The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  “What was me?”

  “You know what! The breakin, the...the... You took Joey’s Christmas presents! You stole from a four-year-old!” I’m fuming. We’re in uncharted territory, here, territory where he hits me, territory where he might actually kill me, but my outrage is boiling over. “What the fuck, Joe?—just what the fuck?”

  He kneels in front of me. To my horror, he takes my hands in his and starts rubbing them in a sick parody of comfort. “Ssh—calm down, Ellie. I didn’t steal anything, just relocated it. And when we’re all back together, as a family—“

  “No!” I jerk my hands free. He snatches them back, far less gently this time.

  “Just hear me out. This place is a fixer-upper, but with a woman’s touch, a few bottles of bleach—“

  “The dead rat—that was you too?”

  He squeezes my hands so tight I feel my bones grind together. “So you understand, this can go one of two ways. There’s the way where you reach down into that cold, withered heart of yours and remember what we had, or there’s the hard way.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  He scoffs. “What do you think? The strawberry milk—that was me, too. And I left your stove on. Just a little reminder I know exactly how to make you crazy.”

  “You’ve...been in my apartment.”

  “Jerked off in your bed.”

  All those times I thought I smelled his cologne on the sheets, blamed my imagination.... I want to throw up. “What do you want?”

  “The future you promised me.”

  This is bad. This is...really bad. My anger’s down to a dull simmer, stifled by the gooseflesh creeping over my skin. Even my scalp’s crawling. For the first time, it occurs to me I could die right here. There’s moss growing on the arm of the couch—fucking moss. If he kills me here, it’ll grow over me too. I’ll waste away to green-carpeted bones, and no one will ever find me.

  Joey could grow up thinking I abandoned him.

  I bite back every venomous insult trembling on my lips. I have to choose my words carefully. “The future I...the... Tell me about it again?”

  “You remember.” He’s caressing my hands again. My stomach’s one giant knot. “Back when we first met, when we used to lie under that skylight in my old place, talking deep into the night?”

  I remember his old place. He lived on the fifth floor of a twenty-story highrise. The closest thing he had to a skylight was the steady red glow of the smoke detector. I remind myself, smile and nod. Like a good little bobblehead.

  “Yeah. You remember. We’d drink cheap wine, plan out the house and the kids, the garden leading down to the stream...tire swing hung from a willow tree.”

  “Tire swing, yeah....” I feel dazed, almost drugged. My eyelids are drooping. I bite my cheek to stay alert.

  “Junior’s gonna love it. We’ll put in a pool when he’s bigger. Teach him to swim with those orange water wings.”

  A deep chill settles into my gut. I did buy orange water wings, so Joey can start swimming lessons next summer. But I’ve been keeping them at Mama’s, so he won’t find them early and ruin the surprise. So... How the fuck are they part of this conversation? “I... What else?”

  “You’ll never have to work again. I got a job over in Vineland, so you can stay home with the kids.”

  “The kids?”

  “Yeah. Junior needs some brothers and sisters.” He plants a soft, almost reverent kiss on my forehead. I barely resist the urge to squirm out of my skin. “We’ll raise our own little army.”

  Army? What are we, a doomsday cult?

  “You don’t need some... You don’t need that hedge fund douchebag to make you happy.” Joe bares his teeth. He’s almost snarling. “Yeah—I know what you’ve been up to behind my back. I know you took him to our place. I know you fucked him in our bed.”

  My head’s spinning—our place? Our bed? Where...what—I don’t think I’ve taken Nick to a single place I set foot in with Joe. And how could I still have the same bed? I was the one who moved out, taking only what I could carry.

  I manage to choke out a “sorry.” It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, like I’m betraying everything I’ve fought so hard to build.

  “It’s not even so much that you did it,” he says. “It’s how you went out of your way to rub it in my face. I wasn’t celibate, either, the entire time we’ve been apart, but you never had to know about that, did you?”

  What, when you dated that girl who worked across the street from me, and picked her up after every shift? Honking your ass off the whole time?

  “You were... You were very discreet.”

