Chapter Five

Mike

Maple Street

THE WHISTLE ON the tea kettle screeched from the kitchen. No one moved until the baby began crying. Rushing into the kitchen, Mike grabbed the kettle and grimaced when he scorched his fingers. He set it on another burner. Shaking out the pain, he returned to the living room.

How could Mr. Shepard have failed to mention that Gabby D’Angelo had a baby? After the old man’s many hints that Mike should skip a night at the lab and take Gabby out, he thought Mr. Shepard might have given him a hint that she had a baby. Just a week or so ago, the old man had suggested Mike ask her out for some dinner and some dancing. But if she’d been pregnant...

Mike shook that idea out of his head. She couldn’t have been pregnant. True, he’d been oblivious to lots of things since he’d begun his research project which, if proved successful, would take medicine a big step forward in research of how bodies age. He’d gone out without an umbrella on rainy days and occasionally forgot where he parked his car. When his colleagues teased him, calling him Dr. Einstein after the genius who’d always been forgetful about the simplest things, he’d smiled. He couldn’t argue with the truth. He wasn’t brilliant like Einstein, but he was often so lost in thoughts of his project that he forgot to eat or sleep or shave.

But, even without Mr. Shepard’s prodding to take a look at the woman who lived across the hall, Mike doubted if he could have been so absorbed in work that he failed to notice Gabby. She wasn’t flashy or so gorgeous that a guy knew better than to try to approach her because he’d get shot down. She was what Mr. Shepard correctly called cute, because she had an appealing smile that lit up her face as well as some really nice curves. Curves, Mike noted now with a frown, that hadn’t changed an iota over the past year.

“You’ll need these forms for your insurance company, Miss D’Angelo,” the sergeant was saying when Mike came back to the sofa.

“Thank you.” Gabby didn’t even look up. She continued to stare at the baby.

“If you have any questions, call headquarters and ask to speak to Sergeant Brooks.”

“Thank you.”

The older cop leaned toward her. When she looked up at him, he said, “You need to get a better car seat for the baby, Miss D’Angelo. That one’s an old model that isn’t as safe as the newer ones. If you need help in purchasing one—”

“No, I’ll be fine.” A glorious smile washed across her face. “I mean, we’ll be fine.”

Mike put his hand on her shoulder. “Gabby, you can’t be planning—”

She stood, easing away from his fingers, and smiled at the policemen. “Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

They set the paperwork on the table and filed out of the apartment. Their happy voices flowed back into the living room, a reminder of how seldom they got to enjoy a happy ending.

What happy ending? Gabby had gotten her car back, but the baby shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t seen any signs that she was pregnant. If she had been, even if she hadn’t shown much, Mr. Shepard would have said something. Their landlord mentioned every other fact about Gabby’s life. Why would he have skipped that one?

Mike gasped, “Gabby, you can’t be—”

“Shh!”

When she carried the baby toward the door, he sighed with relief. He wouldn’t blame her if she threw him out. Even to hint that she wouldn’t be honest and do the right thing was an insult, especially when he was little more than a stranger.

He went back into the kitchen and searched for cups. This kitchen was the twin of his, but Gabby arranged her cabinets in a way that made no sense to him. Finding two cups decorated with cartoon characters, he spooned in instant coffee and began to fill them with hot water. The milk must be in the refrigerator, but he had no idea where she kept her sugar bowl. It didn’t matter. Strong, black coffee would be the best antidote for his exhaustion anyway. He grimaced. He’d never been able to get used to the taste of black coffee, not even during the endless shifts of internship.

He reached for the small carton of milk. He needed to ask Gabby how she liked her coffee. Apparently Mr. Shepard hadn’t filled him in on all the details about her, he realized with a chuckle.

“Hey! Don’t do that!”

At Gabby’s gasp, Mike nearly dropped the milk carton. “Why? Is it bad?”

“No, I’ll need it for the baby.”

“Baby?” He forced his numb fingers to put the carton on the counter as he stared at the pink bundle in her arms. “Babies need formula, not homogenized milk.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? Why do you still have that baby?”

