by Diana Orgain
CHAPTER SIX•
The Second Week—Umbilical Cord Emancipation
I left Michelle’s house and packed Laurie into the car. When I pulled out from the parking spot, my trunk flew open.
I reparked the car and jumped out to slam the trunk shut. It ricocheted back in my face. I examined the lock.
Jimmied.
Someone had broken into my car. A wave of desperation came over me, filling me with the urge to cry.
How ridiculous is that? I’m going to cry over a car? No! I’m just tired, not to mention all the hormones raging through my body. This is nothing to cry about.
I looked into the trunk. My overdue library books were still there and so was my leather jacket. Nothing seemed to be missing. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been violated.
Someone had rummaged through my stuff. My car. My library books. My jacket.
I pulled into our garage. When I got out of the car, my pelvic bones ached from so much activity. Jim sat on our steps sorting through George’s bags.
“How’s my little lima bean?”
“Not good. Someone broke into my car.”
“What? Where?” Jim stood and came over to me.
“In front of Michelle’s.”
“Who?”
“Michelle Dupree, who is now Michelle Avery. My friend from high school. Do you remember her?”
Jim unstrapped Laurie from her car seat. “Not really.”
“You met her at the ten-year reunion.”
“Oh! Vaguely.” A corner of Jim’s mouth twitched up. “Is she the one who won the drama award that should have—”
“Been mine? Yeah.”
Jim smiled.
“It should have been mine. What are you smirking at?” I demanded.
“You got the popularity award, or whatever it was called. Popularity? Personality?”
“I wanted the drama award. I earned it. They only gave it to her because of their stupid philosophy about spreading out the awards, so that no one student would dominate.”
Jim’s smirk turned into a laugh. “They thought they could stop you from dominating?”
“If you weren’t holding Laurie right now, I’d punch you.”
“Have a baby, lose a sense of humor?” Jim teased.
I covered my face with my hands. “I’m tired. It was her husband. The guy they found in the bay. Brad Avery.”
Jim’s face darkened, his playful mood vanishing. “That’s awful.” He rubbed my back with his free hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. Where’s Michelle live?”
“Noe Valley. Not a bad neighborhood. I had to tie my trunk down so it would stay shut.”
“Anything missing?”
“Not that I can tell. My jacket’s still there. They didn’t even have the decency to take the library books and return them.”
He laughed and kissed my neck. “I’m glad nothing happened to you or Laurie.” He handed the baby to me. “I’ll take your car in for repair tomorrow on my way to the office and drop your books off for you, too.”
“That’s why I love you so much.” I pointed to George’s bags. “Anything interesting?”
“Nope. Clothes and crap. You know, toothbrush, a toilet kit, jeans, T-shirts. Looks like he was living out of these bags, Kate. No wonder the medical examiner asked if he was a transient. I found the cell phone bill. I called the number. No longer in service. What a shock.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “My brother, a fucking bum. My parents are probably spinning in their graves.”
I pressed my head against his chest. “Michelle said he works at El Paraiso.” I pulled back and looked at Jim.
A glimmer of hope flashed on his face. “She knows him?”
“Yup. Says they were together the night Brad was killed.”
Jim moaned and shook his head. “I knew nothing good was going to come from any of this.”
I hardly slept that night. Well, better said, Laurie hardly slept. We were up nursing, rocking, and singing. As soon as daylight started to peek through the window, Laurie conked out. I slipped into bed next to Jim as the alarm went off.
He turned to me. “Are you just getting to bed now?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I’ll take the night shift tonight,” he said.
I nodded off, wondering how he would take the night shift without breasts.
At 9 A.M., after a three-hour nap, Laurie awoke hungry. I nursed her, then rose to change her diaper. Her umbilical stump had come off. I examined her new belly button. Beautiful. My little girl was beautiful.
Images of her at fifteen years old, with her belly button pierced, flashed through my mind. My baby was growing up so fast.
I clutched her to me. “Take your time, will you?”
I laid her on my bed, then ransacked Jim’s closet in search of anything that fit, settling on a blue plaid shirt that hung over my now too-large maternity pants. I stuffed my feet into my favorite pair of black strappy sandals. The shoes were so tight, they cut off the circulation to my toes.
How depressing.
I kicked off the stupid sandals and shoved on a pair of stretched-out Keds. Would my old shoes ever fit again?
Laurie patiently gazed into space. I took advantage of her good mood and sat for a moment to compose my to-do list.
