Chapter 44

“I’m not actually for sure Big Owen is the daddy.”

Sarah jerked her head toward Chantrelle. She and Alma Gordon and Frances Noonan sat with Chantrelle to tell her what Jonathan had said.

“What?” All three women spoke at once. Mrs. Gordon’s teacup stopped midway to her mouth. Mrs. Noonan choked on her cookie and grabbed her milk to wash it down.

“What do you mean Big Owen’s not the daddy?” asked Sarah.

“I’m not saying he’s not the daddy. I’m saying I’m not for sure.” Chantrelle bounced Baby Owen on her knee a little too hard and he bit his tongue. He began to scream, and she handed him to Mrs. Gordon for comfort.

“Good thing Zach left. He can’t stand to hear this crying,” Chantrelle said. She and Zach were staying with his brother in Dogpatch, a wonderfully named neighborhood on the east side of the city. Zach dropped her off before heading on to a sports bar.

“There, there. Shh.” Mrs. Gordon gently rubbed Owen’s cheek.

“Then who is the daddy?” asked Mrs. Noonan.

“Oh, I don’t know. Jordan. Mick. I can’t remember everybody. Big Owen was around when I found out, so I said it was him.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Gordon.

“No, Alma, don’t you see? This is good. If Big Owen isn’t the daddy, then he doesn’t have to agree to the adoption,” said Mrs. Noonan.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have to agree anyway,” said Chantrelle.

“Why not?” asked Sarah.

“’Cause he’s not on the birth certificate. That’s how I got my money from the state. No daddy,” Chantrelle said.

“Hmm. I wonder if that counts. If he thought he was the daddy and says he’s the daddy, though not to the state, of course, I wonder if he could claim parental rights now?” said Mrs. Noonan.

“Well, for one thing, he’d never do that. If he’s the daddy, then he should have been supporting the baby and he wasn’t, and he doesn’t want to be found out. Second, the more I look at Baby Owen, the more I see Mick. See these feet? Mick couldn’t spread his toes apart and neither could his brother and neither could his dad. No muscles between the toes. Defective feet. Well, look, Baby Owen’s got them.”

They all inspected Baby Owen’s feet. They did look a little strange, Sarah had to admit.

“You mean this is Baby Mick?” said Mrs. Noonan.

“That’s what I think,” said Chantrelle. “Anyway, that’s what I told Big Owen the last time I saw him, before he took off with that floozy. I told him about the feet. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

Sarah felt a pang for poor Big Owen. He was an unlikable character, but he always seemed so proud of Baby Owen. How awful to find out he might not be the father after all that time.

“So, Zach wants to know if you can watch Owen this week? We have to get back, and it would be nice to be on our own for a while. I could drive up next weekend and get him.” Chantrelle peered out from under her hair.

“Oh, yes. Yes. That would be fine.” Mrs. Gordon clapped her hands in excitement.

“Even if you’re too old to adopt him, you’re still good for this.”

Sarah thought Chantrelle meant it as a compliment. Mrs. Noonan winked at her. Mrs. Gordon just smiled.

Sarah went from seeing Baby Owen to seeing Helen’s twins, just a few months old. On her way out of the building, she met Harriet Flynn in the lobby. Mrs. Flynn stood before the mirror by the mailboxes fluffing her hair. Sarah had never seen Mrs. Flynn look in a mirror at all, let alone this interest in her hair. Sarah did a double take. Mrs. Flynn’s steel wool hair was darker, salt and pepper, brown and gray, not just gray.

Mrs. Flynn must have noticed her because she whipped around with a guilty look.

“Hi, Mrs. Flynn. You look lovely today. You have a new hairdo,” Sarah said cautiously.

Mrs. Flynn’s hand touched her hair again. She actually giggled. “I made a change. You might think this is nonsense. An old lady like me.”

“I think it suits you,” Sarah said.

“You do? I like it too.” Mrs. Flynn ducked her head, but Sarah saw the smile.

Sarah started for the door. Mrs. Flynn spoke again, her voice serious.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Sarah, getting old. I assumed the next best thing that would happen in my life would be my passing into heaven. I welcome that. But right here on earth, right in this building, is the next best thing. Look at Alma and that baby. Look at Alma and Mr. Glenn. She found love a second time around. Look at Frances Noonan with her crusade to free a murderer and make things right for these innocent children. Look what we did at Christmas with those ladies in prison, bringing in their families. Look how much they enjoy the quilting. I didn’t think I could be of use to anyone anymore. But I can. I am.”

Mrs. Flynn’s head was still down. Now she lifted it and stared into the mirror, catching Sarah’s eye.

“You are absolutely right,” Sarah said, smiling back at her.

“I’m not headed for death and salvation yet. I can make a difference. I looked in the mirror for the first time in years. I don’t know when I got so old. St. Peter won’t mind a little hair color.”

“He certainly will not.”

Mrs. Flynn grinned at her reflection in the mirror. Sarah wondered if she’d ever seen her smile.

“You think it suits me?”

“Most definitely. It suits the new you.”

Sarah smiled all the way to Helen’s. Harriet Flynn was so right. The Fog Ladies made such a difference. Sarah would have been lost without them last year. And Baby Owen. Because of the Fog Ladies, he was a confident, sturdy toddler.

Helen’s twins were tiny compared to strapping Baby Owen. A boy and a girl, Aidan and Emily, one in a blue onesie, one in pink. They looked pretty similar to Sarah, apart from the onesies, but Helen and Scott knew exactly who was who.

Helen looked exhausted. And sad. Scott hid in the kitchen, taking an awfully long time to fix them a snack.

“I can’t do it,” said Helen. “I can’t do this breastfeeding. I can’t believe I’m such a total failure.”

“What are you talking about?” said Sarah.

“I can’t do it. They eat all the time. They’re not on the same schedule, so I never get a break. Emily took forever to learn to latch on correctly and I’m so sore and I’ve got mastitis for the second time and I have to take antibiotics again and the doctor says it’s safe to continue breastfeeding while I’m on them, but I don’t know for certain that it’s safe and they’re so little that I couldn’t stand it if the antibiotics made them sick and it’s so hard to keep breastfeeding and it hurts so much and I can’t do it and I feel awful because I wish the doctor had said I had to stop.”

“Oh,” said Sarah.

“And Scott wants me to keep trying because breastfeeding is so good for them, but he’s not the one who has to do it, and I haven’t been out of the house all week and I never get off the sofa because there’s always a baby attached to me.”

“Oh,” said Sarah.

“And look at them, they haven’t gained enough weight and I might not be making enough milk and I have to go back to work soon, and then I’ll have to pump and I’m sure I won’t make enough milk then and I can’t do it.”

“They’re beautiful babies,” said Sarah. “Would you like me to watch them for an hour so you and Scott can go for a walk or something? Get out of the house? It’s a sunny day today, just a little cold.”

Helen started to cry. “I can’t. I can’t. Aidan’s ready to eat and then it will be Emily’s turn and she takes so long, by the time she’s done Aidan will be hungry again.”

Scott came into the room then with a tray of fruit and pretzels. A vase sat to one side with a single red rose. In the center of the tray were two baby bottles and a small can of formula.

“Maybe I could see if I can get them to drink from these,” he said.

Helen kept crying and he took her in his arms. “Why don’t you and Sarah go for that walk. I’ll try the bottles.”

They exchanged places and Scott sat on the couch with a baby on each side. “Hurry back just in case,” he called as they left. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, but hurry back just in case.”