  “You, though—you went out with him in the middle of the day. Let him hold my son’s hand when you crossed the street. You had... You had tawdry little assignations in roach motels.”

  I did not!

  “The thing is, with men like that—you’re disposable to them. Just another commodity. Look at the way he threw away the mother of his own child. I’d never do that to you.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. I jerk my head back without thinking.

  “She works overseas! They were never a couple! He didn’t—ah!”

  Joe’s hand tightens on my jaw, till I’m afraid he’s going to break it. “That’s what he tells you. You think someone like that’s going to give you the truth? He’s a professional liar. I’m telling you, men like him, they can afford... They buy themselves this perfect cover—perfect house, perfect clothes, perfect car—“

  I think of Nick’s actual car: kind of old, kind of boring, full of junk and debris. He even had Katie’s old car seat in the trunk, and the girl’s nine years old. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I fight it back hard: now is not the time.

  “—but it’s all just a honeytrap, so they can suck you in with the glitz and glamor, and shit you out when they’re done. Use you up, ruin you, leave you destroyed for any other man. ‘Cause no reality, no matter how beautiful it is, is ever going to measure up to that level of illusion.”

  I nod along. It’s hard to fight the sense of unreality settling over me, when every word out of his mouth is more ridiculous than the last.

  “But I think I caught you in time. A few weeks of fresh country air, you and Junior playing in a real back yard, living like nature intended... I think you can still be deprogrammed.”

  Something finally breaks through the fog. “Wait... Wait—you want to bring Joey here?”

  “Tomorrow morning. My ex is gonna pick him up from preschool. He’ll be here in time for lunch.”

  I barely register Joe’s fingers combing through my hair. This... This can’t happen. Can’t be allowed to happen. I can’t allow it to happen. If I’m going to end up a moss-covered skeleton, it won’t be with a smaller skeleton cradled in my arms.

  “Tomorrow, uh....” I glance around. The wallpaper’s falling away in grubby folds. There’s a hole near an electrical outlet that looks like it was made by mice. The carpet’s one giant stain. “Shouldn’t we fix the place up first?”

  Joe scowls.

  I press on quickly. “Not—not all the way, I mean. Just...a coat of paint, some Febreze, maybe rip up the carpet? Bet there’s a great hardwood floor underneath.”

  “You’re just sta—“

  “I’m not stalling.” It’s my turn to cut him off. This is too important. “It’s just, there’s mold in here. Kids are sensitive. They can die from that. Plus, the heat’s going to be on, at least for the next few days. People—Vanya’ll be around. Probably the cops too. If you—if they notice anything weird, they could freak out. Move away. We’d never see Joey again. Don’t... Don’t mess this up for us. Please.”

  For a long moment, neither of us says a word. Then he sweeps me into a crushing hug. “You said us!” He’s absolutely gushing. “You’re upset; you weren’t even choosing your words, and you still said us. You said it automatically.” He pulls back so he can look me in the eye. “You have no idea... You can’t know what that means to me.”

/>   I hold my breath. He hasn’t actually agreed yet.

  “I’ll drive into town later, see if there’s a hardware store. We can take the weekend, get the place ready.”

  Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.... Time—this buys me time.

  “This’ll give us some time to reconnect as well.”

  And that’s...not so great. I reflexively press my knees together. “Could you untie me, at least? Before you go?”

  Joe gives me a long, considering look. “When I get home.”

  I want to rebel against the notion of this place being home, but I can’t risk him changing his mind. “How long will you be?” I ask instead.

  “No time at all.” He plants a loud, smacking kiss on top of my head. “Just sit tight.”

  “Maybe pick up some Christmas decorations while you’re out? And something to eat?” I’m not in the mood for decorating or eating, but the longer he’s gone, the more time I’ll have to mount my escape.

  “Still such a princess.” He pushes my hair back from my face. “Anything else I can get Your Majesty? Flowers? Chocolates? Gold-plated toilet seat?”

  “Some flowers might be nice. Strong-smelling ones, like gardenias.”

