Where is the Baby? (26 page)

She knew Tally wouldn't have brought him back with her unless he was unlike the heartless woman he'd married. Faith had known early on how men could be driven by their sexual needs . . . many of them reliant on children for fulfillment . . .

She punched in the rock station she'd programmed for moments when her thoughts turned in that direction, and hiked up the volume. Someday, perhaps, when she thought of her childhood experiences her stomach wouldn't go tight, with panic overtaking her brain, as she went tumbling down a black tunnel in instant turmoil.

She was a good deal calmer now than she'd been when living in the Lazarus house. And she'd be better still when her condo consisted of more than a well-outfitted kitchen and an otherwise barely furnished place with a bed for sleeping, a dining table where she ate and studied when she wasn't putting in ungodly hours at school, doubling up on courses, writing papers and reading, reading, reading. Her only concession to pleasure during the school week was a Bang & Olufsen shelf stereo system with a growing collection of classical CDs. Furniture was in the future, after she completed two more years of med school, followed by a residency, then licensure and certification. After all that, she'd be a pediatrician, finally able to hold and marvel daily over babies, satisfying a permanent-feeling, admittedly irrational desire to see baby Gracie one more time.

Her routine was interrupted about once a month when Brian insisted she take a break and come to the house for supper with the family, or when Connie phoned to say she was on her way over with food. And every few weeks, Stefan took her out to a meal or invited her to his ultra-modern condo in North Haven for a simple dinner he cooked himself. Now that he had distanced himself in every way from his parents, he'd become much more relaxed and easy-going, and he and Faith had grown close. He now played a recognizably parental role in her life, for which she was grateful. He oversaw her finances and was always available to talk – about anything, especially about the rigors of completing a BA and medical school in less than the mandated four years each. He'd done it in seven years. She was going to finish in six and a half. The residency requirements were fixed at three years. She had a lot of time still to put in and Stefan had become a welcome source of comfort and encouragement.

Tally appeared at the door incandescent, as if lit from within. And her embrace was warmer, more intense than usual. ‘Leave your bag in the hall and come meet my father,' she said, towing Faith by the hand to the living room. There, her arm secure around Faith's shoulders, Tally said, ‘Here she is, Dad. Here's Faith!'

Her father had the effortless good grooming of a man of taste, someone socially at ease. He came beaming across the room, and Faith stepped forward, automatically offering her hand. She felt suspended in time and space, absorbed by his eyes, actually
seen
. He said, ‘How wonderful to meet you!' and bypassed her hand to embrace her. The softness of cashmere and the clean scent of citrus, the warmth of his smooth-shaven cheek against hers: a stunningly intense moment. She burst into tears. Shocked and chagrined, she wanted to apologize but couldn't speak for several seconds while Tally's father gently kept hold of her. It was an unparalleled experience, one she knew she would always remember.

At last, she stepped back from him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I didn't know I was going to do that,' she blurted, then found herself laughing foolishly. ‘It's so good to meet you,' she told the man, wanting impossibly to stay right there with him and Tally forever. He was altogether lovely, and for the briefest moment she was deeply jealous of Tally. Then, ashamed, she pushed the feeling away.

‘It's good to meet
you
, little Faith,' he replied with a smile, giving her his handkerchief. ‘You're even dearer than Tally said.'

‘
Qu'est-ce qui se passe?
' Hay asked, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he came hurrying in from the kitchen to Faith's side.

‘
Ce n'est rien
,' Faith assured him with a hug. ‘
Je me suis émotive pour aucune raison.
' It was true: she was emotional for some reason.

‘
Es-tu sûr?
'

‘
Je suis sûr.
'

‘Okay. Food's almost ready, everyone. Three minutes,' he announced, and hurried back to the kitchen.

‘Where did you learn your French?' Tyler asked.

‘The Country Day School,' Faith answered. ‘And Hay's mother was French,' she added. ‘For some reason, he spoke to me in French the first time we met, without even knowing whether or not I understood. It made me like him at once.'

