Merry Mary Page 2

  “Back off, Mom. Just because we live in the same city doesn’t mean I have to report every detail of my life to you.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. I was out of line.” Barbara hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “At least let me run out and grab a wreath for your front door and a poinsettia for your table.”

  “No, really, Mom, you don’t need to worry. It won’t be the end of the world if I don’t go all out for Christmas this year. I’m not exactly in the holiday spirit.”

  Barbara ran her finger down Scottie’s cheek. “I know it’s tough, sweetie. Just hang in there. You’ll get your baby soon.”

  As if on cue, the faint sound of a baby crying came from down the hall. Barbara’s eyes grew round, like chocolate peppermint patties. For the first time, she noticed the can of formula on the kitchen counter. “What’s going on, Scottie? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “Like what, Mom? Like God dropped a baby down from heaven into my arms.” Scottie kept a straight face despite the irony in her words. “Anna asked me to babysit for Emily while she’s at the dentist.”

  “That’s pretty inconsiderate of her,” Barbara said.

  “Pu-lease! You know Anna better than that. She was in a jam because her sitter got sick at the last minute.”

  All of her closest friends had babies, but Anna was the only one who considered Scottie’s feelings. On Saturday afternoons and evenings, which were the loneliest times for Scottie, Anna’s husband often took care of their daughter while Anna went shopping or to the movies and dinner with Scottie. And she was always careful to avoid baby-centered topics of conversation.

  Scottie took her mother by the arm and ushered her to the front door. “I’ll see you Christmas Eve.” She leaned in and gave her mother a peck on the cheek. “Do you need me to bring something?”

  Barbara dismissed Scottie’s offer with a wave of her gloved hand. “The Yellow Umbrella is catering the dinner for me. Bring Brad, if you must. And make sure that rascal brother of yours is on time for a change.”

  Scottie opened the door for her mother.

  “I’ll see you before then,” Barbara said over her shoulder as she descended the steps.

  “I have no doubt about that,” Scottie mumbled, and closed the door against the cold.

  4

  Scottie dashed up the stairs to the nursery where she found baby Mary lying in a pool of spit-up, her sleeper soaked through with poop.

  “Oh, honey, is your little tummy upset?” Scottie unzipped the sleeper, peeled the fabric back, and carried the baby at arm’s length to the changing table. She cleaned the baby from head to toe with baby wipes and dressed her in the second largest baby outfit, the only one she had left that would fit her. “I guess we better go on that shopping trip sooner rather than later.”

  She stripped the crib of the soiled linens, and carried them downstairs to the laundry closet. With the baby sucking hard on her thumb in the crook of her arm, Scottie opened her laptop on the kitchen counter and began to surf the Internet with her free hand.

  “Now. Let’s see what Mr. Google says about your upset tummy. My guess is, your mama’s been breastfeeding you. Hopefully, it’s just a transitional issue.” The fingers of her right hand slid across the keyboard. “Yep”—she pointed at the screen as she read—”says here, the doctors recommend trying a new formula for at least three days before switching.” She closed the laptop and looked down at the baby. “Don’t go getting sick on me, little Mary. I don’t know how I would explain your sudden appearance in my life to the pediatrician. Even if he is my best friend’s husband.”

  Merry Mary smiled at her from behind her thumb.

  Aside from her chapped cheeks, the baby appeared healthy, which was amazing considering she’d been living outdoors. Not to mention the recent snowstorm and subzero temperatures. Who knew what was written in the medical histories of the biological parents? Or what kind of addiction issues the mother had passed along to Mary? She didn’t appear to have any abnormalities, but one could never be too sure in these situations.

  Although the image of the dead woman’s face would forever be imprinted on Scottie’s mind, the woman’s condition made it difficult to determine whether she’d been attractive. Scottie viewed Mary as a lovely baby with her bright blue eyes and pert little nose, as pretty as any mother would hope for her own little girl.

  Mary seemed content to ride along in the baby carrier strapped to Scottie’s torso, facing out, while she brought down the bouncy seat and other equipment from the nursery. As soon as the daycare center was organized in the family room, Mary began to fuss for her bottle.

