Page 61 of Playing With Fire

Dougie is toast. Can we meet?

That was it. Six words. The Acting Editor had torpedoed his investigation by alerting the perpetrator/s to his next move, she had betrayed him personally and professionally, and she had possibly even cost him his job. And she somehow imagined that this was mildly amusing, and could they sort it all out over a cappuccino at Bean & Co?

Ricky’s head swam. His heart banged against his ribs and he clenched his fists against the sudden odors of charred plastic, smoke and fire retardant which filled his nostrils. Heat stained his cheeks, and he felt a rush of furious energy, the nearly overwhelming need to prowl the room like a caged tiger.

He breathed in, out. Like that counselor had told him.

Take it easy, buddy. Focus on the breath. Clear the mind.

Oxygen filled Ricky’s tortured lungs. He laid his hands flat on the desk, felt his shoulders relax. He remembered Jodi’s face the first time he’d kissed her. The surprise, the pleasure, the spark of desire.

His pulse slowed to somewhere near normal, though the chainmail squeezing his chest did not loosen one bit.

His phone gave a polite buzz. The calendar alarm.

10 a.m. Adoptive parents support group, Community Church Hall.

Ricky’s mind clicked back into action.

He jumped to his feet and opened the stationery cupboard (yes, they still had a stationery cupboard at the Temple Mountain Town Council office. And a photocopier, paper cutter, and industrial stapler).

He began stacking piles of brochures, fridge magnets, and safety posters, trying not to think about his other deeply personal agenda.

It was a foolish idea. A movie fantasy, that he might somehow, miraculously, encounter the adoptive parents of his child. And unless Baby Lioba was a carbon copy of either himself or Chrissie, there was unlikely to be a Road to Damascus moment where he recognized his child.

The single factor on his side, Ricky reminded himself, was the statistic he had wrangled out of the Annual Report of The New York State Adoption Services.

Adoptions, it seemed, were much less common these days, especially of newborns.

In fact there had been only ten adoptions of babies in the whole county last year, and a similar number in previous years.

In which case, the odds were not bad.

Ricky snapped shut his briefcase and zipped up his jacket.

Joshua, Judah, the Beechams and the whole mess could wait a few more hours.

***

The first surprise was that the parent and child group looked pretty much the same as the playgroup at the rectory. A babble of conversation, crawling babies and toddlers underfoot, and parents sipping lukewarm beverages while poised to leap forward to avert disaster at any second.

“Ricky, this is Bella, the convener of the support group.”

Ricky had expected a cool reception from Hattie, but she had merely squeezed his arm and smiled when they met outside the hall.

“Ricky Sharp is Chief Browning’s new assistant. He’s been doing a wonderful job, informing parents about fire risks in the home,” said Hattie in her soft, clear voice. Jaime, wearing preloved denim overalls and a baggy t-shirt with the cuffs rolled up, threw Ricky a toothy grin over Hattie’s shoulder.

Hattie deftly moved the child to her other hip, and Ricky marveled at how so petite a woman could carry a large two-year-old for hours at a time.

“Mumma,” gurgled Jaime. “Narna. Please narna.”

Hattie delivered a kiss onto the curly head. “Clever girl. Her new word. Bananas are her favorite.”

Jaime’s eyes lit up. “Narna?”

“Soon,” promised Hattie. Jaime caught sight of the other children and began wriggling. “Down,” she commanded, and Hattie began untangling the child and her Bluey backpack from the bulky diaper bag on her shoulder.

Bella, a tall, solidly built woman with a sensible face and sharp eyes, turned her attention on Ricky before he could ask what Jaime’s other words were. Dog? Cat? Plane? Was she still drinking from a bottle, and what about diapers? He realized that he knew next to nothing about babies and small children. Or large children, when it came to it.

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