To Do:
1. Lose weight (What? I’m still the same weight after having given birth two weeks ago. Aren’t the pounds supposed to melt right off when you breastfeed?)
2. Call work and let them know about Laurie and plan a return date—yuk! (Send the office an e-mail with photos of Laurie. That way I don’t have to talk to anyone right now about my return date. Don’t even want to think about heading back to Corporate Hell and leaving Laurie.)
3. Find George—El Paraiso—drop off his bags.
4. What happened to Brad???
5. Grocery shop. (Right now would only be able to make Cheerios for dinner!)
6. Laundry. (How does the addition of one six-pound baby create so much laundry?)
7. E-mail Paula—tell her about Michelle Avery.
I found parking relatively close to El Paraiso, with the only hitch being a one-hour maximum on the meter.
Oh, shoot! George’s bags! With all the preparation required to get Laurie out of the house, I had forgotten his bags.
I had become extremely forgetful during my pregnancy, locking myself out of my car three times and even getting into the car or on the bus and not remembering where I was going. I had been hoping I would get my memory back, along with my figure, shortly after giving birth.
Was that another pipe dream?
I adjusted the rearview mirror and spied on Laurie through the Elmo mirror pinned to the backseat. “You’re supposed to help Mommy remember things.”
She kicked her legs in glee, flashing her sporty green booties. They were ridiculously bright, but at least they stayed on her feet. Newborns’ feet are so tiny and slender that socks usually just slip right off.
“Well, we’re parked now. And I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely hungry. Uncle George can pick up his bags later.”
I pushed Laurie’s stroller into the trendy restaurant. Red walls were a backdrop to etchings framed in hardwood. Leather booths were filled by the San Francisco downtown lunchtime crowd. Everyone was dressed in corporate garb. The men in their suits and the women in tight-fitting skirts and impossibly high heels.
I immediately felt out of place, but the one thing I was learning fast was that no one looked at me anymore. Every time I stepped out of the house with Laurie, all eyes were on her.
A hostess with a stud through her nose and another in her eyebrow stared at Laurie, then squinted at me. “Should she even be out?”
I squinted back. “Should you have that thing through your nose?”
She flipped her hair at me. “Follow me.”
Once seated, I pulled L
aurie’s stroller as close to me as possible, trying not to block the aisle.
What a hassle, dining in a non-kid-friendly place. I read the menu.
Peruvian Marinated Skewers of Beef Heart in a Tangy Aji Panca Sauce, Grilled Adobo Rubbed Pork Loins, Sweet Potato Purée, Pisco Marinated Dried Fruit Chutney, and Traditional Peruvian Cold Potato Torte Layered with Sliced Avocado.
It was worth the hassle.
What would I order? I couldn’t decide. Breastfeeding works up an enormous appetite, so I decided not to decide and ordered both the marinated skewers and the cold potato torte. My mouth watered as I watched the waiter serve a couple seated near me.
The waiter twirled around. He was tall and lean with a dancer’s build.
“My name is José. I’ll be your waiter today.”
José raised an eyebrow at my double order, then asked, “Is someone joining you?”
“No. I’m eating for two.”
José’s face flushed.
Well, I sort of was anyway.
José spun on his heel, but before he could get away, I asked, “Is George Connolly working today?”
José turned back to me, his brow furrowed. “George?” He quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t know anybody named George.”
While waiting for my lunch, I mulled over José’s answer. Did George really work here? Why would Michelle lie to me about that? It made no sense. Maybe José was being secretive because George was working “under the table”?
The business lunch crowd started to thin. Everyone was returning to their human filing cabinets, as Jim and I called our offices. Cubicle after cubicle that files you away from each other and the world.
My stomach churned as I thought about my inevitable return to my own office.
Ordering office supplies, doing payroll, and shuffling paper were the absolute last things on earth I wanted to do right now. How could I leave my little apricot? I needed to earn a living, that much was true. We wouldn’t be able to afford our mortgage on Jim’s salary alone. But wasn’t there something I could do while I was with Laurie?
Work from home!
Doing what? There was a gal from my office who hadn’t returned after her maternity leave. Monica. She’d started her own business making and selling children’s jewelry.
Could someone really make a living selling jewelry? I dismissed it from my mind. Monica had always been craftsy, and the baubles she’d brought into the office had everyone raving. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue about glue guns and glitter.
