The Child Comes First (14 page)

“I'll think of something.” His mother would be well aware he'd spent the night with Jayda and she'd giddily make assumptions, then begin planning her son's future as a married man. But that wouldn't be the worst of it. He didn't want his mom to tell Jayda she knew he'd been with her because his own place had been put up for sale and was already partly packed. He'd been staying at his mother's house, trying to learn how to be a parent to Tiffany and working on the endless paperwork required in order to file for adoption.

It hadn't been as difficult as he'd expected to list the condo. And his agent was asking for a healthy price. An extremely good thing, because clearly his relationship with Boyden and Whitby, LLC, wasn't going to last much longer. He only hoped the senior partners would see through their commitment to Tiffany's case. He'd need the resources of a large firm to win such a complex case.

“I'll take a cab back to my mother's house,” he said.

“I can drive you. Let me just take a quick shower.”

“No, that's okay.” He didn't want his mother and Jayda together just yet.

She sighed. “You know this is going to be complicated, seeing each other all the time, pretending nothing is going on between us and remembering this confusing night.”

He looked at her, wondering what she was really thinking. “I guess I'm okay with ‘complicated.'”

“I don't want to hurt your chances of adopting Tiffany.”

“Does that mean you'll approve of me going forward with the adoption?”

“I never said I didn't approve. What I said was that it would be nearly impossible for you to be approved by Social Services. And I can't be your caseworker for the adoption process. I'll have to disqualify myself.”

“But if the adoption caseworker asked your opinion as to my worthiness, what would you say?”

Another small smile from her made him feel like Jell-O inside. “I'd say you'd be a wonderful father and a great provider, except I won't be asked because I'll have to admit I'm biased.”

“Will our interest in each other cause you trouble at work?” The last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize her career. Bad enough that his own was taking a sudden nosedive.

“I'll be okay.” She looked at her feet. “You said we'd take it slowly, right? I…I hope you meant it.”

He moved toward her and gently lifted her chin so that she'd look into his eyes. “I meant it. And thank you for your support regarding Tiffany—even if you won't actually be asked for an opinion. That means a lot to me.” Then he kissed her cheek, lingered there and kissed her lips softly, waiting to see what she would do. Slowly, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

He wanted her—preferably, naked on a bed beneath him. But he'd promised to be patient. So he stepped back and took a calming breath. “I better get going,” he said, half hoping she'd ask him to stay.

She nodded and stepped aside, so he could walk to the door. “I'll call you later,” he promised as he headed out. He'd never felt so awkward leaving a woman's apartment. He'd never felt so unfulfilled. He'd never felt such longing.

 

B
ARBARA AND
T
IFFANY WERE
standing in the kitchen when Simon arrived at his mother's home.

“Smile!” his mother shouted the instant he came through the door. A flash went off and seared his brain. It was way too early in the morning for this kind of thing.

“She's not with me,” he said, guessing that his mom wanted a picture of the two of them after their first night together. This was the woman he'd grown up with and he knew how her mind worked, strange as it was.

“Oh,” she said. “Is she still out in the car?”

“She didn't bring me home.”

“How did you get here, then?” Tiffany asked.

Simon looked at the girl and wondered what his mother might have told her or suggested. What would a kid as young as Tiffany have worked out about the two of them spending the night together? He rubbed his temples, wishing he didn't have to deal with either of these females right now. “I took a taxi.”

“A taxi!” This exclamation came from both of them at once.

“Aren't you supposed to be saving your money so you can open your own law practice? You must have paid a fortune, getting here from Baltimore in a cab.” His mother could still make him feel like a ten-year-old.

He sat down heavily in one of her kitchen chairs and gazed at the cereal box that was still standing on the table from breakfast. “It wasn't that expensive and I'm not that broke.”
Yet.

“Well, why did you come home alone?” Tiffany asked. “You were gone all night. Weren't you with Jayda?”

“Nothing happened,” he said, eyeing the girl to gauge how much she might be assuming.

“Ah,” said his mother knowingly. “She turned you down. That must be a first.”

“Mom! For cryin' out loud. I don't think we should be talking about this right now.”

“Oh, it's okay. I know all about this kind of stuff,” Tiffany said. “I'm eleven, not two. And I've lived in foster homes most of my life. We grow up fast. Barbara and I figured you had to have stayed with Jayda, because you didn't come home. So, did you stay at your empty apartment or something?”

He stared at her a moment. “You're still eleven. And could we just pretend you're not asking me about my sex life and that you're the sweet, innocent kid I wish you could still be—
and
that you and my mother haven't been making wedding plans all morning.”

“No chance,” she said as she sipped her orange juice and smiled.

