The Marine's Babies

“Yeah. I put together a list of them and taped it to the fridge.” On his own, such a thing never would’ve occurred to him, but Pam had insisted.

“Thanks. What time should I expect you home?”

That depended. After his duty, he usually grabbed a couple of beers and shot pool with the guys. “Do I have to come straight home? With the babies and all, it’s been a while since I’ve hung with my friends.”

“Take your time,” she said, shoulders sagging as if strangely relieved he’d be late. “Have fun. I’ve got everything under control.”

Though Jace didn’t doubt that, he did wonder how exactly the MBA had earned her caretaking experience.

“IS YOUR NANNY hot?” Jace’s chief maintenance officer, “Red” Murphy asked from his stool at Jar’s Bar—their favorite hangout.

Jace—known to the guys as Leadfoot—rolled his eyes. “For the record—yeah. She’s hot. But since when do I have time for women?”

Granola butted in with, “Looks like you had plenty of time the night your kids were conceived.”

Jace gave his friend a slug. “Knock it off. For what I’ve been through, you all owe me a round.”

Red snorted. “A round of baby formula.”

“Jace, you should be home,” Pam said, swigging her beer. “You have responsibilities now.” Usually, women weren’t allowed at guys’ night, but she’d crashed. Out of respect for Granola, the guys had voted to let her stay. Although now Jace was thinking he might need to rescind his vote. “It’s not right for you to let that poor sitter work overtime just so you can be out playing. You’re being an ass.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “I probably do resemble that statement, but I’m still kinda in shock. Tell me, Ms. Smarty Pants, what would you do if some guy suddenly dumped two kids on your lap, announcing they were yours?”

“Probably call Ripley’s Believe It or Not, seeing how last I checked, guys couldn’t give birth.”

“Burn,” Red said with a jab to Jace’s ribs. “She got you there.”

“Y’all know what I mean. Vicki has some nerve. I mean, if she’d told me about her pregnancy from day one, I’d have had a running start at this parenting thing. I hate her for that.”

“Think she doesn’t feel a tad bitter toward you?” Pam flashed him a sarcastic smile. “You’ve got a lot of nerve having slept with her, then never so much as calling her again.”

“I refuse to feel guilty.” Jace downed the rest of his beer. “It wasn’t like we weren’t both consenting adults. Besides, she had my number. She should’ve called. I would’ve liked to have known.”

“Would you?” Eyebrows raised, Pam said, “Come on, really, Jace, I’m sorry if I’m coming down on you, but I can’t imagine trying to raise one kid, let alone two on my own. Vicki must’ve gone through hell. True, her leaving her twins wasn’t cool, but then neither is this holier-than-thou attitude of yours. Like you’ve done no wrong, and share no part of the end result of that wild night.” She drank more beer, and then snatched a tortilla chip from the basket in the table’s center, biting down hard. “At first, I felt sorry for you, but once I saw how cool you’ve been about the whole thing—mechanical, even—like your twins are machines to be figured out, well, I’m incensed.”

“Yo, Granola!” Jace shouted across the table. “Mind calling off your pit bull?”

Raising his hands in surrender, Granola returned with, “Cut me some slack. I’ve got to go home with her.”

“Glad it’s your problem,” Jace mumbled.

“Watch it,” Granola fired back.

WITH THE TWINS cooing along to a Baby Einstein video, Emma had cooked dinner. Cooking had always been a favorite hobby, but working so many hours, her time in the kitchen had been limited to weekends.

Tonight, thinking the twins were no doubt ready for solid foods, she’d made mashed potatoes and gravy to go along with oven-roasted chicken and fresh green beans. It was a good thing that she’d assumed Jace wouldn’t have thought to purchase high chairs. And bibs. And a double stroller for trips to the grocery store.

Maybe she’d gone a little overboard, but she viewed this opportunity—however long it lasted—as a vacation from her lonely life. Just like purchasing souvenirs, she’d had to grab a few items to enhance her stay.

“Whoa. What’s that incredible smell?”

Emma jumped to see Jace, a baby cradled in each arm, filling the kitchen’s entry.

“Hi,” she said shyly, dwarfed by his size in the compact space. He wore desert-camo pants, black combat boots and a beige T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest. Though he’d been clean-shaven that morning, already his jaw sported stubble. When he’d left, they’d been on tense terms; she hadn’t meant to be so snappy. Upon examining her feelings, it’d occurred to her just how afraid she was that he’d fire her.

“Hi, yourself. Dang, woman, you’ve been busy.”

She shrugged. “I thought you might be hungry when you got home. Also, while we can’t be sure what foods the babies have been introduced to, I’m thinking that if you start them on solids, they’ll sleep more soundly through the night.”

“Sure,” he said. Babies still in the crook of each arm, he managed to open a drawer next to the stove, remove a spoon, then help himself to a heaping sample of her potatoes. Eyes closed, he groaned. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a home-cooked meal. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Why, she couldn’t say, but his appreciation warmed her to her toes. Rick hadn’t been the overly demonstrative type. A defense attorney, he was usually as formal with her at home as he was in the courtroom.

“Well…” glancing about the kitchen, seeing that her work was done, she said, “you’re probably ready for me to go, huh?”

“You’re not staying for dinner?”

“I suppose I could. But I don’t want to intrude.”

He waved off her objection. “Mind taking one of these?” Nudging alongside her with a baby, he said, “I need to wash up. Hey—when did you get those?” He nodded to the high chairs.

“This afternoon. Hope you don’t mind.” She explained about also having the double stroller.

“Of course I don’t mind. I just haven’t yet had time to fully gear up. Thanks. I’ll pay you back. For dinner, too.”

Now, she was waving him off. “It’s not a problem. I found most everything on sale.”

“Uh-huh.”

She tucked Beatrice into a high chair, and then turned to Jace, holding out her arms for Bronwyn.

Bea started to kick and fuss. From the cabinet beside the fridge, Emma rummaged for a box of teething biscuits, giving one to each girl.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Jace said. “Unlike me.” Head bowed, he sat hard on a kitchen table chair. “Here, I’m a Marine. I pride myself in handling any situation, but after rumbling with a good friend of mine tonight, then listening to you, I’m feeling lost.”

“About what?”

“This whole fatherhood thing. I’ve got the general logistics down. My diapering is now done with precision. But I’m not sure what comes after that. You know, like the being-a-great-dad part.”

“Give yourself a break.” Emma was careful to keep her tone soft. Encouraging. The last thing she needed was for Jace to think he wasn’t up for parenthood. “You’ve only been a dad for what? A week? It takes time. Trust me, you’ll figure it out.”

“I’M PAYING you a freakin’ fortune,” Jace said into his cell the next afternoon. He was in between training runs, pacing a weary grass patch between flight hangers. The sun was brutal. Ninety-percent humidity sucking the life out of him. One brave—or stupid—strand of honeysuckle twined up the building’s corrugated metal siding. The sickeningly sweet smell made him want to retch. As did the memory of Pam’s condemning words. And Emma’s supportive kindness. “What do you mean there’s still no sign of Vicki? She can’t have just vanished.”

“Sorry,” the PI said, “my wife’s eight months pregnant and home alone while I’m out on this wild goose chase. Nobody wants to find this Vicki more than me. Trouble is, the car tag you gave me from the guard gate surveillance tape turned out to be a rental. The contract was under the assumed name of Mary Smith. She showed the proper ID, meaning she had to have been planning this a while.”

“So?” Furious didn’t begin to describe the emotions raging through Jace.

“The fact that she had enough foresight to want to stay out of touch tells me this is going to be tougher than I’d originally thought.”