Who's That Baby?. Diana WhitneyЧитать онлайн книгу.
heard her. “Perhaps the star-collage mobile would be more appropriate for an infant of her age.”
To give herself a moment for thought, Claire busied herself clearing some of the packing materials from the floor. There was something going on here, something Johnny wasn’t telling her. On the one hand, he insisted that he was merely caring for the child temporarily, until her mother returned. If that were the case, why had he spent hundreds of dollars on infant equipment for a weekend of baby-sitting?
There was only one way to find out, Claire decided. The direct approach. She glanced up, saw him tightening the mobile clamp on the crib frame. “When is Samantha returning, Johnny?”
His fingers paused in their task, but only for a moment. “Soon.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you know more than you did last night, don’t you?” When he didn’t reply, she dumped an armful of trash by the front door, then circled the diminutive, net-sided portable crib to confront him. “You made some phone calls this morning, didn’t you? You know something.”
He studied a small purple-and-pink butterfly, rubbing a gleaming plastic wing between his thumb and forefinger. “I know that when Samantha does return, she’ll need help to care for Lucy properly.”
“And you plan to give her that help?”
“Of course.”
“By retaining custody of Lucy?”
Startled, he glanced at Claire, then averted his gaze. “I’m not qualified to care for a child.” His gaze settled on the bowl of murky water that Claire presumed had once been occupied by an unfortunate and now defunct creature of the finned persuasion. “I will, however, see that Samantha has assistance from those who are qualified.”
“You’re making this all sound very mysterious.”
The pain in his eyes shocked her. He raked his fingers through his hair, took a step backward and sat heavily in his lounge chair. “I spoke with Hank Miller this morning.”
“The sheriff?”
He nodded. “Hank placed a few discreet phone calls to friends in the Albuquerque police department. It seems that Samantha’s boyfriend, one Rodney F. Frye, is well-known to them. He was arrested for burglary last week. Sam bailed him out. He didn’t show up for the arraignment.”
Claire’s heart sank. “He skipped bail?”
“Apparently.” Johnny rubbed his forehead. “Hank used credit-card slips to track them as far as Montana. It appears they’re heading to Canada.”
Claire sat slowly on the sofa beside the dozing infant. “If that’s true, it doesn’t seem Samantha is planning on returning any time soon.”
Johnny shrugged. “Samantha is not a bad person, but she is an emotionally frail one. She left Lucy with me out of love for her, not because she believed the child would be an inconvenience.”
“That’s an assumption on your part.” Claire flinched at the roughness of her own tone, but couldn’t suppress her anger at this woman. “So when she shows up, you’re simply going to hand Lucy back to her?”
The allegation clearly annoyed him. “Of course not. I will, however, see that Lucy has the best professional care available, and that Samantha receives the help and counseling she needs until she’s able to be a proper mother to our child.” Johnny studied Claire intently, extended a pleading hand. “You don’t understand what Samantha has been through. She’s had a difficult life—”
“So that makes it all right for her to choose a felonious lover over the well-being of her own child?” Unable to contain herself, Claire stood quickly, spun away from the man who was regarding her with unnerving acuity. “A child is not a puppy to be bounced from owner to owner every time it’s too much trouble! No matter how loving a caretaker you purchase for Lucy, no matter how luxurious her surroundings or how many expensive stuffed animals you buy her, that little girl will never forget that her own mother abandoned her. She’ll live with that for the rest of her life, Johnny, the rest of her natural life. How can you defend that? How can you defend a woman who would do that to her own child?”
Johnny regarded her, his dark, intense eyes boring straight into the very core of her. “You seem to be taking this rather personally.”
Claire wiped the moisture from her eye, angry with herself for having revealed too much. “I take child neglect personally. Everyone should.”
He said nothing for a moment, simply leaned back in the chair and studied her in silence. Claire felt her skin heat. She absently smoothed her chambray shirt, rearranged the covers around the sleeping infant on the cushion beside her.
“Tell me about yourself, Claire.” It was a command, issued softly but in the tone of a man used to having his requests honored without question.
Sharing personal information didn’t come easily to Claire. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up like you did, with middle-class parents who worked hard and loved me the best they could. I went to college, became a doctor, settled in Buttonwood and am happy with my life.”
“Are you really?”
“Am I really what?”
“Happy with your life.”
“Yes.”
“And your parents, do you miss them?”
“We talk on the phone every week, but yes, I miss them.” She angled a glance. “Are you close to your parents?”
“No.”
When he said nothing further, she prodded him gently. “Do they live nearby?”
“My father is dead. My mother lives in California with her new husband.”
“Oh.” She fidgeted with the corner of the baby blanket. “How old were you when your mother remarried?”
Clearly, the conversation had shifted into forbidden territory. Johnny responded, but with a gruffness that brooked no further discussion. “I was twelve. She walked out on my father and me, so when it comes to mothers abandoning their children, I have some small experience with that.”
Claire nodded, was shocked by the unexpected sound of her own small voice whispering from a place she hadn’t explored in a very long time. “I do, too.” She paused a beat, gathered her courage to share something that few people knew about her, something she rarely discussed because it was too personal, too painful. “I never knew my birth parents. My mother gave me to an orphanage when I was Lucy’s age. No one knows who my father was. I was lucky enough to have been adopted by dear, loving people who gave me everything I ever needed in life. Everything except—” her voice broke “—except the knowledge of who I really am and where I come from.”
“That’s important to you?”
“Yes.” She sniffed, dabbed the wetness on her cheek with the back of her hand. “It will be important to Lucy, too.”
“Samantha has not abandoned Lucy.”
“Hasn’t she?”
His jaw clenched, his fingers tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “No, she hasn’t. She wouldn’t.”
Tears welled in Claire’s eyes, blurring her vision, stinging her lids. She gazed over her shoulder, unable to quell the trembling in her limbs. “You must have loved her very much,” she whispered, and was stunned by the pain that thought evoked. “You must love her still.”
Johnny went ashen. He swallowed hard, glanced from the sleeping infant on the sofa to Claire, then back again. “I never loved Samantha,” he said quietly. “Nor did she love me.”
Whatever Claire had expected to hear, that wasn’t it.
Johnny inhaled