Out on a Limb Read online

  Caron sat on the far end of the sofa. “I don’t see how you can handle this, Mother. Unless you want to call me in sick, I have to go to school. You have a business to run.” She looked at Skyler, who was sucking on his fist. “You can’t just hand him a bottle and leave him in your office all day. Babies do all sorts of disgusting things, and I’m not talking about burping and spitting up.”

  “Oh, yes, I know very well. What do you suggest I do?”

  “Maybe Luanne can take him.”

  I reached out to touch her arm, but she shrank away. I sat back and said, “And Luanne can give him to her first customer of the day, who can pass him on to some guy at the car wash, who can—”

  “Where’s he going to sleep?”

  “At the moment, he seems content with his basket. This is only for a day or two, Caron. If we don’t hear from his mother and the time comes when you and he need bunk beds, I’ll call social services.”

  “You’re joking, I assume.”

  “I don’t think we can persuade Miss Parchester to drop a line and haul him up. What is it you think I should do?”

  Inez came back. “Two cans of formula, three diapers, a cotton nightie with drawstrings, and a pair of tiny socks. I went through all the side pockets in the diaper bag in case I could find a clue, but there wasn’t so much as a scrap of paper.”

  Skyler was fast asleep, at least for the time being. He was tiny, no more than nine or ten pounds. I had enough essentials to last until morning, when I could, if necessary, buy a box of disposable diapers and a few more cans of formula. His mother would return with apologies and excuses, and swoop him away. All I was doing was baby-sitting. No big deal.

  Caron glared at me. “This is ridiculous, Mother.”

  “That’s a harsh word,” I said. “This young girl must have been desperate in order to leave her baby with a stranger. I don’t know anything about her family situation, but it’s obvious she has no one else she can trust. Try to imagine how you’d feel if that were your predicament. She couldn’t turn to her family or the baby’s father, or even his family.”

  “Well, we need to find out who she is,” Caron said coldly.

  “And how should we go about doing that?”

  Inez took a breath. “There has to be a birth certificate or something like that. The hospital has records. They put footprints on the birth certificates.”

  I nodded. “Indeed they do. Should we don ski masks and sneak into the hospital to riffle through the files?”

  “We can make a print of Skyler’s foot for comparison,” Inez began enthusiastically, then paused to consider her plan. “We’ll have to use bobby pins to pick the locks of the file cabinets.”

  “And we’ll need stun guns for the guards,” said Caron. “Maybe a helicopter to drop us on the roof of the hospital. And, if the employees are aliens from a distant galaxy, we’ll have to disrupt their communication with the mother ship and locate their lasers before they can liquidate us. Quick, Inez, call Spielberg and tell him to bring a camera crew.”

  She folded her arms. “It was just a suggestion.”

  “Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow,” I said. “Skyler will sleep in my bedroom tonight. He can hang out at the bookstore until his mother returns. The problem will be resolved.”

  “Yeah, right,” Caron said in an exceedingly sour tone. “Why should we be worried about little Moses? We need to review binomials and all that crap.”

  I shooed them down the hall to Caron’s room, then sat back and tried to remember if the other two witnesses during the birth had said anything that might lead to the mother’s identity. I knew one of their names, and would recognize the second if I happened to see her. If the mother didn’t call or come by in a day or so, I could go by the homeless shelter in case any of the three was there.

  My copy of Dr. Spock’s essential wisdom had long since gone to a garage sale, but I presumed I could recall the basics. Babies of a certain age did little more than sleep, eat, fuss, and periodically require a fresh diaper. I could take him with me to the bookstore, where I had a distressingly ample amount of idle time to look after him. And then his mother would present herself, explain, and carry him away.

  It didn’t seem wise to involve Peter, who might feel that the scrawled note was not adequate to prove I had temporary custody. Cops can be sticklers. I considered calling Luanne, then decided to wait until the following day.

