Maybe Baby Page 6

  Bach’s Minuet in G Minor played from her bag. Maybe it was Dana; she was glad she’d remembered to charge her cell phone last night. She pulled it out and flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Babs. Vivian Bellefleur. Is the bird alive?”

  Babs stopped walking. “What?”

  “I need the bird back,” Vivian said. “Can you have your guy bring it over? Like now?”

  “Well, no, Vivian,” Babs said. “You can’t have it back.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vivian said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said I need the bird.” Vivian’s voice was laced with desperation and just a touch of hysteria, and a thought occurred to Babs.

  “Well, maybe,” she said slowly. “How much is it worth to you?”

  “Worth?” Vivian screeched. “It’s my bird.”

  “Not anymore,” Babs said. “It’ll cost you.”

  “You bitch,” Vivian snapped, then followed it almost immediately with, “How much?”

  “A hundred thousand.” That should be enough to get the winery opened again. And now no birdie black market to deal with.

  The day just couldn’t get any more perfect.

  “Fine,” Vivian said. “We’ll add it to my tab. But I need that bird.”

  “Your tab?” Babs reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope she’d found on the table that morning.

  “I need that bird, Babs, unharmed,” Vivian ranted on as Babs opened the envelope and began to read the letter tucked inside. “The psycho you hired drugged it and tossed it out the window and I need it.”

  Babs looked up from the letter. “What?”

  “I don’t know what kind of people you work with, Babs, but he was crazy. I bumped into him. I was afraid for my life.”

  Babs glanced down at the letter. “What did he look like? The guy who drugged it and tossed it out the window?”

  “Tall. Dark. Cheekbones that could cut glass.”

  “Yeah, that’s my guy.” Babs skimmed the last of Nick’s report, her heart sinking as she read.

  Well. If I’ve ever wondered how quickly a day can go downhill, now I know.

  “Look, Viv,” she said with a sigh as she folded the letter and tucked it back into her purse. “We don’t have the bird.”

  There was a long pause, then, “What?”

  “We don’t have it. Someone else stole your bird.”

  “But I saw him,” Vivian said. “I saw him drug it and throw it out the window. And you just said that was your guy.”

  “The guy you saw was my guy. The guy who took your bird was another guy.”

  There was a slight pause, then a dramatic, “Oh. My. God.”

  Babs put her hand to her head to ward off the headache that was forming. “Viv? You okay?”

  “No,” Vivian said. “We have a problem.”

  “Viv,” she said loudly into the phone. “You’re breaking up, sweetie. Look, stay there. I’ll be right over.”

  Babs pulled her phone away from her face and stared at it before flipping it closed and stuffing it back in her purse. She stood out in the street and raised her arm to hail a cab. Whatever Vivian’s problem was, she was sure she could solve it.

  After all, that’s what she did.

  Eight

  Dana stood out in front of Murphy’s Wine Bar, staring up at the building to the windows on the third floor.

  Nick’s windows.

  She hadn’t planned on coming here. Well, obviously she’d thought about it—she’d looked up the address for Murphy’s in the phone book before she left. But she hadn’t definitively planned on it. She was just going to walk around Manhattan, maybe get a cup of coffee. It was purely coincidence that she’d ended up in front of Murphy’s.

  Or something like that.

  She played absently with the empty coffee cup in her hand as she stared up at the building, her heart beating faster with every second. She could walk away, play it safe, go on with her life as planned, and just let it go.

  Or, she could take the chance. It had to be a sign that Nick popped back into her life right after her moment of clarity. And that kiss. That kiss had nearly knocked them both over. It had to mean something.

  Didn’t it?

  She exhaled. Three hours she’d been wandering around Manhattan, thinking of signs and coincidence and what might be meant to be. Her winery was the only one in the Finger Lakes to have diseased grapes. If that hadn’t happened, she never would have come down to see Babs last night. What were the chances that on the one night she was at her mother’s, Nick would just happen to show up? On the very day she’d had a moment of clarity? What if her moment of clarity wasn’t misplaced anxiety, but a message? What if the kiss this morning—which was still tingling on her lips no matter how much lip gloss she applied—actually meant something? What if all this convergence pointed to her one chance to make it right, and she blew it?

  That would be bad. Then again, what if she went up there to talk to him and he told her to get lost, that he was over her, that he wanted no part of her?

  That would be infinitely worse.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  “They’re closed.”

  She turned around to look at the source of the gruff voice, and saw a hot dog vendor about three yards away. She took a few steps toward him, tossing her coffee cup in the garbage pail next to his cart.

  “Yeah. I know. I’m just… I know the guy—”

  “Who?” he said. “Nick?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Nick.”

  The hot dog vendor whistled and shook his head. “All the ladies want Nick.”

  Dana blinked. “What do you mean, all the ladies? What ladies? Who ladies?”

  “Dana?”

  She spun around to see Nick standing right there, holding a cardboard box in his arms.

  Oh, Jesus, he looks good.

