by Amanda Brown
Announcing herself with much fanfare, Emily appeared in a lavender gown of layered silk tulle, wearing a towering, triangular crown, which was secured by a silver sequined chin strap.
Becca’s laughter was sincere and bottomless. Emily had relaxed a thousand percent since their trip to Hong Kong, and the child proved an uninhibited performer. Emily had taken a fancy to acting fairy tales out as they were read, so when Becca read “dragon” she bared her teeth and leapt from a rose-colored love seat that sat beside the castle (suede cloth, Becca noticed—Amy was always practical). And when Becca read “princess” she made the blinky eyes of a mooning and helpless damsel, clutching her heart with a hundred sighs.
The painted castle, which demarcated the “fairyland” corner of Emily’s playroom, had an interior staircase leading to its balcony. This fixture drove Emily’s imagination to ecstatic heights as she raced up the stairs to be the captured princess. In the next instant, without removing her towering hat, racing down the stairs to charge around on the white hobbyhorse and plan a rescue.
Edward, who instinctively drew toward the sound of frivolity, entered the playroom with a good-natured smile.
“I heard there was a damsel in distress,” he said, approaching Emily’s castle balcony.
“The damsel is learning to look out for herself,” Becca said, turning a devilish eye to Edward. “She’s got everything a girl needs, so she’s decided to expand her empire.”
“Naturally,” he returned in the same tone, his eyes meeting Becca’s. “But I’ll rescue her all the same.” With a firm step he swept Emily from the balcony, twirling her helicopter-style until her feet flew inches from a brass coatrack draped with marabou feathers and sequins.
“I promised Emily we’d go to the Carlyle to visit my dogs today,” he said, smiling as her eyes brightened with excitement.
“You have a dog at the Carlyle?” Becca asked, squinting at him in amazement.
He nodded matter-of-factly. “I have three. Emily’s friend is MacDuff. I’ve had him forever. He used to hang around the marina, where I kept my sailboat, but the marina captain didn’t want to take him when he moved back to England. He’s really friendly: a golden mix with some setter, I think. We’ll take him for a walk, and we can get dinner there together,” he offered.
Emily jumped like a puppy, and Becca, unsure whether Edward meant to invite her, looked at her watch. She needed to get to the office, she announced hastily, as if someone had accused her of taking it easy.
“No problem, chief,” Edward reassured her. “I’m the anchor man tonight.” He smiled at Emily’s gown, thinking how proud he would be to walk his warm, friendly old dog through Central Park with Emily.
Becca squinted at him. What language did he speak?
With Emily’s hand in his, Edward turned to leave. Becca hurried a step after them, carrying a tiny faux-fur coat. “She’ll need this at night.” She kissed Emily good-bye, and promised to leave a surprise in her room if she got home too late to say good night.
“Don’t worry about us,” Edward called out behind him.
“All right,” she answered cheerfully. But as the apartment door shut, leaving her alone, Becca was filled with a sudden sense of apprehension. She hadn’t yet left Emily all to Edward. She walked to the window over Fifth, hoping to catch sight of them, and in a minute saw Edward helping Emily get all her skirts into the back seat of the cab.
He was well built, she noticed, as he ducked his head to climb in behind Emily. He had a very individual air about him: She didn’t quite have a handle on it yet. She didn’t sense any fire, any of the brutal instinct that she saw so often in her business. Instead she noticed in him a calm, unhurried attitude, a sense of comfort with himself. Her eyes widened as she wondered if he had brought any cash for the taxi.
Shaking her head to regain her focus, Becca began to hunt for a place to run her DSL line. She had been plugging in, using Amy’s phone line and using an ISP. But now she needed permanency. She surveyed the wood-paneled library first. It was too dark, too warm. She paused to regard the pictures on the bookshelves; fresh-faced Amy and Arthur in active pictures: beautiful sun-dappled waters rippling over rocks, patches of shade, wet, green banks with all their abundance. Amy was holding a fish; Arthur was holding a fish; Amy had a snake on her neck; Arthur had a goose upside-down by the feet. Arthur was holding Amy.
