CHAPTER TWO

Charlene called the next day; when Morrisey arrived for work, the phone was already ringing. Cursing under her breath, the tall woman jogged to the offending device and grabbed it. "What?" she barked.

"Hi?"

Morrisey recognized the soft, timid voice right away. "Hello," she said frostily, certain that the other woman was calling to say that she had changed her mind. If you don’t let me see the baby, I’m suing for custody. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, uh…" Charlene spoke slowly, as if she was unsure of what to say. "I thought you should know some things about my family’s medical background. For the baby, you know."

The blue-eyed woman considered the point. "You’re right. Go on." She reached for a yellow, lined pad and held a pen over the paper, ready to jot down vital information.

The voice on the other end of the line hesitated. "Okay. Uhh… my mother died of lung cancer. From smoking. I don’t think that’s anything for you to worry about. John was very clean, as far as I know."

Morrisey ahhed into the phone.

"Okay…" Charlene was obviously trying to prolong the conversation. "John’s father, Ralph, had asthma problems. Sometimes they got really bad and he used an inhaler. My brother and sisters and their kids are all fine. ‘Course, I haven’t heard from them in, like, years." The blonde smiled wistfully. "I never knew my daddy, but my ma said he was an alcoholic. I heard somewhere that drinking problems are genetic. I don’t know…it should be fine… John had no problems." The blonde paused for a moment, then rushed on. "Are you sure we couldn’t…"

Morrisey sighed, relieved that the woman wasn't calling to renege on the deal but also felt the desperate words tugging on her heartstrings. So the other woman was alone in the world. The professor was neither an unfeeling woman, nor a vengeful one. She simply did not want anything to do with her rapist's family nor did she want her son to get attached to them. She cleared her throat. "No. Look here, Mrs. Sudsbury, just… no, okay? You’re young. Find someone and move on with your life. Maybe have another kid."

"I can’t!" Charlene sobbed. "Don’t make it sound so casual! Besides, after John, I didn’t want to get in trouble anymore so I had a special procedure done. I can’t undo it. That was a mistake ‘cause I love kids and want lots more. But who’d want me anyway?"

The blue-eyed woman set the phone down and counted to ten. It wasn’t her job to comfort this hysterical woman. After her counting, she picked up the receiver. "Look, Mrs. Sudsbury, I appreciate what you’re doing. I do, I really do. You have money. Get your tubes untied or whatever needs to be done. Adopt another child."

Charlene interrupted. "What if something happens to you? Who will take care of the baby? If your family isn’t willing—"

"I’ll take care of the matter," the younger woman said. "I’ve got to get to class. Bye."

"Wait!" Charlene cried. "I grew up without a real family. I vowed I’d never let my children go through the same… but my son grew up without a father. Now I don’t want my grandchild to miss out on things he doesn’t need to. He needs more than a mother and her family. Can I ask you a question?" the blonde ventured hesitantly.

"You just did," Morrisey pointed out in a deadpan voice.

Charlene giggled then, a small, lilting sound that brought the faintest of smiles to her phone-mate’s cherry pink lips. The blue-eyed woman pictured Charlene—a little over average height, with a well-defined body and shining green eyes, and, yes, Morrisey had to admit, a rather cute bum. Charlene was beyond attractive, that was for sure. At least the fact boded well for her son; he should grow up to be quite handsome. He was already the most adorable of babies.

"What is your question, Mrs. Sudsbury?" Morrisey asked.

"Well, okay. Suppose I happened to not see you in the store." Charlene began tentatively. "Or hadn’t recognized you, and therefore, the baby. But I did!"

Morrisey let out a puff of air through her mouth. "What is your point?"

"Don’t you see?" Charlene exclaimed. "This was meant to be."

Morrisey replied harshly. "Who knows? I’d better get off. I can’t be late for class."

"Who takes care of Gareth while you’re at the college?"

The woman didn’t give up, did she? Morrisey thought. "My mother does," she explained. "She loves having Gareth." Perhaps intentionally, the dark-haired woman added insult to injury, adding: "Gareth loves being with his grandmother and my mother dotes on him."

Morrisey heard a squeaky sniffle on the other end. Charlene was on the verge of tears again. As she always did while controlling her temper, Morrisey set down the phone receiver, squeezed her eyes shut, and counted to ten. Usually, her mind remained a blank, black cocoon while she suffocated her boiling emotions.

But this time, a clear, sharp picture emerged unbidden in the movie theatre of her mind. She saw Charlene, at the same time looking so young and so old—grief added at least a decade—standing over a grave. Around her raged a thunderstorm; nature grieved too. Lightening struck trees in the background, splitting them cleanly down the middle. Torrents of rain poured down, covering the earth with nature’s tears. The blonde wore a simple black dress and black veil. Tears also fell from her fair cheeks, slipping from underneath the veil, stumbling despondently onto the ground, making their way through the solid earth, perhaps one day reaching the place where Charlene’s son laid in death. She was alone, all alone. Her world was collapsed, in tatters.

What would she do if Gareth died? What if he had a child she wasn’t allowed to see? Would she like that? She knew she’d fuss and remain dogged ‘til she exhaled her last breath, just like Charlene was doing, but not as polite. Morrisey loved her son, and if God forbid, he raped a woman, he would still be her child.

Morrisey returned to the present time after the brief journey in the older woman’s shoes. Charlene was speaking concernedly into the phone. "Ms. Hawthorne?" she repeated. "You all right?"

Morrisey swallowed. "Yeah, I’m here. I gotta go now, okay? But…" She sighed, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. "Maybe I’ll call you tonight. Good-bye." The blue-eyed woman hung up the phone firmly. She replaced the receiver in its hook, unable to see the brilliant smile, the melancholy-turned-overjoyed jade eyes that instantaneously materialized on the fair, freckled face in a small, modest house several miles away.

****

CHAPTER THREE

Charlene was invited for lunch on Saturday, and that gesture made her year. She knew Morrisey Hawthorne was a good woman, and sooner or later, would let the blonde participate in her grandchild’s life. Hopefully, though, it would be sooner, like now, rather than later, as in three plus years. The jubilant woman immediately headed for the toy store to purchase presents upon presents for her grandchild. At the counter, she proudly bragged to the saleslady: "Those are for my grandson. He’s so cute. He has red hair and a little snub nose and, oh!" She beamed happily.

She arrived at the Hawthorne house right on time, toting a large cardboard box with several gifts neatly packaged inside. As a peace offering, she’d also bought the baby’s mother several items.

Morrisey, obviously trying to be pleasant but somewhat failing, let the blonde in with a forced, tight-lipped smile. She hadn’t informed her family of the visit and knew they would be pissed. She herself was not thrilled. "Did he like the blocks and car?" Charlene inquired, setting down the box in the foyer.

