“Where’s she going to go?” I ask Dr. Brentwood. “If Eva is committed, who takes the baby?”
He draws in a sip of a breath, his hands resting calmly in his lap. “Well, Beckham, Child Services will take her into custody if there’s no other legal guardian. Did you sign the birth certificate?”
“Of course not.”
“So she’ll be temporarily placed in a foster home until Eva is able to care for her.”
“How long will that be?”
“We have no way to know that.” He pushes his glasses up, his shoulders falling slightly. He’s annoyed with me for being involved, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Where will she be? Are there foster homes in the city?”
“You won’t know where she’s placed,” he says. “Unless you’re a legal guardian. And even then, you’d have to get special permission to visit.”
I glance down at the tiny little girl sleeping peacefully in my arms. For a second, I see a part of me in her. My heart squeezes. The idea of handing her over physically pains me.
“I’ll take her.” I clear my throat, standing tall. “She can live with me. Eva listed me on the birth certificate. I’m the assumed father.”
“Beckham.” Dr. Brentwood tilts his head, placing his hand in the air to protest.
“I know you’re going to say it’s a bad idea,” I speak before he has a chance. “But I can’t ship her off like some puppy nobody wanted.”
There’s a knock at the door. Elizabeth jumps and scurries down the hall.
“You’ll need to contact a family law attorney,” Dr. Brentwood says. “They’ll have to arrange an emergency custody hearing, and you’ll have to explain to the judge why she’s better off in your care than in foster care.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
Elizabeth returns with a small team of Crisis Team workers wearing matching white polo shirts with blue hospital logos on them.
“Eva, my name is Monique.” One of the workers takes the spot next to Eva where I sat earlier. “You’re going to come with us, and we’re going to help you get better so you can take care of that little one, all right?”
Monique smiles. Eva’s mouth twists into a panicked frown. She scans the room for me, and the second she stands, Monique and Dr. Brentwood take her by the arms and lead her out the door.
The incessant wailing that ensues wakes sleeping Baby and Elizabeth rushes to my side to assist.
“It’s okay.” I bounce her gently, shushing to try and drown out her mother’s shrieks. “I’ve got you now.”
Baby quiets after a few minutes, and Eva’s screaming has disappeared. I’d look out the window, but I don’t need the image of her being strapped into a stretcher burned into my memory.
“Mr. King?” A woman in a khaki trench coat with bags under her sleepless eyes steps into the room. She wears the grayed look of a woman with a thankless job. “I’m with Child and Family Services.”
The way I see it, I have two options.
Dive headfirst.
Or run.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ODESSA
One last pair of flats goes into my suitcase before I yank the zipper tight. It’s almost nine o’clock, and the flight leaves in fourteen hours from LaGuardia. I texted Beckham earlier to let him know I’d meet him there around nine, but I never heard back.
He stormed out of the office after lunch today, and I never heard from him after that.
Washing up for bed and slipping into pajama pants and a tank, I climb under my cool sheets and pull my tablet from my nightstand for some late night reading. I read until my eyelids grow heavy and the e-ink words jumble together on the dimly lit screen.
The buzzing on my nightstand interrupts my gentle lull and pulls me back into the moment – into my cold, dark room. Eyes squinting, I grab the phone and answer immediately when I see who’s calling.
“Beckham,” I say, voice groggy. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?” His voice is dialed down, low. Almost seductive.
“Sleeping. Which is what you should be doing too. We fly out tomorrow morning.”
“I need you to come over.”
My lips twist, peeling into a wide smile I can only hope to conceal in my tone. “You’re shameless. And no. The answer is no. I’m in bed. I’m staying here. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Odessa.” My name in his mouth is heavier this time, causing my heart to hammer. “I mean it. Come over. Now.”
“The desperation isn’t doing you any favors. Goodnight, okay?”
A weird noise comes from his end. It sounds like a squawking bird, high pitched and shrill at first until it grows louder and closer. And then I realize it’s a baby.
***
The penthouse elevator doors part, and there stands Beckham, a wailing newborn cradled in his arms. I’d forgotten how small babies are when they’re brand new. I haven’t held a newborn since my oldest sister had her last, and it’s been years.
“I can’t get her to take a bottle.” Beckham’s hair is combed every which way, his eyes squinty and his posture exhausted. A small bottle rests in the palm of his hand. Navy sweats are cinched low around his hips, and a white t-shirt reveals a hint of the ‘v’ that leads to familiar territory. I’ve seen him dressed up. I’ve seen him naked. But seeing him so casual with a baby in his arm almost feels like an illusion.
“May I?” I scoop the crying baby from his arms. He hands me the bottle which is tepid at best. “This is cold, Beckham. Let’s get her a fresh one. Do you have any frozen breast milk?
“She’s on formula.”
“Where’s Eva?” I ask.
“Obviously not here.”
I carry the unsettled baby into the kitchen, Beckham following. An open canister of Similac rests next to a diaper bag. Pulling out a fresh bottle, I heat some sterile water and mix two ounces with a scoop of powder.
Testing it on my inner wrist, I run the nipple across her mouth until she opens up. She latches on immediately, as if she was starving.
“Why will she let you give her a bottle and not me?” He watches like I’m performing some kind of magic.
“Babies are fickle,” I say. “She’s still figuring out the world around her. Sometimes they like to be held a certain way or they want their milk a certain temperature. You’ll get to know her eventually. Crying is the only way they can communicate right now.”
I carry her into the living room, lowering us into a cushy leather chair. I prop my legs on a nearby ottoman and settle in with the dark haired beauty.
“She looks like you.” I gently pull the bottle from her lips and hoist her over my shoulder, patting her back until she gives me the tiniest burp.
Beckham takes the seat across from me, not looking away for one second. Either he’s amazed by this interaction or he’s overprotective of his daughter.
“You’re good with her,” he says.
She sucks down the final ounce, and I place her over my shoulder once more. “I have six nieces and nephews. Lots of practice.”
He looks down for a second, his elbows resting on his knees. “You want kids, Odessa?”
“Someday,” I say. “Not in a rush or anything. My family’s as close as we are big. I’m the only Russo out of five not married with kids. The pressure is intense. I’m sure it’ll happen exactly when it’s supposed to. I’m not worried.”
“Try being one of fifty-six.” His hand hooks the back of his neck and he leans back.
I’m sure he’s exaggerating.
“So you have experience with babies then? Being from a big family?”
His terse lips harden. “Men didn’t do that in my family. She’s the first baby I’ve ever held.”
“What’s her name?” I watch her eyelids flutter and feel her relax in my arms as she settles in the white blanket that envelops her.
“Baby.” His eyes are still closed. “That’s her name. Baby.”
“You need some sleep, Beckham. You’re not making any sense tonight.” I stand up slow, not wanting to wake her. “Where’s her crib?”
The only indication that a baby lives in his penthouse is the stuffed diaper bag sitting on the counter next to the can of formula.