Merry Mary Page 4

After Mary’s two o’clock feeding, Scottie strapped her in the baby swing in front of the television. She found a station airing reruns of classic Christmas cartoons—Rudolph, the original version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Scottie’s personal favorite, The Year without a Santa Claus starring the Heat Miser. Scottie baked a batch of sugar cookies and Brad’s favorite dessert—a red velvet cake.

  Will showed up out of the blue a few minutes after six with a bottle of red wine and a tray of sushi. His expression grew serious when he saw Mary playing with a rattle in the playpen. “Why is she still here?”

  “I told you, there was a chance I’d have her for the whole weekend. With the snowstorm and all, Anna and Dave decided to stay another night.”

  Will opened the wine, poured two glasses, and handed one to her. “I really don’t think this is such a good idea, Scott. You’re still vulnerable after losing the baby.”

  “I’m fine, Will.” She set her wine glass down on the counter without taking a sip. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about me.”

  He stared at her hard, an uncomfortable glare that made her squirm. He didn’t believe she was fine anymore than he believed the baby belonged to Anna and Dave.

  Scottie lifted the lid on the sushi tray. The pungent smell of seafood brought about a wave of nausea that she recognized as her first official symptom of pregnancy.

  “Here, have some.” She slid the tray across the counter to Will. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Save it for later, then. I have a dinner date at nine.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Do tell.”

  Will sat down next to Scottie. Knowing his sister wouldn’t let him off the hook until he gave her the facts, he spit out his date’s bio in one long breath. “Name’s Elise Bingham; originally from Greenwich, Connecticut; graduated summa cum laude from MIT; works as a systems analyst for DACOR Corporation. She’s working part-time at the Apple Store during the holidays, hence the reason we’re having dinner so late.”

  “Let me get this straight. You, the guy who is only attracted to lawyers and stockbrokers, have a date with a computer nerd?”

  He shrugged. “She’s the hottest computer nerd I’ve ever seen. I’m telling you, Scott, this girl is pretty and smart. She might be the one.”

  “So tell me,” Scottie said, propping her elbows on the counter. “How did you meet this Elise?”

  “We met last night at the Tobacco Company,” he said, and took a big gulp of wine.

  Scottie’s jaw dropped open. “You met her in a loud and crowded bar and you think she’s the one? How could you even hear what she was saying?” She paused, thinking. “Wait a minute. We were having a snowstorm last night. I’m surprised the Tobacco Company was even open. And you were already half-baked when you left here around seven.”

  “I took a nap before going back out. And the Tobacco Company wasn’t crowded because of the weather, which offered the opportunity for meaningful conversation.”

  Scottie glanced at the clock on the wall oven. “You can’t stay here until nine. I have to bathe Mar…”—she caught herself—”the baby and put her to bed.”

  Their eyes met and they began to stare each other down. Scottie was the first to look away. She’d invented the staring game when they were little. And she almost always won.

  He sighed. “I hope I’m the one you call when you decide to come clean about this baby.”

  Her chin quivered and tears sprang to her eyes.

  Will stood and pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her, he rubbed her back for a while. “Okay, then.” He held her at arm’s length. “Change of subject. What say we give Mom an iPad for Christmas?”

  Scottie smiled through her tears and play-punched his arm. “You’re just looking for an excuse to go out to the Apple Store early.”

  “No, seriously. Think about it. An iPad would open up a whole new avenue of shopping for Mom.” While their mother was no technology expert, she considered herself a professional shopper.

  “I don’t know, Will. An iPad doesn’t exactly fit in my budget this year.”

  “No worries.” He brushed off her concern as he headed down the hall to the front door. “You can pay me back with the money Mom and Dad give you for Christmas.”

  She opened the door for him. “At least we don’t have to worry about Dad.” At Will’s insistence, they had purchased a dozen top-of-the-line goose decoys for their father when they were on sale during the summer. “And since I’m giving my husband electricity for Christmas, I only have one more present to buy. Yours.”

  He smirked. “I’m not sure I want to know what kind of electricity you’re giving Brad.”

  “Trust me, you don’t.”

  “You know what I want, right?” He winked at her.

  “Of course.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I saved the link you sent me with the size, brand, color, and style number.”

  He tugged on a lock of her hair. “I’m only teasing you, sis. If money is tight, please don’t buy me anything.”

  “I’m not destitute, Will. At least not yet.”

  8

  Sunday dawned with bright skies and warmer temperatures. Scottie hated to miss the Christmas service at St. James, but she couldn’t very well show up at church with an unexplained baby. She would spend her day finishing her shopping and preparing for Brad’s homecoming.

  During Mary’s morning nap, she lounged on the sofa in her pajamas with a steaming mug of cocoa watching Christmas movies on the Lifetime channel. When the baby woke around eleven, she fed her a bottle, bundled her in warm clothes, and took off up the interstate to the north side of town. Knowing she would undoubtedly run into one of her father’s or brother’s friends, she bypassed Green Top—a specialty hunting and fishing store where all the locals shopped—and continued on I-95 to the Bass Pro Shop in Ashland. After circling several times, she finally found a parking spot at the far edge of the crowded lot.

