Judy Christenberry - Who's The Daddy?

“Seven o’clock. And would you mind not sounding so put upon? I have no intention of torturing you!” she snapped, any patience she might normally have had having disintegrated between her headache and her heartache.

“It’s too late. You already have.” He hung up without waiting for a response.

“Oh yeah?” she yelled into the dead phone. “Well, just wait until tomorrow night!”

How dare that man act as if she’d intentionally hurt him? She was suffering just as much as him.

Recalling her bout with morning sickness, she decided she was suffering more. She strode to the closet and her wonderful new wardrobe. He thought he’d been tortured before? She’d make sure the torture continued.

“Caroline?” Mrs. Lamb called softly, rapping on the door before opening it. “Oh!” she exclaimed as Caroline appeared at the closet door.

“Hi. Did you need something?”

“I have a luncheon tray for you,” the housekeeper explained, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“I could’ve come downstairs,” Caroline assured her.

“You’re always so thoughtful, child, but you need your rest. What are you doing out of bed?”

“Trying to decide which outfit is my most killer one.”

“Killer?” Mrs. Lamb’s face was a perfect picture of puzzlement.

“Don’t worry. I’m not plotting a murder. I don’t think. I’m wanting to, uh, look my best. By the way, my dinner guest is coming tomorrow night. Is that okay?”

“Sure is. Do I know him?”

“His name is Max Daniels.” Caroline studied the housekeeper’s expression, but she saw no sign of recognition. “You’ve never heard of him?”

“No. Should I have?”

“He’s one of the three… Has anyone told you I’m pregnant?”

Mrs. Lamb almost dropped the tray and Caroline rushed forward to support her.

“Oh, my stars. Are you serious? I can’t believe it. Isn’t that wonderful? You and Chelsea will have babies almost the same age. I—who’s the father?”

Mrs. Lamb’s abrupt question showed her sudden awareness of Caroline’s situation. With a self-conscious shrug, Caroline said, “I don’t know. The amnesia.”

“Well, surely he’ll come forward. I mean, a man should be responsible for his actions.”

“That’s the problem,” Caroline replied. “Three men have claimed responsibility for—for my baby.”

“Three? Oh, my stars! Caroline!”

Taking the shaking tray from the housekeeper’s hands, Caroline set it on the lamp table. “Lambie, I need help.”

“Why, I’ll do whatever I—I don’t see how—I mean, what are you going to do?”

“I need to find out what was going on in my life two months ago.”

As if her knees had collapsed, Mrs. Lamb sank onto the bed. “Oh, my stars.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Two months ago? A little over two months ago, you had a fight with your father.”

“A fight? What about?”

“I don’t know. But the next morning, you called a taxi, and you left.”

“A taxi? I don’t have a car?”

“Of course you have a car. A Mercedes. Your father insisted, saying they were the safest. He buys you a new one every year.”

She kept her feelings about her father’s domination to herself. “Then why a taxi?”

“I don’t know. You had a bag packed and you hugged me, saying not to worry, you were going on a vacation.”

“Did I tell you where I was going?”

“No. You left a note for your father, but it didn’t tell him anything, ‘cause he questioned me.”

She had some questions for her father the next time she saw him, too. “Did I call you after I left? And how long was I gone?”

“You called once and told me you were having a good time. And you left a message for your father.”

“What message?”

Mrs. Lamb screwed up her face, as if trying to remember, and finally said, “You said you were proving him wrong.”

Caroline stared at her. “That’s it? Nothing for my mother?”

With a surprised look on her face, Mrs. Lamb said, “Why, no. You don’t—I mean, you love your mother, of course, but Mrs. Adkins is so busy…” She trailed off and looked away.

“I see. And when I came back? Did I ever say where I’d been or what I’d done?”

“No. But you seemed sad. Once I found you crying, and that’s unusual for you. Why, as a little girl, you’d fall and hurt yourself, but you’d never cry. Unlike Chelsea. Chelsea learned to shed tears whenever she wanted something. Tears just drive your father up the wall.”

Caroline could believe that. But she wanted more information about herself, not her father or her sister. “Did I explain why I was crying?”

“No.”

“Did I receive any strange phone calls? Or letters?” But she remembered Max asking for her telephone number. He wouldn’t have called her.

“No.”

“Did I date anyone after I came back?”

“You would go to social events with Adrian and Prescott. You did that before you left, too.”

“Social events?”

“You know, to the Save the Whales dinner and dance, the opera, the symphony opening night. There was a real nice picture in the paper yesterday of you and Adrian.”

“Why?” Caroline demanded, suddenly afraid she might have announced her engagement.

“You were dancing at the opera ball.”

Caroline sat down beside Mrs. Lamb, feeling a little weak herself. And her head was beginning to ache. Again.

“You’d better eat some lunch, child. You don’t look too well. And you’ve got a baby to think about now.”

Caroline smiled faintly. It was too easy to forget that she was carrying a child inside her, since she couldn’t remember the event that had brought it about. But Mrs. Lamb was right. She needed to eat.

“Let’s take the tray back downstairs. I’ve had enough eating in bed to last me awhile.”

And she needed to calm down again before she faced her father. He had some explaining to do.

SHE DIDN’T GET TO ASK her father any questions that night. Long before he’d returned from the office, she’d gone to bed, exhausted. Her mother had gotten home around four, but her vagueness made Caroline wonder if she even remembered that her daughter had come home from the hospital that day.

Even so, Caroline tried to question her at the dinner table that evening.

“Uh, Mother?”

“Yes, dear?” Amelia replied distractedly, examining the salad she was eating.

“Do you know why I argued with my father?”

“Did you? I have no idea, dear. You argue with him frequently, even though I tell you you shouldn’t.” She took a bite of salad and chewed it consideringly. “I don’t think Mrs. Lamb is using a dietetic dressing, even though I asked her to.”

“Please think, Mother. It’s important.”

“I know it is. I gained two pounds last month, and I’m sure it’s the salad dressing.”

“No, I mean arguing with—with my father.” She had no idea what she normally called him.

Amelia looked at her blankly. “About what? Was he difficult when he picked you up?”

“No, not today,” Caroline said, hoping her patience could withstand more conversation with her mother. “Mrs. Lamb said that I had a fight with him a little over two months ago, and then I left.”

“Did you? Where did you go?”

Caroline sighed. “I don’t know. Didn’t you notice I was gone?”

“Hmm. Two months ago? I think that’s when I went to that spa in Arizona.” She laid down her fork and rang the dinner bell that rested on the table by her plate.

Mrs. Lamb opened the door that led to the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Mrs. Lamb, didn’t I go to that spa at the end of June?” Amelia asked.