“That’s right.” Gabby sat on the arm of the sofa and cradled the baby, who was asleep again. “She’ll need a crib and diapers and bottles and a swing and toys and other things, won’t she?”

He shoved the milk carton into the refrigerator and came into the living room. “You can’t keep that baby. She’s not yours.”

“It says she is.”

“There’s got to be some mistake. She must belong to a different Gabrielle D’Angelo.”

She gave him a withering stare. “How many Gabrielle D’Angelos do you think there are in this town?”

“Obviously at least two.”

“But the bracelet says—”

He grasped her by the shoulders and drew her to her feet. “Gabby, what’s wrong with you? Some poor woman must be beside herself with fear about this baby.”

Her smile fell into a horrified expression. “I didn’t think of that. All I thought of was having a little baby of my own like I’ve been dreaming about lately.” Again her cheeks flushed.

Under other circumstances, he might have thought how her high color added charm to her face and a warm sensation in his stomach. Now all he could think about was the baby and that unexplained bracelet around her arm. “Which hospital was she born at?”

“The bracelet says Memorial.”

He quickly dialed the number and asked to be connected to the nurse’s station in the delivery area. “Yes,” he said after introducing himself, and aware of how Gabby was watching him, the expression of loss stealing the light from her eyes, “it would have been two nights ago. Christmas Eve. A baby girl. Mother’s name is D’Angelo.”

He listened, asked a few more questions, listened some more, and hung up the phone. He stared at it.

“What did they say?”

“The nurse who answered was the nurse who helped during the baby’s delivery. She remembers the baby being born at the stroke of midnight and being named Carol, like in Christmas carol.”

“And the mother?”

“A woman of medium height with dark hair about shoulder-length. She gave an address of 17 Maple Street and her name as Gabrielle D’Angelo.”

“Oh, my.” She looked at the baby in her arms. “That’s the address here and my name.” She raised her eyes toward his. “And my description.”

“But, Gabby, the baby can’t be yours.”

She touched the baby’s downy hair so gently that Mike doubted if the baby was even aware of her. “I know that, but isn’t she beautiful?” She ran her finger across the baby’s cheek, and the baby turned toward her, resting its cheek on her breast.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Touch the baby’s cheek like that. It’s an instinct for babies to turn to nurse when you do that.”

“Oh.” Her voice was filled with wonder.

“You don’t know much about babies, do you?” He knelt by her, his hand on the sofa’s arm.

She shook her head. “I’m the youngest, and I’d gone to college by the time my nieces and nephews started being born. Ask me about anything geriatric, and I can spout off facts and figures for you by the hour. Babies? I’m a babe in the woods myself. You seem to know a lot about them.”

“I’m the oldest of a big family.” He smiled. “I learned to change diapers before I was eight and how to burp a baby by the time I was ten.”

“Then I guess I’ll come to you for advice.”

“You can’t be planning on keeping her! What about her real parents?”

She dampened her lower lip, then nodded. “I know, Mike! I know the right thing to do, but give me a minute to figure out what to do.”

“You should start by calling children’s services.”

“The phone book’s in the top drawer by the stove.” She gazed down at the baby. “Get me the number and the phone, and I’ll call.”

“I can if you want.”

“No, it’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”

He sighed as he walked into the kitchen and got the phone and the listing for children’s services. As he came back into the living room, he said, “Don’t worry. They have excellent foster parents just for cases like this.”

“But how do I explain to them that I’m not the Gabrielle D’Angelo on that wristband?” She stood. “They’d haul me in for a psychiatric workup and probably accuse me of kidnaping Carol.”

It took him a second to remember that Carol was the baby’s name. “Just tell them the truth. That the baby was discovered in your car and that she must have been left behind by whoever stole the car. They’ll investigate with the hospital and take it from there.”

“You make it sound so easy.” She smiled sadly. “And it is, isn’t it?”

Mike didn’t answer as he dialed the number and handed her the phone. When he saw her trying to shift the baby carefully in order to take the phone, he said, “Let me talk to them. If I tell them the facts, they might not decide to declare you certifiably out of your mind.”

“Thank you.”

