your hair, and what you have to go through after the baby is born, it’s so ghastly, Rowen, and I just needed time to myself.” Dusty sat gracefully on a high stool at a glossy counter and admired her hand around the Coke can. “It was so wonderful that Kit was here. It was meant. Don’t you think that things are meant? That forces beyond our understanding are there with us? Helping and guiding?”
The only force behind Dusty Innes was a low IQ.
Rowen was very glad that somebody was adopting Sam the Baby. He could not begin to imagine the life an infant would have with a mother as casual as this. A mother who walked away from her newborn and figured it was “meant.” He hoped Cinda was a wonderful woman, and that when Kit and Muffin came back, they’d report a happy home, and Dusty would just say, “Oh, how nice. That does give me time for myself.”
Row said, “No, actually, Kit took the baby to the new parents. Cinda and Burt.”
Dusty stared at him. Her smile dragged down and vanished, and she looked older. “No,” she whispered. “No! I told Kit to take care of him!”
“You didn’t tell Kit a single thing. You just drove away.”
“It isn’t my fault!” she said sharply, and suddenly Rowen could have bashed her in the face with the six-pack, and he had to step away from her, and fold his arms, and even walk back to the front hall. The glittering chandelier hanging from the second floor tossed his shadow over the black and white diamond tiles. He felt that Dusty Innes had no more substance than that shadow. But Sam — Sam the Baby — was all substance. Flesh and blood and vocal cords and staring eyes and waving toes.
“Don’t be mad,” she said.
As if Rowen had some power in this situation. As if Rowen mattered. “What’s going on, anyway?” he demanded. “Whose baby is this?”
Dusty Innes began to cry.
“It isn’t the baby that’s the problem,” she said. “It’s the money. It just didn’t work, that’s all, and they promised money, and I only got half, and I wouldn’t stand for it. I said, I’m getting all or nothing. So I ended up hiding out in that stupid motel waiting for them to get their money, but they don’t have it! They can’t have the baby. I won’t be cheated out of my other half.”
Rowen Mason understood very little of what Dusty was saying to him.
But one thing was clear.
She didn’t care about Sam. She cared about dollars.
Kit accelerated onto the gravel drive. Even with her brights on, she felt trapped; she could see several car lengths ahead, but she had little sense of the road. She could half remember the layout she’d come in on, but it was completely different going this direction; she could not get her bearings. Gravel spurted like BB shots. “What did you do that for?” she screamed at Muffin. “What did you tell them about your camera for?”
“They thought they were so great,” said Muffin, “and I wanted them to know they aren’t!” Muffin had loved leaning out the window. Loved her moment of bragging. It had been like yelling, So there! at a bully on the playground. But the trouble with bullies was, they were bigger. And in this case, the bullies had three cars. “I’m sorry,” whispered Muffin.
Behind them, way back, poked the double lights of a following car.
Who was coming after them? Or were they all coming, and she could glimpse only the first? She had no money. She could not supply Ed with his payment.
Sam the Baby had begun to cry. It was big lusty crying, as if he’d gained ten pounds, all in the lungs. The crying scraped Kit’s brain, and Muffin kept saying, “What’s wrong, Sam? What’s wrong? Kit, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“As soon as we get on pavement, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t like being bounced like this.” They’re not coming after Muffin and me, thought Kit. They’re not coming after Sam, either. They’re coming for the camera. Suddenly she knew that.
“Where’s the camera,
The only force behind Dusty Innes was a low IQ.
Rowen was very glad that somebody was adopting Sam the Baby. He could not begin to imagine the life an infant would have with a mother as casual as this. A mother who walked away from her newborn and figured it was “meant.” He hoped Cinda was a wonderful woman, and that when Kit and Muffin came back, they’d report a happy home, and Dusty would just say, “Oh, how nice. That does give me time for myself.”
Row said, “No, actually, Kit took the baby to the new parents. Cinda and Burt.”
Dusty stared at him. Her smile dragged down and vanished, and she looked older. “No,” she whispered. “No! I told Kit to take care of him!”
“You didn’t tell Kit a single thing. You just drove away.”
“It isn’t my fault!” she said sharply, and suddenly Rowen could have bashed her in the face with the six-pack, and he had to step away from her, and fold his arms, and even walk back to the front hall. The glittering chandelier hanging from the second floor tossed his shadow over the black and white diamond tiles. He felt that Dusty Innes had no more substance than that shadow. But Sam — Sam the Baby — was all substance. Flesh and blood and vocal cords and staring eyes and waving toes.
“Don’t be mad,” she said.
As if Rowen had some power in this situation. As if Rowen mattered. “What’s going on, anyway?” he demanded. “Whose baby is this?”
Dusty Innes began to cry.
“It isn’t the baby that’s the problem,” she said. “It’s the money. It just didn’t work, that’s all, and they promised money, and I only got half, and I wouldn’t stand for it. I said, I’m getting all or nothing. So I ended up hiding out in that stupid motel waiting for them to get their money, but they don’t have it! They can’t have the baby. I won’t be cheated out of my other half.”
Rowen Mason understood very little of what Dusty was saying to him.
But one thing was clear.
She didn’t care about Sam. She cared about dollars.
Kit accelerated onto the gravel drive. Even with her brights on, she felt trapped; she could see several car lengths ahead, but she had little sense of the road. She could half remember the layout she’d come in on, but it was completely different going this direction; she could not get her bearings. Gravel spurted like BB shots. “What did you do that for?” she screamed at Muffin. “What did you tell them about your camera for?”
“They thought they were so great,” said Muffin, “and I wanted them to know they aren’t!” Muffin had loved leaning out the window. Loved her moment of bragging. It had been like yelling, So there! at a bully on the playground. But the trouble with bullies was, they were bigger. And in this case, the bullies had three cars. “I’m sorry,” whispered Muffin.
Behind them, way back, poked the double lights of a following car.
Who was coming after them? Or were they all coming, and she could glimpse only the first? She had no money. She could not supply Ed with his payment.
Sam the Baby had begun to cry. It was big lusty crying, as if he’d gained ten pounds, all in the lungs. The crying scraped Kit’s brain, and Muffin kept saying, “What’s wrong, Sam? What’s wrong? Kit, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“As soon as we get on pavement, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t like being bounced like this.” They’re not coming after Muffin and me, thought Kit. They’re not coming after Sam, either. They’re coming for the camera. Suddenly she knew that.
“Where’s the camera,
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