His Best Friend's Baby

Nice one, Ben. Julia ruffled her son’s blond hair. They’re goners for sure.

“We got in this morning.” Julia unhooked her son from the stroller and he pitched himself from the seat with his usual enthusiasm. “We’re over at the Motel Six on the highway.”

“Oh, no,” Agnes gasped as if Julia had said, “We are living in trees.”

“You have to stay here, we can’t have Mitch’s bab—”

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ron interrupted. “We could go pick up your stuff and bring it back.”

Julia and her overextended bank account heaved a sigh of relief. She had hoped they would offer, but the motel had been a necessary plan B. “That would be nice, thank you.”

“We have so many questions.” Agnes took a deep breath and seemed about to launch into all of them and Julia braced herself with the limited reserves of energy she had left.

“Agnes, the girl is asleep on her feet. Let’s get her some food and let her rest for a minute,” Ron cut in reasonably and Julia’s affection for the man leaped off the charts.

Ben put his hand in Ron’s and pulled him toward the other room as though he wanted a guided tour.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just so excited.”

Julia smiled. She didn’t have the energy to do more.

“I’ve got roasted chicken and some potatoes,” Agnes offered. “It’s not very fancy but—”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Julia whispered. Tears of relief and gratitude filled her eyes. Agnes ran off into the kitchen. Ben toddled toward the shelves and all of the books and magazines he, no doubt, could not wait to rip to pieces. Ron followed, his eyes glued to Mitch’s son.

Suddenly alone in the room, Julia collapsed into a chair. All of the fear and hunger and worry that had been keeping her upright since getting the call that Mitch was dead disappeared.

Thank you, she said silently.

Her life, irrevocably diverted when she’d bumped into Mitch on that beach, might somehow end up back on track.

AFTER DINNER, Agnes led Julia, with a sleeping Ben in her arms, up the staircase to the bedrooms.

“You can use Mitch’s old room,” she said with a sad smile. Agnes pushed open the door to a room that had been frozen in time. Posters of Michael Jordan—back when the basketball shorts were shorter—covered one wall. A prom picture of a young Mitch looking uncomfortable wearing a pink bow tie sat on the dresser.

“This will be great,” Julia said. Her bags, which Ron had kindly picked up from the Motel 6, sat at the foot of the bed.

Agnes backed out of the room, but stopped before shutting the door. “Thank you,” she said fervently for the hundredth time in the few hours Julia had been there. “Thank you for bringing Ben to us.”

Julia smiled and reached out to squeeze Agnes’s hand. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who almost three years ago had called Julia a gold-digging whore.

Goes to show how some people can change.

Agnes left and Julia put her son down on the bed and took off the Spider-Man shoes that were getting too small for him. Once he was settled, she dug through her purse for her cell phone. She checked her watch—9:00 p.m. in California meant that it was midnight in Washington, D.C.

Julia said a quick prayer—please Mom, behome—and dialed, needing desperately to hear her friendly, if firm, voice.

“Sergeant Beth Milhow,” Julia’s mother said by way of greeting.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Julia? You made it okay? I was getting worried.”

“We had some delays, but we got to New Springs this morning.”

“You must be tired.”

“I am so past tired, I can’t even see straight.” Every time her eyes fluttered shut she could feel herself falling asleep.

“How was Ben on the flight?”

“He was great.” Julia couldn’t quite make that half truth totally believable. “Well, he was as great as could be expected. A minor meltdown somewhere over Denver and a larger one on the bus, but mostly he slept and stared at every new face.”

“How are you?” Her mom’s voice dropped and Julia rubbed her forehead. Her mind was slippery and clouded from too much worry and too little sleep. “I’m—” nervous, tired, freakedout “—all right.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to do this. You can come back here and—”

Live in a big empty house all alone, Julia finished her mother’s sentence. You cancontinue doing everything by yourself.

“I know, Mom,” Julia interrupted. “But I really need to do this.”

Her mom made a skeptical noise and Julia brushed her fingers through Ben’s fine hair that was so much like Mitch’s. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, smelled the distinctive powdery-fruity scent of her son and hoped she was doing the right thing.

“Mom, they want to get to know Ben. They’ve never even seen him. We just spent two weeks with you, plus you came to visit us in Germany, but they—”

“They never bothered.”

Ben woke up with a whiny cry and rolled toward her. He had fallen asleep during supper and she knew the poor guy was probably hungry. Julia winced and tried to stop Ben from smashing her kneecaps as he crawled over her legs. He was two, but he weighed thirty pounds. She grabbed a Thomas the Tank Engine toy from his diaper bag and wiggled it in front of him. He took the bait, wrapping his little fingers around the toy. Sleepy, but determined to stay awake, Ben ran Thomas up and down her legs like railroad tracks. “Choo choo,” he said and Julia found a smile from somewhere in her weary body. She jiggled her legs under him so he bounced around. He laughed and buried his face against her.

Oh, God, she prayed again, please don’t letthis selfish decision hurt Ben.

“They only want to get to know you now because Mitch is dead,” Beth said and Julia flinched, swallowing the taste of copper and bile. It had been five months since the accident and she still felt raw.

“What’s wrong with that?” Julia asked, pushing aside her own doubt. “So they’re two years late? Should I punish them forever?”

“Well, I don’t think you should go running into their open arms. They were nothing but terrible to you.”

“They weren’t terrible,” Julia muttered. “They just weren’t nice.”

But they are here and they are solid and theyaren’t going anywhere. They aren’t going tofight in any wars or move every two or threeyears. Their roots go so deep that maybe Benand I can stand close and pretend those rootsare ours.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are too nice for your own good,” Beth said, her voice soft like a hug. She was prickly and stubborn to the point of blindness, but Julia never doubted that her mother loved her.

“Probably,” Julia laughed.

“So, how are they? Is that woman civil?” Julia smiled at her mother’s loyalty. Ever since Agnes had so singularly rejected Julia, Beth referred to her as “that woman.”

The petty parts of Julia that were still wounded by the things Agnes had said sort of liked it.