  Scottie fed and burped her, then fastened her in the bouncy seat in front of the Christmas tree. “There now,” she said, running her hand across the blonde peach fuzz atop Mary’s head. “You look at the pretty lights while I go to the attic for the ornaments to decorate this tree.”

  Racing up and down the stairs, Scottie made four trips to the attic for the Christmas decorations. She let the baby touch every shiny ornament before placing it on the tree. She was teetering on the stepladder, trying to attach the star to the top of the tree, when Mary had another blowout. Scottie quickly changed the diaper and started another load of laundry. In an attempt to stay calm, she reminded herself that the online doctor had advised against switching formulas before the baby’s digestive system had a chance to adjust.

  The afternoon dragged on, long lonely hours on a cold, gray day. No wonder her friends scheduled playdates every afternoon. While the baby napped in her Pack ‘n Play, Scottie removed the photographs in her Lost Souls series from the walls and replaced them with contemporary paintings she’d created in her art classes at UVA—splashes of bright colors that resembled nothing but went a long way toward cheering up the room. She watched the Doctor Duo on television—Oz followed by Phil—folded a load of laundry, then thumbed through several of the baby care books she’d received as shower gifts. Desperate for adult conversation, she was happy to hear her husband’s voice when he called around five.

  “Uh, babe… I hate to tell you this, but I forgot to pay the power bill. I got an email notification. If we don’t pay it by noon tomorrow, they’re going to disconnect our service.”

  Scottie jumped to her feet. “Are you kidding me, Brad? That’s the one bill you’re responsible for paying. How could you let it go past due?” Early on in their marriage, when it became apparent Scottie would be the major breadwinner, they’d decided he would take care of the power, cable, and Internet bills, and she would pay for everything else. Considering how much he liked his electronics and gadgets, she felt confident he would keep these bills current.

  Would he ever stop disappointing her?

  He breathed loudly into the phone. “Okay, don’t be mad. I really messed up, babe. Commonwealth Power has always given me an extension before. I don’t understand why they’re playing hardball this time. But they’re threatening to turn the power off if they don’t get full payment by noon tomorrow.”

  Scottie ran her hand through her tangled curls. “Are you telling me you don’t have the money to pay the bill?”

  He sighed. “I used it to buy my plane ticket.”

  “How much is the bill, Brad? I don’t have an extra hundred dollars lying around.”

  “According to the email, we owe five hundred and eleven dollars,” he said.

  “Wait a minute, what? Our bill has never been that high.”

  “Actually, we’re three months past due. I’m so sorry. I really screwed up this time.”

  “That’s just great, Brad. I have exactly six hundred in my savings account.” She imagined herself shivering under a mountain of blankets with the baby curled up next to her, hardly any different than living in a makeshift tent in Monroe Park. “Where’s the bill? I’ll pay it first thing in the morning.”

  “Well… would you believe me if I told you the dog ate it?”

  She imagined his silly smile, the oops-I-messed-up-but-you-gott
a-love-me-anyway grin she once found so charming. “We don’t have a dog, Brad.” She started to hang up but added, “Oh, and Brad, you can forget about getting a Christmas present from me.”

  She threw her phone down on the leather chair across from her. Her husband was not the same man she’d married, the guy with the 3.8 GPA in premed, who graduated in the top third of his class from UVA. That guy had had a bright future ahead of him as an orthopedist. After graduation, he’d taken a part-time job bartending to allow for more time to study for the MCAT. But that part-time soon became full-time with all thoughts of medical school forgotten.

  Scottie’s feelings about her husband and her career and starting a family stayed in constant conflict with one another. Her body was a battlefield of emotions, the North versus the South all over again. The sensible part of her, her brain, encouraged her to leave her husband and move to Washington or New York where the big photojournalists play ball. The emotional side of her, from her neck on down—including her heart where the souls of her future children resided and her empty womb where her biological clock ticked like a time bomb—ached for a baby. The gnawing sensation in her gut, the one she should trust but rarely did, cautioned her about bringing a baby into their crazy lives. Scottie traveled two, three, sometimes four days a week investigating breaking news stories. Daycare was out of the question with Brad working most nights. They’d have to hire a sitter, which would eat into his nominal take-home pay.

