Christine Rimmer - From Here To Paternity

But where was Sissy?

And was she okay?

She read Sissy’s note over and over, looking for clues as to how she was doing and where she might have gone. The note gave her nothing, though—not when it came to Sissy’s circumstances or her current location.

Monday and Tuesday Charlene got used to the idea of working her schedule around Mia. Both days she picked the baby up after the lunch rush and went home for a couple of hours, then she took Mia with her back to the diner until she closed up at five.

By Wednesday, she was feeling pretty good about the way it was working out. Mia seemed happy enough spending her mornings with Gracie and Baby Tony. Since she was such an easy baby, she was no trouble at the diner. And Gracie’s sisters-in-law had a whole lot of baby stuff between them. They loaned Charlene a playpen for the diner and one for the house, a baby seat and a baby pack that hooked on in the front. Since she never took the baby to the diner when she actually had to work the tables, it was fine. She could have Mia in the office while she did her bookkeeping, or even sitting in her little seat out in the main part of the restaurant, if necessary.

If only she weren’t so worried about Sissy, she’d be feeling pretty good about the way things were going.

Wednesday evening, when she and Mia got home from the diner, she did the thing she really didn’t want to do.

She called her aunt Irma in San Diego and asked if Irma might know of a way that she could get in touch with Sissy.

Irma Foxmire hadn’t changed. She was as self-righteous and judgmental as ever. In that tight, chilly voice of hers she said, “Well, Charlene. What can I say to you? Your uncle Larry and I haven’t seen Sissy in over a year—not since before she came to stay with you. No, she has not called. I have no idea how to reach her. And you haven’t called, either, as a matter of fact.” Irma exhaled, a hard sigh of anger and impatience. “Is there some emergency we should know about?”

It was the moment to mention Mia. Charlene let that moment pass. As she’d told Brand, she wasn’t giving Mia up to CPS. And she was afraid if Irma knew about the baby, the first thing the woman would do was to call them and have Mia taken away.

“Hello? Charlene? Are you still on this line?”

“I’m here, Aunt Irma.”

“Answer my question, then. Please.”

“No. There’s no emergency.” Not that I know of, anyway. “I’m just trying to get hold of my sister, that’s all.”

“She didn’t even have the courtesy to leave you a phone number where you could reach her?”

“Aunt Irma—”

“Never mind. You don’t need to tell me. I already know. And I must say, if she’s gone, well, just think of it as good riddance to bad stuff. I certainly do. That girl was nothing but a heartache and an ongoing trial to Larry and me. We gave her everything. And look how she turned out.”

“Aunt Irma. I’m asking you nicely to stop running Sissy down.”

Irma wasn’t listening. But then, she never did. “Just forget her. I’m telling you, Charlene. Forget her. It’s the only way.”

It was too much. “No, I will not forget her. She’s my sister and I love her.” Temper, temper, Charlene thought. I am going to shut up now. But she didn’t. “And in case you don’t remember, Sissy was a sweet, funny, loving little girl before you took her away to live with you.”

Irma gasped. “I did what was right for her, at considerable cost to myself and my marriage. Your sister has messed up her own life, thank you very much. All I ever did was to feed and clothe her and try to bring her up right—and I don’t wish to discuss this subject further.”

“Hey. Fine by me.” The line went dead. “Bitch,” Charlene muttered to the dial tone. She hung up and glanced over at her niece, who was cooing happily at the butterfly mobile suspended above the playpen. “All right. I know what you’re thinking. I should have been more reasonable. But that woman just makes my blood boil.”

Mia made one of those noises that sounded like a giggle.

“Okay. I’m sorry I called her a bitch. I mean, she is one. But it’s not nice to say so. And I hope when you get old enough to talk, you’ll be a more forgiving person than your Aunt Charlene.”

“Go-wahhhh…”

“My sentiments, exactly.” The doorbell rang. “Terrific. What now?” She marched into her tiny foyer, flung the door wide—and found Brand waiting on the other side.

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