He gazed down at her upturned face as he heard the ringing in his ear. So much raw emotion was displayed there, and, for once, she wasn’t trying to hide her thoughts from him. She was frightened and excited, overwhelmed and thrilled, grateful and uncertain. All at the same time. He understood, because he wasn’t sure what to think. Why had the cops left the baby with her without asking a single question? They should have read her the riot act for leaving a baby in her car or, at the very least, demanded identification to prove that she was the baby’s mother.

“Good evening,” said a man’s voice in his ear. “Children and family services. How may I help you?”

“I need to speak to someone about an abandoned baby.”

“I can help you with that, sir. My name is... Mr. Jackett.”

Had he heard a slight pause before the man spoke his name? Mike told himself not to be fanciful. There was too much stuff setting off his weird-o-meter already. He didn’t need to look for more trouble where there wasn’t any.

It didn’t take Mike long to outline what had happened. He didn’t say anything about how oddly the police had acted. He just stated the facts.

“I see,” Mr. Jackett said each time he paused. Mr. Jackett seemed to be taking notes, but he asked few questions, not even when Mike mentioned they’d called the hospital.

Mike was amazed how long it took to outline the story while trying to make it clear that Gabby hadn’t done anything wrong. He kept glancing at her, glad that her attention was focused on the baby. If she looked up at him with those eyes that pleaded for him to help her understand what was going on, he wasn’t sure he could keep from sitting beside her, drawing her into his arms, and offering her every bit of comfort he could. That would be a really bad idea. From the day he’d moved in, he’d understood the tacit ground rules Gabby set to keep them neighbors and nothing more. The first time she’d broken them was when she asked him to stay while she called the cops. Now this...

“Dr. Archer?” The voice in his ear was impatient.

“Yes, Mr. Jackett?” he asked, knowing he need to focus. It was tough when he wanted to sit down and take her in his arms and...

“This may seem unusual.”

Nothing could be more unusual than what’s already going on, he was tempted to answer. He didn’t say anything, waiting to hear Mr. Jackett’s solution to this problem.

“It sounds as if the baby may be best off staying right where she is now.” Mr. Jackett’s voice had the dull fatigue of a bureaucrat who didn’t need another problem dropped on his desk.

“Here?”

Gabby looked up at him, questions filling her eyes.

He held up his finger, hoping she’d hold her questions until he had some answers.

“You’re a doctor,” Mr. Jackett said, “and you’ve assured me that the baby is safe and will be tended to properly. It may take a while for the child’s biological parents to be identified, and I’d like to put my efforts into that task. So if you and Miss D’Angelo could possibly watch over the baby until then...”

“But neither of us has been approved as foster parents.”

“That detail can be handled quickly. I’ll have the paperwork sent to you. Fill it out, and, when there’s a social worker in your neighborhood, we’ll have a home visit. It’ll be very simple. Just a formality. Of course, until then, the baby must remain within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t know if—”

His voice took on a pleading tone. “Dr. Archer, you must understand the holidays are an unfortunately busy time for us. There are always high expectations among harried people, and when those expectations aren’t met, tempers can flare. We’ve got children in dangerous, even deadly, situations. This baby is safe for now with you and Miss D’Angelo. If you’re willing...”

Mike knew it wasn’t his decision. Putting his hand over the receiver, he knelt again beside the couch. “Gabby, he wants to know if you’ll keep the baby here while they look for her parents. The only restriction is that you can’t take her out of the state.”

“I can keep her?”

“Until they find the parents.”

“I realize that!” She gave a shaky laugh. “Tell him that I’ll take care of her until they find her real parents.” She ran her finger along the hospital bracelet. “Then maybe I’ll find out why some other woman used my name when she had this beautiful baby.”

As he stood, Mike relayed her answer to Mr. Jackett, wrote down the social worker’s cell number, and said, “You’re welcome” over and over as Mr. Jackett thanked him profusely. Hanging up the phone, he came back into the living room. He watched in silence as Gabby made baby sounds as if the baby could understand her. There was a glow from Gabby’s face that he’d only caught glimpses of before. It was more than happiness. It was pure joy.

“Don’t get too attached to her,” he said as he sat on the sofa’s arm. “They could be calling back any time with the news that one or both of her parents have been found.”

