Claiming Her. Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen

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      “I agree. Miriam?”

      My mother held her cup thoughtfully, quietly. “Your father and I have decided to let Danny stay here when you find a job. I’ll babysit him until he’s old enough for preschool, or unless you and Richard patch up your marriage and he finds decent employment to support his family. Considering how shaky that prospect is, it can’t hurt for you to learn self-sufficiency. You may need to rely on yourself alone, Leigh Ann, in the long run.”

      I sat very still for a minute. “I don’t expect the marriage to work out. Not after everything that’s happened.”

      “Your father and I figured as much. We just wanted to be certain. Well, a divorce in your case will be cheap enough. No property or other finances to fight over.”

      “I just want my freedom.”

      “Freedom,” my father mused. “Nothing in life is free, Leigh Ann. Just make sure you don’t barter away the things you value and the things that make life valuable on another useless, self-centered mistake.” He rose from his chair. “I’ve got to get going. Pete and Jerry are picking up the new water heater we’re installing at Smokey’s Bar on Walnut Street. They’re meeting me downtown.” He tapped his newspaper. “Start looking for a job, kiddo. Don’t wait for Richard to magically transform. You’ll be lucky to get child support from that guy. Depend on yourself.” He kissed Mom and gave me a quick pat on my shoulder. “See you girls tonight.” He headed out the side door.

      Daniel finished his bottle, making air bubble sounds through the nipple. I pulled it from his mouth. “My, you’re hungry today.”

      He let out a huge burp and some of his formula with it.

      “Ugh.”

      “It’s all over your nightgown, Leigh Ann.” Mom went to the sink to wet a dish rag.

      As she handed it to me, I caught a mental burst of laughter and a glimpse of Bael’s amused expression. I carefully wiped the spit-up off the bodice of my gown, taking equal care not to acknowledge his presence and wondering if Terence was also still there.

      —No. He appears to be afraid of me. Ran like a spooked puppy. What do you see in him? His music? Well, I suppose one could forgive him his faults for that. Though he screwed it up far worse this time than his last stint as a classical composer.—

      I didn’t answer, using a clean section of the rag to wipe Daniel’s mouth and chin.

      —You might as well not regret his loss to the world. That singular recording, talented though it be, will soon be forgotten as new stars mount the horizon. His other work will never be recovered. His last girlfriend was particularly spiteful, when she found he left no will and his family snubbed her at the funeral.—

      I knew Bael was deliberately intriguing me. Terence never spoke of having unpublished, unperformed music, nor of any other lifetime as a composer.

      I also wondered why Bael was chancing my mother’s notice, blabbing on this way.

      I heard another stabbing laugh from him as I put Daniel back into his swing. Mom squeezed the rerinsed dish rag out and draped it over the faucet to dry. “Now, I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she said, sitting down again. “Find a job you think you’ll like, possibly one with extra benefit perks like tuition reimbursement if the course relates to the job.”

      I picked the paper up gingerly, turning to the help wanted pages. “A job, huh? Let’s see. I’m a high school grad, no college, but I type well, was always good at English and have about two years of experience as a typist. I suppose I’d qualify for a secretarial job. Here’s one. High school grad, typing, filing and receptionist duties. Willing to train. Girl Friday.”

      Mom smirked. “I’ve never liked that title. Is it full-time?”

      “Doesn’t say. I’ll have to ask them. Mom?” I decided to test her awareness of Bael’s presence. “Do you sense anything?”

      She seemed confused, then smiled. “Oh, you mean about this job. No, not at all. You’ll have to check it out yourself, starting with a phone call. And remember, you don’t have to rush. Your father and I want you to make a good start at a job with a future. Take your time and don’t rush into things blindly, dear. I’m going upstairs to shower and dress. Talk to you later.” She hesitated, then impulsively bussed my cheek. “Good luck.”

      “Thanks, Mom.”

      I stared pensively at my empty coffee cup and at Daniel, who stared back in an almost unsettling way. The baby’s key ring rested on the table. I gave it to him. He jiggled it happily as I called the phone number listed for the Girl Friday job.

      Daniel began whimpering as soon as the receptionist put me through to the personnel supervisor, the baby’s crabbing slowly rising in volume every time I tried to ask a question or hear its answer. His bawling, randomly interspersed with high-pitched shrieks, made it impossible to hear or think. I finally shouted an apology, promised to call back and hung up the phone. “Danny! What is the matter with you?!” I glared at him.

      He sniffled, hiccupped, and leaned to the side as far as his swing chair would allow. His small hand stretched toward his key rattle, which had fallen onto the linoleum. I returned it to him and took up the phone again, determined to redial the call.

      Daniel studied the phone and started his fussing whine again. I hung up again, picked up Daniel, and checked him all over. He giggled at my scrutiny, apparently abandoning his renewed crying jag with no other visible problems.

      I put him back into his swing. He watched me intensely, as if gauging my next move.

      “Are you afraid of the phone, Danny? Look.” I picked up the receiver again. “It won’t hurt you or me.”

      I started to dial the number a third time, and saw Daniel suck his mouth into a pout, his small brows furrowing. I hung up, and his face smoothed back into the picture of a patient infant. “You are really weird today,” I told him and wrinkled my own brows into a pout. “Like mother, like son.” Daniel broke into a toothless grin at the face I made, forcing me to laugh along with him.

      “Oh, all right. I’m beginning to think that you’ve been put up to this, that someone doesn’t want me to try for that Girl Friday job. Is that it?” Daniel just looked at me, unnaturally still. “I guess I’d better check out those ads again for jobs that meet your approval!”

      An hour later, I had marked off three other jobs to call about: two for clerk-typist, and one for junior medical secretary. The latter especially interested me. I was a good speller and felt sure I could learn the terminology on my own, using Ginnie’s medical dictionary.

      I spent half an hour playing with Daniel in the living room, singing silly children’s songs and dancing him around in my arms. Mom came downstairs in the midst of I’ve Been Working On The Railroad, smiling as her daughter and grandson swirled around the room to the old folksong.

      “Don’t forget to teach him Playmates,” she said, getting her coat from the dining room closet. “I’m going out to get a few groceries. See you when I get back. Did you make any calls?”

      “Danny got cranky. I’m going to try again in a few minutes.”

      “Good. Just keep your voice cheerful, and tell them how much you’d СКАЧАТЬ