The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards
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seemed like a pretty stiff sentence.
She flicked on her lights and stepped inside. Her apartment was furnished in leather with chrome accents and neon table lamps. She was a fan of sleek surfaces with no hint of clutter. The walls were mostly blank, and she liked them that way, clean white paint and no memorabilia from a past she wanted to forget. The tile floors were unmarred by rugs. Toddler Toby probably would have cracked his head a hundred times.
No longer her problem.
She wasn’t hungry, but she crossed the living room to the tiny kitchen and searched the refrigerator for beer. She found a tall bottle hiding behind half a gallon of milk, but only one, because that’s how she bought them, one at a time, just enough to split or enjoy alone without temptation to drink another. Her mother, Deedee, was a bartender who had lost at least one job for over-sampling the wares. Her youngest brother, Pete, had lost his driver’s license for two years after his second underage DUI and, judging by his continued drinking, showed no signs the lesson had any impact. She had no intention of following the family tradition.
She tossed the milk carton in the garbage because she couldn’t remember when she’d bought it. Then, using the hem of her tank top, she unscrewed the beer cap and drank half the bottle slouched against the granite counter.
Many people were not going to understand what she had done this afternoon. But Toby Randolph was alive today because she had, against her better judgment, given birth to him. Even after she learned that Graham was likely to die before their baby was born, and if he did, his mega-wealthy parents probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her or the baby. Even after she realized that, whether he lived or not, Graham was never going to make the three of them a real family.
She was too tired to think about Graham.
She left the half-empty bottle on the counter. In the bedroom she kicked off her shoes and jeans and fell facedown on the unmade bed.
Hours might have passed or just minutes when the doorbell buzzed, then buzzed again. She was so foggy-headed she was clueless about time or place. As the buzzing continued she rolled over and sat up, and the world came into focus again.
If Graham or Lilia or, worse, their lawyer friend, Carrick, was standing on the other side, she didn’t want to answer the door. But whoever was waiting was insistent, and she could hardly pretend she wasn’t home. Anyone who knew her would spot her yellow Mustang Fastback in the lot. She pulled on her jeans, walked barefoot to the door and squinted through the peephole.
Silently cursing she unlocked it and stood back to let her mother inside.
“I hated to ring the doorbell, in case I woke up little Toby...” As she spoke Deedee Tate’s voice gathered enough volume to wake every corpse at the Odd Fellows Cemetery miles away.
Marina had dreaded this moment, but now that it was here, she mostly felt annoyed. “If Toby had slept through the doorbell, your shouting would finish the job.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe and happy. Why are you here?”
Deedee looked puzzled, but she never meditated on a problem when she could talk instead. She held out a wrinkled paper bag. “I found some cute baby clothes at a neighbor’s garage sale. You don’t owe me much. They were cheap.”
Marina squinted through sleep-fogged eyes. From photos, she knew she resembled Deedee when she, too, had been thirty. It was a sobering thought. Now her mother was fifty-one. By the time Marina was that age would she resemble the woman standing before her? Deedee made no effort to eat well or exercise. She was overweight, with sagging breasts and a roll of fat that bulged over the elastic waistband of a broomstick skirt. Her shaggy hair was haphazardly dyed an improbable shade of gold, and her graying roots were inches long.
“I didn’t ask you to buy a thing,” Marina said. “I wish you would stop buying things I don’t need and then asking me to pay for them.”
“I’m trying to help. I can’t afford to do much on my own. I’m barely getting the hours at Frankie’s that I need to make ends meet. And your brothers—”
Marina made a chopping motion with her hand. “I don’t want to hear about my brothers.” Both Jerry and Pete, twenty-five and nineteen respectively, still lived at home and never helped Deedee with rent or food.
Her mother lifted her chin proudly. “Well, aren’t you snippy today.”
“Yeah, well, try not getting any sleep for months.”
“I had babies, too, you know.”
“Yeah, you did, and I raised two of them for you.” Marina didn’t sigh as much as force air from her lungs. “Look, I have half a beer I just opened. It’s yours.”
“One of those bombers you like so much?”
“There’s plenty left.”
Deedee followed Marina into the kitchen and watched as she took a go-cup from a cupboard. “So who’s got Toby?”
“His father.” Marina poured the beer and handed it to her mother. Most likely by now it was almost flat, but Deedee wouldn’t balk.
“What? His father’s in the picture all of a sudden? Like that?” Deedee flicked a glittery fake nail against the plastic cup for emphasis.
Marina watched her mother take two long swallows. “Isn’t it about time?”
“What about that wife of his?”
“We can definitely say she’s in the picture, too.” Marina had a sudden flash of Lilia’s expression as she handed the baby to her. She had expected to feel victory followed by the sweet aftermath of revenge. But she had felt neither. Lilia Swallow had never done anything to her except marry the man Marina had wanted for her own, and married him long before Marina even met him. At the one party Marina had been invited to at Graham’s house, Lilia had been a thoughtful hostess. She’d even made a point of introducing Marina to Graham’s best friend, Carrick Donnelly, then backing away, as if she hoped sparks might ignite.
“They’ll give him back, won’t they?” Deedee didn’t wait for an answer before she finished what was left in the cup.
“Deedee, I don’t want him back.” Marina pushed away from the counter. “I never wanted to be a mother. Don’t you think I had enough mothering with Jerry and Pete? You remember who took care of them when you were working and in the wee morning hours when you were off having fun? I gave Petey more bottles than you ever did, and I rode herd on Jerry until he got bigger than me. You think any of that made me want to be a mother again?”
“You were their big sister. I was their mother. You were helping out. Helping is good for kids.”
“It was not good for me. I didn’t have a childhood. I had children. Your children.”
Deedee was angry now. She banged the go-cup on the counter. “Family is important!”
“Yeah, right. You mean like the father you told me was mine, only it turned out he wasn’t? Is that your idea of family?”
“He wasn’t much of a father. You hardly noticed when he disappeared.”
“Right. Maybe I hardly ever saw him, but at least I had a name and a face when I needed them. Until the state went after him for child support and he demanded a paternity test.”
“I told you then, I’ll tell you now. I thought he was your father. I never lied. I thought he was the one.”
“Uh-huh. And by the time you found out you were wrong, you couldn’t remember who else might have been in the running.”
Deedee ignored that. “I was mother and father to you. To all of you.”
“You were gone most of the time. I had no mother, and the boys had me, which was probably worse.”
“You can’t really mean you don’t want your own baby.”
“I