My sister rolled her eyes. “Stop it. There’s a world of difference betweenbabysittingand wanting to be a mother. Stop screwing around and ask her, Derek.”
I knew she was right. The question about children was one that I knew I needed to ask Clara, but it still felt too soon. That our relationship, as messed up as it might be, was still too fragile to handle the stresses of such a deep, loaded question.
As we drove toward Sacramento, I realized that I was afraid of asking the question because I liked Clara a lot. Since we slept together, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I ached to be away from her right now, and if I imagined really hard, I could still taste her strawberry-flavored chapstick from the last time we kissed.
I’m happy,I realized.And that scares me. I don’t want to know if she wants children some day because I’m terrified of what the answer may be.
That realization had come yesterday on the way to Sacramento, and by the time I got home to Riverville, it had burrowed under my skin like a thorn from a particularly nasty plant. An itch that couldn’t be scratched.
I drowned it with margaritas made from cheap tequila and told myself that I would worry about it in the future. Once Baby Anthony was taken care of.
We returned to the station on Monday evening. Once again, we left Clara and the baby behind with instructions to wait for our text message to meet us. I wasn’t sure if we needed to continue doing it that way since Billy knew about things, but I still didn’t want him around her and the baby. Only trouble could come from that.
Unfortunately, trouble was waiting for us at the station regardless.
“Where’s the pizza girl and her smelly little baby?” Billy asked when we walked into the firehouse.
Taylor and Jordan tensed, but I had spent all day mentally preparing for Billy’s attitude. “Brought her home for the weekend. Figured you wouldn’t want a smelly baby lingering around the station.”
Billy’s face contorted in a sneer. “She coming back?”
“Might be,” I said. “Up to her. We’ll help however we need to.”
Billy stared at me a long time, then wandered back into his bunk.
I shot the shit with the rest of second-shift. They were a good group of guys, and several of them asked about Clara—not in the grating way that Billy had, but with genuine concern. When nine o’clock rolled around, everyone gathered their things and left.
Billy was the last to go, and lingered in the kitchen. His wormy lips moved together like he was mumbling to himself, or like he was trying to work up the courage to say something.
“Need something?” I asked.
He glanced at me with his beady eyes. I could see him stand up a little straighter, as if height could add strength to what he was about to say.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said with a smile that held no warmth. “That baby doesn’t look anything like her.”
I stared at him. “It’s a baby.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, but still. He had dark hair, and hers is blonde. Unless she’s dyed it, but I don’t think she did.”
“Whoever the father is probably had dark hair,” I replied evenly.
“And who might that be?” he wondered out loud.
I didn’t like his line of questioning. He was implying that one ofuswas the father, and although that was incorrect, I was beginning to worry aboutwhyhe was pursuing this.
“If you have a point, why don’t you skip all this subterfuge and get right to it,” I said bluntly.
He puffed himself up again. “I don’t think it’s her baby.”
I forced myself to sound bored. “And what makes you think that?”
“Just a hunch.”
I was about to tell him off, to insist that I didn’t have time for this and that if he wanted to indulge in conspiracy theories, he was welcome to do that at home.
But then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“Oh, I also have this,” he said while unfolding it. My stomach sank as he pulled the ends taut to show me.