The dark-haired woman smiled then, a sincere smile. "Well," she drawled, "let’s just say that he adores the wrapping paper." She peered into the box. "Good thing you wrapped those with the same paper."

Charlene giggled. "Oh, I knew it. It’s just like buying a cat an expensive scratching post but all the cat can do is play with the ribbons on the other presents."

Morrisey’s eyes lit up, going from their usual stormy blue to a light blue. "You like cats?"

As if on cue, a fluffy, self-assured calico strode into the living room, glancing at the women with indifferent nonchalance. "Oooh!" Charlene cried. "You have a cat! She’s lovely! She reminds me of the cat I had growing up. Her name was Mess, ‘cause that’s all she did—get in messes. She was always getting into my ma’s plants and gutting up hairballs all over the place." The blonde grinned sadly. "My ma gave her away and we weren’t allowed pets after that. But," she exclaimed in triumph and holding up a finger for emphasis, "that isn’t the end of the story. When I moved out with the baby, we got ourselves a nice little dog. Later on we got a rabbit. His name was Brownie. The rabbit, not the dog. The dog’s name was Rascal."

Morrisey was amazed. She never spoke more than three sentences in one standing or sitting. She remembered John Patrick Sudsbury from her class—he was a sullen, brooding, and very quiet boy. So unlike his mother, it seemed. The dark-haired woman’s lips turned upward in a tentative smile. "Yes. I got Snickers—" she indicated the cat, who had settled on a windowsill for a tanning session, "a few years ago. She followed me home one day."

"Aw! Isn’t that sweet," Charlene mused out loud. "You’re such a sweetheart," she cooed, approaching the cat. "Yes, you are, so cute. Are you a good little cat, huh?"

Morrisey rolled her eyes but figured she’d better warn the blonde. "Mrs. Sudsbury!" she called. "Snickers doesn’t take very well at all to strangers. She hisses and bites."

Charlene threw her human companion a reproachful look, then smiled reassuringly at her feline pal. "Now, now, don’t you pay her any mind," she said soothingly, reaching over to rub the cat’s head. Snickers purred contently, rubbing against the blonde’s nimble fingers. "You’re such a good girl, yes, you are. Yes, yes, you are."

It was all Morrisey could do not to gape. Snickers had been a couple years old already when she turned up on her doorstep, rail thin, scraggly, her fur matted. After a few days, Morrisey began feeding her and the cat stuck around. But even then, Snickers didn’t let the dark-haired woman pet her for a good few months. On the rare occasions the professor had company, Snickers was downright rude, mewling and hissing left and right.

The younger woman managed a weak smile when Charlene looked up with a contently purring furball in her arms. "Gareth’s taking a little nap now," she said. "He’ll be up soon and we can all have lunch. Um…" Morrisey interlocked her hands. "Want a drink? Water? Tea? Pop?"

"Tea’s fine," Charlene said, heading into the kitchen. Morrisey followed suit, hoping her companion wasn’t the sort of woman that would just go riffling through her things. Actually, Charlene was, but she knew to be on her best behavior today and had curbed her impulsive tendencies somewhat.

"Sit down," Morrisey commanded firmly, indicating the table. Charlene sat while her hostess prepared the drinks.

"I like how you’ve done the house," the blonde remarked. She’d only seen the living room, foyer, and kitchen/dining nook, but she was impressed. The house didn’t reflect the younger woman’s apparently restrained nature, as her office did. The living room walls were painted a cheerful yellow and framed pictures of cartoon characters hung on the walls. Similarly, in the kitchen, which was well baby-proofed, Charlene noted proudly, was a toy box and the room was painted robin’s egg blue.

"Ah, thanks." Morrisey smiled, joining the blonde at the table and setting down two glasses. "I redecorated it while I was pregnant. I wanted a colorful atmosphere for the baby. It was hard work and kept me busy, occupied." She clamped her mouth shut, knowing she’d leaked too much information.

Charlene nodded in understanding but looked uncomfortably down at her shoes, the windows, anywhere but at the other woman.

Morrisey was silent also, nervously picking at her glass.

The blonde cleared her throat. "Tell me about Gareth," she suggested.

The dark-haired woman sipped from her drink. "Well," she said, "he’s a baby." Morrisey let out a forced laugh. "He’s a good kid." Morrisey shrugged, her eyes fixed on an incredibly interesting spot on the wooden table.

"What kind of foods does he like?"

Morrisey laughed then, a hesitant but pleasant sound. "Anything. He loves to eat."

Charlene looked at her companion, green eyes wide. "Oooh. Sounds like me. I could eat a horse." She grinned, alleviating the tension somewhat. "So you’ll let me hold him?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Yeah," Morrisey assented.

Charlene was practically jumping up and down in her seat.

"First, we need to set a few basics," the younger woman cautioned.

"Sure, sure. What did you have in mind?"

"Okay, well. Please don’t get too attached. It might be best if today was your only visit to give us all closure."

Charlene’s face fell, but she knew Morrisey was well within her rights. "That’s fine," she murmured. "You have every reason to want that. I just wanted some time with him, that’s all. Hold him for myself. Maybe feed him a bit and read a story to him. Get some closure on this whole situation, like you said. I love children, you know." She finished her statements on a low, deflated note.

Seeing the torn look on her companion’s planar features, Charlene flashed a bright smile. "Don’t worry. You just make sure he’s happy. That’s what is important. And if you or he ever need anything, well, I should be here in this town ‘til the day I die." Suddenly, the blonde’s life looked miserably bleak, even more so than after her son’s death. Then, she had contemplated life working as a drone day after day in the beauty salon, sweeping up hair and giving shampoos, making mindless chatter. She had kept on going, feeling there was some sort of purpose to her numb existence.

Upon seeing the baby last week, she had known immediately what kept her going all those months. That child needed her; she knew it in her gut. It would be hell, Charlene knew, to keep on with her life, knowing that her flesh and blood, a beautiful, red-headed little boy, was growing up without her. But Morrisey Hawthorne was involved too, and she was his mother. She’d do what she thought was best for her and the baby.

Morrisey glanced away.

Charlene looked down, unsure of what to say. Finally, she said: "So where’s your family live?"

Morrisey nodded. "They live close by, in Maryland. Montgomery County."

"Nice." Charlene smiled, wishing her family was still around. "Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"One younger brother." She swallowed, her discomfort increasing. "He just graduated from college and works in the computer industry."

"Wow." Charlene grinned appreciatively. "Computers are where the money is now. Which college?"

"Ah, he went to MIT." Morrisey, although she almost never showed it, was immensely proud of her brother. "He’s a good kid."

"MIT! Neat. He must be brilliant. How about you? You’re a professor, right?"

Morrisey was about to reply when a piercing wail suddenly shattered the tension-choked air. She grinned when she heard the lusty cries. "Gareth’s awake." She stood, indicating Charlene to follow her. "Come on and meet him."