  “Can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” A sappy, fond note’s crept into his voice. It’s making me sick. Or maybe that’s... Whatever he did to knock me out. I can’t feel any obvious sore spots on my face or head, so...chloroform, maybe? A roofie? Did I eat or drink anything weird?

  “Hurry back,” I say, more to get him to leave than anything else.

  He finally does, but not before checking and retying my restraints. Freeing myself won’t be easy, but I cannot fuck this up. Don’t know when I’ll get another chance. The second I hear the key turn in the lock, I’m on my knees, shuffling my way to the kitchen. I’ll get my hands on something sharp, and be as good as free.

  Joe doesn’t get to win this one.

  153

  Nick

  Fucking cops—unbelievable!

  I showed them everything I had—Bentivoglio on Lina’s phone, the location from her GPS, but all I got was the runaround. “All that proves is she’s with her boyfriend.” “Women often go back to abusive partners. I’d say it’s...at least fifty percent of the time. Maybe more like eighty.” “How’d you get this, anyway? You some kind of hacker, looking through people’s phones?”

  Going over their heads wasn’t nearly as effective as it is on TV. Some bored-sounding chief called me back around noon, promising he’d get the local police to swing by the address I’d found. Or see if he could get them to. So... Someone’ll maybe put in a minimal effort. Not quite the result I’d anticipated.

  So, fine. Fine. I’ll go myself. If you want something done right....

  Can I do this right, though? I’m the first to admit I’m a city slicker, dyed in the wool. Aside from my yearly camping trips with Katie, the closest I get to nature is vacuuming up the occasional spider.

  Screw it. They’re in Jersey, not the Appalachian Mountains. Kind of a rural part of Jersey, but, hell, they’ve got cell service. What’s the worst that could happen within range of a cell tower?

  I check in on Katie. She’s flopped out on the living room floor, homework spread around her. She barely looks up when I let her know I’m heading out.

  “Hey. I might be back late. What are you doing for dinner?”

  That earns me a bored glance, at least. “Probably going to Cindy’s. Or I’ll have Emily make me something.”

  Normally, I’d remind her the housekeeper isn’t her personal chef, but I’m already halfway out the door. Now I’ve got a plan, there’s a rising sense of urgency spurring me on. Wasting the entire morning on the cops was bad enough. Stopping to lecture Katie on something I know she just said to annoy me isn’t a good use of my time.

  The drive out to Elsinboro’s a depressing one. It’s not exactly Deliverance country, but for someone like me, it might as well be. I’ve never been much for the country. Don’t even have a place in the Hamptons. It’s not so bad in summer, when everything’s green and alive, but there’s something creepy about bare branches grasping at a gray sky. It’s too much of a—a visual representation of depression. Desolate.

  Then, there’s the whole question of what I’m going to do when I get there. A physical confrontation doesn’t seem like a great idea. Too many things could go wrong. He could have a knife. Or a gun. Lina could get in the middle. He could somehow twist things around so I end up in prison. Technically, I am the one trespassing.

  But the alternative is to do nothing. Can’t do that.

  I figure I’ll park a mile or so out, walk up on the house. Google Earth gave me a pretty good look at the area. There’s a long dirt road, plenty of trees—if I stick to the woods, I should be able to creep right up without being seen. Then, it’ll just be a matter of gathering evidence. A picture of her in the house? No. Not enough. Doesn’t prove she’s there against her will.

  Maybe I can do a video. Catch him threatening her on tape.

  Not sure I could stand and watch that, and not do anything.

  No. Got to play this smart. It’ll only go worse for her if I barge in half-cocked.

  I almost miss my turnoff, playing out increasingly unlikely rescue scenarios in my head, trying to plan for every contingency. It’s a spray of fresh dirt at the intersection ahead that jolts me back to reality. Someone’s taken this turn recently, and too fast.

  I want to put the pedal to the metal myself. But I force myself to take the turn at a more sedate pace, and slow to a crawl as my odometer marks off another mile. Any closer, and I’ll come within earshot. It’s quiet out here—I feel almost like I’m missing a sense, without the city noise to keep my ears busy.

  I pull into what might once have been a driveway and kill the engine. Even taking pains to close it gently, the thud of the door makes me wince. Feels like sound could carry forever out here.