José served my lunch, which I wolfed down. The beef dish would have been too spicy for me on its own, but the potato torte and avocado mellowed out the spices.
Would the spices affect Laurie later? I hoped not.
I studied the staff. When he wasn’t waiting on me, José was busy hitting on the hostess. She snubbed him, just like she had me.
Where was the manager? I could ask him about George.
By the time my bill rolled around, I felt satiated and sleepy. I fought the weight of my eyelids and the impulse to run out and check on the parking meter. Instead, I asked José to direct me to the manager.
His face creased with concern. “Was everything all right?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
He seemed unconvinced. “May I tell him your name?”
“Kate Connolly.”
His eyes widened, then his face flushed again. “One minute.”
I watched as he hurried through swinging doors. Why was he so flustered?
I pulled Laurie out of her stroller. Still sleeping? I gently rubbed her face. She twitched her feet. Good. Still breathing.
After several minutes, José reappeared, followed by a disarmingly handsome man. He was about five-foot-ten, with black hair. His eyes were so blue I wondered if he was wearing colored contacts. He was sharply dressed in slacks and a blue button-down shirt, accented by a burgundy tie. The only thing that contradicted his elegant style was a five o’clock shadow. Which, while some consider in fashion, has always struck me as unkempt.
Maybe he had a rough night?
He sauntered over to me and casually rested both hands on the table. “Rich Hanlen. May I help you, Ma’am?”
Ma’am, was it? I sighed. I guess when you have a baby, no one calls you “Miss” anymore.
“Is George Connolly working today?”
He straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “George? I don’t believe—”
“Michelle Avery told me he worked here.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin, then glanced around the restaurant. “Why don’t you come back to my office?”
I bundled Laurie into her stroller, not bothering with any of the straps as the manager was already through the restaurant and at the kitchen door. I maneuvered the stroller toward him, the front wheel catching on a chair and further delaying me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich take a deep breath. I struggled to free the wheel.
Why did I feel rushed? Couldn’t he wait a second for a woman with a baby?
I caught up to him then followed him through the kitchen doors and down a narrow hallway to a dark, cramped room. To call the space an office was a joke. My human filing cabinet cubicle was larger than this.
“Is this your baby?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
Why else would I be lugging an infant around?
Up close, the colored lenses made his eyes seem like they were floating. Eerie.
He reached out to touch Laurie. “She’s tiny.”
I moved her stroller before his hand could reach her cheek. His eyes locked on mine. We stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up.
No way was Mr. Creepy touching my baby.
He shifted subtly, understanding. Don’t mess with baby cub when Mama Lion’s around.
“How old is she?”
“Almost two weeks.”
He looked me up and down. “You look pretty good for a chick that just popped out a baby.”
What happened to “ma’am”? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to follow this guy into a dark room. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe.
He circled around behind me. “So, you know Michelle?”
Was he checking out my ass?
I shifted, forcing him to face me. He smirked.
“I know Michelle.” I said, “You know George?”
He nodded, clearly enjoying himself.
I imagined him asking the female staff “to his office,” then copping a feel.
Hoping to intimidate him a little, I pulled a notebook from the diaper bag that was now serving double-duty as my purse.
Oops. No pen.
I eyed the pencil cup on his desk.
If I leaned in to grab one, I’d give him a shot of my milk-engorged cleavage. I flipped opened my notebook and hoped he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t actually writing anything down.
In my most official voice I said, “I need to reach George. Can you tell me when he’s scheduled to come in?”
He leered. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t know what Michelle told you, but he’s not on any schedule or anything.”
“What does he do here?”
“This and that.”
Why all the secrecy about George?
“How long have you been managing the restaurant?”
He scratched at his newly forming beard. “ ’Bout three months.”
“Around June?” I asked, for clarification.
“That’s right.”
“June fifteenth or sixteenth, would you say?”
“What are you getting at?”
“You started managing the restaurant after Brad’s . . . disappearance? I take it you knew Brad Avery.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Yeah. ’Course I knew Brad. He and I were good buddies.”
“Didn’t you think it was odd, his vanishing like that?”
He moved toward the desk and sat on the edg
e, forcing me to step back. I bumped into the wall behind me and jarred Laurie’s stroller. She wailed and kicked, protesting being awakened.
I jiggled the stroller to soothe her and pressed backward as far away from Mr. Sleazy as I could. I felt the coolness of the wall through Jim’s shirt. I resisted the urge to shiver.
He licked his lips and smiled a crooked little smile. “You a cop?”