Charlene, smiling ear-to-ear, followed her taller companion. Despite the bad news, she had meant what she said. All she cared about was the baby’s happiness, and a mother’s mood affected that. An upset Morrisey was not good for Gareth. The blonde had come for closure, but had harbored hopes of more. After all, the day was still young, and she just might get what she wished for. Charlene was a determined fighter.

Morrisey entered the child’s bedroom, walking silently like a cat. Gareth’s crib was tucked into a corner, and a mobile with various multi-colored farm animals hung from above. The infant’s room was painted a bright green, and was actually quite small. Perhaps only fifteen feet by fifteen feet, Charlene guessed. A wooden rocking chair sat next to the crib, and in it sat a plump teddy bear, smiling benevolently. On the wall opposite the crib was a small window, but the curtains and blinds were pulled shut, presumably to keep out the bright sunlight in order to help the baby nap better.

Charlene carefully observed Morrisey interact with her son. The taller woman had seemed so at ease at the grocery store, but one never knew. If she thought for a moment that the dark-haired woman would make an unsuitable mother, she would sue for custody, however dim her chances. Feeling a bit ashamed of herself, Charlene watched like a hawk, her eyes peeled and seeking out the smallest signs of wrongdoing and justifications to take Gareth. But the tender interaction and the look of absolute adoration and love on the Morrisey’s face was so sincere that the blonde was soon smiling, her mission forgotten.

The younger woman reached into the crib and took the wailing infant in her arms. As his mother cuddled him close, he stopped crying and hungrily sucked at a nipple through the thick fabric of her long-sleeved jersey. "Hey, hey," Morrisey cooed, handling the baby’s head with care as she tenderly cradled him in her arms. She looked up and met Charlene’s openly hungry gaze. "Come here."

Charlene couldn’t remember a more nervous time in her life. Timidly, she walked the five steps to her grandson and peered at the boy safely ensconced in his mother’s strong arms. He was vigorously waving his tiny fists and kicking his pajama-clad legs.

"Ahh," the blonde sighed, taking in the absolute perfection and wonder of the boy. "He’s beautiful," she breathed in amazement.

Morrisey smiled proudly at the compliment and carefully transferred the infant into the other woman’s arms. "Oh, my!" Charlene inhaled. "He’s got one blue eye and one green eye!"

"I know," Morrisey beamed. "Isn’t that something unique?"

"He’s just perfect," Charlene whispered, holding the boy close to her breast. She gently kissed his forehead. The baby, realizing he was no longer in his mother’s arms, commenced shrieking.

"He’s hungry," Charlene said.

"Yeah." Morrisey took her son back. "I’m gonna breastfeed him really quick. Um… make yourself at home. If you don’t mind, could you go ahead and heat up the chicken in the refrigerator?"

"All right," Charlene said slowly, still awed and dazed. John Patrick had been an incredibly handsome baby, but little Gareth took the cake. She turned and left the room, an unconscious smile remaining on her face. Of course, it would make sense that the baby would be an Adonis; her John Patrick always had ladies falling at his feet, and Morrisey… well, that was another story. The woman, with her graceful figure, ebony hair, rosebud lips, high cheekbones, and impossibly, startlingly sky blue eyes, was in a class of her own. Morrisey Hawthorne, thought Charlene, was impossibly, incredibly gorgeous. She must have broken many hearts, and would make one man very happy some day. But Charlene didn’t care about any of that, just as long as she made a good mother to Gareth.

Back in the redheaded baby’s room, Morrisey took her accustomed place at the rocking chair. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her jersey. She cuddled the baby with one hand, while the other gently easing out a smooth, unblemished breast from beneath her top. She brought her son close and baby Gareth immediately began gobbling up his mother’s milk at an astounding rate. Morrisey smiled blissfully down at her vigorously nursing child then looked up at the half-closed door through which Charlene had exited moments before. "Dear God," she whispered to no one in particular, "why does she have to be so beautiful and sweet? She’s making me feel like the bad guy here." The nursing mother had never met anyone quite like Charlene, and admittedly, they didn’t know each other well. But there was just something about the blonde, perhaps her easygoing smile, shining green eyes, the playful dimples hiding on her cheeks. Or maybe it was her persistence, or possibly her tinkling, melodic laugh, or her simple, refreshing outlook on life. No matter what it was, Morrisey knew she had to be careful. She knew it was best to not trust people—wasn’t worth the trouble.

She had begun to acquire such a jaded perspective on life ever since that day in fifth grade when her classmates had taunted and jeered at her for being a crybaby. They just didn't understand. Morrisey was a natural writer and had won short-story contest after contest easily. But on that fateful day, she found out she’d lost one of the most prestigious contests, and had received honorable mention. Her teacher, Mrs. Pauley, took the solemn dark-haired child aside and explained that while her story was far superior to the others, it was time to give other children a chance to win and to encourage their talents as well. Morrisey had seen the great injustice in this situation and anger welled inside her. She pleaded with the teacher, pointing out the irrationality and sheer unfairness of the decision, but the teacher said the matter was final. Then Morrisey started to cry.

The other children had thought it was simply a matter of losing or winning but to her it was the rejection of her, what she stood for. Morrissey had put so much heart and soul into her story and to have it lose simply because she was better than everyone else was too much for her fragile ego. After that, she kept her ideas to herself, not wanting to face the same rejection. Except for once in college. Many years later, she wrote a novel she thought was promising. A sure-fire Pultizer Prize winning story but her professor, her trusted advisor, laughed and called it junk reading, akin to the most juvenile harlequin romance books. The professor's comments struck her heart as a hornet stung at a flower's gentle pollen center—and the wasp's stinger remained deeply imbedded in her soul.

And she’d learned that life was best gone through without showing emotion, without shedding tears or feeling hope, even love.

Of course, Gareth changed her outlook, allowing her at last to love one person wholly and freely, and despite herself, Morrisey was grateful to her son for that. He made her feel human, not robotic. Sometimes the dark-haired woman thought about how her son had come into the world, and mused about how ironic it was that the most wonderful things came out of horrible experiences. Morrisey could not imagine life without her little drooling carrot top, nor did she want to. Her child was her world.

When mother and son appeared in the kitchen about ten minutes later, the table was already set for lunch. Morrisey hungrily sniffed the mouth-watering aroma wafting through the air. "How come my cooking never smells like this?"

Charlene chuckled. "It’s your chicken. I just reheated it."

The dark-haired woman was in a buoyant mood after spending quality time with her baby. "Ahh…" She said somewhat sheepishly, meeting her companion’s beautiful jade eyes for a second, "It’s not mine. I simply can’t cook. Bought it already made from the store."

"Is that right?" Charlene grinned. "I took a while to master the art of cooking myself."

