Karen Young - Sugar Baby

“Mama, meet Claire Woodson,” Mack said. “Claire, my mother, Wyona.”

“Hello, Mrs. McMollere.”

The woman extended her hand. “How do you do?” she said, obviously striving to be polite. “I thought you would be younger.”

“Because I was a student when I met Carter?” Claire asked.

“Well, yes.”

“My mother was ill, so I had to delay getting my degree,” Claire explained, guessing from the woman’s surprised expression that she hadn’t expected Claire to have enough character to care for a sick mother. “I’m thirty-four.”

“Claire, this is Danny’s grandfather, Angus McMollere,” Mack said. “Dad, Claire Woodson.”

She recalled that Angus had suffered a stroke right after Carter’s death. Age and illness had apparently taken a toll, because the stern and uncompromising tyrant that Carter had described hardly fit the slightly stooped, fragile-looking man before her. But his eyes— so like Mack’s and Danny’s—were still fiercely blue.

She shook his hand. “Mr. McMollere.”

“Well, the boy certainly has the best of both of you,” he declared, studying Danny’s face.

“You mean, Carter and me?” Claire smiled coolly. “Is that a compliment?”

“My grandson’s a good-looking boy,” the old man blustered.

She gave Danny’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I think so, too.”

“Michelle thinks he looks like me.” Everybody stared at Mack in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said, finding her voice first.

“That was a joke, Mama.”

Claire felt a hand beneath her elbow and realized it belonged to Mack. She had a wild impulse to turn around and run from these people who represented anything but safety to her and Danny. But Mack was urging her across the threshold, and she had no choice but to keep going. Behind her, the door closed.

“Welcome to Sugarland,” he said.

WYONA LED everyone through the house to a bright sun room. Claire sat where Wyona indicated, then patted the spot beside her for Danny. There hadn’t been time to get more than a glimpse of the house, but Claire had an impression of high ceilings, wooden floors, spaciousness and traditional decor. Still, it appeared dated, not in the sense of out-of-fashion furnishings—costly antiques were everywhere—but it had an air of benign neglect.

Claire envied Danny as he looked around, openly curious. She’d have to keep her own curiosity to herself, at least for now. Angus and Wyona took seats opposite her. Mack stood watching, his back to the windows.

“We’ve been looking forward to this day a long time, Danny,” Angus said in his blustery way. “How do you like your daddy’s house?”

Danny’s eyes got round. “Did my daddy live here?”

“He sure did.” Angus pointed up. “He was born right upstairs, in the same bedroom as me.”

“Wow.” Danny stared at the ceiling as though he could look right through it. “I was born in a hospital.”

“Yes, well…” Angus cleared his throat.

“I’m five,” Danny informed him proudly. “It’s only a month until I start kindergarten, but I can already read some ‘cause my mommy’s a liberrian. She used to be a teacher, but not anymore.”

“That’s quite a speech,” the old man said.

Mack smiled. “Danny’s quite a boy.”

“I have to be,” Danny said, obviously considering that an odd remark. “ ‘Cause I can’t be a girl.”

As everyone laughed, Michelle suddenly appeared at the door. “That’s the only reason you’re here, Danny. Because you aren’t a girl.” There was a bitter twist to her smile.

Mack moved toward her, frowning. With a sinking feeling, Claire realized he was going to scold his daughter and provoke another confrontation. The man’s parenting skills definitely needed work.

“Danny and I were just getting acquainted with his grandparents, Michelle,” she said, patting a place on the other side of her. “Come and join us.”

Michelle hesitated, meeting Claire’s gaze with suspicion. But then she walked over and sat down. “So, how’s it going? Is the little heir measuring up to true McMollere standards?”

“Isn’t it a bit early to tell?” Claire said, smiling.

“Not really. He’s male, he’s healthy, he’s in.”

“I don’t understand you, dear.” Wyona looked dismayed.

“That girl needs a lesson in manners,” Angus said, glaring at Mack.

“I like her,” Danny said, leaning forward to look at Michelle. Suddenly, the teenager’s eyes filled with tears.

She dashed them away with some embarrassment. “Just what I need, a little twerp to fight my battles. Too bad you aren’t gonna be here but a weekend, kid. We might become buddies.”

“I think we’re staying longer than that,” Danny said.

“What’s this?” Angus straightened a little, looking at Mack.

“Danny witnessed an incident at the hotel this afternoon,” he said, glancing at Claire. “While Claire was talking on the phone with me, he says he saw a man shoot somebody.”

There was shocked silence and then everybody tried to speak at once. Mack held up a hand. “There’s a problem. Nobody else saw anything. The hotel claims it couldn’t have happened, but when Claire and Danny went to Star-Mart later, somebody—a stranger—approached Danny and tried to force him out of the store.”

“My God!” Angus said softly.

“Oh…oh,” Wyona murmured, touching her cheek.

“Jeezum!” Michelle said.

Mack crossed his arms over his chest. “So until we can be certain Danny’s imagination hasn’t run amok, it would appear that the safest place for Claire and Danny right now is here at Sugarland.”

CLAIRE ESCAPED after the first flurry of questions to take Danny to the bathroom. She needed a moment to get her bearings. It was suddenly so overwhelming. Here she was in Carter’s house, with Carter’s parents, de- pendent on the McMolleres because of a fluke—a criminal act that had thrown her child’s life in jeopardy. She felt as if she were caught in a tidal wave with no more control over her destiny than a sand castle at high tide.

Beside her, Danny was looking wide-eyed at everything. “I like it here, Mommy.”

“It’s a nice house.”

“I like Michelle.”

“She’s nice, too.” She turned a corner, but could see nothing that looked like a bathroom.

“And I like Uncle Mack.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did my real daddy look like him?”

Claire sighed inwardly. From the time he’d been old enough to realize that most kids had a father, Danny had been curious about his own. She hated questions about Carter, but she tried not to let Danny know that.

Danny tugged on her dress. “You didn’t answer me, Mommy.”

“No, they really don’t look that much alike, Danny.” And I hope there’s even less resemblance in their character, she thought.

“Oh.” Danny’s small shoulders sagged.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Cheer up. I think you look a lot like your grandpa McMollere. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” He wrinkled his nose. “But he’s really old, isn’t he?”

“I suppose, but he’s been sick. Maybe that’s why he seems old.”

“He talks sorta loud, too.”

“Maybe he can’t hear as well as he used to.”

“But I can,” Danny said logically. “He doesn’t have to yell.”

“Uh-uh.” Where was the bathroom, for heaven’s sake?

Danny looked up into her face. “What should I call him and my grandmother?”

She had no idea. “Maybe you can ask them that when we get back to the living room.”

“My grandmother’s funny.”