  Moving gingerly, I carried the basket to my bedroom and set it down. I changed into nightclothes, noting the scratches aftd bruises on my shins that had resulted from my less than graceful encounter with the rope ladder. No other physical damage was visible, but I suspected a few muscles might make known their grievances in the morning.

  Skyler was lost in infantile dreams. I left him there and knocked on Caron’s door. The conversation, which had been more centered around names than binomials, broke off as I went into the room.

  “I’d better take the diaper bag,” I said.

  Inez gazed solemnly at me. “To make sure I didn’t overlook a vital clue? I looked very carefully, Ms. Malloy.”

  “To make sure I can warm up a bottle in the middle of the night,” I said, then looked at my daughter, who was cross-legged on the bed and hunched over an open textbook. “I left a six-pack of sodas on die back porch.”

  Caron did not deign to respond. I picked up the denim bag and took it to the living room. The contents were as meager as Inez had reported. The nipple on the plastic bottle looked worn but functional. The nightgown, socks, and diapers were tiny, but so was Skyler. The bag lacked so much as a monogram, which wouldn’t have been much help, anyway.

  I made a cup of tea and took to the sofa to read a dated mystery novel while keeping one ear attuned for a wail from my bedroom. An hour later, just as the lady of the manor had discovered her lordship’s body in the conservatory and the butler was dashing off to find smelling salts for the anorexic niece who’d dropped by unexpectedly in hopes of a substantial loan to pay off her gambling debts, Inez came down the hallway.

  “Good night, Ms. Malloy,” she murmured.

  “Did you and Caron conquer binomials?”

  “I suppose so. Are you going to need any help with Skyler? I can leave after fifth period tomorrow. Mr. O’Nally, the Latin teacher, is having some sort of creepy surgery on his toenails and gave us passes to the library.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Inez. I don’t think I’ll need any help, but if you’d like to come by the Book Depot, you can take Skyler outside. A little sunshine might be good for him.”

  “You said his mother’s my age?”

  “Thereabouts.”

  “Is she married?”

  I put down the book. “I don’t think so. From what I was told, she was kicked out of her home and was living on the streets.”

  Inez thought this over. “Do you think she was going to Farberville High School before she got pregnant?”

  “Probably, but I can’t give you a decent description of her beyond medium height and long, dark hair. Can you think of a girl who dropped out before Christmas?”

  “No one in any of my classes. Shall I ask around?”

  “It can’t hurt,” I said, “although she may be from one of the little towns around here or even another state. Twenty dollars will buy a bus ticket; no passport required.”

  “This is so sad,” she said, her lenses fogging up.

  I went over to her and squeezed her shoulder. “Skyler is safe, Inez. We’ll look after him and make sure that nothing bad will happen to him. If his mother is unable to convince me that she can take care of him, I’ll call social services. They don’t have metal cribs these days, and they’re not brawny sadists. Their job is to do what’s best for children in harmful situations.”

  “But what if his mother shows up and just takes him away? The police can’t arrest her, can they? You can’t stop her.”

  I pulled off her glasses and dried them on my shirttail. Settling them back on he
r nose, I lapsed into the maternally obdurate voice I usually reserve for Caron when she wheedles for an advance on her allowance or forgets to take out the garbage. “I will stop her, if I have to tie her up and read self-help books to her until the authorities arrive.”

  Inez sniffled, then slung her backpack over her shoulder and went downstairs.

  I waited for a moment to see if Caron might come padding down the hall to second Inez’s apprehensions, then sighed and resumed the position on the sofa. The lady of the manor dithered for another page or two, but she no longer held my attention. I checked on Skyler, then reminded myself that I had yet another rock-a-bye baby, in this case literally in the treetop. Randy had not called, but it was possible the scrap of paper with my name and number was in the first wastebasket he’d encountered inside Koenig Hall. Even if his intentions had been honorable, he might be having problems getting a ride back to Oakland Heights, Phase One.