  If he’d followed through on his original plan, he would be finishing up his residency right about now and looking for a practice to join. Instead, he was living paycheck to paycheck, using the money for their electric bill to pay for an airline ticket to visit his worthless family.

  The first red flag for Scottie had been the ease in which Brad settled into the lifestyle of a bartender. The late hours suited him and he seemed to gain something from listening to other peoples’ problems. Perhaps the satisfaction of knowing his life wasn’t as screwed up as some. She’d encouraged him to consider psychiatry, but he seemed none too eager to return to the classroom. Academically, he’d burned himself out in high school and college, and he simply couldn’t handle the daunting task of returning to the classroom.

  She’d seen glimpses of the old Brad when she was pregnant. He’d made strides to find a better-paying job by updating his resume and interviewing for sales positions at several medical supply companies. He’d been devastated when Scottie lost the baby. She wasn’t a quitter, and she didn’t want to give up on her marriage. If only they could have a healthy baby…

  Noticing Mary staring up at her from the Pack ‘n Play, Scottie said, “But that’s nothing for you to worry about, little one. I’ve dealt with worse crises than a past-due bill.” She lifted the baby out of the playpen. “Are you getting hungry? I could use a cup of tea.”

  She poured Enfamil into a bottle for Mary and brewed a cup of chai tea for herself, then settled with the baby on the couch to watch the local six o’clock news.

  To her relief, there was no mention of a dead body in Monroe Park.

  Mary sucked down two more small bottles and had three explosive bowel movements before Scottie finally put her down a few minutes before eleven. She turned on the television in her bedroom and listened to the late news while washing her face and brushing her teeth. At the very end of the newscast, the female anchor reported the discovery of an unidentified body in Monroe Park. The announcement lasted less than a minute with no mention of the victim’s gender, the time of discovery, or a missing baby.

  Relieved, Scottie slid beneath her thick duvet cover, rolling onto her side and curling up to her pillow. She tossed and turned with worry, and not just about the baby’s gastrointestinal problems. She’d disclosed too much to her mother about her whereabouts that morning. Barbara was a curious, resourceful woman. If and when the missing baby made the news, she would know the crying she’d heard was not Emily.

  Scottie finally gave up and crawled in the twin bed in the nursery. Comforted by the closeness of the baby, she fell fast asleep within minutes.

  5

  Scottie woke at dawn the following morning with the urgent need to pee. She rushed down the hall to the master bathroom and relieved herself. Removing her pocket calendar from her makeup drawer, she marked through the day’s date with a red ballpoint pen. One more day. She always waited until she was five days late before taking a pregnancy test.

  When she returned to the nursery, Mary was staring bright-eyed at the colorful zoo animals on the mobile above her. The baby had made it through the night without another blowout.

  “I’ll bet you’re starving, Merry Mary,” she said as she was changing her diaper. “I know I am. A bottle for you, cereal for me, then we’ll go out and run our errands.”

  The approaching winter storm took precedence over all other news stories on the morning broadcast. Six to eight inches of snow was expected, starting around noon. Richmond often made it through the entire winter without any snow. For the city to get back-to-back storms in the month of December was rare.

  “We need to hurry if we want to get home before the storm sets in.” The baby stopped sucking and looked up at Scottie, as if she was waiting for her to continue. “We’re going shopping, little girl, for all the latest winter fashions for babies.” Scottie set the bottle on the table beside her and placed Mary over her shoulder to burp. “You need a snowsuit and a few more sleepers. And lots of diapers in the right size.”