He blew out an exasperated sigh. “We talked. All night. Then we fell asleep on the couch. End of story.”

“She turned you down,” his mother said. “It's about time someone did. Good for that oversize ego of yours.”

“She didn't turn me down. In fact, she invited me up. But…” He had no idea how he could end that sentence without revealing too much, so he trailed off. There was no way to save face here. And he couldn't imagine why he should try to in front of his mother and his prospective daughter. “Okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “She turned me down. It's complicated.”

“Too bad. She'd be a great mom.” Tiffany stared at her juice glass glumly.

“You're not giving up on her, are you?” his mother asked.

“Of course not. Just slowing down a little.” He turned to Tiffany again. “I told you before I'll do everything I can to adopt you. But getting Jayda to marry me to improve our chances just wouldn't be right. That's not a reason to get married. I explained all that when I asked you if you'd want to be my daughter.”

Tiffany thought for a moment. “There are a lot of reasons for you and Jayda to get married besides my adoption,” she said. “For one thing, you're in love with her.”

Simon's training as a trial lawyer was all that kept his face from showing the astonishment he felt. “What makes you say that, Tif?” he managed to ask. Was it really so obvious? He'd only just begun to realize his feelings for Jayda himself. How could this young girl already know?

“I can just tell,” she said.

“So can I,” added his mother.

He considered this. Then looked at the two females, one after the other. “And can you tell how she feels about me?”

“Nope. I don't know her as well as I know you,” his mom said.

“I think she wants to like you, but she's afraid,” said Tiffany.

He stared at her, then asked, “How did you get to be so insightful?”

“I read a lot,” she said, as if this explained everything.

“Well, stop it. You're starting to be frightening.” But he smiled at her to let her know he didn't really mean it, even though part of him thought she was possibly the scariest person to ever come into his life. “And both of you need to back off about me and Jayda. No more snapping photographs, no more throwing us together, no more matchmaking.”

The younger one looked at the older one and a silent communication seemed to pass between them. Then they responded at the same time, using the same words, as if they'd rehearsed. “No promises,” they said.

He stood up abruptly and had to catch his chair before it toppled backward. “Okay, that was just too weird. I'm outta here.” He fled to the room he'd been staying in—the one that had been his haven as a boy, the one where he felt safe and vulnerable at the same time.

Pacing about his childhood refuge, he considered what he should do next. He'd already embarked on all the paperwork for Tiffany. He'd made it clear to Jayda how he felt about her. He'd put his expensive condo on the market, in preparation for the inevitable end to his career at the law firm. Now what? There had been few times in his life when he'd had to sit back and wait for things to happen. Always, there'd been something else he could do to manipulate the situation, something he could make happen so he'd get what he wanted that much sooner. Now there was nothing he could do. He simply had to wait and let things take their course.

After another hour he decided to dress and go to the office, even though it was a Saturday. He could work on Craig Dremmel's case, even though the proceeds from his work would go into Boyden and Whitby's coffers. At least it would be something productive he could do, and it would be unlikely he'd have to contend with Renauld Canter, who'd be playing golf on such a lovely summer day.

Besides which, Simon felt the need to get behind the wheel of his Mustang. He'd leave the windows open and let the wind blow away some of his tension. That would be more helpful than continuing to pace in his childhood bedroom. And, anyway, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hang on to the Mustang much longer, given its lack of child-safety features and the money he could rake in on resale. He'd take his pleasure from it while he still could.

G
OOD NEWS AWAITED
S
IMON
when he arrived at the office. Denise, the person he'd miss the most when he left the law firm, had put a message on his desk from the day before. “New report from the private pathologist you hired. Derek's death from shaken baby syndrome. Will testify Tiffany too small to be responsible.”

Simon smiled, and without thinking dialed Jayda's cell phone number at once. “Good news,” he said as if nothing weighed heavily between them. “Denise tells me our pathologist will testify that Tiffany is too small to have killed Derek.”

“Will that be enough to counter the prosecutor's evidence?”

Robert McGuire would be putting Tiffany's former foster mother on the stand when the trial resumed. She'd no doubt tell the jury about the incriminating things Tiffany had said when she'd been found with the lifeless Derek. “Not sure,” he replied. “But it's a break I wasn't certain we'd get. It could at least create some reasonable doubt.”

“And that could be enough, right?”

“We can hope.” And those words reminded him of the question he'd asked her the night before. She'd reassured him there was hope for the two of them. But now, in the cold light of day, Simon wasn't so sure. So much was stacked against them—including Jayda's unwillingness to confide. A long silence became uncomfortable and then both began to talk at once to fill the void.

“I'll let you know…” he began.

“I was going to call…” she started to say. They both went silent again.

“You first,” he offered.