  I should have brought the stroller, she thought, as she hauled the heavy car seat across the wet asphalt to the store. She encountered a mob scene inside with people standing in long lines at check-out counters, scrutinizing apparel, and seeking advice from the sales staff on hunting and fishing merchandise. There was even a crowd of children waiting impatiently to visit with a camouflage-clad Santa Claus.

  “Looks like we’re on our own here, Merry Mary.” Giving up on finding someone to help them, she hauled the car seat up the stairs to the second floor and through the maze of racks until she found the one displaying the Drake camouflage pullover Will had asked for.

  “Lesson number one about consumer spending,” she whispered to Mary as they waited in line at checkout. “Charge it to your credit card and worry about it in January.”

  On the way home, she stopped at Martin’s in Glen Allen for the few items she needed for dinner, and at a street vendor in Carytown where she spent her last twenty dollars on a wreath for her door—a mixture of evergreens, plump holly berries, and a big fat red bow.

  After she unloaded the car and got the baby settled, she spent the afternoon setting the ambiance for a romantic dinner. Brad’s flight was on time. At exactly five-thirty, dressed in a red knit dress and strappy black heels, Scottie greeted him at the door with a glass of his favorite Malbec wine.

  “Missed me, did you?” He pecked her cheek, then dumped his duffle at the bottom of the staircase. “I didn’t realize you and I had plans for tonight. I promised some of the guys I’d meet them downtown in an hour.”

  They’d grown apart during the past two years. Coming and going on different schedules, they were more like roommates than husband and wife.

  “I made dinner for you, Brad. I thought we could talk.”

  He ignored the glass of wine in her outstretched hand and headed toward the kitchen. She followed on his heels.

  He passed the dining room with barely a glance at the candlelit table, but he noticed right away the transformation in the family room—fla
mes flickering in the fireplace, the Christmas tree ablaze with lights, and the colorful paintings dotting the walls. “This is nice, babe. Feels like home. I can finally relax without those depressing vagabonds watching my every move.”

  Spotting the baby in her bouncy seat, he walked over and knelt down in front of her. “Whose kid? Are you babysitting for one of your friends?” He ruffled Mary’s hair and she pouted her lower lip.

  Scottie set the glass of wine on the counter and lifted the baby out of her bouncy seat. “No, Brad. That’s what I need to talk to you about. The baby is ours.”

  His body grew still and his jaw went slack as he stared at her in disbelief for a long, awkward moment of silence. “I don’t understand, Scottie. I thought I made it clear, I don’t want to adopt a baby.”

  “But this is different. If you’ll just give me a chance to explain.”

  Brad tossed his leather coat onto a nearby chair and went to the refrigerator for a beer. “I don’t know how it could be different. Another man’s child is another man’s child.” He spoke in a harsh tone.

  Mary began to cry. “It’s okay, sweetie. No need to cry,” Scottie said, bouncing the baby up and down on her hip.

  Brad unscrewed the cap with his teeth and downed half the bottle in one swig.

  “Please, Brad. If you’ll give me a chance to tell you what happened, you’ll see that this baby is a gift from God. Call it a miracle, or divine intervention. Whatever you call it, she’s our dream come true.”

  Brad glanced at the baby, then glared at Scottie. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my mind.” She raised her voice and the baby began to wail in response. She popped the top off a formula bottle and shoved the nipple into Mary’s mouth. “You’ll understand what I’m talking about once you hear my story. Please, can we just sit down so I can explain?”

  He glanced at his watch. “You have ten minutes, but I’m warning you that nothing you say will change the way I feel about adoption.”

  He plopped down in his leather chair next to the Christmas tree and she lowered herself to the sofa opposite him. Hoping to earn his confidence in her plan, she delivered in a calm voice the speech she’d rehearsed. She recounted her discovery of the dead body in the park and her split-second decision to bring the child to safety, away from the filth and outdoor elements of the homeless life, to protect her from a future of foster care. And she told him about Mabel’s visit.

  His face flushed red with anger. “You let a homeless person into our home.”

  “You’re missing my point, Brad. That poor dead woman’s friends know her baby will have a better life with us.”

  Brad listened, his resolute expression unwavering, as Scottie described in detail all the benefits they had to offer the baby.

  “Need I remind you, Scottie, that we’re broke.”

  “That’s your fault, Brad, and it’s only a minor setback. If we tighten our belt, stick to our budget for a change, we’ll be fine. And my parents will help.”

  He pursed his lips and raised his voice, mocking her as he repeated, “My parents will help.” He drained the rest of his beer and slammed the empty bottle on the coffee table.

  Mary watched him out of the corner of her eye, but continued to suck on her bottle.

  “You never seemed bothered by my parents’ help before.”

  “A man has his pride, Scottie.” He got up and went to the refrigerator for another beer.

  “Brad this baby needs us. With no birth certificate, as far as the world is concerned, she doesn’t exist. Some divine power from above dropped her in our laps. She’s our Christmas miracle.”