  That’s nonsense, though. I don’t have time for nonsense. I lock up, flinching again at the cheery peep-peep, and set off at a jog through the woods. Which, I’ve got to say, is also twice as awkward as I expected. The ground’s bumpy under the trees, and there’s all kinds of stuff underfoot: dead branches, rotting logs, a ton of tangling viney crap—the worst.

  I make an executive decision to get out of the woods till the house is in sight. Yeah, if Joe decides to go for a walk, I’ll be the first thing he’ll see coming around the corner... But how likely is he to take a nice stroll in the woods, with a hostage back home? I’ll chance it.

  Once I’m free of the trees, it’s a quick jog to the bend. That’s when I realize, with a sinking feeling, there’s no need to be sneaky. I’m looking at an empty house: no car out front, door swinging open. That’s the thump-thump-thump I’ve been hearing for the last fifty yards: the wind banging the screen door against the frame.

  I head up there anyway. Someone was here: there are fresh tire tracks in the dirt, and the smell of wet paint meets me at the porch. The source soon becomes clear: someone’s been fixing up the living room. There’s a pile of old wallpaper discarded in the middle of the room, and someone’s given the wall underneath a fresh coat without sanding it down. It’s the lumpiest, most depressing paint job I’ve ever seen. Even I wouldn’t do that.

  They’ve started on the kitchen, as well. Looks like they’ve been trying to fix the plumbing: the cabinet under the sink is open, and there’s a section of pipe on the floor. But that’s not what stands out to me. No—that’d be a phone, Lina’s phone, smashed and abandoned on the table.

  When I reach for the phone, I spot a knife on the floor, under the table. A knife, but no blood. I kneel for a closer look. There’s rope fibers on and around the blade, like someone tried to cut themselves free. Lina....

  It hits me: this is my fault. I was about as subtle as a ten-ton hammer. I could’ve been sneakier, taking control of the phone—didn’t have to rub it in his face. What was I thinking, bragging like an asshole? I know
where you are.

  And now I don’t.

  Way to go, genius.

  Or maybe....

  A thought occurs to me. If the phone’s not bricked, if it’s just the display, I can still....

  I snatch up the phone and barrel out of there at a dead sprint. I’m back at my car, tapping away at my laptop, in record time—who knew I could run a four-minute mile? Nothing happens when I try to bring up the phone interface. My heart plummets to my boots, but only for a moment. I’m not connected to the Internet. Of course I’m fucking not. No civilization, no wifi. Obviously.

  Twenty minutes of reckless driving gets me in range of someone’s unsecured connection. Another minute, and—miracle of miracles—I’m in. Lina’s display doesn’t even flicker—that screen is toast—but on my computer, I can see it just fine. And I can see Joe’s last browser activity: he Mapquested some campground, half an hour past the house.

  I pull a decidedly illegal U-ey, and I’m back in business.

  It doesn’t occur to me to stop and think about whether this is a good idea. Lina’s out there somewhere, probably cold and scared. I’m going after her. Simple as that.

  154

  Elina

  I’m not sure whether this is a good development or a bad one.

  Joe shook me awake in the dead of night, tossed me back in the trunk without even retying my hands, and now we’re... I don’t even know where. Somehow, he got it into his head Nick could see us, Nick was sending helicopters for us—and his solution was to drag us to a place so run-down, so pathetic it’s probably not even on any map.

  The good: even he’s got to know this is no place for a four-year-old. As long as we’re here, Joey should be safe.

  The bad: everything else—oh my God! This place is like something out of a slasher flick. There’s a one-room cabin with no apparent source of heat, which is where we’re holed up. Then, there’s twin outhouses marked LADIES and GENTS, and a rusted-out trailer on the other side of the clearing. In the summer—some long-ago summer—this place was probably a campground. There’s a corkboard, long since fallen to the floor, with colorful tags spilling off it. You probably drove up in your RV, came to this cabin, and got one of those tags to prove you’d rented a space. Somewhere nearby, there’ll be a lake or a river for swimming. Probably a barbecue pit.