‘I can see how that would be,' Tyler said. ‘My mother, Tally's grandmother, was born in Sweden. Sadly, the only word I know, courtesy of the exquisite Annalise, is
skål
. Quite rightly she considered me something of a dunce.'

Faith laughed. ‘What do you think of Connecticut so far?'

‘It's splendid. The autumn colors are magnificent. I think I'd like to stay in this part of the world.'

Surprised, Tally said, ‘Really?'

‘If you have no objection, I'd like to find a place nearby, settle in and try to make up for lost time with you.'

‘That would be wonderful,' Tally said softly. ‘I would love that.'

Faith could feel herself getting choked up again and excused herself to go help Hay in the kitchen. He looked over at her and smiled. ‘We're set to go,' he told her, ‘if you want to grab the salad.'

‘Okay, Chief.'

The family had expanded and she was rooted in its midst, taken to its heart, no longer the stolen child. Straightening her shoulders, she reached for the bowl and, smiling helplessly, carried it in to the dining room. Home.

D
uring the years of her medical practice, Faith had heard many babies crying. But this was different. Intuitively, she knew this wasn't about hunger, or colic, or the need for a clean diaper. This was something else completely. The moment she heard the sound from the reception area an awful sense of recognition attached itself to her like the needle-toothed jaws of some savage creature.

When she finally got to the examining room, the baby was in the father's arms, struggling, red-faced and shrieking, refusing the bottle he was directing at her mouth. At once, the father struck Faith as all wrong. Plainly frustrated by his inability to deal with the baby, he was fighting for control, trying again, then again, to get the baby to take the bottle. Sweating and angry, he struggled to conceal his anger, trying to appear like a concerned parent. It was a battle and he was losing. Clearly, he had no love for this child, no essential connection to her. Even an inept but caring parent would have had more of an idea what to do for the baby. This man was not a parent.

Faith took a quick look at the chart. Having listened closely to what was going on outside during each visit to the small patients in the other examining rooms, she was aware that this baby had quieted while Fran had measured and weighed her, done her vital signs. But the moment Fran had left the room, baby Jill had resumed her screaming.

‘What seems to be the problem, Mr Brown?' she asked, lifting the five-month-old out of the man's arms. Silently Faith said,
Don't be afraid, baby girl. I'll take care of you.
As if she understood the silent message, the baby clutched at her, winding one hand into Faith's hair, the other gathering a fistful of Faith's sleeve. She pushed herself tight to Faith's chest – a fear-induced prehensile response: latching on to someone who instinctively felt safe to her. Her wide blue eyes searched Faith's expression, chest heaving with sob-echoes.

Mr Brown looked irate and embarrassed, as if he wished he'd never encountered this child and was trying hard not to let it show. ‘She's got a bad diaper rash,' he said, dropping exhaustedly into one of the two chairs in the room. Faith felt the heat of the baby's face as she dried her tears, and breathed in her smell of formula and stale urine, aware of Jill's sturdy heart thudding – a rhythmic signal against her breast. Messages in arterial code.

Automatically she smoothed the damp wheat-colored curls at the back of the baby's head and stroked her neck, soothing and calming her. The hiccupping baby secure in one arm, Faith filled a paper cup with water and gave it to the father, who accepted it in a kind of stunned silence. Taking note of every last thing that was happening, she turned to position the flushed, diaper-clad baby on the examining console.

‘The mother couldn't make it today?' Faith asked casually, performing a quick head-to-toe visual inspection of the baby as she pulled on a pair of latex-free gloves.

‘No,' he answered.

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

‘Let's have a look at you, sweetheart.' She smiled down at the baby, her hands smoothing the agitated arms and chest while the father noisily gulped down the water.

After removing the diaper, one look confirmed Faith's suspicions. ‘There's definitely inflammation,' she said in mild understatement, reaching for a swab. The sample secured, she examined the now-compliant baby front and back, top to bottom, listened to her chest sounds, checked her ears and eyes, took a swab of the interior of her mouth, tested her reflexes, then cleaned her genitals carefully with a handful of wipes before gently applying antiseptic ointment to the baby's entire bottom. At last she got a fresh diaper from the cabinet and fastened it on before removing her gloves and tossing them into the trash can. ‘Her clothes?' she asked the father, holding out one hand, the other on the baby's belly, keeping her secure. She was certain that the instant she returned Jill to him she'd start screaming again.