  He opened his lips and poured the amber liquid down his throat. “I gotta say, Scottie, that’s the most fucked-up, hocus-pocus nonsense I’ve ever heard.”

  “Exactly, which means it has to be true. Mary is a gift from God.”

  “Wait a minute. How do you know her name?”

  “Her mother never gave her a name. I needed to call her something, so I came up with Merry Mary.” Her eyes traveled from the nativity scene on the mantle to the Merry Christmas needlepoint pillow in the chair opposite her. “I admit it sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud. We can change it to whatever we want.”

  He set his bottle down and went to sit beside his wife. “Listen, babe. It’s totally understandable considering all you’ve been through this year, but you’ve lost touch with reality. We need to get you some help. You’re having some kind of delayed hormonal breakdown or something.”

  Scottie pulled the bottle away from the baby and jumped to her feet. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” She lifted the baby to the burp cloth on her shoulder and began smacking her back. “Why do men blame everything on hormones?”

  “Calm down, honey. You’re going to hurt the baby.”

  Scottie lightened her touch.

  “Okay, listen.” He tugged on her arm. “Sit back down, so we can talk about this.”

  Scottie dropped back down onto the sofa beside him.

  He shifted his position to face her. “Do you realize you could go to prison for kidnapping?”

  Scottie ignored his gaze, unable to bear the pity in his eyes. “I already told you, Brad. The police don’t know about the baby.”

  “How can you be so sure these homeless people won’t talk?”

  “Because they believe this is what the mother would’ve wanted. They know we can give her a better home than anything she’d get in foster care.”

  “Why do you assume she’ll go into foster care? She’s an infant. Wouldn’t she be placed in an orphanage where some nice young couple will adopt her?”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance.”

  “You’re impossible when you get like this.” He stood up and began pacing back and forth in front of her, his hand chopping the air while he talked. “Okay, let’s assume I’m willing to go along with you on this, which I’m not, but hypothetically speaking. How do you expect her to go through life without a birth certificate?”

  Mary let out a giant burp, and Scottie stuck the bottle back in her mouth. “We’ll buy one.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?”

  “I’m an investigative journalist, remember? I can find someone to sell us the documents.”

  He stopped for a minute, looked over at her, then started pacing again. “Great, so our daughter goes through life with a fake birth certificate. Next question—how are you planning to explain her sudden appearance to our friends and families?”

  “I’ve thought it all through. We’ll leave town, maybe drive up to New York. When we come back after the holidays, we’ll tell everyone we arranged for a private adoption.”

  He nodded. “And how do you plan to finance this trip?”

  Several snide remarks regarding their past-due power bill came to mind, but she held her tongue. No point in fueling his anger. “If we wait until after Christmas to leave, we can use the money my parents give me.”

  “And how will we explain our absence at your parents’ Christmas Eve dinner?”

  Scottie knew he was playing along with her, hoping she’d eventually fall into her own trap. “You can stay home with the baby. We’ll say you’re sick.” She was grasping at straws. Even her voice sounded desperate.

  “At least one part of your plan makes sense. Your parents will be thrilled not to have to look at me across their dinner table.”

  “Brad… That’s not true,” she said, her voice soft.

  “It is true, and we both know it.” He stood in front of her, looking down on her. “You have a solution to all the problems except the biggest one.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The part about me not wanting to adopt a baby. You’ve dug your own grave this time, Scottie. I’ll be damned if you’re going to bury me with you.”

  Scottie’s face tightened. “Don’t make me choose. You might not like the outcome.”

  He stared at her, his mo
uth agape. “So you’re going to choose a baby you know nothing about over me. Have you even given any thought to her health? For all we know, her mother was a meth addict. No telling what kind of brain damage or long-term health care she might need.”

  Scottie tuned her husband out. She’d already considered all the what-ifs. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe. Get out while you still can.”

  She stood to face him. “And what do you suggest I do with her?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know? Take her back where you found her. Or leave her in the emergency room at one of the hospitals.”

  “And risk being caught by a video camera?”

  “You should have thought about that before you kidnapped her.”

  When he reached for his coat and started toward the door, Scottie knew it was time for her to drop the bomb. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about raising another man’s child. How do you feel about having your own baby born in prison?”

  9

  Brad crawled into bed at daybreak on Monday. He curled up next to Scottie and wrapped his arm around her. Lifting her hair away from her ear, he whispered, “Are you awake?”

  “I am now.”

  “I’ve been driving around all night thinking about the baby. Although I’m not totally sold on your plan, I believe we can offer her a good life.” He let out a deep breath that tickled her neck. “I agree with you. The way she found her way into our lives seems like more than a coincidence. Maybe someone from above did place her in our lives for a reason.”

  Brad’s parents were not churchgoing people. She’d often heard him say, “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been inside a church. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in God. I just choose to worship him in my own way.” Aside from their wedding ceremony, the one time she’d convinced him to go to church with her—several Easters ago—he’d claimed the high Episcopal service was smoke and mirrors.

  Brad rolled Scottie onto her back. “Are you really pregnant again?” he asked, rubbing her flat stomach.

  “Yep. And I’m scared to death.”