“No.”
He squinted. “What’s with all the questions, then?”
“I just think that you’d have wondered when suddenly your boss, your good buddy, didn’t show up.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Michelle told me they’d had a fight, that he was leaving her. When he didn’t come to work, it was obvious that he’d left her. So she and Mrs. A asked me to run things for her.”
“Mrs. A?”
“Brad’s mother. She’s part owner,” he clarified.
“Michelle told me Brad was having an affair.”
“Don’t know nothing ’bout that.”
Didn’t he? Mr. Rico Suave here, with the jet black hair and colored contacts. Mr. Leery. Mr. Good Buddy of the deceased.
“Do you know who might?” I pressed.
He unfolded his arms and stood up, leaning in a little too close to me. “Might what?”
“Never mind,” I mumbled. It was none of my business anyway.
I closed my notebook and bent over to shove it into the diaper bag. The notebook caught on a little rag doll I’d packed for Laurie. I had to do a quick rearrange and cram everything in. When I straightened, my heart jumped into my throat.
He had Laurie in his arms.
He gazed down at her. “She’s really beautiful. Fragile, huh?”
“Yes,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I love babies,” he said.
Why hadn’t I strapped her in!
I forced myself to breathe.
And think.
I reached past him and pulled the office door open. Light flooded into the room, causing Laurie to stir and wail again.
“Here,” he said, handing Laurie back to me.
Such relief washed over me that my knees felt weak. I snatched Laurie from him, barely able to contain myself. I pushed her stroller into the hallway muttering, “Jerk.”
The office door clicked closed behind me. But not soon enough that I didn’t hear his snicker.
Laurie wailed again and I stopped short of the swinging kitchen doors to soothe her. She kicked her feet up at me. One foot with Mom’s booty on, the other bare.
I did a quick check underneath her, then down the hallway. No booty.
Probably left behind in the office.
Forget it. No way was I going back in there for a stupid booty.
Mom will kill me.
Maybe I could knock and not go inside. I pulled Laurie’s stroller backward down the hallway toward his office. I heard his voice through the door. “. . . asking a bunch of questions ’bout Brad.”
There was silence. I froze.
Then he said, “No way. Why would I tell her ’bout the fight?”
He paused again. I held my breath.
Then I heard him say, “Haven’t seen George since last week, but he’ll be here tomorrow for the delivery.”
I abandoned the booty and wheeled the stroller out of the restaurant. I hustled toward Jim’s car hoping to dodge a parking ticket. Shattered glass littered the street. The driver’s side window was broken.
Not again.
I swallowed the panic building in my chest. I glanced up and down the street. Empty.
Thank God. What would I have done anyway? Beat the burglar with my diaper bag?
I dialed Jim. Voice mail. I dialed Michelle. Voice mail. Why was no one around when you needed them?
A vehicle pulled in front of Jim’s car. A stocky balding man stepped out. He noted the glass on the street, then moved toward me. He reached into his pocket and produced a badge reading INSPECTOR PATRICK MCNEARNY. “Miss, I’m with SFPD. This your car?”
Ah. Miss again!
“Yeah.”
“Anything taken?”
“No. I . . . uh . . . I haven’t checked.”
I glanced over my shoulder into Jim’s car. Everything seemed to be in order. I leaned over the driver’s seat and pulled open the glove box. Papers were crumpled, as if someone had rummaged through it.
“It looks like someone went through this,” I said.
The officer nodded.
“My address is on the registration,” I said.
“They were probably looking for money. I’ll write a report for you. The best I can tell you is to file an insurance claim.” He pulled out a notebook. “Your name?”
“Kate Connolly.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Connolly?” He frowned, flipped through his book, and read an old entry.
My heart tightened. Could this officer be looking for George?
The officer scribbled something. “Is this car registered to you?”
“My husband, actually. My car . . .” I took a breath. “My car’s in the shop.”
I didn’t have the guts to tell him my car had been broken into outside of Michelle’s house. What if George was behind this? Was he looking for his bags? Would he really break into my car and Jim’s?
Was I getting paranoid?
Could it be a coincidence? I’d lived in San Francisco my entire life and had never had my car broken into. Now twice in two days?
The officer copied information off the registration. “Like I said, I suggest you file an insurance claim.” He handed the registration back to me, his eyes narrowing.
“Meter’s expired.”
I watched in silence as he crossed the street and pulled open the door to El Paraiso.
•
