on our boys, Anna Rafferty, or I’ll have to arrest you myself. And don’t worry about Ross. I’ve got men staked out at your house. As soon as he comes home, we’ll have him arrested.”
The old woman was still smiling when she exited the room.
Dawson reached for his coffee cup. He’d missed lunch. His belly was growling. But it was going to have to settle for another jolt of caffeine.
Clay sat on their bed, using the headboard for a backrest. Frankie sat between his legs, reclining against his chest. His arms were close around her, his slow steady breaths warming her neck. The thump of his heartbeat was strong against her back, and the only other sound in the room was the tick of a clock on the opposite wall.
The test stick from the home pregnancy kit was upside down in her hand. She felt as if she were holding a time bomb, primed to go off.
“Is it time yet?” she asked.
“No, not for another minute.”
She sighed.
“Don’t, Frankie. Whatever the results, it will be all right.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
And they waited.
Even though she’d been staring at the minute hand on the clock, when Clay’s voice suddenly rumbled near her ear, she jumped.
“It’s time,” he said.
Her fingers clenched around the stick, suddenly afraid to look. Then Clay’s hands slowly splayed across her belly.
“I love you, Francesca.”
Her vision blurred. Even after she lifted the stick and turned it over, she couldn’t see for the tears. And then she heard Clay exhale softly, as if he’d been holding his breath, and she knew the test was positive. It was at once the most wonderful, and at the same time the most horrifying, moment of her life. She was going to have a baby. But whose?
And, God love him, it was Clay who came through for her once again.
“Let’s call Mom and Dad,” he said. “They’ve been waiting for years to be grandparents. This ought to put them over the moon.”
Frankie pulled out of Clay’s arms and turned to face him.
“What about you, Clay? Where does it put you?” she asked.
He smiled and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe that she’d asked. “So deep in your life you’ll wonder where the hell your personal space went,” he said gruffly. Then he grinned. “I’m going to be a father. After we call Mom and Dad, we need to celebrate.”
Frankie’s heartache lifted—not a lot, but enough to know that they would get through this after all.
“I don’t much feel like going out in all this snow.”
He grinned. “Then we’ll order in. You pick. I’ll call.”
She hesitated. The thought of a meal was suddenly the best idea anyone had come up with all day.
“I think maybe Chinese, or would you rather have pizza?”
“I would rather have you,” Clay said softly, and rolled her over onto her back and laid his head in the curve of her neck.
The knot in her chest loosened a little bit more. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You’re in luck,” she said softly. “Tonight, I’m the house special.”
Clay grinned. “Oh no, Francesca. You’re always the house special, and I’ll never be full. Not of you. Never of you.”
Then he looked away, moving his hand from her breast to her belly, shoving aside her sweater and sweats until his hand was palm down on the soft surface of her skin.
“Hey, in there. Grow strong and healthy, little baby. When you’re ready, we will be waiting for you.”
When he looked back at Frankie, there were tears in his eyes. And that was her undoing.
“I love you, Clay LeGrand.”
He grinned. “I know.”
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Here’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘I love you, too.”’
His grin widened. “But, sweetheart, that would be so predictable.”
A laugh bubbled up her throat. “And God knows we can’t have that, can we?”
“My daddy always said that the first time a woman knows where you’re going to be at any given time of the day, your goose is cooked.”
Frankie grinned, then ran her finger lightly down the side of his cheek. “So…my dear gander, prepare yourself to be roasted, because for the next eight or so months, I predict you will be forever underfoot.”
He chuckled and began pulling her sweater over her head.
“What’s the deal with eight months? Try the rest of our lives,” he said.
She sighed as he took her in his arms. “The rest of our lives? That would be my pleasure.”
Sixteen
Morning dawned cold and gray. The wind from last night had drifted the snow, obliterating most of the trail of footprints. Clay didn’t have to see them to know that the danger to Frankie still existed. With every passing day, he sensed her fear increasing.
Frankie was awake, but, at his mother’s suggestion, was slowly nibbling on some saltine crackers before getting out of bed. He could hear the faint crunch as she took little bites. Hiding his worries, he forced a grin as he turned.
“Sounds like there’s a little mouse in my house.”
“I feel like one,” she said, frowning as she brushed at a crumb. “Shoot, I’m going to have cracker crumbs all over the sheets.”
“It could be worse,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, remembering her bout of nausea yesterday morning.
Clay chuckled. “Are you ready for some tea?”
She thought about it for a moment, and when nothing threatened to come up, she nodded. “I think so,” she said.
“Good! I’ll have some with you.”
Frankie started to get up, but Clay stopped her.
“Don’t push it, sweetheart. Just lie there. Let me wait on you for a change.”
She dropped back onto the pillows with a frustrated thud. “I hope this morning-sickness stuff doesn’t last too long.”
“We’ll make an appointment with your doctor. Maybe he can give you something that will help. Now, give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him leave, and closed her eyes, telling herself she was imagining the pain on his face. He’d told her he loved her. He’d sworn that he would love the baby no matter what. She had to believe he was telling her the truth or she would go mad. Then she sighed and turned over on her side, hugging his pillow against her.
The thump and bang of pots and pans was a comforting sound as she drifted in and out of sleep. The noise was her boundary of safety—her reassurance that she was not alone.
A short while later the phone began to ring. She rolled over to answer, but it stopped before she could pick up the receiver. A couple of minutes later Clay burst into the room with the portable phone in his hand.
“Frankie, pick up the phone. It’s Addie Bell, from Kitteridge House. There’s something you need to hear.”
Frankie’s heart skipped a beat as she rolled over in bed and grabbed the receiver. “Addie?”
“Francesca! I hear congratulations are in order!”
; Frankie looked at Clay. He was grinning sheepishly. She sighed. Maybe her worries were all for nothing. If he was already bragging about their news, he must be okay with the rest.
“Took us both a bit by surprise,” Frankie said.
“I’m sure,” Addie said. “However, back to the reason I called. It may not amount to a hill of beans, but I’ve been trying to remember anything and everything about that boy, Pharaoh Carn, and last night, while I was watching a movie on cable, something I saw jarred my memory.”
“What?” Frankie asked.
“Pharaoh has a tattoo. In fact, he snuck out after hours one night to get it done. He must have been around fifteen, maybe sixteen. I was furious, both at the fact that Pharaoh had snuck out and at the example the tattoo was setting for the other boys.”
Instinctively, Frankie reached for the back of her neck, rubbing at her own tattoo as she looked up at Clay. He nodded grimly as Addie continued.
“It was one of those Egyptian-looking things. Sort of a cross, but it’s not. It had a funny loop at the top. And it was in color…yellow, I think.” She paused. “I know it’s not much, but considering what you’ve been through, I didn’t want to hold back anything I’d remembered.”
Frankie’s heart was racing as she scooted to the edge of the bed. “Oh, Addie, you will never know how much this means to us. Look, I hate to rush you, but we have to call the detectives working on the case. Do you mind if we give them your number again, in case they want to corroborate what we tell them?”
“Of course not. I’ll be glad to do anything to help.”
“Okay,” Frankie said. “And thanks again for calling.”
“Keep in touch,” Addie said. “I’ll be wanting to know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
“Yes, we’ll do that,” Frankie said.
The line went dead in her ear. She looked at Clay again, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Clay…this is what Detective Dawson was talking about, isn’t it? Could this be the physical evidence he keeps saying he needs?”
Clay shrugged. “I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out. How do you feel?”
She looked down at herself, frowning at the cracker crumbs that fell from her nightshirt onto the floor.