The mother placed the babbling infant into his baby seat and secured his bib. He spoke gibberish to his grandmother, and the doting woman replied in, what Morrisey considered, was equally foolish baby talk. "You’re such a cute boy, yes you are. Such a good little boy. You like to kick, huh? Want to play football? Soccer?"

Smiling slightly despite herself, the dark-haired woman took a bite of her lunch.

She allowed Charlene to feed baby Gareth his meal of chicken and strained carrots mixture, and between airplane or car "vroom vroom" trips to his mouth, the blonde managed to demolish two full plates on her own.

Charlene had a rapport with the boy, Morrisey admitted. It was eerie, almost, the way in which she’d instantly befriended the hostile Snickers, and now Gareth was interacting with her so naturally, like he was accustomed to her. She watched her son’s different colored eyes light up, smiled at the tender care with which the older woman wiped off the dribble and drool off his plump cheeks and stubborn chin.

Deep down inside her heart, she knew she couldn’t deny the two a relationship. Charlene needed the boy, and Gareth was clearly thriving on the unconditional love and attention his grandmother heaped upon him. Morrisey couldn’t put her finger upon it, but there was a subtle difference in how the baby interacted with her own mother, Harriet, and with Charlene, his biological father’s mother. Perhaps it was because the blonde, her family ripped apart, her son dead, only had her grandchild.

After lunch, the two women cleared the table then Charlene announced it was time for presents. Grinning, she led mother and son into the living room and extracted a gift for the baby and another package. "For you," she said, handing it to the younger woman, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa.

"For me?" Morrisey repeated. When the blonde nodded happily, the blue-eyed woman sighed. "You didn’t have to."

Charlene shrugged, suddenly feeling dimwitted. What had she been thinking? Of course the woman wouldn’t want any gifts from her. "I, uh… thought you’d like some things," she said lamely. "You know, what with me eating your food and drinking your liquids and all."

Morrisey smiled graciously when she saw Charlene’s disappointment. "Thank you. Very thoughtful of you."

The blonde looked away shyly; she never was good at receiving compliments or thanks.

Morrisey proceeded to unveil her package, not preserving Charlene’s painstakingly wrapping work. She drew out an ornate plaque reading: Any woman can be a mother, but it’s a special woman that’s a mommy. "Thanks, Mrs. Sudsbury," the dark-haired woman said.

"You’re welcome. Can I open that one for Gareth?"

Charlene unwrapped the present, wishing that Morrisey would call her by her first name. Mrs. Sudsbury sounded so old, and she was only 34, but, of course, she was a grandmother. While Gareth fawned over the baseball wrapping paper, enjoying the crinkling noises it made, the blonde timidly showed the gift to the baby’s mother, hoping she approved and didn’t already have a copy.

"Wow." Morrisey sucked in a deep breath. "It’s beautiful." She took the book from Charlene and fingered its maroon leather covering. The title, King Arthur, was etched in trimmed gold.

"I remembered our discussion and thought Gareth would enjoy reading the same story that I did," the blonde explained. "It’s my absolute favorite tale and I just can’t believe you named him Gareth."

The dark-haired woman laughed, crossing her legs. "Did I tell you that story’s my favorite too? Lancelot and Arthur were just too old-fashioned and trite, but Gareth was different, so I picked that name." She opened the book and flipped the pages, smiling in amazement at the fancy typesetting. "Thank you," she murmured.

She looked up to see Charlene enjoying her wondrous reaction. "Maybe I should’ve gotten that book for you," the blonde teased. Blushing a light pink, Morrisey set the book down, thinking it was time to wrap up the little tete a tete. Charlene got what she wanted.

The blonde had other ideas, however. "Tell me more about yourself," she remarked, crossing her legs fluidly as she tickled her grandson’s belly.

"Me?" The question was accompanied by dark cocked eyebrows.

"Yes, you," Charlene teased again. "Unless your cat or the baby can talk."

Again, the blonde enjoyed the light pink traces of blush on her companion’s face. All too often, it was she got teased mercilessly for her infamous deep red blushes illuminated on her fair skin.

"There’s little to tell," Morrisey admitted. "I grew up around here in Maryland. Went to college, at George Washington, got my Masters degree from Georgetown. Might get a Ph.D." She shrugged.

"Uh-uh. Those are great colleges." To Charlene, those comments were just the tip of the iceberg, but she had enough sense to stay away from the overly personal stuff. "Well, dear, there’s got to be more to you than that! What do you want your Ph.D. in? From where? How long have you been teaching? Do you enjoy it? Are you dating anyone? What’s your type of guy? Why did you choose to teach at a community college?"

The younger woman shrugged again. No one knew about her lifelong ambition of becoming a writer, and she certainly wasn’t going to clue the blonde in. "I like the community college environment fine," she said. "It’ll give me a lot of time to spend with Gareth and pursue other activities. Plus you can teach there with a master’s."

At that moment, the infant chose to answer a rather smelly call of nature. "Eew!" Morrisey yelped, wrinkling her nose.

Charlene giggled. "Speaking of spending time with Gareth." She glanced pointedly at the child then back at the mother.

"Oh, no, oh no, you don’t," The taller woman grinned evilly. "You wanted to meet your grandson. I’ll be nice enough to let you change his diaper. Get up close and personal with him."

"Gee, thanks," Charlene drawled sarcastically. "So very nice of you." Laughing, she picked up the baby and winked conspirationally at her companion.

To her surprise, Morrisey found herself chuckling along. "Let me show you where I do the dirty work." Being careful to stay out of the baby’s smell range, she led the blonde to the diaper-changing table in his bedroom. "Enjoy." She smirked as Charlene shot her another grimace.

After Gareth was ushered into a fresh diaper, he and Charlene found Morrisey tidying up the gifts in the living room. "How’d it go?" the blue-eyed woman inquired. "Gareth can be lethal sometimes."

"Definitely. He should be classified as an atomic weapon." The blonde held the infant in her arms, and they looked completely at home with each other, Morrisey realized with a pang of… what? Regret? Jealousy? Guilt? Doubt?

"So finish telling me about yourself."

"Nope." The taller woman shook her head firmly. "Your turn now. Tell me about yourself." She was eager to turn the tables on the woman who had caused her to blush twice in a single hour.

Charlene sat on the couch, allowing Gareth to play with her pearl necklace. "Well, okay. Where to start?" She grinned at the other woman. "My life is just so fascinating," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "that I just don’t know where to begin."

The blonde enjoyed the small smile that appeared briefly on her companion’s face.

"Well," Charlene sighed, clasping her grandson’s pudgy hand, "I don’t have a good track record with relationships. I tried, I really did. I picked out men I thought would be good fathers but…" The green-eyed woman shook her head regretfully. "I always wanted to go to college. Get out of this place. Become a writer."

At that, Morrisey cocked a dark eyebrow, the comment taking her by surprise. Charlene didn’t catch the movement, but she’d just earned one point with the dark-haired woman. So we have something in common, she thought.