  “Hey,” she said. Her throat went dry.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, Nick,” the hot dog vendor said. “Who’s your friend?”

  Nick smiled. “Out of your league, Oscar.”

  Dana tugged on Nick’s jacket. “The hot dog guy’s name is Oscar?”

  Nick looked back at Dana, and his smile faded a touch. “Yeah. Why?”

  She giggled nervously. “Is his last name Mayer?”

  “Gee, never heard that one before,” Oscar said flatly from behind her.

  “Sorry.” Dana turned back to Nick and motioned toward Murphy’s. “Can we go inside for a minute?”

  Nick nodded. “Sure.” He shifted the box onto one hip and dug into his pockets, pulling out the keys. Dana waited behind him as he unlocked the front door, giving a quick wave to Oscar before following him inside. It was a gorgeous place, a big fireplace in the back, wine racks lining the sage green walls, and hardwood floors so golden they practically glowed.

  “Wow, Nick,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty space as she stepped inside. “This place is incredible. How many varieties do you serve?”

  “About fifteen hundred,” he said, setting the box down on a table close to the front. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with almost no expression. She took in a deep breath and motioned toward the box.

  “Shipping some stuff?”

  “Yeah.” Something flashed in his eyes. “Babs didn’t tell you?”

  Dana blinked. “Tell me what?”

  “Nothing. It’s… not important.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Nick shifted his weight. “Did you need something?”

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling her throat constrict as she watched him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her that she wasn’t off to a stellar start, but the din from the blind panic kind of drowned that voice out. “Dana?” he prompted. “Are you all right?”

  “Have you ever had a sudden moment of clarity?” she blurted.

  Nick’s eyebrows kn
it. “What?”

  “A sudden moment of clarity,” she repeated, feeling almost as stupid as she sounded. Still, she pushed on. “You know, like when people just know something.”

  He blinked. “Just know something?”

  “Yeah, like when they just know that they’re in love, or that something bad has happened to a family member, or”—she looked down—”that they’re going to throw up all over glowing hardwood floors.” She took in a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eye. “Have you ever had one?”

  He watched her for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Well, I have,” she said. “I had it yesterday, and then I came to see Mom—not about the moment of clarity, about something totally different—but then when I saw you last night I kinda thought…” She stopped and tilted her head as she looked up at him. “You’ve really never had one?”

  Nick shook his head, watching her with those eyes that cut right through her. How did he do that with just his eyes? Not that it mattered. He did it, and he was the only one who ever had.

  “It was about you,” she said finally.

  He met her eyes, his face expressionless. “What was about me?”

  “The moment of clarity.” She exhaled, took in a deep breath. “I think I made a mistake.”

  Nick released a long breath before responding. “You think you made a mistake?”

  “Yeah. When I left you. At the wedding. You remember the running?”

  He nodded. “I remember the running.”

  “Yeah. That. It was a mistake.” She swallowed hard and searched his face for some sign that he wasn’t going to yell at her and tell her to get the hell out, but she couldn’t read him.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly. “I mean, I don’t expect that it matters. Much. I mean, it matters to me, but to you…. it shouldn’t. Really. I just thought you should know that… um…”

  He continued to stare at her.

  “So,” she went on, “that’s why I came by. Just to, you know, tell you that I was wrong, and I know I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  Her voice cracked on the “sorry,” and Nick’s face finally softened. He pushed up off the edge of the table and took a step toward her. Dana took a step back.

  “You really don’t have to say anything,” she said. “I mean, if you had something to say, you would have already said it, so anything you say now is really going to just be something to say, and who needs that, right? I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  Nick shook his head. “You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes, Dana.”

  Dana stared up at him. “Melanie.”

  “Yeah.” He dropped his eyes. “Actually, about that—”

  “You don’t have to explain anything,” Dana said, laughing nervously and waving her hand in the air, her stomach turning at the thought of hearing about his night with Melanie. “I don’t care that you slept with her.”

  Confusion flashed over his face. “You don’t?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. At first I did. For a while there, it was my most sincere wish that her little cloven feet would gouge your shins out.” She laughed too loud and cringed, then went on. “I mean, it’s not exactly a pleasant thought, you two together, but after what I did, who could blame you?”

  “You don’t blame me?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He huffed out a small laugh, tinged with sadness. “You should. I screwed everything up as much as you did. I should have listened to you. I should have paid more attention.”

  “Ah, shoulda, woulda, coulda.” Dana waved her hand dismissively in the air and smiled up at him. “There’s no point. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, yadda yadda yadda, right?”

  He smiled back. “Right.”

  And suddenly there it was, that little sparkle at the edge of his eyes, the one that was only for her, and her heart soared. For the first time since that damned moment of clarity, she thought maybe…

  “I’m moving to California,” he said, his smile fading.

  Or, you know, maybe not.

  “Whoa,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “California. Big move.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Where in California?” she asked, pulling on a forced smile.

  “San Diego.”

  “Nice place. Pretty beaches.”

  “So I hear.”

  “New job?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Doing what?”