There was a brief pause. He gazed blankly at her for a second as if translating the request from a foreign language, then handed over the baby's garments.

‘I'm giving you a prescription for some antiseptic ointment,' she told him, writing it up and handing it over to him while Jill lay contentedly on the examining table, trying to get her thumb into her mouth. ‘While you're at the drugstore, get some Tylenol infant drops. Given the severity of the rash, she needs to be bathed at least once a day, preferably twice – morning and night.

‘I'd like to have another look at her next Monday to see how she's doing.' Fastening Jill's soiled onesie, then fitting her chubby arms into the sleeves of a too-large sweater, she lifted the baby, for a moment allowing herself to savor the feel of her, shunted back in time to a day in a stifling, filthy van when another, somewhat older baby had slept heavily in her arms. Where was that baby now? she wondered as she did so often. Almost thirty-three years later, that baby was a grown woman, perhaps with a husband and child of her own, and no memory of the day she'd spent as a stolen child; no recollection of the small girl who'd been her self-appointed guardian. The sense-memory of baby Gracie had weight and heat, as if Faith had held her only moments before. And again, as she did intermittently, illogically, she longed to see that year-old tot once more. Then she blinked it away. The past was gone; baby Gracie was merely a memory.

‘Be sure to apply the ointment after every diaper change, but take a minute to clean the area first with a wipe. Give her the drops every four hours, and make an appointment to come back in on Monday morning. Okay? I want to keep an eye on that rash. We don't want it developing into something more serious.'

Jill's eyes were fluttering closed. She was falling asleep, her head resting on Faith's shoulder. But at her father's touch, she jerked awake and started screaming again. Twisting away from the man, her arms, her entire body strained towards Faith. And it was all Faith could do not to keep hold of her. But it was imperative that she not do that, that she remain surface-calm. She wanted this man, this ‘John Brown' back in the office on Monday. Nothing could be allowed to seem the least bit out of the ordinary. It was vital that he return for a second visit. She needed the intervening time to organize a workable plan with the authorities.

Wearily, he said, ‘Okay,' picked up the diaper bag with his free hand, and carried the writhing, shrieking baby out to reception to make an appointment.

The instant the door closed behind him, Faith grabbed the phone and spoke to Liz in reception. ‘Give Brown whatever time he wants,' she said. ‘No matter how many other bookings there are, just give him an appointment.'

Faith put the receiver down and closed her eyes for a few seconds, heart racketing, blood pressure spiking. Then after a few deep calming breaths, she noticed the forgotten baby bottle. She used a tissue to pick up both the bottle and the empty paper cup by their bottoms and deposited them in separate sterile bags. She also salvaged the used diaper from the bin.

Back in her office, she wrote up orders for the swabs and the diaper, and had Fran come in to take care of arranging rush lab service for the samples, before finally putting in a call to Brian – now Chief Kirlane.

It wasn't by any means the first call she'd made to him over the years to report child abuse of one form or another. But this was the most serious instance and therefore the most in need of urgent intervention.

He listened closely, instructed her to send the bottle and cup by courier to the police lab, then asked her to swing by the station after she closed up shop for the day. ‘Let's get right on this,' he said. ‘I'll order in some Chinese with your favorite mu-shu pork and we can eat while we go over the details.'

It was sometimes hard to believe that so much time had gone by but Faith was reminded of it every time she saw Brian. Now a sixty-two-year-old widower and the grandfather of Lucia's sweet but rowdy nine-year-old twin boys, he was taking retirement at the end of the year. He didn't want to leave the force but after four years of coming to terms with Jan's death – coping with the sorrow, the shocking inner emptiness created by her absence – he'd met Leila, a widow and kindred soul, at his support group. They'd been dating for almost a year and he felt it was time to move the relationship to another level so that he might enjoy whatever time was left to him in her company. The sudden loss of Jan to a heart attack had made him hyper-aware of how quickly things could change.