Becca turned away. She noticed a cigar box, a chess table, an eternity of books. It was strange, she thought, pausing curiously. No pictures of Emily.
She moved to the music room, which was lovely, but so formal, with the baby grand piano and the antique wind instruments on a stand by the silk curtains. It felt too stiff, as if it rented out for receptions. Better to keep that as a sitting room, Becca thought, for Edward to use. He probably received guests in rooms like this.
She opened a bedroom full of boxes, and closed it quickly, but not before seeing the names Amy and Arthur written on the boxes. It occurred to her for the first time that someone had packed up the couple’s things. She had not been to the apartment before today since leaving for Hong Kong, and Emily had pulled her straight to the playroom.
With a burning feeling in her throat, Becca realized that Edward might have seen to the packing. She felt ashamed to have left that responsibility to him, embarrassed, before this man she knew so little, to reveal what appeared to her as her own immaturity. She had never really managed a death before, never picked up the pieces. She realized she had overlooked Edward’s relaxed ability to take control and her underestimation of him felt like someone inside her had laughed at him in a cutting way. So much for her judgment of people. Her cheeks colored as she resolved not to think about the matter any further. She drifted around the apartment still looking for a place to hook up the computer. It was then that she saw the note and recognized a familiar handwriting. No—it was impossible. Her mother was a planet away—but it was definitely Arlene’s handwriting, or a forgery.
Becca—everything is under control, so don’t worry—relax and enjoy your new adventure. Edward and I organized the packing and storing of Amy and Arthur’s stuff. Be nice—Edward is wonderful.
—And single, Becca knew her mother meant.
In one of the apartment’s six bedrooms she found a wall with a phone jack that would work. She measured the wall with her forearm, marking the length fingertip to elbow with a pencil before measuring again. She knew the length, as measured by her forearm, of her desk and credenza. She could get a computer, printer, and phone along the long wall, a file cabinet and credenza on the short wall, and still have a nice view of the park, if they ran the DSL line through the wall to the rear. On her mobile she called and left a message for the property manager to set a date for installation.
Becca entered a guest bedroom. It was furnished comfortably, and she took the opportunity to sit in a crimson-and-gold upholstered chair. Unplugging the telephone from the wall, she unfolded her laptop on the matching ottoman. It was essential to check in before she set foot in the office. Becca did not like to be caught unprepared by the first person to catch her in the hall announcing, “Did you get my e-mail?”
While she waited for a connection, her mind turned to what the judge had said this morning. The proceeding, after the personality test, had gone pretty quickly and almost without surprise. Almost.
Becca’s mind returned to the vexing matter. Of the many surprises of this extraordinary day, the bizarre turn of the proceedings into an inquisition about marital status had, for Becca, been the least expected.
To confirm her findings of fact, Judge Jones had asked Becca and Edward to confirm that they were, in fact, each single. Both confirmed that they had also been single at the time of the Stearns’ accident. It was a surreal moment: Becca remembered having the thought, like a student caught napping, that the judge was just testing them to see if they were paying attention. But it was no joke. Judge Jones followed by asking, on the record, if either of them had any current plans to get m
arried—specific plans, affecting the near future.
Becca took the question first, and in tribute to her long-suffering mother, she replied that she saw no advantage in getting married. She didn’t have time to take care of two children, she said.
Nobody laughed. She did mention to Judge Jones that Amy, Emily’s mother, had never married Arthur, Emily’s father, and she felt comfortable that Amy left the child to her knowing that she was likely to follow a solitary path.
Frowning, the judge turned to Edward, who answered simply, with an easy smile.
“No, Your Honor,” he replied. “I’m not the marrying type.”
Becca had a tendency to resist being denied anything—even something she didn’t want—so she asked the judge stubbornly what difference it would make if she did tie the knot.
