I turn to see Josh, smiling, emerging from the elevator. I see Penny peeking out from behind him. “And you know Penny would never stand for it,” he continues.
I try to untangle my unexpected rush of emotions. Love. Hope. And time. There’s time.
Penny races down the hall as Josh kisses the top of my head. He’s carrying a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of plump white roses. Twisty fuchsia ribbons trail from around the stems. He pulls one flower from the center and hands it to me.
“Congratulations, Auntie Charlie,” he whispers, leaning close. “You’re my baby, you know.”
He lifts my chin, locking my eyes with his. This time, his kiss lingers, tender. For that moment, only the two of us exist.
“I know,” I finally manage to say.
“Come look at her toes, Charlie Mac, they’re the littlest of littles.” Penny has already scampered back, and grabs the belt of my coat, pulling me away from Josh and toward the baby parade. Franklin’s perched the panda on the back of the wheelchair, paws sticking straight out, balloons bouncing against its floppy black ears.
“Would you like to give these to Maysie for us, sweetheart?” I say, holding out my bouquet.
“And these, too, kiddo,” Josh adds, giving her the rest of the white roses. “Maybe give them to Matthew, since Maysie’s arms are full of baby.”
Penny carefully wraps her arms around the two bouquets, then, with a brief furrow of her little forehead adjusts the satin ribbons so they fall just so. “I’m practicing for the wedding,” she announces, her voice brimming with pride. “Watch this, Charlie Mac.”
Penny walks in bridal procession touch-steps up to Maysie and Matthew and solemnly presents her bouquet. Then, placing one snow-booted toe carefully behind her, she performs a deep and perfect curtsy.
Our laughter fills the hallway as the Maysie entourage draws closer. Matthew’s face is almost covered by the masses of flowers he’s wound up carrying. Franklin’s taken Panda from his perch and is carrying him again. Maysie looks ecstatic but exhausted. No makeup, hair slicked back, wearing a pink-striped hospital gown, hospital-issue pale blue slipper socks and a plastic hospital name bracelet around her wrist. A crocheted yellow blanket is tucked across her legs.
“You okay, Mays?” I lean down and kiss her hair, then hand the books to Matthew. “You look fantastic.”
“I’m fine, perfect, wonderful,” she says. Her voice is thick with emotion. “Meet baby Maddee.”
Maysie carefully slides her right hand underneath the swaddled bundle on her lap, then cradles Maddee’s tiny head with the left. Smiling, she lifts her new daughter, sleeping and unaware, and hands her to me. “Maddee, meet your Auntie Charlie. And your Uncle Josh.”
Penny, hanging on to Josh’s sleeve, on tiptoe for a better view, watches intently as the newborn passes across from mother to best friend.
“And me, Cousin Penny!” she adds. She frowns, perplexed. “Aren’t I a cousin?”
Maddee’s heavier than I expected. Solid. Her tiny chest rises, falls, rises again. With one tentative finger, I smooth the almost-invisible silky fuzz across the top of her head, then bend, briefly, to inhale the unmistakable scent. Her eyes flutter open, just a fraction. I glimpse a flash of blue.
“Welcome to the world, Maddee girl,” I whisper.
“Want to walk with me back to the station?” Franklin pulls on his gloves, then ties the belt of his navy coat in a knot, the two loose ends exactly the same length. “Talk with Kevin about what Borum said? He’s probably working today, this close to the beginning of sweeps. Then I can collect my ten thousand dollars.”
Franklin and I are in the two-story glass-walled entry hall of Mass General, waiting for Josh and Penny to bring the car from the parking lot. We’re planning a Sunday evening-a family evening-of carryout barbecue from the Blue Ribbon, followed by a G-rated Netflix. I’m hoping for an R-rating, or even X, after Penny goes up to bed. And I don’t mean in a movie.
“Oh, right, Franko. Just what I wanted to do on a Sunday night. Work. You’re kidding me, right?”
Franklin is not amused. “We need to screen the undercover video of the rental company. Transcribe the Ross interview. Finish looking up the VIN numbers we pulled from RCK and Miracle Motors. Find more unrepaired recalls. There’s a lot to do, Charlotte. And not long to get it all accomplished.”
A bevy of coats and hats and umbrellas passes us, visitors, patients, doctors, pushing through the heavy front doors and into the waning afternoon. Four o’clock. It’s already getting dark. Why is Franklin suddenly so eager to spend all his time at the station? Maybe the better question is-why am I suddenly so not?
“Let’s give ourselves a little break,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I got Borum this morning, but we can’t do more on that until tomorrow. And tomorrow, I’ll come in early. Look up VINs. Talk to Kevin. Bet I get started before you do. It’ll all work.”
“Your call,” he says. “It’s your face that’s on the air, not mine. Your name on the story. If there is a story.” Franklin unwraps his herringbone muffler, then reties it with what seems like unnecessary drama. A honk beeps from outside. Josh’s Volvo. Penny’s hanging out the passenger window, waving.
Franklin’s poised, his glove on one curved metal handle of the revolving door. He cocks his head toward the car. “You coming with me? Or going with them?”
I love my work. I love my new family. I can’t be two places at once.
It’s Sunday night. Family night. I take a deep breath and step into a new world. “Going.”
I hope it’s the right decision.
Chapter Nine
“No. Not later. Now.”
My hand tightens around my cell phone as the unfamiliar voice persists. Wenholm Dulles, who says he’s a Bexter parent, called me on my private line just after Franklin went to Buzz World to get us some late-after-noon caffeine. Franklin seems to be over his work panic. This Monday, feeling like a team again, we’ve already plowed through most of our video and targeted some potentially unrepaired recalls. Some are used cars still for sale and some are rental cars. It’s taken all day, but our story seems to be working. Cross fingers. Now we have to find those cars and check for air bags.
This unexpected phone call has screeched my momentum to a halt.
“Mr. Dulles, I’m afraid I don’t remember you from the Head’s party, forgive me. And-”
“It’s critically important,” Dulles interrupts. “As I said, about something that may be happening at Bexter. The Head said we should call you. And now, we’re just down the street. In the Parker House café. It’ll take fifteen minutes of your time. Ten. But again, Miss McNally. This must be a secret.”
Of course. What else is new.
“Hold on,” I say. I clamp the phone against my shoulder, grab a pen and scrawl on a yellow sticky pad. What I write is a lie.
Dentist. Forgot. Back soon. C.
I stick the note to Franklin’s monitor. I know he’ll believe me. We’ve never deceived each other. We’ve never kept secrets. But first there was New York. And now Bexter. And now an imaginary dentist.
Bexter. I yank myself out of guilt and back to reality. Has there been another phone call? Or is it something about Dorothy Wirt? Josh? Penny? Something is truly wrong there.
“Mr. Dulles? I’m on the way,” I say, struggling to talk and button my coat as I hurry down the hall. “But can you tell me more? On the phone? I truly have to get back to the-”
“I have two children, both attend Bexter,” he says, cutting me off again. “Lexie’s a freshman, Tal’s a senior. About to graduate. All these years, we’ve insisted on only the best for them, and-”
Silence.
“Mr. Dulles?” I clatter around the final landing of the back stairwell and out toward the side door. “Mr. Dulles?”