Page 10 of I Found You
“Is that my phone? Hang up now,” Luke bellowed.
I ended the call and gave him back his phone. I had to listen to a lecture about privacy and confidentiality and some other shit, but that was fine. I could handle Luke’s rants. And now, I had a name.
* * *
I was home by nine o’clock on a Friday night, alone. A fewyears ago, that would have been unheard of. But now, I was fine with having a few drinks and some wings and heading home before the crowd started to pack the place. I googled Kara Dawson. She was the only Kara in town that I knew of. She was a few grades below me in high school; we didn’t really run in the same crowds, especially back then, but I knew who she was. I messaged her through a social media app and laid it all out there. I told her that I was the person who found the little girl and wanted to check in on her. My expectations of a response were pretty low, but I would think of a better way to get the information in the morning if this didn’t work. To my surprise, she messaged me back within a few minutes. All she could tell me was that she was the social worker assigned to the case. She refused to say anything else, and I had to give her credit. She was very polite as she declined to answer any of my questions.
Fuck it. I was bringing in Wes.
Me: Remember when you told me you could track down where the baby ended up?
Wes: On it.
It wasn’t even 10:00 a.m. the next morning when Wes texted me back with a name and address. I didn’t know how he did it, but I didn’t care.
Maeve Graham.
I knew the name, but I couldn’t picture her. She lived on the other side of town. It wasn’t the “wrong side of tracks,” necessarily, but that side of town was the most beat-up. I needed to finish what I was working on at the garage, but I closed up around lunchtime so I could run home to shower and change before I went by her house. It was hot as hell outside, sweat was pouring off me, and I didn’t want to showup smelling like oil and gasoline.
The paint was peeling on the house that I pulled up to, weeds growing up through the cracks in the concrete walkway. Someone had clearly been trying to maintain it, as the grass was mowed and flowers were planted in the front. It needed some attention, but it had a lot of potential.
I shut off my truck and rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans. As I made my way to the house, I could see where someone had started to repaint the exterior, but they weren’t doing it right and must have stopped. A baby was crying inside. I knocked on the door with my fist, my blood already boiling.
The door opened to reveal the woman from the bar. She wasn’t much younger than me, if I had to guess. Chocolate-brown hair pulled onto a droopy, messy knot on the top of her head, puffy circles under her eyes, and still in some sort of pajamas, she looked like she was on the brink of tears. She was holding Baby Girl and bouncing up and down, tits bouncing right along with her, clearly not wearing any bra. I dragged my eyes up to her face. She was saying something—what did she say?
5
Maeve
Wyatt Wilder was standing on my doorstep.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“I’m Wyatt,” he said, not giving me anything else to work with.
“I know,” I said slowly. “What can I do for you, Wyatt? I’m a little busy right now, if you haven’t noticed.”
“That’s my girl,” Wyatt said with a smile. My heart stuttered, and I froze in place. Wyatt reached out and stroked Jane’s head.
Oh, he was here for the baby. “Your girl? Are you Jane’s father?” That was news. I hadn’t heard that Wyatt had a baby, and news traveled fast in this town. But maybe he didn’t know about her until now?
“No. Nothing like that. Is that her name? Jane?”
“It’s what they call babies with no names, I guess.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous. She doesn’t look like a Jane at all.” The outrage in his voice stunned me for a second. “Hold her up to your shoulder and pat her butt.”
I was so confused. “Excuse me? Why are you here again?”I asked, suspicion evident in my glare.
“I found her on the street a few days ago. I… ah… I just wanted to stop by to see her and make sure she is doing good,” he said, adjusting the hat on his head.
I moved aside to let him in and adjusted the baby to the shoulder hold. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you two were acquainted. Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah, thanks. Do you mind if I hold her?” he asked carefully.
I didn’t know if it was the sincere look in his eyes or that Jane was still screaming, and I was just so, so tired, but when he held out his hands in offer to hold her, I nodded, passing Jane to him.
Since when did insanely attractive men just knock on the door and ask to hold a screaming baby? Jane, as I had been calling her—which absolutely fit her—woke up fussy this morning, but instead of calming down throughout the day, it seemed like it was getting worse. She wouldn’t let me put her down. Every time I tried to get anything done around the house, she would scream her beautiful little head off. I was at my wit’s end. What was supposed to be a two-day assignment with cute little baby cuddles turned into over a week and a half with no end in sight. She really was a good baby most of the time, or at least some of the time. She slept horribly, never making it through the night, but she wasn’t even three months old yet, so I couldn’t really fault her for that. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, equal parts stress and exhaustion.
