The Swap(62)

“They’re paying me,” I explained. “A lot.”

The adults shared a look. While they proclaimed to be socialists, they understood the value of a buck.

“Don’t be a stranger,” my dad said. My mom hugged me and let me walk out the door.

? ? ?

If I was to be employed as a full-time nanny, I would have to quit my job at Hawking Mercantile. Resigning also gave me the opportunity to check in with Jamie, to ensure that her plans to gain custody of Maggie were progressing. I’d always kept an emotional distance from my boss, but now I needed to connect with her. I needed her to trust me, to see me as her ally. I had been feeding her information via text: informing her of the baby’s name (and its link to Max’s mother); apprising her that Freya refused to breastfeed; letting her know that Max was struggling, even with my help. But I hadn’t seen Jamie in person since that night at the hospital.

I parked directly in front of the store and entered the deserted shop. Jamie was behind the counter, scrolling disinterestedly through her phone. My boss—soon to be former boss—did not look well. Her skin was dull and dry, and there were circles under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t taking care of herself. She needed to pull it together. She had a battle ahead of her.

“I’m sorry to see you go,” she said, when I told her Max had hired me to help Freya. “How’s the baby doing?”

I sighed. “Okay, I guess. Except . . .”

I saw the concern, even fear in her eyes. She hadn’t even met the child and she was already fiercely protective. “Except what?”

“Freya wants nothing to do with her. She doesn’t feed her, doesn’t cuddle her. The only time she ever touches her is when we do a photo session.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie muttered. “What is wrong with her?”

“Not everyone’s cut out to be a mother,” I said.

“She doesn’t have that luxury,” Jamie cried. “She has a child who’s depending on her.” Her face crumpled up and tears filled her eyes. “This could be damaging the baby’s development.”

I hammered the nail in. “Yeah. She doesn’t seem as alert as my brothers were at the same age.”

Jamie looked at me intently. I could see her internal deliberations, wondering if she could trust me. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” I said, keenly. “What is it?”

“I ordered a DNA test,” she said. “If you’ll swab Maggie’s cheek, we can prove that she’s Brian’s child.”

“And then what?” I asked, but I knew what. They would take the baby away.

“We’ll try to work out some kind of custody arrangement with Freya and Max. We’re not trying to take Maggie away from them, but we’re her parents, too. We deserve to be a part of her life.”

A big part, I hoped. “What if they won’t be reasonable?”

“Then we’ll go to court,” Jamie said. “We’ll demand visitation rights. We might even sue them for custody.”

Now she was talking. “I’ll do it,” I said, taking the plastic envelope she proffered. And then I smiled.

“I just want the truth to come out. I just want what’s best for Maggie.”





58


I had ample opportunity to swab the baby’s cheek. In fact, once I was settled into the guest bedroom, I spent hour upon hour alone with Maggie. My presence seemed to lift Freya out of her funk somewhat (a sign of her strong feelings toward me, surely), and she rejoined the world of the living. She still slept a lot, but she also went for mani-pedis and massages, and embarked on a series of laser treatments meant to firm sagging skin at the town’s only medi-spa. Her demeanor was decidedly improved. Though she still showed little interest in her daughter, she was no longer hostile toward her. She would tousle Maggie’s soft blond hair as she passed by, even hold her little hand and marvel at her beauty.

“So pretty,” she’d mumble, like her child was an inanimate object, a ruby necklace or a Birkin bag. Then she’d say, “You two have a nice day!” and leave.

Max was slightly more present, but he had returned to his previous habits: kayaking, running, riding his motorcycle . . . Sometimes he was gone for three or four hours, but he always returned and took the baby from me. He would talk to her and cuddle her, playing with this little stranger as if she were his own. But there was a wistful sadness on his face, even as he smiled and gurgled at the pretty child.

I had collected Maggie’s DNA quickly and efficiently while Freya was being lasered and Max was on his motorbike. But the tube sat in my bag for over a week. I was eager to deliver it to Jamie, eager for her to prove that Maggie was Brian’s baby and take her away. She was a good baby—cheerful and unfussy—but she was still a baby. She still needed constant attention, still pooped, and puked, and screamed when she needed something. But I hadn’t had an opportunity to get away from the house.

Since her parents could not be relied upon, I would have to bring Maggie with me. There was a newborn bucket car seat in the garage. I would strap the baby into my truck, load a bag with diapers and bottles and burp cloths and rattles, and then I would text Jamie and arrange a meeting. There was a small picnic area on the north side of the island’s only lake. The mosquitoes were bad out there this time of year, so it would be abandoned. It had better be. Because if anyone saw us, if anyone told Freya . . . The thought made my forehead sweat and my bowels loosen.