The Black Sheep’s Baby

seemed to him her shoulders had a slump to them now, as if she felt defeated, a condition he imagined she wasn’t much accustomed to. “Living in L.A., I guess I never really noticed.”

Living in L.A., I guess you wouldn’t, he thought. Whisperings of sympathy stirred through him, but he couldn’t think what to say to her to let her know how he felt-or even whether he should. Better, maybe, that they should stay enemies.

Holding his breath, he flipped the second lightswitch on the plate beside the door, then murmured, “Hallelujah…” as the tree erupted in tiny multicolored lights.

After gazing at them for a moment, he said without turning, “You don’t have a clue what we’re all about, here, do you?”

“No,” said Devon humbly, “but I’m trying.”

He gave a surprised laugh. He didn’t know what sort of response he’d expected from her, but he knew for sure it wasn’t humility. He paced back toward her, gently joggling the baby, inhaling again her uniquely soothing smells. “Any chance of you taking my mother up on her invitation?

She gave a light, ironic laugh. “It sounded as though she doesn’t mean to give me a choice.”

He acknowledged that with a smile. “She doesn’t look it, but Mom can be a real steamroller.” He paused to settle himself on the arm of the couch within arm’s reach of her, and instantly felt the tension in her mount, as if he’d crossed some invisible line. “She does have a point, though,” he said after a moment, looking at her along one shoulder. “Nothing’s going to be done about anything until after the holidays.”

She shifted her gaze to the tree. “That’s not the only consideration. There are my parents. They are expecting me, you know.”

“So, go-be with them.”

“Without you and Emily?” Her eyes lashed back at him with stinging green fire. “Not a chance, Lanagan.”

He shrugged. After a moment she made an exasperated sound and abruptly rose and walked away from him, rubbing at her arms. “Is it true? Has it really been ten years since you last saw your mother?” She paused for a sharp, mirthless laugh. “It seems to me you and my sister had something in common.”

Anger surged through him, and he forced himself to answer calmly. “Ten years since I was here for Christmas. I’ve seen my parents a few times in the meantime-other occasions, other events. Family crises… Not the least of which,” he added wryly, “was having my uncle elected president of the United States.” He paused. “But yeah…for Christmas, it’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not my fault.” She’d halted in front of the tree and was staring at it, and the lights splashed her face with a wash of luminous color, like stained glass. The photographer in Eric caught his breath in awe; his fingers itched to be holding a camera. “Look-your issues with your parents have nothing to do with me or Emily. It’s not fair of you-or your mother-to use that to coerce me.”

“Nobody’s coercing you.” He managed to keep his voice quiet, but his body refused to obey the same command. He left his perch on the arm of the couch and paced a few restless steps, while his fingers gently rubbed the baby’s back in calming circles. Calming himself, not her. “Hey, can you blame her for wanting to have me-and her first and only grandchild-with her for Christmas?”

She whirled on him, primed with the contradiction, “Emily’s not-” then froze when she saw how close to her he was.

“Mom doesn’t know that,” Eric shot back before she could continue. “And even if she did, do you think it would make any difference? If I say the kid’s mine, that’s all that matters.”

Her mouth opened, and he knew she meant to lash back at him. For some reason, though, the harsh words didn’t come. Instead, she glared at him, breathing hard, and he glared back while his heart banged around in his chest like one of those crazy balls that keep gaining energy with every bounce.

It occurred to him that Emily had begun to squirm and fuss, picking up on the tension around her, he thought, and by the looks of things, was about to launch into a full-blown temper fit. And because he childishly wanted to blame someone else for that, he threw Devon a look of dark accusation as he went to collect a disposable diaper, the plastic jar of baby wipes and a fresh bottle of formula and retreated to the couch. Accusation, spoken and unspoken, hung in the room like fog.

By that time the baby was in full voice, which could be spectacular when a person wasn’t used to it; he was surprised Devon hadn’t gone running for cover at the first squall. Instead, she stood with her back to the tree and watched him with a tense, stoic look on her face while he got the diaper changed-something the kid didn’t enjoy at the best of times. Then he had to get her calmed down enough to accept the bottle, and all the while his insides were swirling with emotions he didn’t know what to do with and wasn’t even sure he could name.

He thought about what his dad had said about maternal feelings being so powerful. Obviously there were some powerful emotions involved in being a father, too. He’d known, for example, the first time they’d placed the little baby girl in his arms, that from then on there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect her. He wished he knew how to explain that to Devon.

The thing was, the feelings that kept coming over him whenever he was around Devon, the emotions churning around in him right now, for instance, sure as hell weren’t maternal. He was pretty sure they didn’t have much to do with being protective, either.

“Eric?” The voice was harsh in the peace that came abruptly, as the baby’s mouth closed at last around the nipple and the room filled up with the hungry sounds she made when she ate.

He glared at Devon, primed and battle-ready, but something about the look on her face made him wary, and kept him silent. There was something wistful, almost bleak about the way she watched him, he thought. For the first time in a long time she reminded him of Susan.

What is she thinking? Is she…could she possibly be remembering?

His heart gave a bump of excitement and hope, and he softened his glare and waited.

“What did Susan intend to do with Emily?”

It was a long way from what he’d hoped for. “Do?” Frowning, he shifted on the couch, getting himself and Emily more comfortably settled. “What do you mean?”

“What was Susan going to do, after her baby was born? I’m sure-” a smile flickered weakly, then vanished. “I doubt very much that she intended to die.”

Eric didn’t answer. Instead he stared down at the baby’s face, watched it waver and blur.

“She was living on the streets, you said. So, did she have any kind of a plan?” Her voice was brusque-almost pugnacious. But when he looked at her, all he saw was the same wistfulness that had touched him so often in Susan-a stretched, fragile look around her eyes…a certain childlike softness to her mouth. She looked…lost, he thought. And-yes, there it was again-vulnerable. “Was she going to put the baby up for adoption? Keep her? What?”

He drew a careful breath. “I don’t think she’d made up her mind. Sometimes she’d talk about keeping her baby-going into the shelter, getting a job… But then, I think-I don’t know, maybe the fear of failure would get to her, and she’d be just overwhelmed by it all. You know-‘What if I don’t make it? What kind of life will my baby have then?’ And by that time, she figured she’d be that much more attached, and giving her up would be that much-”

“What was she like-my sister?” The interruption was no more than a whisper.

Eric narrowed his eyes, but it did nothing to help the pain that had come over him. Giving her up. It was a fear that he understood in his gut, in the depths of his soul. Looking at Devon became too hard, and because he didn’t want to look at Emily either, just then, he turned his head away. “Tired,” he said gruffly. “Defeated. Like most street kids, old before her time-like…nineteen-going-on-a-hundred.”

He felt rather than saw Devon nod. After a moment she asked in that same fragile whisper, “Was there a funeral?”

“She was cremated,” he said bluntly. “I took care of it-sorry, it was all I could afford. There’s a marker, though, where her ashes are buried. If you want-”

“Thank you. I-my parents would appreciate that.” She hesitated, staring at nothing, rubbing at her upper arms. Then she walked quickly past him and out of the room.

But not before he saw that she was crying.

A Southern California girl born and raised, Devon had never experienced the profound stillness of snow.