“I wanted to let you know Marla discovered a lead in Derek's file and passed it on to me this morning. His social worker noted that Derek's mother sometimes stopped by to see him unannounced, even though those visits were supposed to be supervised. After some digging I found out she last lived in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

“The police are taking their time working out jurisdiction issues. They think Derek's killer is already on trial, and they aren't spending any time following up this new lead. So I'm going to go there to see what I can find out.”

“I should go with you,” he said.

“No.” Her response was instant, as if she'd anticipated his offer and was ready to turn it down immediately. “I may have to stay there a few days just to find her, and you'll need to be at trial with Tiffany.”

“You should be here with us,” he reminded her. He could tell his voice had gone cold, an indication of his disappointment about her absence, but he couldn't help himself. Irritation seemed to be his response to the new experience of not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Childish, but true.

“There's no rule that says I have to be there every day, as long as Tiffany understands what's going on with the case. And let's face it—sometimes she understands things better than I do.” Simon nodded at this, even though Jayda wouldn't be able to tell over the phone that he'd just agreed with her.

“You're sure this lead is worth it?” he asked, worrying now that the jury would make too much of Jayda's absence.

“If I can find Derek's mother and get her to admit she saw her son within days of his death, wouldn't that be worth a lot?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “That would be the end of Tiffany's case. Between that kind of evidence and the pathologist's testimony, McGuire would be forced to agree that a more likely killer was Derek's own mother. It would have taken an adult to shake Derek hard enough to cause his death.”

“Then I'm going,” Jayda said.

“Okay.” Simon hesitated. “Call me and let me know what happens.” To his ears, this sounded lame, but he had nothing else to offer.

“I will. And when I get back, we'll talk. I should tell you about some things,” she promised.

That went a long way toward lightening Simon's mood. “I'd like that,” he said.

 

S
HE WOULD NEVER WANT TO BE
an investigator of any kind. This sort of work was tedious and thankless. She'd gone from one lead to another in her search of Derek's mother, but so far they'd all resulted in nothing but another lead. If she'd had to do this for a living, she'd have gone nuts long ago. Now she'd been sent to a boardinghouse, of sorts. For a few dollars or a hit of crack, a person could stay with other drug addicts in a crumbling warehouse-style building that had been divided into a warren of alcoves and minuscule rooms. This was no place for her to be knocking on doors alone, but she refused to go back to Baltimore without something they could use. Besides, even the worst of Harrisburg didn't compare to the awful Baltimore neighborhoods in which she found some of the kids she worked with.

“I'm looking for Patricia Baldridge,” she said to the first person she encountered. “Have you seen her?” For the hundredth time, Jayda wished she had a good photograph of the boy's mother. If she'd been a real detective, she probably would have thought of that before she'd driven all this way. As it was, all she had was a blurry picture sent by Simon's secretary to her cell phone. She held that up to the inebriated person to whom she spoke.

The grizzled man peered for a time at the tiny photo. “Nope. Haven't seen her today.”

Jayda's heart leaped with excitement. He'd said “today.” Did that mean he'd seen her recently? She had to be careful. She didn't want to scare the man with too much enthusiasm. Keeping her voice calm, she used the story she'd been giving out for days. “Well, do you know where she is? Because she's got some money coming to her from a recent death in the family and my boss won't let me off the hook until I find her or prove she's dead, too.”

“How much money?” the oldster asked.

“Not very much, but enough so that the lawyer I work for is determined to find her.”

He thought for a moment, seemed to be rummaging through a messy pile within his mind. “She might be in her room upstairs, for all I know.”

“Is there a room number or something?”

“How much money, did you say?”

“I can't tell you that. Confidential. But I've got ten dollars for you if you help me find her.”

“Show it to me.”

Jayda dug into her pocket for the cash she'd put there for just such a contingency. She waved the ten in front of him. Without another word, the guy turned and headed up a set of rickety stairs.

They found Patricia sprawled across a mattress on the floor of a room without a door, high or merely asleep, Jayda couldn't tell. In fact, Jayda could barely tell whether this was actually the person she was looking for. In the tiny cell phone photo, the woman had been smirking for a mug shot. This woman looked worn out and half dead.

“You're sure this is Patricia Baldridge?” Her guide nodded and held out his hand. Jayda passed him the cash and watched as he ambled away.

Kneeling beside the mattress, Jayda nudged the inert body. “Patricia, wake up.”

The body rolled to one side. She groaned, then squinted her eyes open ever so slightly. “What?” It was a disinterested statement rather than a real question.

“I need to talk to you about your son.”

Her eyes opened all the way then, wide and brown and bloodshot. In another second, they blazed with anger. “He's dead.”