State law in New York was clear, the judge replied, that where guardianship of a minor is at issue, a two-parent custodial household provides superior opportunities for the child’s physical, emotional, and behavioral development over the long term. So where a choice is to be made, a guardian in a two-parent household gets preference over a guardian in a single-parent household, for permanent custody.
“Well, we’re both single,” asserted Becca, with a glance at Edward, “so we share Em’s custody, right?”
The judge nodded, but prudently raised a finger as she hemmed her answer with technicalities.
“Your award of custody is probationary,” she cautioned them. “I’ll follow the wills to the letter, for now. But we have a status conference scheduled in three months. If your marital status changes, before then, either of you—I will reconsider how that affects the child’s permanent placement.”
“What will you consider?” Becca’s eyes were suspicious.
The judge made herself clear. “If one of you decides to marry, Ms. Reinhart, it will be in the best interest of the child to move permanently to custody in the two-parent household.”
“So whoever marries gets Emily?”
The judge nodded. “It’s simply in her best interest.”
A peculiar tension clouded Becca’s mind. What strange incentives! But Edward was not the marrying type, and she had nothing in view. After the status conference, which was down on the calendar for early December, the judge would award permanent custody. Considering the path her thoughts had taken, Becca paused and took a deep breath. Why was she so tense? The hearing was only three months away. Nobody got married in three months.
CHAPTER 11
Kosher Is King
Becca, Emily, and Edward arranged to meet for brunch the next the morning at Katz’s deli, in what Becca considered a “strategic planning” session. She had spent the early morning in the office preparing her agenda. Her analysts had completed gathering helpful information on four-year-olds from scientific journals, pediatric Web sites, and the annual reports of Disney, Fisher-Price, and FAO Schwartz. They could hardly stop laughing long enough to give her their summaries, a fact that raised Becca’s stubborn streak. She could do this.
She cancelled a dinner date for that night: some Jack Pearson, a reinsurance executive at AIG. Philippe had called with her regrets, then buzzed her to report that Pearson had drawn his “line in the sand.” This was her second cancellation of their long-planned dinner. She would have no third chance.
She laughed, replying to Philippe that it was Pearson who had missed his chance, and resubmerged in the on-line archives of Parents magazine. She printed instructions for making an octopus from paper plates and crepe paper, reviewed the basics of the crab walk to confirm that her arms were, in fact, supposed to be straight behind her, and not upside-down in the manner of a backbend; ordered a tiny green set of doctor’s scrubs in the hope that she could get Emily past the princess stage by Halloween.
Last night when she returned, Edward was asleep in a guest room. He left a note on the table in the morning room, which had all the indications of becoming the family’s bulletin board, to let her know how the night had gone. Emily was asleep by herself in her own bedroom, he reported. They had read the tale of Sleeping Beauty, though he had skipped over the scary parts, and Emily lay sleeping softly and peacefully, imagining herself in the lead princess role.
Becca was impressed. It was her experience that Emily, though a sound sleeper, was not a willing one. The first night before they went to Hong Kong, Becca had stayed in the apartment, although the nanny was still in residence, thinking that Emily might wake up looking for her parents. Becca had slept in the master bedroom, and Emily had run to the room in the night, seeming more confused than frightened. Becca’s heart warmed as she welcomed Emily to cuddle on her mommy’s side of the bed, thinking tenderly that she was the child’s security and protection. She drew the letters of Emily’s name on her back, talking calmly to lull her to sleep.
It was cute for about five minutes. After that, the restless child flipped around and peppered Becca with stories so odd and unrelated that their only object must have been delaying the onset of sleep. She asked questions without waiting for answers, climbed up to the headboard and plunged down with a jarring bounce, tickled Becca, blew on her face like a wet sea breeze, wiped her nose on the sheets, rolled and tugged at the covers, burrowed underneath like a gopher and then became scared of the dark, and generally made herself a nuisance. When Emily finally fell asleep, as Becca explained to her the concept of current account balances, her head rested like a stone on Becca’s outstretched arm. So petrified was Becca of waking Emily that she left her arm in place, not allowing herself to move until the pins and needles tingled so severely she thought she might have lost her hand.
