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Shirlene
I scurry back to the nursery without running into the man. He seems to be busy in the kitchen. I close the door and tiptoe over to the crib. Watching my sleeping baby calms me after the shock in the bathroom. I have tattoos, and he saw me naked, and I cried. Once I calm down, I realize I’d better get dressed before he charges into the nursery. I can’t believe he barged into the bathroom. Fortunately, I’m sleeping in here with the baby. I eye the doorknob. It has a lock.
The only nursery furniture in the room is a white crib and a rocker. The top of a low Ikea-looking dresser is covered with a baby pad to serve as the changing table. The bed is up against the wall, under the room’s only window. This nursery isn’t much larger than the one Stan and I had for Danny when we were living in a small apartment.
On the adjacent wall is the kind of tiny closet typically found in a traditional Philadelphia rowhome built in the early 1900s. I go through the meager amount of clothes the man moved in here. Most of it resembles what a hooker would wear. All the shoes have impossibly high heels. Even the maternity clothes are skimpy. Rain’s belly must have popped out for all the world to gawk at, with the crop tops I find. I tug open the top dresser drawer and find disposable diapers, baby clothes, and the like. In the second drawer, I locate Rain’s underwear. After what I found in the closet, I shouldn’t be shocked. Most of the underpants have no seat. Just a string. Hattie would roar with laughter over this.
The thought of what my best friend must be going through, believing I’m dead, causes my heart to hurt. I don’t want to start crying again, so I hold up one pair of tiny black panties and concentrate on them. Stan might actually find these attractive. I laugh and slip them on. They are tight across the remaining baby bump, and I discover another set of holes in my belly button. How many piercings do I have? I’m curious to see my new firm twenty-year-old butt. I twist in the mirror and barely manage not to scream at the additional tattoo I find back there. The snake’s open mouth looks about to take a sadistic bite out of me.
I clearly need to buy some different clothes and shoes but with what? The notion of having to ask this stranger for money makes my stomach flip. I toss on the same clothes I wore home from the hospital, maternity jeans with rips above the knees and a tight midriff T-shirt.
Does Rain have any money? I search through the other drawers and find thirty dollars and half of a photograph in a wallet. It’s a picture of Rain standing on a city street. Whoever was in the other half has been torn off. But it’s clearly a man, judging by the size of his forearm and large hand angled possessively over her shoulder. The skin tone is similar to the man in the kitchen. Is it the same man, and they had a fight?
I search for jewelry to find out if there’s an engagement or wedding ring among Rain’s possessions. I discover a plastic sandwich bag. I unzip it and rummage through the pieces of jewelry. There are rings, but not the kind one wears on one’s finger. It’s a bunch of inexpensive piercing rings and other intimidating studs. She must have taken them all out before going to the hospital.
So, no marriage or engagement ring. The man and Rain are sleeping in separate rooms. Therefore, it could be that once Rain got pregnant, their relationship changed. From the bits and pieces I’m picking up, it doesn’t seem as if Rain was interested in the baby. Why did she go ahead with the pregnancy?
I go over to the crib and gently rub my newborn’s back. Not want this precious girl? I can’t imagine it. Arlene is the one thing holding me together. I fight the desire to pick her up and hold her close. It’s best to let her sleep. My daughter. My second chance.
A knock at the door interrupts my peace. “Come in.”
The door opens. The man wears running shorts and a T-shirt. “I’m sorry about bursting into the bathroom.”
Since I have no idea how Rain would react to this apology, I nod.
“Okay if I take a run?” He kneels to retie one shoelace. His legs are muscular.
“Go ahead. We’re fine.”
He stands. “I won’t be long.”
“Take as long as you like.”
The minute he leaves the apartment, I begin exploring. The more I know about this man, the more I can convince him I’m Rain. That will hopefully make it easier to leave here to find Stan.
I open the door to his room. It’s masculine with light-gray walls and wooden blinds on the windows. The bed is made. There’s a loose sense of order to the top of the dresser and nightstand, both of which hold stacks of books. I’m curious about what he’s reading, but I won’t step past the doorjamb. It definitely looks like his room and not their room. Rain and this man could be a couple in the middle of a spat.
I move quickly into the living room. I slip between the brown sofa and the coffee table, which sits across from a flat-screen TV on the wall. In the front corner by the windows stands a desk with a filing cabinet next to it and a laptop and file bin on top. My heart races as I flip through to a folder labeled Rental Contract. Inside, I find the contract. It’s in his name only. Cameron Michaels. Finally, a first name. Do I call him Cameron or Cam?
I scan the living room for a phone. Knowing young people, he may only have a cell phone, which I’m sure he took with him. I go into the small galley kitchen. There’s no woman’s touch anywhere, not even here. Luckily, a landline phone is on the wall. I dial my home number and try to be patient as it rings several times. No answer. I imagine Stan dead, God forbid, on the floor of our bedroom from another heart attack.
After about fifteen minutes of me exploring the kitchen and the other common areas so I can be more convincing as Rain, the front door opens downstairs. That was a short run. The man seems afraid to leave Rain alone for long. I quickly cram the rental contract back into the file and the file into the bin. There are footsteps on the stairs. I rush into the nursery and pick up the sleeping baby.
The apartment door opens and closes. “Rain?”
“In here.” I hold Arlene too tightly, and she lets out a whimper. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
He comes to the door, his dark hair damp with sweat. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine.”
“I’ll jump in the shower, and then I’ll take her off your hands.”
I kiss the top of her head and inhale the sweet new smell babies have. “You don’t have to rush. I love to hold her.”
His eyes narrow. “Okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“No reason.” He disappears into the hall.
“Cam?” I call after him.
I hear his footsteps pause, but he doesn’t come back to the nursery. “Cameron?” I try instead.
He steps solidly back to the doorway, his bulk blocking the light from the hallway.
“Cam?” I try again.
“Who the hell are you?” His eyes are intense as he runs his hand across his five o’clock shadow.
“That’s your name, isn’t it? Cameron Michaels.” This new body of mine seems to have nervous indigestion at an early age.
He moves toward me. I step back, but he keeps coming. He takes the baby, gently sets her into the crib, and stands between it and me with his feet set apart and his hands on his hips. “Who are you?”
My voice breaks. “Rain DeLuca.”
“Whose baby is this?”
“Mine.”
He lets out a sigh. “Who is the father?”
I swallow. “You?”
His face contorts. “You don’t know, do you? For God’s sake, Rain, you lied to me. You said Chase was the father.” His eyes become wild. “I willingly took this on because it was Chase’s responsibility. He always runs from his own messes.”
I can barely keep up with him. Rain slept with Chase, but who is he? Why is Cameron taking care of Chase’s girlfriend and baby? Shivering, I rub my arms but remain cold.
Cameron’s posture relaxes. He snatches up a baby blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
My teeth chatter. “She’s Chase’s.” It’s possibly a lie, but I hope to regain some equilibrium with Cameron.
“I know. Otherwise, why would you have come to me?”
I take several deep breaths.
“Thank you for having the baby,” he says. “I realize this is hard for you. I shouldn’t have gone off the way I did. It’s the stress. But it’s going to be all right. We have all summer to get used to this.”
I begin to settle down. “What happens at the end of the summer?”
He laughs. “School, goofy. And since when have you called me Cameron or Cam?”
I am back to square one. What do I call him, and how do I find Stan?