Babies By The Busload. Raye Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ her, she had to admit that. But still—he didn’t need to lecture her so harshly in front of the entire staff, and most of all, he shouldn’t have had her fired. It just wasn’t right and she resented it to this day.

      The night before, after their meeting around her hot tub, she’d scanned the local listing, looking to see what station he was working for these days, but she hadn’t been able to find any mention of his name, and that had surprised her.

      This morning at work, she’d brought him up to Martin, the sportscaster.

      “I didn’t know Jack Remington was working here in St. Johns,” she’d said, making her voice as casual as she could.

      “Jack Remington?” Martin’s handsome brow had furled. “Who’s Jack Remington?”

      But another employee standing nearby had heard of him. “Jack Remington? You’re kidding. Where did you see him?”

      She hesitated, and something about his interest made her wary. “Uh, I thought I saw him near the condo complex where I’m staying. Maybe I was wrong.”

      “Jack Remington,” the man had mused, thinking back. “He used to be the best, you know. He was slated for major network success when he dropped out of sight. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

      “Yes,” J.J. had murmured, moving away. “I wonder.”

      So it seemed he had forsaken his old career. Strange. Still, she would rather not ever find out why than to have to deal with him again. And since she was only slated for the area for a few weeks, she doubted that would be a problem.

      She picked up the invitation to her friend’s baby shower and smiled at the silly duckling with a bow, but her smile faded as she read the date again. It was only weeks away. She didn’t think she was going to be able to make it. After all these years, it would be wonderful to see the old gang again. Pinning the invitation to the kitchen bulletin board, she resolved to see if she could find a way to go.

      

      She went back to the station at three, and it was evening before she returned home again, a sack from the local fried chicken outlet under her arm. As she came up the walk, she thought she heard animals in the trees, but when she cocked her head and listened, she realized it was babies crying. A lot of babies crying.

      She frowned. She had only one thin wall between her condo and Jack’s. Letting herself into her place, she found her unease had been warranted. The crying sounded even louder in her living room than it had outside.

      “What on earth is going on in there?” she muttered irritably. “It sounds like a baby convention.”

      A soft knocking on her door got her attention and she opened it to find Annie standing there, her lower lip quivering and moisture welling in her eyes.

      “Annie!” she cried, pulling the child into her entryway. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

      The little girl burst into tears, but she tried to force back the flow, wincing away when J.J. tried to comfort her with a hug. J.J. drew back, uncertain of how to deal with this. She wasn’t used to children, hadn’t been around them since she’d been a child herself. Annie looked so sad, so pathetic, she wanted badly to do something for her. But what?

      Her first instinct was that something terrible had happened, but that thought was beginning to recede, despite the child’s inability to get her story out. Inexperienced as she was with children, she had a feeling no one was lying bleeding somewhere. This had all the earmarks of a problem dealing with the emotions, not with physical danger. Some of her adrenaline slowed a bit, and she risked touching the little girl’s hair.

      “Just take it easy,” she murmured, frowning at her worriedly.

      Meanwhile, the tears Annie was trying to hold back kept squeezing out. “I…I…” Her face crumpled and she couldn’t get the words out.

      J.J. turned and grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to her, bending close, aching to help but not knowing how.

      “Just take a deep breath and tell me slowly,” she encouraged her.

      Annie tried, but the sobs were shaking her and it took a few minutes before she could speak.

      “It’s all my fault,” she wailed, hiccuping.

      “What’s your fault, Annie?” J.J. coaxed, stroking her hair and not receiving a rebuff.

      “M-M-Marguerite,” Annie forced out. “She’s gone.”

      “Gone?” Marguerite? Wasn’t that the live-in girlfriend, the floozy? Of course, she had no hard evidence, but things Annie had said that very afternoon had pointed in the direction of painted lady. And if that was the case, good riddance to her. Little girls like Annie needed.well, she wasn’t sure what they needed. J.J. went down on her knees to get closer to the sad little face.

      “Oh, honey, how could that possibly be your fault?”

      She rubbed her eyes with both fists. “I…I didn’t like the pot roast.”

      J.J. blinked. “The pot roast.” There had to be a connection here. If only she could see what it was.

      Annie nodded, finally getting everything but her lower lip under control. “I couldn’t eat it. I just couldn’t.”

      “Oh.” The picture was clearing. “Did Marguerite make the pot roast?” she guessed.

      Annie nodded again. “I hate it.” She made a face, shuddering. “It’s yucky.” She looked up at J.J. earnestly, intent upon explaining. “It’s got like hairy things and then the big globs of jiggly fat stuff and when it gets in your mouth it—”

      “I see. I understand.” J.J. cut her off hurriedly, suppressing a smile, and stroked the little girl’s hair again, her fingers catching in the curls. “And she’s touchy about food critics, is she?”

      “Uh-huh.” Annie nodded vigorously. “She put all her clothes in a bag and she went out the door.”

      “Ah.”

      “And it’s all my fault.”

      “Oh, honey.” A thought occurred to her and she looked at the girl sharply. “Did your daddy tell you that?”

      Annie blinked at her, not understanding the question. “Huh?”

      J.J.’s entire opinion of the man hung in the balance. She spoke again, making the words very clear, and watched for the tiniest reaction.

      “Did your daddy say it was your fault?”

      She shook her head, and her curls, damp from her copious tears, tried to give their usual bounce.

      “Daddy said, ‘Oh, never mind. We can take care of things without her.’”

      “Oh.” Well, there went that theory. At least Jack wasn’t an ogre to his child. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

      “Then the babies started to cry. They won’t stop. And Daddy said, ‘Go get СКАЧАТЬ