  After a few minutes of wrinkling my brow and gazing blankly at the wall, I remembered his last name and opened the telephone directory. There was only one Randy Scarpo. I dialed the number, hoping he’d been so dumbfounded by whichever vectors had been differentiated that he’d forgotten to call me.

  A woman answered. I asked to speak to Randy in what I thought was a modulated and polite voice.

  “Who’s this?” she said shrilly, as if I’d hissed an obscenity.

  “Is this Jillian?”

  Her decibel level rose. “Why are you calling? Where did you get my name? I don’t know you!”

  “Well, no, you don’t.” I went on to offer a somewhat coherent explanation for the purpose of my call, then added, “I’m worried about Miss Parchester. Some of the sightseers were hostile.”

  She calmed down, although there remained an inexplicable edge in her tone. “I understand why you’re calling, Ms. Malloy. It’s just that Randy’s not home yet. He should have been here half an hour ago. I don’t like to be here by myself at night.”

  “But”—I racked my mind for a moment—”Connor’s there with you, isn’t he?”

  “He’s been in bed since seven o’clock. Cars are still coming and going in the parking lot, and there’s been shouting. It sounds like a movie company is filming a mob scene. Connor was so agitated that I had to put his crib in the back room so he could get to sleep. I’m afraid to go into the living room. What if these people are armed? What if they decide to burn down our building in protest? I still have nightmares about the fire last year. The three of us could have died from smoke inhalation.”

  “Isn’t there someone in the complex who can stay with you until Randy gets home?”

  “Not really.”

  And on that note, she hung up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I didn’t have much hope that Jillian would remind Randy to call me, since we hadn’t exactly hit it off like, well, peanut butter and rye. If I called again, she might very well report me to the police for harassment. Peter would not find it endearing.

  I was going to have to come up with an explanation for his abrupt ejection earlier. The truth did not seem prudent. Although I was convinced that I wasn’t violating any laws, I didn’t want to press my luck and end up having to hire a lawyer. Their meters never stop running.

  At ten o’clock, I turned on the local news to find out if Jessica had a late-breaking story. After the mundane car wrecks and liquor store holdups, we were once again treated to a view of her unflagging radiance.

  “This is Jessica Princeton, live”—it was hard to imagine her saying otherwise— “from the site of the confrontation between environmentalists and those who support property development as a sign of a healthy local economy,” she said. “As you can see, most people have left. One member of the Farberville Green Party is seated on a camp stool beneath the tree, but has said he will beleaving shortly to prepare to go to court in the morning in hopes of winning an emergency injunction. Retired schoolteacher Emily Parchester remains on the platform, where she has vowed to stay as long as bulldozers threaten the trees. Despite KFAR’s repeated requests, she has refused to make any further statements.”

  She almost frowned when she was handed a piece of paper, but only a single nerve twitched her eyelid as she read from the note.‘This just in: Tomorrow at noon, Anthony Arm-strong will hold a press conference on the steps of the courthouse. Please join us then so we can hear his side of the dispute. This is Jessica Princeton for KFAR.”

  An irate cry from my bedroom ended my quest for news. I stopped in the bathroom to fetch a washcloth, then brought Skyler back to the couch and changed his diaper. I did so with amazing adeptness, considering I hadn’t practiced in fourteen years. This did not quite seem to satisfy his demands. Cradling him in one arm, I heated a bottle of formula and returned to the living room, wishing I had a rocking chair—wishing, too, if for only a moment, that he was mine and we could spend the summer at the park marveling at the butterflies.

  Eventually, Skyler went to sleep, and shortly thereafter, so did I.

  Caron staggered into the kitchen the following morning. “I hardly got any sleep last night,” she said as she rooted through the refrigerator. “I do have a test today, you know.”

  “Small babies need nourishment every few hours,” I said, waiting for coffee to trickle into the pot.

  “That is so fascinating. Why is the bread blue?”

  “It was depressed when I bought it. However, you’ll be delighted to know that I’m going to drive you to school after we make a quick stop at the grocery store. Do we need milk?”

