“The gown is a family heirloom,” Margo said. “My mother and I were both baptized in it. And now it’s Emily Anne’s turn.” Margo fingered the loops of lace that fringed the hem. The bodice was decorated with satin rosebuds, and a satin ribbon was tied in a bow at the waist. The skirt fell in yards of gathers.
“It’s exquisite.”
“My grandmother made it. She was an artist in her own right, don’t you think?” Margo slipped the dress over her baby’s head, eased Emily’s arms into the sleeves, and patted the dress into its full length. She fastened a trio of tiny pearl buttons at the back. “There.” She held the baby up for Christie’s inspection.
“I’d say that it’s time to get out the cameras,” Christie said.
“What’s that about cameras?” Hal said as he entered the room.
“Your daughter is a star, and I think we need to record this moment for posterity.”
“You’re right. I’ve got a brand-new video camera and Elliot put a new card in his digital. This is going to be the most-photographed baby in town.”
It was a short drive to the church. Lilies decorated the altar. The christening party gathered in the sanctuary, and Emily Anne did not even protest when dipped into the baptismal water. Smiles flashed for the camera and photo after photo was snapped.
Hal and Margo hosted a reception to celebrate their little darling’s baptism and their home was filled with happy chatter and tinkling glasses as toasts were proclaimed. Christie avoided contact with Cash by blending with a group of guests on the patio and joining in small talk and quiet laughter. She could not wait for the day to end.
In the morning before Christie left for the airport, Elliot printed a set of christening photographs for her. Margo kissed Christie on the cheek, and told her that she expected to see her on Emily’s birthday, if not sooner.
On the plane Christie tried to read a paperback she had picked up in the terminal, but it was impossible. She couldn’t concentrate, and after reading the same paragraph four times, she gave up and stashed the book into the seat pocket. She pulled a pair of earphones from her purse, shoved the plug into the jack in the armrest, and tuned in a soft-rock station. The music should have relaxed her, but thoughts of Cash intruded and would not go away.
At San Francisco Airport, the jet couldn’t land quickly enough to suit her. She was a bundle of nerves, and she wanted to be home, snuggled with her cat. When the seat-belt signs were turned off, she reached under the seat in front of her and slid her overnighter out. She stood, ready for the exodus.
She was glad that she had splurged on short-term parking and didn’t have to wait for a shuttle. She drove home through the last vestige of daylight. Before she turned the key in the door, she heard Tosha loudly meowing as though she had been abandoned for a week. Christie pushed the door open, dropped the carry-on to the floor, and swept the cat into her arms. Tosha purred contentedly, mollified to at last be in her person’s arms.
Sleep was elusive. Cash appeared in her dreams, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. She ran to him, but just before she reached him, he crossed his arms over his chest, laughed at her, then disappeared. She shook herself awake and in the hazy almost-morning light was overwhelmed by despair.
Groggy, she dressed and put the kettle on. Even at this early-morning hour, Tosha danced at her feet, ready for a treat. She fed the cat and fixed tea. She carried the mug into the living room and sat on the couch.
Pictures were fanned across the coffee table and she leaned forward and studied them. The snapshots chronicled happy scenes. Friendly scenes. A picture of her and Cash at the altar, with the baby between them, leaped out at her. Looking at the photo, a chill rippled through her. Elliot had snapped the picture, and the moment had been captured. For a few seconds, she and Cash had seemingly forgotten the chasm that divided them. In their mutual affection for Emily Anne, they had been joined together. Their eyes sparkled, their smiles glowed; for a few moments they were a couple again. Only for a few moments, she mused, only for a few moments.
Regret swelled inside her. Regret for not allowing the good times to override the bad. Now it was too late. The sweetness was gone, and only bitterness remained. For a short time it had seemed that the anger and accusations that separated her and Cash had vanished. But the photos created an illusion; the trip back to San Francisco in separate planes had been a dramatic indication of reality.
She picked up a picture of herself with baby Emily cradled in her arms; Cash hovered over her. Doting godparents: a typical Kodak moment. They looked like a couple, she thought. A happy pair. But the picture lied. She pressed the four-by-six-inch snapshot to her breast and the tears she had tried to hold back began to fall.
Tosha bounced onto Christie’s lap and nuzzled her.
“Dearest Tosha, thanks for the sympathy.” She gently rubbed her cat’s head and Tosha purred in return.
Christie realized that she might never see Margo and the baby again. Her connection with them was tenuous at best without Cash. How could she crowd into their life when it was awkward to be in the same room with their best friend? She had to respect their loyalty. It wouldn’t be right to force them to choose. She was now an outsider, and that hurt. She wanted to see baby Emily grow up. That was what godparents did. And she wanted a child of her own. Now where did that come from? she wondered. Breaking off with Cash wasn’t going to be the end of the world. Someday she would marry and have children. But she didn’t want just anybody’s children, she wanted Cash’s.
She gently nudged Tosha aside, stood and walked to the window. She propped her elbows on the sill and looked out into the waking light. Across the way the windows of an old Victorian glowed like copper in the golden sunrise. San Francisco was waking up. She loved the energy and beauty of the city: Golden Gate Park, the theater, museums, beaches—the list was endless. And yet…and yet…she would give it all up to mend the rift between her and Cash. But it wasn’t in the cards. She turned and hugged herself in a protective, insular gesture. Empty arms, broken heart.
She tried to cast off her depression by thinking of her work schedule. After all, she had a thriving business. Maybe her clients’ problems would help her forget, for just a little while, her own. Boarding a cable car, she grumbled quietly at the increase in the fare. Still, it was cheaper than parking fees and parking tickets.
When she’d first started working with Tom, she had driven to work every day, but that had resulted in a purse full of citations. The street spaces had time limits, and although she tried to remember to move her car periodically, it never failed that the parking gestapo caught up with her.
Christie studied the passengers sitting across from her—anything to keep her mind occupied, no space for lingering on personal issues. A well-dressed career-type woman clutched a large, leather, tote-like briefcase. The tote appeared new and expensive, probably purchased as a symbol of success, hoped for or achieved. In contrast, next to her a young man in baggy basketball shorts had earphones plugged into his ears, and his head nodded in tune to whatever hip-hop he was hearing. Each in their own way appeared to face the start of the day with a measure of pleasure. She hoped she would soon be able to do the same. Surely she deserved that.
Arriving at the office, she was surprised to see that Tom was not at his desk. He must be in the field, she thought. Without the mindless coffee-and-doughnut chatter they usually indulged in at nine o’clock, she would not easily keep thoughts of Cash at bay. She checked for telephone messages and other notes, but her desk was clear, quite a change from the pressure-cooker days when the Farley case absorbed all her energy.