Charlene wrapped up her story. "I was proud to graduate from high school cum laude. Especially with a young child." Her green eyes shone at the recollection. "First person in my family to graduate high school. I was so proud of that. Right now, I’m employed at a beauty salon. I’m not licensed so I just shampoo and sweep the floors. Stuff like that." She sighed, venturing a glance at the taller woman. "You must think I’m some sort of uneducated dolt. Well, you’d be right."

"No, not at all." Morrisey joined her two companions on the couch, studying her baby seriously. She began to speak, then paused, searching for the correct way in which to phrase her words. "Mrs. Sudsbury, why don’t you go back to college? You can certainly afford it. There’s no need for you to be working like that anymore."

"Mmm." Charlene adjusted the baby’s position in her lap. "I’m just so unsure of what to do with the money. Donate it to a charity? What? I don’t know. I just wouldn’t feel right spending the money from John Patrick’s death on myself—" Like the last time she’d mentioned her son, the blonde clamped her mouth shut and guilt entered her eyes.

Morrisey exhaled a heavy breath and edged closer to the blonde. "Look, you can say his name. He was your son. We can’t just act like he never existed. And I’m sure he would want you to be happy."

"I know, I know," Charlene agreed. "I just feel so horrible about what he did. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. He was a good boy, he really was," she said softly. "Sometimes good people do bad things. I'm not trying to make excuses for what he did because there aren't any."

"Don’t," Morrisey commanded. "I do not need people feeling sorry for me. That is the last thing in the world I want!" Anger filled her face, and her skin flushed with red. "I’m so tired of all the peeks, the heated whispers behind my back. Enough!"

"I didn’t mean… I’m sor—I was just sayin’—" Charlene fumbled at putting together a coherent sentence.

Morrisey rubbed her temples. "I know you are. I didn’t mean to jump at you like that." She leaned back into the couch, crossing her legs on the ottoman, staring straight ahead. Crossing her arms, she let out a small sigh.

"I’ll go," Charlene said hurriedly, rising.

Morrisey rolled her eyes. "Don’t be silly. Not on account of that comment."

"I should be going anyway," the blonde reasoned, stroking Gareth’s fine red hair. "I’m sure you have things to do."

The taller woman took her son. "Yeah. Look, Mrs. Sudsbury—"

"Charlene, please," the blonde requested.

Morrisey ignored the comment. "Look, Mrs. Sudsbury, let me say one thing. I…" She shifted her gaze downward, wondering why in the world she wanted to tell the grieving mother what she was about to say. "I honestly think John was a good person. He was devastated after that football injury. It nearly killed him; football was his life. He spiraled downward, fell into a bad crowd. But I’d like to think that, had he lived, he would have rehabilitated himself. He had potential for great things."

Tears pooled in Charlene’s jade eyes. "He had such a hard life but he was always there for me, through thick and thin. He held me while I cried to sleep. He got my medicine when I was sick. He told me I was pretty and smart. And I kicked him out and I screwed up, I really did, and I wanna do right by this baby and…" At that point, the blonde’s words mushed together, becoming indecipherable. "Oh, God, I hate myself!"

The college professor puckered her lips, looking awkwardly at the sobbing spectacle in front of her. "It does no good to toss around blame. Look, Mrs. Sudsbury, you should go," she finally said gently.

Charlene looked at Morrisey, her mascara horribly streaked across her cheeks, her lipstick hopelessly smudged. "I don’t know how to thank you. Letting me see the baby took a lot of courage and you’ll never know what it means to me. Could I… maybe see him again? It doesn’t have to be like, tomorrow, or next week, or like, every day. Just… could I see him again sometime?"

With a slight tip of her head, the younger woman assented. "We’ll set something up."

"Thank you!" Charlene cried, using her hands to hastily wipe away her smeared face. The movements only served to worsen her appearance. Sniffling heavily, she bent over and kissed Gareth good-bye, then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms tightly around her companion.

Morrisey stiffened immediately, her first impulse being to shove the woman away. She hated for strangers to touch her, permission granted or not. Clenching her teeth, the dark-haired woman managed a few token pats on the blonde’s back before breaking away.

****

CHAPTER FOUR

Charlene was both eagerly anticipating and tremendously dreading her second meeting with Gareth. She never knew when her last meeting with the boy would occur—but gradually, she felt she was wearing down Morrisey’s resolve. A couple weeks had passed since the Saturday lunch and just when Charlene thought Gareth’s mother would never get in touch with her again, Morrisey had called.

Charlene dashed from her small house, got into her chilly sedan and turned the heat on full blast. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and put the car into drive. She wasn’t going to Morrisey’s house for this encounter; they were meeting at a mall for lunch. The blonde drove across town, taking in the festive sights of the upcoming Christmas holiday. The second she would be spending without her son, and the first of many, she desperately hoped, with her grandson. Wreaths adorned the street lamps and sidewalk Santa ho-hoed their wishes for happy holidays.

"You just stop that!" she scolded herself. "Don’t be a Gloomy Gus. You’ll have many Christmases with Gareth." She thrust her chin forth determinedly and narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t going to back away so easily. Pulling to a stop at a red light, she smoothed her hair down and glanced out the window, just in time to see a towheaded toddler clutching a young woman’s hand as she led the boy into a toy store.

Charlene gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. That single moment had sent a shear of pain through her body, the laughing son, his cheeks red and jolly, and his mother beaming at him.

That used to be me, she thought. Me and my son. But no more.

She turned left when the light became green and eased into one of the few available spaces in the crowded parking lot. What was it with her and melancholy moods lately? She willed herself to remember her earlier promise to not cave in to the difficult matter. Such resignation was so unlike herself, so why was this situation different?

Charlene spotted Gareth and Morrisey easily due to the infant’s brilliant red hair. They were sitting at a small, circular table in the overflowing food court. Squeals of laughter and snippets of conversations drifted to the blonde’s ears as she squeezed between table after table, finally reaching her lunch companions.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, squeezing Morrisey’s shoulder and leaning over to kiss the baby, who sat next to his mother. Gareth’s face was a deep red from being inside the stifling mall for an extended period of time. He wore a white sweater with a golden teddy bear prominently displayed in the center and adorable baggy sweatpants. "Aw!" Charlene exclaimed proudly. "He’s wearing the outfit I got him."

The blue-eyed woman smiled. "They fit just right, but I bet in just a month, he’ll have outgrown them." Morrisey’s normally white face was red also, and she was obviously ill at ease with the surroundings. Her idea of meeting at the mall had been a bad one, she realized all too late. She didn’t want to meet at her house again because that territory was just too personal. In a public place, however, there would be less awkwardness and the blonde most likely wouldn’t linger around for hours. But the mall on a December weekend had been a terrible idea. What had she been thinking? She hated people, crowds, loud noises, 99.99 percent of human beings, especially children, her own son being the lone exception. And the food at from the food court was just so cheap, greasy, and unhealthy.

