Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep

Jack put the paper back in the envelope with the picture. “What proof do you have that the baby is this woman’s?”

Her glasses had slid down her nose, allowing her to gaze over the top of the rims without dipping her chin. “I was there when Grace was born.”

“So, you are friends with her?”

“I was. As I said, Vera died three weeks ago.” She glanced at the baby for a second, then back at him with a tenderness in her eyes. “That was her name Vera. Vera McCarney.”

He gave a slight nod of respect. It wasn’t his job to judge this woman, or the woman Joe had obviously married, but in the end, he was the jury, the only member, who would have to decide what to do about the situation at hand. In order to do that, he needed all the information he could get. “Had the two of you been longtime friends?”

Once again, she glanced at the baby before answering. “No. I met her a short time before Gracie was born.”

There was tenderness in her eyes and sadness. Refusing to let what he saw affect him, he walked over to his desk and set the envelope down. “Where?”

“In Chicago.”

“But you never met Joe?”

She shook her head.

He pointed to the envelope on his desk. “This may say that my brother married a woman named Vera Baker last year in Chicago, but it in no way provides any proof that that baby is either Vera’s or Joe’s.”

“I was there when she was born.”

“You’ve said that, but I still have doubts that she is my niece. The burden has been put upon you to provide me with the information that might lessen that doubt. Do you have any other information that can do that?”

Her shoulders rolled back as the deep breath she took filled her lungs. She held the air in. He waited, half expecting her to pop like the rubber balloons they used for props.

She didn’t pop. As the air slowly seeped out of her, her shoulders dropped. “Vera wrote to Joe, and this is where she sent the letters.”

That, he could prove wrong. He crossed the room, to the closet where he kept the gunnysack. Upon opening the door, he picked up the sack and then carried it to the couch. “This bag,” he said while setting it on the floor by her feet, “is full of letters to Joe at this address.”

Her eyes grew as wide as her glasses. “Oh, my.”

She could be shocked by the mail, or by the fact he too had proof. Proof she was lying. He opened the sack and pulled out a handful of letters. “You’re welcome to sift through them, find one from Vera.” He dropped the envelopes back in the bag. “If you truly believe there is one in here.”

“I do,” she said firmly. “I know there is more than one. I mailed several for Vera.”

A shiver tickled his spine at the possibility that she was telling the truth. The entire truth. Then what was she hiding? It had to do with Chicago. A veil had clouded her eyes, and she’d grown stoic both times she mentioned the town’s name. He contemplated that for a moment before asking. “Why didn’t Vera mail them herself?”

“She was too weak. Carrying Grace and then giving birth wore her down to skin and bones. She never recovered.” She was digging in the bag, pulling letter after letter out, and setting them aside after a quick glance. “She just kept getting weaker and weaker.”

He didn’t know this woman. For all he knew, she could have kidnapped that baby from someone. His stomach clenched, letting him know that no part of him believed that she was a kidnapper. Not even in the hidden corners of his subconscious. She was hiding something though. Those glasses were proof of that. They were a disguise, he just didn’t know for what. Flustered, he grabbed a handful of envelopes and sifted through them, looking at the return addresses. “Vera, you say?”

She nodded. “Vera McCarney.”

Before long, they were both sitting on the floor, with the bag between them, sifting through the stack of mail.

“Found another one,” she said, tossing an envelope toward at least a dozen other letters with the return address hosting Vera’s name.

His skepticism had disappeared after the first letter. Now he had more questions. What was he going to do about it? If he could locate Joe—and that was a big if—he knew his brother. Responsibility was foreign to Joe. Stardom could be to blame, or maybe life in general, the way they’d been raised, traveling from town to town.

Jack withheld the heavy sigh building inside him. He’d like to think differently, but highly doubted even a baby would make Joe change his ways. A child would never fit in Joe’s lifestyle.

A hard knot formed in Jack’s stomach. A baby wouldn’t fit in his life, either. Not even a niece. Not right now. He’d invested every spare cent in this movie. It had potential. The potential to put Star’s Studio in the running to be one of the top players. Doing so would take all of his efforts. All of his time.

He looked at the envelope in his hand for some time before setting it aside. It had been the last one. The bag was empty, and two piles sat before them, a large one, and a smaller one. Letters from Vera.

Helen sifted through those and picked one up. “I wrote this one,” she said. “Vera was too weak. It was the day before she died. I wrote exactly what she wanted me to. That I would bring Grace here, to this address. To Joe.”

He took the envelope but didn’t open it. Couldn’t. It wasn’t addressed to him. So that’s how it would remain. Unopened. The less he knew, the better off he was. Even in this situation.

As far as the mail went.

“How did you meet Vera?” He set the letter aside. “I’m assuming it was after she married Joe?”

“Yes.” Her gaze went to the baby.

“Where did you meet her?”

“In the alley behind the grocery store where I worked.”

At some point, she’d removed her glasses and he clearly saw the tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and twisted to discreetly wipe at them with one finger.

A part of him didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think his brother would have left a woman destitute, but it certainly appeared that way. “What was she doing in the alley?”

“Looking for food.” She looked him straight in the eye, was utterly serious. “She was penniless. Had been kicked out of the place she’d been staying. She was so ill. Coughing.” She shook her head but didn’t attempt to hide the tears forming again. “I took her to my apartment. She was so weak she could barely walk up the steps. She got better. A little, in the weeks that followed, but then...”

Compassion filled him and he reached over, took ahold of her hand and squeezed it gently. “You did what you could.” He looked at the baby. Grace. His niece. “Most likely saved Grace’s life.”

She nodded and then removed her hand from beneath his and started filling the bag with the letters not from Vera. “Grace is a good baby. Has been from the moment she was born.”

Heaviness filled his lungs, his heart, at the idea of a woman searching for food.

If anyone knew what it was like to do that, search for food, to be hungry, it was them. Him and Joe. Nothing during the past ten years had chased away the feelings he’d known as a child. Of being hungry. So hungry the pain had been strong enough to make him cry. As he got older, those same pains made him angry. So angry he swore he’d never become an actor. Never traverse the countryside in a dilapidated wagon singing and doing comedy acts for pennies that never totaled enough to feed them for more than a week at best.

Yet, here he was. In the same business he’d always been in. Times had changed though. And he wasn’t acting. Never would act again. Joe had been the actor and had loved it. He’d found work as soon as they’d arrived in Los Angeles.

“Can you contact your brother. Tell him Grace is here?”

Jack didn’t look her way. Couldn’t right now. She wouldn’t like his answer. He didn’t like it, either.

He let out the air that had grown stagnant inside his lungs. “You’ve taken care of Grace since she was born?” He already knew the answer, but was trying to figure out his next steps. Steps that were completely foreign to him.

“Yes.”

“And paid to bring her here?”

“Yes.”