In Hong Kong she had been lucky. Either two beds in the same room made Emily feel more secure or the time change and jet lag were acting in Becca’s favor. She got a few nights of sleep.
Emily woke early in the morning when she heard Becca taking a shower. It was five-thirty, but time means nothing to a child who wants to wake up. As she had promised, Becca had left a present—a miniature globe with only one country—Hong Kong and its islands, as seen from the sky. She had hoped the globe might preoccupy Emily for a little while, but no dice.
Since Becca was not available, Emily headed for the nanny’s room. On the way she spotted someone else sleeping. There was Edward! Emily pounced on him, so happy that both he and Becca were here with her.
“Get up, get up!” she yelled, so loud Edward thought the decibel level must be higher than at Giant Stadium. “Uncle Eddie, please, I’m hungry. Becca’s not here.”
Not here? Did Ms. Reinhart go to work at 6:00 A.M.? Now he was in motion. If he was the guardian in charge, then he better snap to.
The child was standing by his bed, singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” at the top of her lungs. Edward sensed that Emily was grieving in this way—making herself heard and making sure she was the center of attention. He reached out and grabbed her into his arms. This quieted her. He sat on the edge of his bed in his gold-colored silk pajamas and rocked his little girl.
Just then he heard footsteps on the staircase. “Who goes there?” he shouted, and Emily laughed.
“It’s Aunt Becca, silly,” said Emily.
“But you said she was gone.”
“I went to thank her but couldn’t find her in her room. She brought me a ball that spins with Hong Kong on it.”
A globe? Edward thought. Medicine ball from China?
“It’s a globe.” Becca was on the staircase, close enough to hear.
“Aunt Becca is here, Uncle Edward is here—and me. We’re just like a family.”
Becca’s heart hurt when she heard this. The poor little girl.
“We’re the hungry bear family,” Edward said, obviously trying to distract her. “I’m baby bear, you’re poppa bear.”
“That’s silly, Uncle Eddie.”
“Momma bear says come downstairs for breakfast.”
“The refrigerator is empty.” What an idiot he was, he told himself. Why hadn’t he shopped?
There was no reply so he began gathering his clothes from the overnight case he’d brought from the Carlyle. But Emily started tickling him and he tickled back until he heard a strange noise from the phone.
“Who goes there?” Emily imitated Edward. “It’s the innercomb.”
Innercomb? He ran his fingers through his sleep-tossed hair. The buzz intruded again—Intercom! Becca Reinhart was paging him—practically ordering him to appear in the kitchen. Edward Kirkland wasn’t sure how to respond—pick up the phone and ask her politely to slow down? Pick up the phone and with his rarely used icy tone tell her she was not to buzz him ever again—or maybe he should just go along with her for now. Edward picked up the phone and rang back. The handset clattered, obviously having slipped out of her hand.
“Hey,” she said eventually. “I have to get to my office. I want to make sure Emily eats breakfast before I go.”
“I can take care of Emily.” His tone was a challenge.
She hesitated and then Becca said, “I just wanted to see her, Eddie. Make sure she’s okay this morning. I got used to doing that these last few days.”
Edward melted. His whole body changed—his posture lost tension, his face dropped the frown and went back to his habitual smile.
“I’m in pajamas.”
“I’ve got to go. The car is downstairs. Both of you meet me for lunch—one o’clock, Katz’s deli.”
Emily had lost patience entirely and she grabbed Edward’s hand, pulling him down to the morning room at breakneck speed. They arrived just in time to see the door close behind Becca. “I’m hungry!” Emily was getting cranky and Edward was at a loss without a hotel catering staff. He guided Emily to the table where they found two glasses of something other than orange juice. Thick yellowy orange. He hoped it wasn’t from the pitcher he’d seen before. “Gava—Aunt Becca remembered. It’s my favorite.”
