Page 11 of Paternal Instincts
“Okay. Leave it with us.”
“Will you find my son?” Nixon’s voice was choked with emotion and laced with a tiny thread of hope.
It was a question we got all the time and one we could never answer fairly. I yearned to give the parents of missing children hope, but I had no right. Sadly, there was never a guarantee in my line of work, and it was a sad fact I’d learned at the ripe age of six years old. Some kids never came home.
“We’ll do our best.”
Chapter 4
Aslan
Sparrow capped the marker and added it to the pile, admiring her picture. After a bite to eat, she’d perked up. We’d hunted for art supplies since all five-year-old girls liked to color, and the distraught child needed a distraction. The best we’d come up with were three whiteboard markers, two fluorescent highlighters, and various colored pens. Sparrow didn’t complain.
“I’m done.” She turned her drawing around to show me, glowing with pride. I’d given her a spot at Torin’s desk, and she seemed to enjoy his swivel chair, maneuvering it back and forth in a gentle rock the entire time she drew. Since she was so tiny, I’d borrowed several stacks of printer paper from the supply room to boost her higher on the seat.
“Wow. You are an artist.” I used a poor French accent, adding a chef’s kiss to drive the point home. “Magnifique.” Amelia had reminded me a dozen or more times to never ask a childwhatthey drew since it could be interpreted incorrectly. To them, the image was obvious, so I used my sister’s alternate phrasing instead. “Can you tell me about it?”
Sparrow peered over the top of the paper, viewing it upside down and blocking most of the picture with her hair, but I listened to her explain.
“That’s Mommy. She’s in bed because the doctor said she had to not do exercise to keep the baby safe. That’s Daddy with his tie on ’cause he’s going to work at the office with Uncle Jude. He’s not my real uncle, but Daddy said we can call him that. This is Crow and his blue backpack ’cause he’s going to school, and this is me with my pink one. It has unicorns on it. I’m going to grade one when summer is over. No more baby school.”
“Who is the lovely lady in the dress?”
“That’s Clementine. She used to be our nanny, only not anymore because Mommy yelled at her to get out. She likes to wear dresses in the summer. She’s pretty.”
“Is that a bird on her shoulder?”
“Yep. That’s a cocktail. He’s a white bird with yellow feathers, but I didn’t have those colors.” Sparrow’s finger moved to another grown-up. “This is Grandma Walsh. She visits Mommy all the time to make sure the baby is okay. This is Rex, my dog, ’cept he’s not real. Daddy said no pets, but Uncle Flynn said maybe on my birthday. He’s my real uncle.”
“Did you draw the baby inside your mommy’s tummy?”
“Yep. That’s him. It’s a boy, you know. The doctor said so.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m having another brother. I hate brothers. I wanted a sister. Mommy said you don’t get to pick. His name is gonna be Robin. Daddy doesn’t like that name, but Mommy’s the boss, and she said, ‘Too bad, so sad.’ Daddy said, ‘Enough birds in my house.’” She mimicked what I assumed was her father’s teasing tone, and I chuckled. “He’s kidding. He likes his birds, just not dogs.”
“That’s an amazing picture.”
Sparrow beamed and settled on the chair to admire it, no longer rocking side to side. “Do you have kids?”
“Actually, there is a lady with my baby in her tummy right now, waiting to be born any day.”
“Your wife?”
“No. She’s called a surrogate.”
Sparrow frowned. “Is that mean a girlfriend?”
I chuckled. “No. Not a girlfriend. Remember Detective Quaid, who brought you over here?”
She glanced at the hallway to no-man’s-land and MPU. “Yeah. I remember. He’s talking to Daddy about Crow.”
“That’s right. Detective Quaid is my husband, and since boys can’t make a baby together, they sometimes have a lady called a surrogate to help them.”
Sparrow’s five-year-old brain seemed to turn that information around and around. When I expected her to ask a hundred questions about why two boys were married or what a surrogate meant, or how the baby got in her tummy, she didn’t. “So, you’re having a baby soon, like Mommy?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re going to be a daddy?”
“I am.”
