Enough work for one night, Allen decided, tossing the yellow pad into the squall of files and loose papers on his desk. Rosa used to make fun of his legal pads, laughing at the way the lined pages turned up in odd and unexpected places in their apartment. “I can understand you working on a brief in bed,” she complained, “or even on the john. But in the shower?”
He stood in front of the desk, considering a massive organizational effort, then turned away. Why bother. He opened the window to the unseasonably warm June breeze and sank into the cracked leather chair. He shifted his right buttock off the broken spring, moved the coffee cups onto the floor, and positioned his feet on the hassock. Kicking off his huaraches, he leaned over to his desk and grabbed the yellow pad. Maybe he’d just spend a few more minutes on this brief.
It was after midnight when the doorbell rang. Who would visit so late?
Maggie stood in the dark hallway, holding an overstuffed garbage bag and a sleeping baby. She pushed past him into the apartment.
“It’s your turn, Daddy.” Maggie dropped the bag onto the floor and continued into the living room.
“What happened? Where’s Rosa?”
“Don’t ask. Better that you don’t know anything tonight. If anyone questions you, just say that you answered the doorbell and found the baby there. Alone. Okay?”
“Is she all right?”
“I hope so.” Maggie sat on the sofa, turning the baby to face Allen. “Don’t you want to meet your daughter?”
Emma slept, clutching a grubby stuffed animal against her neck and sucking her ring and middle fingers.
“Aren’t they supposed to suck their thumbs?”
“They find comfort however they can.” Maggie looked at him. “Just like the rest of us.”
This wasn’t how he had imagined meeting his kid. He had pictured Rosa calling him, summoning him to a motel on the outskirts of some dusty Midwestern town, where they could be a family for a weekend or a month or a lifetime, despite the practical concerns of arrest warrants and FBI surveillance and the need to make a living. He squatted and reached for Emma’s other hand, sleep-limp on the couch.
Emma closed her fingers around his thumb, opened her eyes, and blinked twice. She stared at him for a long moment. Then she wailed.
Allen pulled his hand away and looked at Maggie. “Do something.”
“You’re her father. Pick her up.”
He couldn’t figure out where to put his hands, how to hold her. Emma screamed louder, arching her back and throwing her head away from his grasp. He caught her awkwardly and cradled her head, damp with fury and tears, in his hand. He looked at Maggie. “Help me.”
“Walk with her. Talk to her, softly. Doesn’t matter what you say. Tell her who you are, tell her stories, tell her legal nonsense. Walk and talk.”
Allen started down the hallway, trying to imitate the peculiar bouncing gait he remembered Esther and Jake using when Molly was fussy. Emma’s crying sounded angry now. Who was he fooling? He couldn’t do this. He had zero experience with babies. His kid was smart. No way could an imposter father fool her. She hurled her head back again, looked at him, and howled louder.
“Please, Maggie. I can’t do this.”
Maggie walked next to him, her arms around father and child. She spoke into Emma’s ear. “Hey, sweet Emma. This furry-faced guy is your papa. He’s going to take good care of you until your mama comes back. It’s okay. I promise.” Maggie accompanied her words with drumbeat pats on Emma’s back, a lubdub of reassurance.
Emma’s cries slowed to whimpers, and she stuck her fingers back into her mouth. Allen felt limp with relief. But this was crazy. There was no room in his life for this. He had work to do, important work, defending the voiceless. How could he be a lawyer and take care of a sixteen-month-old girl?
How could he not? This was Rosa’s baby. His daughter. He felt split open and frozen solid at the same time.
Allen whispered into Emma’s other ear, mimicking the cadence of Maggie’s words. “I promise, too,” he said. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”
As soon as I learn how, he added to himself.
Maggie turned back to the living room. “My shift starts in an hour. I’ll be back in the morning to give you a crash course in toddler care. For tonight, everything you need is here.” Maggie pointed to the garbage bag. “Diapers, wipes, clothes. And Didi.” Maggie tucked the stuffed armadillo next to Emma’s face. “Whatever you do, don’t forget Didi.”
Allen spent the rest of the night watching Emma. She slept on the sofa; he sat next to her on the floor, protecting her from falling off. Twice she woke up, took stock of her surroundings, and screamed. Twice he walked and talked to her. He tried to arrange her over his shoulder like Maggie had. He told her about his cases; they would put most people to sleep, but not Emma. The second time she cried so hard she vomited over his shoulder and down the back of his sweater. He wanted to drop her. He wanted to cry. He wanted Maggie to come back. No, he wanted Rosa to be here, to comfort their daughter and make it all right. He wanted Rosa to comfort him. He closed his eyes, swayed in the dark hallway, and spoke to his daughter.