  In an effort to avoid anyone who might recognize her and ask questions about the sudden appearance of a baby, Scottie drove to the Southside to pay her power bill at a designated payment center before traveling in the opposite direction to the Target at Virginia Center Commons. She placed Mary’s car seat in the cart and piled the items she selected around her—sleepers and gowns in soft cotton; several packages of long-sleeved onesies, diapers, and formula; and a white snowsuit with fake gray trim around the hood. She even splurged on a festive set of baby mittens, a red-and-white retro pattern of snowflakes, which reminded her of a pair she’d owned as a child. She grabbed a carton of milk and a bag of Caesar salad from the grocery section, then stopped by the pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test on her way out.

  The first few flakes of snow were beginning to fall when she pulled up to the curb in front of her house. She was starting to take out the baby’s car seat when a woman appeared at her side. An unkempt old woman in a threadbare coat and stocking cap. A woman she recognized as Mabel.

  Scottie took a step back. Up close, the old woman smelled like cigarettes, rotten breath, and body odor.

  Mabel wrapped her gnarled fingers around Scottie’s wrist. “Nice-looking baby you got there. You aiming to keep her?”

  Heart pounding against ribcage, Scottie jerked her hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to block the baby from the woman’s view.

  “Look, Camera Lady, that baby’s mama was a friend of mine. The others, they sent me to check you out, make sure you got what you need to take care of the baby.” Forcing Scottie out of the way, Mabel leaned in the car to see the baby. She tickled Mary’s chin with her dirt-caked fingernail. “Trisha wouldn’t want her daughter in no foster home.”

  Scottie’s eyes searched the street for onlookers. “Listen. It’s cold out here. Why don’t you come inside where we can talk in private? I can offer you something warm to eat.”

  Mabel darted a quick glance at the house, then looked away.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee.” Leaving her purchases for later, Scottie pulled out the car seat and closed the door.

  Mabel trudged after her up bricks steps and through the house to the kitchen. Scottie strapped the baby in the bouncy seat and went to the refrigerator for a container of homemade Brunswick stew she’d purchased earlier in the week at Libbie Market.

  “Please, have a seat”—Scottie gestured at the barstools—”while I warm up some soup.”

  Mabel lowered
herself to the edge of the seat, clutching her ratty backpack to her chest. “I worked in a nice house like this once. The baby is lucky to have found you.”

  Scottie dumped the stew in a saucepan on the stove and turned on the burner. “I have no intention of keeping the baby. I didn’t know what else to do when the rest of you left me alone with that poor woman’s body. I made the split-second decision to bring the baby here, to get her out of the cold and into a warm house. I’ll turn her over to the police as soon as they find her family.”

  The old woman glared at her. “Ain’t no family to find.”

  “What do you mean? Everyone has a family.”

  “Trisha done a good job of getting herself lost after her daddy got liquored up and beat the living daylights outta her. Way I hear it, he nearly killed her.”

  Scottie swallowed hard. “That’s horrible. What about her mother?”

  “A drunk, just like her daddy.”

  “How long ago did, uh, Trisha run away from home?” Associating a name with the dead woman’s face brought the reality of the situation down upon her.

  Mabel shrugged. “Ten years, maybe. Her name ain’t even Trisha as far as I know.”

  Scottie stirred the soup and set the Keurig to brew coffee. “What about the baby’s father?”

  Mabel dug through her backpack for a dirty tissue to wipe her nose. “Who knows who the baby’s daddy is? Could be one of many.”

  “Was Trisha on drugs?”

  “Nah. She what’n that kinda kid. She minded her own business. Never bothered nobody.”

  “Cream and sugar in your coffee?” Scottie asked when the Keurig had finished brewing.

  “Black’s fine. Ain’t tasted cream-and-sugar coffee in years. Fancy fixings are for indoor living.”

  Scottie placed a cup of coffee and a bowl of stew in front of Mabel, and sat down beside her with a cup for herself, fully loaded with cream and sugar. “What happened that forced you to the streets, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “My family was killed in a fire in the projects.” Scottie’s eyes grew wide, and Mabel added, “Every last one of ‘em—husband, five kids, my sistah, a brother, and my mama. Hard to care about much after something like that happens to you.”