Not-So-Secret Baby

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Once the coast was clear, Jeannie hurried over to where Kelly was picking up the Lincoln Logs. “Tanya called me this morning,” she said, keeping her voice low so none of the other mommies could hear. “Her Nate got a call yesterday to fix an air conditioner at Mary Pierson’s place. He said she’s just as neat as a pin. Nothing out of place, not even in the baby’s room. He said she’s got one of those leather couches they were selling at The Junction last summer. You know, the leather seconds? And she’s got a ton of books lining the walls in the living room.”

Kelly dumped an armload of pieces into the big cardboard box. “Did he see her bedroom?”

Jeannie nodded. “Double bed. Dresser. An armoire he swears used to belong to Ann Keating before her husband died.”

“I remember that. She had that garage sale. I picked up her old stand mixer. It still works. I made up a batch of butter cookies for the church bazaar just last month.”

“Oh, yeah. They were scrumptious. But here’s the thing,” Jeannie continued. “Nate said she didn’t have any pictures except two of baby Patrick. Nothing on the mantel, nothing in the bedroom. It’s like the woman has no past. Like she came here from outer space or something.”

“My Alan, he says she never talks about herself at work. He says she reads on break or she writes in that journal of hers. Lisa asked her straight-out where Patrick’s daddy was and she wouldn’t say. She said she didn’t like to talk about it. If you want my opinion, I’m thinking he was bad news, you know? Hit her, probably. Like Bonnie’s husband?”

“That, or she doesn’t know who the daddy is.” Jeannie bent to pick up a Barbie doll. “She has that sadness about her. So pretty, and yet, I don’t know…”

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Like she’s running from something.”

“Heck, why else would a single woman move to Milford? She has no family here.”

“I remember the day she got here. She was driving that beat-up old Chevy.”

“Still is.”

“Right.”

“How long has it been?”

“Got to be two years.”

Jeannie nodded. “Two years, and we still don’t know beans about her.”

“Not that she isn’t nice.”

Jeannie shook her head, a strand of auburn hair loosening from under her headband. “Nice as can be for someone with so many secrets. Lily, you put that down right now.”

Kelly glanced over at Lily, Jeannie’s three-year-old who’d gotten hold of the watercolor paint set. Kelly’s son, Jack, had been born two weeks to the day of Lily’s birth, sealing their already solid friendship. “I surely would like to know what happened to that girl.”

“Me, too.” Jeannie shook her head. “Maybe I’ll do a little research at the library, now that they’ve got the Internet.”

“Oh, good idea. Why don’t we go tomorrow?”

“Can’t. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“How about Friday?”

“Friday. Okay. We’ll take the kids.”

MARY PIERSON walked down Hill Street toward the market, her young son holding her hand, scurrying on his short legs to keep up. Mary let him step on the mat in front of the grocery store so that the automatic doors would open. He liked that.

Inside, Gary, the butcher, waved. “Getting ready to close shop here. You gonna need anything? I could cut it fresh for you.”

“No, thanks,” Mary told him. “Just grabbing a few things.”

“Okay. Next time.”

“Next time.” She put Patrick in the cart seat and headed down the aisle. Canned corn, tomato soup, bread, milk, butter. She picked through the skimpy produce selection, finally choosing a reasonably fresh head of lettuce and some broccoli. She chose a prewrapped pound of hamburger and, on her way to the register, added a package of spaghetti. Patrick loved spaghetti.

“How are you this evening, Mary?”

“Fine, Marge. You?” Mary lifted her boy from the cart while Marge toted up the groceries and placed them on the belt.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Mary could see the older woman wanted to talk, but it was late and all she wanted was to get home. “Could you toss in a book of stamps, please?”

“Sure, Mary. Sure.”

“Thanks.” Mary smiled, then turned her attention to Patrick pulling on her arm. “Hang tight, soldier. We’ll be done here soon.”

Patrick tugged harder. “I’m hungry.”

“I know, baby. Soon.”

“That’s twelve twenty-five,” Marge said.

Mary paid in cash, as always.

“Wait a second.”

Grabbing her bags, Mary looked back at the checker.

Marge leaned over the counter, holding a red lollipop down to Patrick. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Mary?”

“Of course. What do you say, Patrick?”

“Thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome, honey.”

“Thanks, again,” Mary said, ushering Patrick toward the door. Mary felt her shoulders relax the moment they were outside.