If I Loved You

“How about because I don’t like cops.” Not true, except that they served as a reminder. She had her finger on the off button.

“Strange, because nothing showed up in your file. No arrest for resisting, or threatening an officer of the law—”

Her pulse lurched. “You looked at my file?”

“No,” he said. “I was flushing you out. So there is a file?”

“That’s none of your business! And if you call again—”

“Annie, don’t hang up. I was kidding. I wouldn’t hunt up someone’s file just to get a date—even with you,” he added.

She almost smiled. He was charming. And Ann couldn’t resist.

“Then you don’t know about the police brutality.”

Obviously surprised, Jeff Barlow laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full and hiding nothing about him, which was more than Ann could say for herself. She envisioned his sandy hair and blue eyes and, yes, that uniform. And that was only his outer appeal. If the situation were different, she would want to go out with him again, test the waters at least. But Ann didn’t dream anymore about love and marriage, or having a family of her own—the dreams she and Molly had once shared.

That night nine years ago, the worst night of her life, had changed everything for her. Jeff wouldn’t learn about that, though, because they would never get that far. So it would do no good to let herself like Jeff Barlow too much. Which was why she’d decided to end this relationship now.

“Thanks for calling,” she said drily, finger poised again on the off button, pulse still thumping as if she were a felon about to get nabbed, “but you’re wasting your time. Goodb—”

“Is it because I’m a cop? Really?”

She froze. “Not you, personally, no. It’s a general thing.”

“Ah. I see. And it’s not because of Ernie?”

“Ernie?” She had an instant image of the little boy, small and chubby and full of life. He scared her more than Jeff did: Ernie was even easier to like.

“My kid,” he explained, as if she didn’t know. “You have something against kids? That a ‘general thing,’ too? Or is it mine in particular?”

She heard the edge in his tone, his instinctive protection of Ernie. Jeff never came into the center without swinging Ernie into his arms and smacking a kiss on his cheek. It was clear the boy worshipped him, too.

“I work with children every day,” she said. “Why would I have something against them?”

“I don’t know,” he drawled. “Why would you?”

“Look. If I needed a counselor, I’d get one,” she said. Over the years she had seen a number of shrinks. None of them had helped.

“I like psychology,” Jeff said. “I like to learn what makes people tick. You intrigue me.” That smile in his voice was back again. “And I don’t see how we can come to some agreement here unless we get everything out in the open. So what is it, Annie?”

“Stop calling me Annie.”

“Uh-uh. I like it. Takes some of the starch out of you. Makes you seem more approachable. Like Molly.”

“Then ask my sister for a date.”

He whistled softly in her ear. “You are a tough nut. Molly’s a great person, but it’s not her I’m interested in.” Then he homed in on her again, his voice soft and soothing. “Who hurt you, Annie?”

Her breath hitched, and to her horror the words popped out.

“It was quite the reverse.”

Had she shocked him? But the long silence ended with “We’ll have to get to the bottom of that. Another time,” he added. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“No you won’t—” she began, but Jeff had already ended the call.

If only... But Ann didn’t finish the thought. She wasn’t talking, because once he knew the truth, he would certainly change his opinion of her. Nobody wanted a guilt-ridden emotional cripple for a girlfriend.

Blinking, not sure whether she was sad or angry or afraid, Ann shut off the TV, doused the living room lights and at ten o’clock crawled into bed, where she struggled not to pull the covers over her head.

In her dark dreams she must have been twitching like a dog.

* * *

“HELP.”

Molly was in her room that night, intent on keeping to herself and brainstorming ideas for the presentation she would have to make to the town zoning commission about the center’s proposed expansion, when she heard Brig’s voice. Her mind still on an earlier meeting with her architect, she realized belatedly how frantic Brig sounded. Now he loomed in her doorway.

“What is it? Is something wrong with Laila?”

His face was paper white, and his mouth was drawn at the corners. There was no sign of the baby. He shifted from one foot to the other. “She, uh, had an...accident.”

Adrenaline surged through Molly. She had already started toward the phone to call 911 when his voice stopped her again.

“Not an accident-type accident,” he said, catching Molly’s arm. “She, uh, well, she’s a mess. So is her crib, the sheets—” Brig held his nose.

“Oh. I see.” It didn’t take much imagination to get the picture.

But Brig obviously felt the need to explain. “I guess I didn’t put her diaper on right before she went to bed. She woke up screaming, and when I looked...” He made a face filled with distaste for the situation.

“No problem,” she said. “I must deal with this at least three times a day. Where is she?”

“Still in the bed.” He appeared guilty. “I should have picked her up, but...”

“I understand.” So much for her plan to stay clear of Brig and the baby. Now that wasn’t possible. “She needs a bath. I’ll get my work clothes on. You wrap Laila in something warm—we’ll wash that, too—and we can meet at the center. I have several baby baths there just for this purpose. She’ll be good again in no time.” Molly smiled. “And so will you.”

The problem for Molly was that meant being alone with Brig in the nighttime Little Darlings with no hovering moms or staff to act as chaperones.

Moonlight washed the changing room with silvery light. The small space seemed that much tighter with Brig in it, too, but Molly appreciated that he didn’t back out when she uncovered the baby and, indeed, discovered a mess. Molly fought the urge to cover her own nose.

“She probably hasn’t adjusted to that new brand of formula,” she said, a fistful of baby wipes in hand. “My fault for buying it. Poor little girl,” Molly crooned. “Her system is in an uproar. I can imagine the digestive changes she must be going through after leaving a foreign country and doing all that travel.”

“Now she’s one of your Little Darlings,” he murmured, standing close to Molly’s shoulder.

Neither his comment nor his nearness helped her equilibrium. All at once she felt as unsettled, as much in alien territory, as Laila was. His next question only made her discomfort worse.

“I’m curious. Did you and Andrew ever want kids?”