Jayda sat back on her heels, surprised by the bitterness of those two short words. She and Marla had assumed that this absent mother hadn't known of her son's fate. “I know and I'm sorry,” she said. “Everyone says he was a good kid.”

“Yeah.” The woman's eyes softened and shifted away, as if she could lose herself in memories of happier times.

“Listen, can I buy you some coffee—maybe a meal? My car's outside and there's a diner a few miles from here.”

“Why?” Patricia asked, her expression full of irritation again.

“I'd like to talk to you about your son. Maybe the two of us can figure out who killed him. You'd like his killer to be caught, wouldn't you?” Jayda took a risk saying this. It required a leap of faith to assume that Derek's killer wasn't the woman in front of her, or at least that she didn't realize she could in some way be to blame. If she understood that she might well be a suspect in Derek's death, she'd never talk to anyone. But the tenderness that had filled the woman's eyes when her son's name had been mentioned made Jayda want to believe there was someone else involved.

Patricia blinked as she slowly processed the issue. “That girl did it. Everyone said. That little girl pushed him down and he hit his head.”

“He didn't hit his head—the coroner doesn't think she could have done it. She's too small to have done so much damage, so an adult had to be involved. One of the neighbors told us there was a man in the neighborhood, looking for where the foster kids lived. I'm hoping you'll be able to tell me who that man might have been, if you think about it.”

Patricia sat up on the filthy makeshift bed. It had obviously been some time since she'd had a shower or changed her clothes. There were telltale bruises on the inside of her arm running along her veins. But for the moment, she was coherent. If only she'd talk.

“Where's that diner you mentioned? I could use some coffee and maybe a slice of pie.”

Jayda stood. “I'll take you there and then I'll take you wherever you want to go afterward.”

Patricia took in her small, shabby space. “Anywhere but here,” she said.

 

J
AYDA DRAGGED HERSELF INTO
her apartment late Friday after helping Patricia get settled into a Baltimore rehab center. There was no guarantee she'd stay long enough to get herself clean, even though she'd gone there willingly. But it was all Jayda could come up with on short notice. Fortunately, there had just been a cancellation and a friend let her snag the opening for Derek's mother.

With the last of her energy seeping from her body, Jayda thumbed Simon's number into her cell phone and hit Send. When he answered, she could hear a little girl's laughter in the background. The sound made her smile, but weariness made her tone sharp when she asked, “Why isn't Tiffany in bed by now?”

“We're almost finished the game. She keeps sending me back to the beginning, so it's gone on longer than we expected.” He paused, then added, “Besides, it's only ten o'clock. It's not like she has to get up for school in the morning.”

Jayda rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. “I'm sorry—I didn't mean to question your parenting. I just wanted to let you know I'm back in town. I didn't get much from Derek's mom, but she's in a rehab center here, so maybe you can talk to her and get something else out of her.”

“That's good. Very good. I'll need to hear all the details from you first, about what she's said so far and how she reacted to you. Can you come by the house tomorrow?”

Jayda's stomach tightened at the thought of seeing him again. “Yes, I can come tomorrow.”

“Come early. We'll do something for breakfast together.”

“Okay.” She especially welcomed the thought of that family setting after being entwined in Patricia Baldridge's hopelessness the past few days. More than that, she wanted to see Simon—she wanted to confess her fears to him and explain their origins. She longed to start again with him, despite Marla's discouragement. And to hell with protecting herself from terrible memories and hiding from possibilities because of what had happened to her so long ago.

“Great. Tiffany will be excited to see you.” He paused and then added in a softer voice, “So will I.”

“I missed all of you, too,” Jayda replied cautiously, knowing it lacked the intimacy of his words. She could almost feel his disappointment over the phone. But she simply wasn't ready to acknowledge what was in her heart. Not yet. Frustration went hand in hand with that uncertainty, because she wasn't sure what she was waiting for, either.

She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, even though she was exhausted. Marla thought she was getting too close to Simon and Tiffany. Simon might be denied permission to adopt Tiffany and anything they had between them could be destroyed by the disappointment, leaving her heartbroken.

Maybe it would be better to wait. But if she waited, she could lose him completely as he focused more and more on settling himself into family life. Plus there was the nagging concern that Simon might be confusing true love with the desire to improve his chances of winning Tiffany's adoption. She knew he'd never string her along intentionally, not even for Tiffany's sake. But what if he was confusing his feelings?

It became a long, long night of troubling doubts and impossible hopes. Yet when she awoke, she felt ready to face the three people living in the Montgomery home. She even looked forward to it. While she still dreaded telling Simon about her past, she knew that would be the first step in moving things forward between them. She would find a way. After all these years, she had to stop fighting so hard to protect herself from pain. All that accomplished was walling her off from joy.