  Caron stuck a bagel in the toaster. “You never drive me to school unless it’s raining.”

  “I don’t want your knees to be trembling when you take your algebra test.”

  “And you need to buy formula and diapers.”

  “Caron,” I said as I poured a much-needed cup of coffee, “what I need is your cooperation for the next few days. If I take Skyler with me inside the store, I’ll undoubtedly run into someone I know. I won’t be able to pretend I found a baby under a cabbage leaf in the produce department. If I hedge, the assumption will be that it’s yours. If I explain, Peter will show up at the bookstore within an hour.”

  “Mine?” she squeaked.

  “It does happen.”

  “Well, it won’t happen to me!”

  She was still deeply upset, although I wasn’t sure why. I decided it might be wise to give her some time to sort through her feelings before I made an effort to talk to her. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go. Skyler will be asleep in the basket in the backseat. You can study while I grab the necessities.”

  “What if he…”

  “I’ll change his diaper and give him a bottle while you’re getting ready. I realize you felt as though he cried all night, but he’s actually rather peaceful most of the time, like an elderly relative dozing on a porch swing.”

  She banged her plate in the sink. “I probably cried all the time, didn’t I? You were so tired that you had to drop out of grad school. If I hadn’t come along, you could have finished your dissertation and be teaching at some ivy-infested college, publishing tedious papers and speaking at colloquiums in Paris and Oxford. You’d have tenure by now, as well as a comfortable retirement plan. Instead, you were stuck with me.”

  “I wasn’t stuck with you,” I said gendy.

  “Did Dad feel the same way. Is that why he—”

  “No, of course not.” I was very sorry I’d discarded Dr. Spock’s book, even though I doubted it had covered topics such as this. “Go take a shower and get dressed, dear.”

  She left the kitchen, and minutes later slammed the bathroom door. I fetched Skyler, who was awake and appeared to be interested in whatever he’d overheard. He seemed a bit young to assimilate it, but I wasn’t sure. I gave him a sponge bath, then warmed up the last of the formula and held him as we both enjoyed the morning’s libations.

  Caron had her nose in her algebra book as we arrived in the grocery store parking lot. I grabb
ed my purse and said, “This shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered.

  I glanced at Skyler, who was sucking his fist, then went into the store and tried to remember if I’d ever gone down an aisle stocked with diapers and little jars of strained things. I took a few wrong turns, but eventually found the appropriate aisle and stopped my cart in front of a vast display of disposable diapers. I’d preferred cloth diapers when Caron was a baby, although I had resorted to the politically incorrect ones in a pinch. I’d made my selection based on price. Now I was bedazzled by the options: pastels, gender, prints that changed colors when the diaper had served its purpose. Elastic or plain. Velcro or tape. Age, weight, level of mobility. No wonder Jillian Scarpo was in the grip of postpartum stress.

  I was so caught up in my search for the perfect box that I was unaware a cart had stopped next to mine.

  “Claire,” said Sally Fromberger, “why ever are you buying diapers?” Her beady gaze shifted to my waist for a few seconds, then returned to my face. She clearly expected an explanation.

  And I was clearly pinned between her cart and the Pampers until I offered one to Farberville’s most dedicated busybody. “I was just… looking,” I said, cursing myself for such a lame response. “What about you?”

  “One of my cats is refusing to eat, so I thought I’d tempt her with strained liver. I’m afraid she has another impacted tooth.” She paused, then said, “Just looking at diapers?”

  I could almost hear Caron hissing in the car. I blindly grabbed a box of diapers and dropped it in the cart. “A cousin is coming to visit, so I thought I’d pick up a few things. If you’ll excuse me, Sally, I need to drive Caron to school before the first bell.” I tossed in a six-pack of the same formula that had been in the diaper bag. I had adequate supplies for the day, and when Inez came by after school, I could leave Skyler with her and shop in a store at the edge of town. Or in another county.

  Sally deftly swung her cart in front of mine. “How old is Caron these days? Sixteen, isn’t she?”