  Nick hesitated, then shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”

  “Great,” she said, overpunching the enthusiasm. “Congratulations. Good for you. That’s wonderful.”

  Shut up, she thought. Just shut up and get out.

  “Thank you.” He gestured with his shoulder at the box on the table behind him. “I was just… shipping some stuff.”

  “Wow,” she said. Her fingertips were tingly, going numb. She guessed all the blood was flowing to the gaping psychic wound in her gut. “Well, then. I’m glad we had this little talk. Clear the air so we can both gain closure, move on, follow our bliss. Just like Oprah says. You know, she’s really smart. Oprah.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. So. Great. Well…” She looked up at him and tried not to read into what she thought she saw in his eyes. It didn’t matter, anyway.

  Stupid California.

  “‘Bye.”

  She moved clumsily past him. Her legs felt like tree trunks, they were so heavy. He touched her arm lightly, and she froze where she was, staring at the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About this morning. I shouldn’t have…”

  “Oh, no,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She clenched her teeth and tried to blink them away, thinking Not now, oh please, not now. “It was a good-bye kiss. Just a good-bye. It was time to, you know, say good-bye.”

  She shot up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, mostly so he wouldn’t see the tear that was tracking down hers.

  “Good-bye, Nick,” she whispered, then darted out the front door. She thought she heard it open behind her, followed by someone’s footsteps going out to the sidewalk, but she didn’t turn around to look.

  There really wasn’t any point.

  Nine

  Babs sat on Vivian and Gary Bellefleur’s leather sofa. Vivian, a tall thin blonde in her late thirties, with a patrician nose and an overdeveloped sense of drama, stood to Babs’s left, her arms crossed over her stomach as her fingers tapped nervously over her elbow. Gary, a short balding guy with an unusual and disturbing fondness for golf clothes, stood to Babs’s right. She felt like a little kid being scolded by her parents, and the sensation didn’t sit well with her.

  “A bald guy?” Vivian asked, staring at Babs in disbelief.

  “You hired someone to steal Mr. Saunders?” Gary asked, staring at Vivian with a similar stunned expression. Vivian waved her hand at him dismissively.

  “Well, you wouldn’t let me have him killed—”

  “With good reason!” Gary shouted.

  “Zip it, Skippy,” Vivian hissed.

  Babs leaned forward. “Who’s Mr. Saunders?”

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “The stupid bird.”

  Babs leaned back. “Oh. Okay.”

  Gary sat in the chair next to the sofa. “My father loved that bird.”

  “Your father was a vicious nutcase.”

  Gary leveled his finger at Vivian. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “Oh, pffft,” Vivian huffed. “That bastard should have kicked it ages ago.”

  She situated herself on the sofa next to Babs. “Fifteen years, Babs. Fifteen years of Baby, fetch my meds and I dropped my remote, bend over, and pick it up, would ya? and Hey, Sweetcheeks, it’s time to change my bedpan and I did it. I did all of it. Took care of him. Took care of his stupid, smelly, stinky bird. So when the guy finally kicked off, I got rid of it. Yes.” She put her hands on Babs’s arm. “I mean,
really, Babs. You would have done the same, wouldn’t you?”

  Gary flew up off the chair. “Not if it meant losing twenty-five million dollars!”

  Vivian hopped up off the sofa, her hands on her hips as she leaned into her yell. “How was I supposed to know the rotten old coot would leave everything to the stupid bird? You’d better hope crazy skips a generation, buddy, or you’re screwed.”

  Babs stood up. “All right, both of you. Enough. Sit down. Please.”

  She pointed to the chairs on either side of the sofa. Vivian threw herself down. Gary scuffed one toe against the floor in protest and also sat down. Once they were seated and quiet, Babs settled back on the sofa.

  “Explain to me”—she held her hand up as Vivian opened her mouth—“calmly what happened this morning.”

  “Albert came by,” Gary said.

  Babs looked to Vivian. “Who’s Albert?”

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “Family lawyer.”

  Babs looked to Gary. “Okay. And?”

  “And he said that my father left his entire estate to the bird. We have to bring it in to the office on Friday so they can verify Mr. Saunders’s good health before they can release the funds.”

  “And if you don’t bring the bird?”

  Vivian slumped into the chair. “Then we’ll just have to find the most stylish lines for government cheese.”

  “Okay,” Babs said, keeping her voice soft and calm. “We’re adults. We’ll find a solution.”

  “Here’s a solution,” Vivian said, sounding like a bratty teenager. “Send Cheekbones out to find the guy who stole my bird!”

  Gary looked appalled. “Cheekbones? Is that a mob name?”

  Babs tried not to roll her eyes. “His name is Nick, and he’s not available.”

  “He was available last night,” Vivian said.

  Babs turned hard eyes on Vivian. “Last night was his last favor for me.”

  Vivian let out an exasperated sigh. “Then we’ll bribe him.”

  “With what, Vivian? Government cheese?” Babs shook her head. “Besides, he doesn’t do it for money.”