“I know that. Please stop acting as if my brain stopped working the moment the policeman put Carol in my arms.” She smiled at him. “In spite of evidence otherwise.”

“You were in shock. It’s understandable that you didn’t know which way to turn first, but now you’ve done the right thing, and we’ve alerted the authorities.”

“Thanks, Mike, for everything you’ve done to get me back on track.”

“Glad I could help.” He looked down at the baby in her arms. “She really likes to cuddle up with you.”

“She feels so right in my arms.”

“Gabby,” he said, abruptly worried again, “she’s not your baby.”

“I know that.” She laughed lightly. “But I also know that she is.”

“What?” He’d been sure nothing could astonish him more tonight, but now Gabby, who was usually so sensible, was acting as if she were buying into the madness. “That makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. She can’t be my baby, yet every fiber within me tells me that there’s a connection between us. Maybe she’s a slightly late Christmas miracle.”

He hated having to steal that rapture from her eyes, but she had to face the facts. Babies just didn’t appear out of thin air like magic. He swore he saw the baby smile, but he knew that was as impossible as the rest of this. Just gas. Maybe the sign of a baby with colic, which would make this seem like much less of a miracle to Gabby.

Jumping to his feet, he said, “There’s a way to settle the truth once and for all.”

“Truth? You know she can’t be my baby.” Again her smile softened as she gazed down at the baby. “But she is. I know she is.”

Mike was sure he could see a special maternal glow between her and the child. He shook his head. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in the insanity. He was a man of science, not some bozo with his head in the clouds. Sure, he’d forgotten for two weeks to mail the Christmas cards addressed and stamped and still sitting on his kitchen counter. He’d sent gifts to his family... hadn’t he? Right now he wasn’t sure of anything except that he didn’t believe in miracles. Miracles were what ignorant folks called the results of nature or long hard hours of work in a lab.

“I know for a fact that she’s not your baby,” he said quietly.

She winced, and he wished he’d thought before speaking. He was too used to being by himself with only his research for company. Then he could say whatever he wished. Maybe Mr. Shepard wasn’t so far off base when he said that Mike needed to take a few days off and rejoin the rest of the world once in a while.

“But, Mike, I swear that I feel as if she is my baby.”

This was getting old. “She can’t not be your baby and also be your baby.”

“I know.”

“But—”

“I’m telling you what I’m feeling.” She gave him a wry grin. “I know guys don’t like talking about feelings, but I think we have to make an exception under these strange circumstances.”

He didn’t want to be teased out of his determination to get to the bottom of this. Otherwise, he might notice again how perfectly the baby fit in her arms and, in the lights from the Christmas tree, how that expression of adoration brightened Gabby’s face.

“Look,” he said, “as I told you, there’s an easy way to figure out the truth of this, once and for all.”

“Go ahead. No matter what you think, Mike, I want to know the truth, too.”

“Good.”

“See? I’m not completely crazy.”

“Just a little?”

“My oldest sister always says that being a little crazy is good for a soul.” She smiled. “All right. How can we prove this beyond the shadow of a doubt?”

“I’m a doctor, not an attorney, but I know the first thing a lawyer would ask for. DNA testing. It might not be a bad idea anyhow, so we can send the records to Mr. Jackett to help in his search for her biological parents.”

She looked from him to the baby and sighed. “How long does the testing take?”

“I’ve got a friend at a lab out at the park who does this kind of thing all the time.” He chuckled. “He owes me a few dozen favors, so I’m sure he’d be glad to run the test fast and gratis.”

He waited for her to answer, but the silence ached like a pinched nerve, hot and racing between them as if they were, like Gabby and the baby, somehow bound together by an invisible link.

Again he shook his head. Why was he being illogical tonight? He hardly knew Gabby, and the baby must have been abandoned by whomever ripped off the car. But that didn’t explain the bracelet. Even if the thief had copied Gabby’s name off her registration, there was no way of doing that when the bracelet was still in one piece.

“All right.” Her dejected voice sent that white-hot pain through him again. “Tell me what we have to do for this DNA testing. I want to know the truth.”