“Give me a break here, kiddo. I’m lost. I have no fucking idea what to do with you. I’ve never changed a diaper in my life. Never fed a baby. Cut me some slack, okay?”
Finally Emma slept and he put her down on the sofa. Even with her face smeared with mucus and vomit, she was beautiful. Even relaxed into dreams, she was a mystery. He searched her face for clues about what had happened to Rosa that night, to bring Emma here. Must be something very bad. He rested his head on the couch cushion, inches from Emma’s foot.
When he awoke again, it was just turning light. His back ached. Something smelled bad. He groaned, rotated his stiff neck, and turned to Emma. Her eyes were open and staring at him. He returned her gaze, afraid to move. His heart galloped. How could a grown man, a smart man, often called arrogant or cocky or worse by people who didn’t like him much, be so intimidated by a little girl? Pre-verbal. Twenty-five pounds max.
Emma opened her mouth and started fussing. It sounded different, as if she was trying to say something. As if she wanted something. Maybe her toy, that grubby thing Maggie said was so important. “This what you need, kiddo?” he asked, dancing the armadillo in front of her.
“Didi.” She grabbed it from him with both hands and closed her eyes.
That wasn’t so hard. Maybe he could do this. He stretched, then went to make coffee.
The phone rang just after sunrise. Allen lunged for it on the first ring.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, Allen. Grenwich here.”
Tom Grenwich was the morning paper’s crime beat reporter. It had to be about Rosa. About whatever Maggie didn’t want to tell him the night before. Allen stretched the phone cord so he could check on Emma sleeping in the living room. “Morning, Tom. What’s up?”
“Rosa. An ambulance brought her into an ER in Ann Arbor around 1:00 a.m. She was in labor. Having a baby.”
“A baby?” How could that be?
“Or trying to, but she hemorrhaged. Something tore loose inside.” Grenwich spoke quickly, too fast for Allen to catch the jagged words, the shards of sentences. “A doc in the ER recognized Rosa from the newspaper and called the cops. She was busted.”
“Is she okay?”
“They saved her. Lost the baby.”
“Where is she?” How could there be another baby?
“They transferred her to Detroit City General. Under heavy guard. As soon as she can be moved, they’ll take her downtown.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate the call.”
“No problem. Just one question, Allen?”
Uh oh. “What’s that?”
“No one seems to know how Rosa got to the hospital, who called the ambulance. She was alone and unconscious. Any ideas? Off the record, of course.”
“Not a clue. I haven’t seen her since she went under.” That much was certainly true.
When Emma woke up, Allen managed to change her diaper and fill her bottle with milk from his fridge. “Do you need it warmed up?” he asked her.
She grabbed the bottle and drank.
“Guess not.” This kid knew what she wanted. Just like her mama.
When Maggie returned, Allen and Emma were sitting on the kitchen floor, tossing utensils into a constellation of pots and pans. Maggie taught him to change diapers and bathe the squirming, slippery child in the kitchen sink. She explained what foods to feed her. They found a crib and rocking chair at Goodwill, and a woman in the building to babysit while Allen worked.
“Okay,” Maggie said. “You’re ready to be a daddy and I’m ready to sleep.”
“Wait,” Allen begged. “I don’t know anything about babies. Couldn’t you . . . you know.” He stopped, already ashamed of himself.
Maggie stood still for a moment. Allen recognized something like longing flicker across her face, then vanish.
“Don’t even think it.” She walked to the front door. “It won’t be long before the cops or social services figure out Rosa has a kid. They’ll see Emma as a way to make Rosa cooperate. Emma will need your protection. And, if there’s a custody battle for this kid, who’s likely to have clout? The biological father who’s a lawyer, even if he’s black? Or a dyke friend who’s a nurse working rotating shifts? What do you think, Counselor?”
He nodded and closed the door behind her. Emma was starting to drift off, so he sat with her in the new rocking chair. He sang folk songs, then Loon Lake songs. They were all embedded with images of Rosa: Rosa as a teenager, Rosa in custody, Rosa bleeding, Rosa pregnant again. She had always insisted that monogamy was part of the system they were fighting, people owning other people, restricting their freedom. That one-and-only stuff is fine for Mama and Pop, she used to say. Allen went along with her; it was easier than arguing. Now, he felt like a fool. Why had he kept himself alone for her all these months? She obviously hadn’t done the same. And now here he was, stuck with her baby.
Allen buried his nose in the soft curls of Emma’s hair, sniffed the tangy fragrance of her scalp.
No. Their baby.