"You two been here long?" Charlene inquired, shrugging off her windbreaker before sitting across from Morrisey. She reached over to Gareth, carefully lifted him out of the high-seat, and cuddled him in her lap.

"We’ve been here long enough," the younger woman remarked dryly. "Gareth doesn’t like people and crowds. He’s getting fickle." Absentmindedly, her gaze dropped to the baby in Charlene’s lap, stopping at her companion’s round, supple breasts. The blonde was definitely well-endowed in that area, and Morrisey looked away instantly, irritated that she’d inappropriately lingered on the older woman’s eye-catching cleavage.

The blonde squeezed her grandson’s round cheeks. He gurgled happily, his plump fingers grabbing Charlene’s silver necklace. He made a valiant effort to insert it into his very wet mouth, but came up inches short, as the necklace wasn’t long enough.

The shorter woman, a bemused expression on her face, studied Gareth’s mother. "You’re the one who looks annoyed. Not a people person, are you?" Charlene meant nothing offensive in the question, but Morrisey narrowed her eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "We can’t all be Ellen Extrovert like you."

Charlene’s head snapped back slightly. "It was nothing personal," she responded tersely. "I just was making a casual observation. You just seem like a loner, is all."

"Oh yeah?" Morrisey raised a dark eyebrow. "How so?" She wondered if Charlene knew what people at the college called her behind her back—Cold Fish, Ice Queen, and probably many other unmentionable names. Morrisey just didn’t like socializing and making nice, period. She didn’t believe in beating around the bush and making polite chit-chat, pretending you liked someone you really hated. What was the point? She went through life on her own, relying on herself and only herself.

The blonde shrugged, her fingers sifting through Gareth’s fine red downy. "Not that being introverted is bad. Your office for one. No pictures or personal effects in there. And, well, you’re just restrained; you don’t talk much. But that’s fine," Charlene hastened to repeat emphatically.

"Yeah, it is. It’s fine," Morrisey confirmed curtly, noticing the slender, smooth curves of her companion’s fingers. Gareth must be enjoying that, she thought.

Charlene nodded uncomfortably, knowing she’d made another boo-boo. Her eyes frantically scanned the large space, searching for an appropriate change of subject. Suddenly, her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day. "Ohh!" She gave a little yelp of delight, smells of chicken and rice wafting past her nose and torturing her rumbling stomach. "Did you two eat already?"

This time the amused reaction was on Morrisey’s face. "No."

"Oh, good," Charlene said, scanning the various restaurants surrounding them. "Too many choices!" she lamented. "Hey, what will Gareth have?"

"I brought some baby food for him." Morrisey rubbed her temples, a pounding headache setting in. The environment was simply too loud and annoying, and Charlene was getting to her. That woman must have showered in perfume this morning; her lavender fragrance nearly choked Morrisey. She wondered how Gareth tolerated it. The blonde was also chattering up a storm of gibberish with the child, but he babbled back happily. It was like they were having a real conversation.

Morrisey tucked a dark strand behind her ear. "Care to translate?" she inquired.

"Is that right? Is that right?" Charlene cooed. She turned her attention back to the woman across from her, saying: "Gareth says he’s tired of baby food. It tastes like paste."

Morrisey’s lips twitched in a half-smile, half-stifled laugh. "Well, you just tell him that when he’s old enough to eat my cooking, he’ll wish he could eat infant cuisine."

"Oh, come now," Charlene scolded. "You can’t be that bad. Just read the directions on the box."

Morrisey was skeptical. "That is what I do. But no matter what, my dishes resemble a blob of unidentifiable goop. I’m the one who supplies school cafeterias across the country with their infamous mystery meat."

Charlene giggled then, pulling the baby closer to her. "Who taught you to cook?"

"My mom tried her best." Morrisey shrugged. "I’m not that bad, really. Just too lazy to cook most of the time. Who wants to cook for themselves, right?" she admitted. "Microwave was always my best friend," she tried to say lightly, but the gruffness of her voice was a hint of deeper issues. "How about you?" she directed pointedly. The damn woman asked too many questions. "How’d you learn to cook?"

"Mmm." Charlene thought a moment. "My ma wasn’t home much so I had to fend for myself and for my brother and sister. We didn’t have much food so I figured out creative ways to make meals enjoyable. Cooking was always so natural and fun for me."

"Ah." The dark-haired woman smiled; what was she supposed to say to that? "Well," she said, changing the subject, "My headache’s killing me. Gareth and I should be going."

Charlene’s face fell. "But I just got here. We didn’t even eat!"

Morrisey sighed and pushed back her chair. "A few more minutes, then."

The blonde clasped the infant in her arms so tightly it was if she wasn’t planning on letting him go. "Let’s go to a real restaurant," she suggested, "and have a nice lunch. I’ll pay!"

"I don’t really feel like going out. I’ve had a hard week," the younger woman explained. "End of the semester, dealing with the students, grading papers and all..." She sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in the chair. "I’d just really like to relax and play with Gareth today."

Charlene could hardly believe her ears. She had spent a total of ten minutes with Gareth at the mall, and already his mother was ready for them to leave. Shocked and wounded, her gaze traveled downward to the plump youth in her lap. He looked up at her, cocking his head as if to inquire what had constituted her sudden change of mood. Her heart nearly broke at the sight. When he inclined his head like that, in that light, he so painfully and unbearably looked like his father. Charlene wondered if he would grow up big, strong, and husky like John.

Morrisey noticed the abrupt shift as well, the painful flicker that had appeared and disappeared so quickly on the blonde’s face. She puckered her lips, mentally cursing herself for even letting the woman meet her grandchild. She should’ve known better. What had she been thinking? This served as a perfect lesson in why she should never give in to moments of weakness. Once you meet the baby, hold the child in your arms, there’s no letting go. The dark-haired woman understood where Charlene was coming from; the blonde’s son, her self-professed best friend, had died a tragic, sudden death while they were estranged from each other, and to see a handsome, darling baby who was her son’s son gave Charlene new life and hope. But therein the problem arose. Morrisey, not for one instant, ever considered John Patrick Sudsbury as her baby’s father. He was a sperm donor, as far as she was concerned. She had never loved the man; he took her by force. Yes, he had given her a great gift, but that didn’t mean his mother had the right to be involved in the baby’s life. So why was she letting Charlene see the baby?

Did the blonde have any idea what it was like for Morrisey to sit by and watch her rapist’s mother cavort and play with their child, like a true grandmother? Morrisey and this woman were strangers. They had been joined by a violent act requiring only a few minutes.

An act that would alter their lives forever, of course.

Morrisey looked at Charlene, across from her. Her basic plan was for Charlene and Gareth to have virtually no contact for the time being. Maybe a few times a year for a couple hours each. Period. No argument. Since Gareth would have little contact with Charlene in the future, Morrisey reasoned that perhaps she should give them a few more hours together.

The blonde spoke in a trembling voice, obviously holding back tears. "I brought my camera." She indicated her purse. "Could I...? And maybe take him for a picture with Santa? I don’t mind waiting in the line."

Charlene’s quivering chin won the other woman over for the time being. "All right."

Gareth, such a little imp, was doing wonders for his mother. And he could do the same for his grandmother, at least for a few more hours. Sighing, Morrisey nodded. "All right. My head’s really bothering me. I’m going home. You two see Santa or whatever. Have him home in three hours," the blue-eyed woman said pointedly, scrutinizing her watch.

Charlene jumped up and dashed around the table, throwing an arm around Morrisey, while cradling Gareth securely. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed. "This means a lot to me."

Morrisey grunted, disentangling the knot that was her and Charlene. "Yeah. Sure. Be careful; don’t overexcite him." The taller woman took her son and kissed him good-bye. "Three hours, Mrs. Sudsbury." Morrisey held up three rigid fingers.

"Scout’s honor," Charlene promised, crossing her heart. Morrisey gave the child back to the blonde, wondering why she felt like she was losing her son. It was only for one afternoon, then she could be with Gareth for the rest of her life.

Charlene and Gareth watched his mother weave and squeeze her way through the throngs of heavily wrapped adults and children. She moved with unnatural grace, breezing through the room as if it was empty. The blonde smiled and addressed her grandson. "Don’t you worry, my boy. I’ll get your mama to let me visit more or for ya to come see me. Don’t you worry one bit."

****

Charlene had Gareth back thirty minutes early. She needed to gain Morrisey’s trust, and what better way of doing that than showing she could provide impeccable care for the baby?

Morrisey didn’t hide her relief. For the past hour, she’d been entertaining thoughts of the blonde kidnapping Gareth, he never to be seen again. She’d cursed herself for being so stupid as to allow them time alone. But here was her son, safe and sound in his house, where he belonged, with his mother.

The younger woman allowed Charlene to come in and they sat on the sofa. The blonde was a chatterbox, talking a mile a minute. "I used up three rolls of film!" Charlene exclaimed. "Santa said Gareth was the handsomest baby ever. Isn’t that right, Gareth?" she cooed, addressing the baby, now in his playpen. Yes, you are. So handsome. Such a sweet handsome cute little boy. Yes, yes, you are. All the other babies were sooo jealous. Yes, they were, yes they were. And do you know why? Because you’re such a handsome and smart little boy! The bestest baby of them all! Yes, yes, you are. And you behaved so well. No crying or fussing like those other babies. A perfect gentleman, you are."

Morrisey rolled her eyes but Gareth gurgled happily and chewed toothlessly on his elephant doll.

"I’ll get the film developed," continued the blonde, "then stop by and drop off a copy of the pictures."

The taller woman narrowed her eyes, aware of the ploy Charlene was trying to pull.

Morrisey changed the subject. "Long wait?"

Charlene shrugged. "About an hour but I didn’t mind. Everyone was talking about how adorable Gareth was. Are you going to take him to see Santa later too?" The blonde didn’t mention that the people had automatically assumed, due to her youthful appearance, that the red-headed baby was her son. Charlene hadn’t bothered to correct them, taking secret pride in the words: "Your son is so cute! Such a well-mannered baby too! Oh, you must be so proud." She missed that, being a mother, having someone to take care of. Gareth was exactly what she needed.

"Dunno." Morrisey crossed her arms. "Maybe if it’s not a busy day."

"So," Charlene said, surveying the house, "this place looks bare. No Christmas decorations?" She wanted to tell Morrisey to lighten up, get into the holiday mood. What kind of mother didn’t take her baby to see Santa?

"Yep." Morrisey crossed her legs. "Maybe get a tree this week."

"Need any help?" Charlene volunteered.

When Morrisey shook her head, Charlene asked another question. "So when do you get off for winter break and when do ya got to go back?"

"Not until a couple days before Christmas, then the day after the New Year."

"That’s good, gives y’all time to settle in a little and have an enjoyable break."

"Yes." Morrisey’s blue eyes flickered over to the playpen, where her son seemed to be carrying on a conversation with a stuffed bear.

"Will you let me know how everything with Gareth goes?" Charlene asked apprehensively, her left eye twitching slightly.

The dark-haired woman swallowed, then faced her companion. "I’ll let you know."

A huge grin of relief immediately broke the tension on Charlene’s face. "Oh, thank you. Wonderful!" Seeing the pained expression on Morrisey’s features, the blonde leaned in concernedly. "Morrisey? How’s your headache?"

The blue-eyed woman wrinkled her forehead. "Headache? I don’t—ah. Yeah. It’s gone."

Charlene frowned. "You had this look on your face..." The blonde sighed, realizing what the problem must be. "You know," she whispered, "it would mean so much to me to... I don’t know, to know what’s going on with Gareth. But it obviously bothers you a lot."

Morrisey sighed, all too aware of the unwelcome touch on her shoulder. Standing up and breaking contact with the blonde, she strolled to the playpen. "Of course I’m not leaping with joy," she replied succinctly.

Charlene joined her by the playpen, thankfully restraining herself from molesting the taller woman. "It’s not exactly the greatest feeling in the world to see you and Gareth together," Morrisey managed through clenched teeth. Bonding, laughing with each other.

The blonde swallowed, considering the statement. "I appreciate this, Morrisey. The time you’ve given me with him means so much to me."

The other woman, never one for heart-to-heart conversations, shifted her weight, gazing at her son, the epitome of perfection and innocence. His eyes were beginning to droop. "Nap time," Morrisey said to Charlene, and scooped up the baby.

Charlene didn’t take the hint. "I’ll wait here while you put him down. Or can I do it?" she asked with baited breath.

The dark-haired woman exhaled a heavy breath. "Come," she snapped. Charlene followed her taller companion into the infant’s room and helped get Gareth ready for his nap. As they both looked at the dozing child, completely captivated by his simple innocence, Charlene grasped Morrisey’s hand and maintained the contact for several moments.

"Thank you," she said. "I know I say this a lot but, my God, Morrisey, meeting Gareth has meant the world to me. Thank you." She turned into the younger woman’s strong chest and held her tightly for a brief second. Morrisey smelled nice, woodsy and outdoors-like. Breaking away, the blonde looked into her companion’s clear, captivating blue eyes. Their gaze locked and held for an improbable second, as long as it was short, as awkward as it was comfortable.

The dark-haired woman had never felt so unnerved in her life. "You’re welcome," Morrisey said, looking away. Charlene really was a beautiful woman; her eyes shone like fine emerald fabric.

Morrisey noticed her hands were trembling and her heart was racing, both so uncharacteristic for her. "I’ll be sure to let you know the holidays and all go."

Charlene got the hint that time. "Okay..." she whispered, reluctant to leave her grandson. She probably wouldn’t see him again for at least a month, but deep down inside she knew things would somehow work out. But the past half-hour or so with Morrisey had taught the blonde a few things. She would be fine as long as she knew the baby was healthy and happy. "I’ll be waiting," she murmured, then leaned into the crib. She kissed Gareth, felt once again the incredible sensation of his smooth skin, his soft head, his silky red downy. But she did not cry, nor did she feel like crying. For some improbable reason, she knew everything would be all right, like in the fairy tales.

****

Just when Morrisey, her hand ready to twist the doorknob, was about to show Charlene out the door, she heard a car pull into the driveway. A check outside the window told her that her parents had arrived for a visit. "Damn," the dark-haired woman muttered under her breath.

"Who is it?" asked the blonde, picking up on the other woman’s evident irritation.

"My parents." Morrisey studied Charlene for a quick moment; Harriet and Dave Hawthorne had no idea that their grandson was visiting with his other grandparent. Morrisey had even fibbed to her mother, telling her that Charlene had lost interest in the baby. She lied to her mother often, as a matter of necessity. Harriet was overbearing, and if she felt her daughter wasn’t handling matters correctly, the mother took over the whole situation.

"Oh," murmured Charlene, wrapping her coat tighter around her. "They, uh… you didn’t tell them, huh?"

"No." An annoyed Morrisey quickly evaluated the situation. "Well, it’s their problem," she decided.

"I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’ll pretend to be someone else…a saleslady, maybe," she volunteered. "I could hide… no. They’ve seen my car."

The taller woman shook her head firmly. "No. You’re who you are." The doorbell rang, and Charlene stepped back, halfway between the door and the couch, an uncertain expression on her face. She hated conflict.

Rolling her eyes, Morrisey opened the door and smiled gamely as a freezing blast of wind hit her. "Mom, Dad." She had told them many times to call before they came, but they almost never did, just showing up on the spur of the moment.

Her parents were donned in heavy overcoats and sweaters. Harriet shivered, hugging her daughter quickly. Both older adults stepped into the warm house rapidly, and Morrisey shut the door behind them. "I noticed the car outside," Harriet commented, hoping her daughter had a gentleman caller. That would herald wonderful news, for Morrisey never ever dated to her knowledge.

"So observant you are," Morrisey responded wryly, wondering where Charlene had gone. "Let me introduce you. And please," the dark-haired woman shot a scathing glance at her mother and at her father, "you two be good. I mean it! This is my life."

"Now, now!" Harriet patted her woolen hat. "Who is this mystery guest?" Her inquisitive blue eyes twinkled.

Charlene stepped into view then, from the hallway. She was obviously ill at ease, looking like she was guilty of a crime. She surveyed Morrisey’s parents, already knowing what they looked like from the pictures in the living room—both were tall and thin and in excellent shape. The father was light-complexioned while the daughter resembled her mother more. Harriet had salt sprinkles in her pepper hair, while Dave had a head full of white hair. Morrisey’s parents wore jeans and thick sweaters.

"Hello!" Harriet chirped brightly, clasping the other woman’s hand firmly, slightly disappointed that Morrisey didn’t have a man over after all. "Always nice to meet a friend of my daughter’s. She never socializes."

Charlene chuckled nervously. "Nice to meet you too." She shook hands with Morrisey’s father as well. The dark-haired woman stood next to them, hands stuffed in her pockets. "Those are my parents." She gestured to the duo. "Mom, Dad, this is Charlene Sudsbury."

Harriet cleared her throat, unbuttoning her coat. "So how and where did you two meet?" The name didn’t catch in her mind yet as she hadn’t really been paying attention. Instead she was devising all sorts of questions to ask the young blonde. Dave puckered his lips, the name sounding familiar to him.

"Charlene Sudsbury? She works with you at the college, right?" asked Morrisey’s father, taking a wild stab since his daughter almost never talked about anything—work, her personal life, nothing.

Charlene furrowed her brow, confused, while Morrisey’s sighed irritably. "This is Charlene Sudsbury. She’s here to visit Gareth," muttered the baby’s mother.

Harriet gasped then, a hand flying over her heart. Realization flooded her face. "Charlene Sudsbury! Sudsbury! Sudsbury! Morrisey Hawthorne!" The woman whirled to face her daughter. "What are you doing, letting that rapist in here?" she shrilled.

"Mother!" Morrisey snapped, in a warning tone. "Like I said before, this is my life. Not yours." Anger steamed from every pore in her body.

"Letting a no good rapist in here!" Seeing the self-righteous expression, haughty, contemptuous, and know-it-all on the woman’s face, never before in her life had Morrisey wanted to strangle her mother more then during this moment.

"She did not rape me. Her son did. I have the situation under control, okay?" Morrisey willed her voice to return to a normal pitch.

The older woman crossed her arms. "Obviously, you don’t. I told you to be firm! Morrisey, why in the hell would you ever, ever, ever let this woman see little, innocent Gareth? Tell me that!" She stuck a hard finger in Charlene’s chest. Fear and guilt was written in the blonde’s every move. "Mrs. Sudsbury," she shrilled, "you are absolutely unwelcome here! Your monster of an offspring devastated my daughter’s life! I thank the Lord he’s dead. Get out!" Veins bulged from her saggy throat.

Tears threatened to break loose from the scared green eyes. Charlene crept away, hoping to escape before the melee became more than a melee. But Morrisey grabbed her around the waist before she could reach the door. Then the dark-haired woman stormed to the exit and threw it open, exuding fury. "Out!" she directed the order to her parents.

Harriet gasped, and Dave took her hand. "Choosing a rapist over your own parents!"

Above the din, the high shrieks of a baby’s wailing filled the room.

"See what you did?" Harriet cried accusingly, glaring at the blonde. "You made him cry. You selfish bitch."

Morrisey slammed the door, staring her mother straight in the eyes. "I know this is a shock to you. I’m seeing your side in this. Okay? But it does no good to mudsling. See!" she exclaimed, her control ebbing away. "This is exactly why I didn’t tell you." Cursing under her breath, the dark-haired woman shoved past her mother into the baby’s bedroom, hoping to calm his cries.

Charlene couldn’t venture another glance at the older adults and promptly fled out of the house, her head shamefully lowered, and into the safety of her car and the roads.

Once she was a safe five minutes away, she pulled into the crowded parking lot of a strip mall and immediately broke into tears, burying her face into her hands. Morrisey’s mother was right; the blonde had no right just barging and upsetting their lives. What had she been thinking, putting her own selfish desires above those of a woman who was simply trying to move on with her life? And why was Morrisey letting her do it?

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