Marie Ferrarella - The Baby Came C.O.D.

She glanced back toward her desk to make sure that what she had left there was secure. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

He sighed, annoyed at being disturbed over what was probably nothing. Keeping a neat desk was an obsession of Alma’s. She undoubtedly thought an extra sheet or two left out of place would upset the delicate balance of things. While it was an asset to have such an organized employee, at times he had to admit that it was also a royal pain.

Evan frowned as he circled another figure, pressing progressively harder on his pencil as he went further and further into the report. “Then file it”

“I really can’t do that.”

Her tone had him looking in her direction. His unflappable secretary looked extremely fidgety, and it prodded his curiosity. He never remembered her being difficult.

“And why is that?”

In her own fashion, Alma was very protective of her boss. She went out of her way to spare him any unnecessary annoyances during the course of the day. But there was absolutely no way to shield him from this.

“Because it’s a baby.”

The pages of the report went fanning through his fingers, settling back down on the desk like so many colored leaves. He had to have heard wrong. “You’re joking.”

Her thin shoulderblades straightened so far back, they appeared to be touching. “I never joke, sir.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the door to his inner office standing open.

But she had gotten his full attention with her announcement. Evan was still staring at the doorway, mystified.

“Then I don’t—”

Alma reentered, carrying a baby seat, complete with baby, in her arms.

“—understand…”

Evan’s voice trailed off. He didn’t remember getting up or rounding the desk, but he must have, because he found himself looking down into the baby’s face in utter disbelief. The child was gurgling, and there was a series of interconnecting bubbles going down its chin.

He didn’t need this today. Evan raised incredulous eyes to Alma’s face. “Whose is this?”

Alma’s face was a blank slate as she looked at him. If she had an opinion regarding the matter, it was hers alone and not for sharing.

“Yours, apparently. The note was open.” She pointed at the piece of paper that was pinned to the baby’s shirt.

It was to Evan’s credit that his mouth didn’t drop open. There was a note, an actual note pinned to the baby’s shirt. This was like something out of one of those B movies from the forties that his brother loved so much. Worse than that, it was surreal.

“I don’t have any children,” Evan protested.

And he didn’t intend to have any. Despite the fact that he came from a fairly large family by present-day standards, the thought of having tiny miniatures of himself and some future wife milling about the house held absolutely no appeal for him. Children were a breed apart, and he didn’t begin to flatter himself that he understood anything about that mysterious world. He was a man who knew his strengths and his limitations. Children were part of the latter.

This had to be someone’s poor idea of a practical joke, and he couldn’t begin to describe his annoyance.

“You do now,” Alma said, bringing him back to the present.

The hint of an actual smile on Alma’s face testified to the fact that she had always felt Evan Quartermain, latest, as well as youngest, CEO of Donovan Digital Incorporated, couldn’t possibly be as completely work oriented as he had led everyone to believe.

Evan didn’t care for this breach of loyalty on Alma’s part. She above all people should know that if he said something, it was true. Lies and pretenses had no place in his world.

The baby squealed, and Evan’s eyes darted back to the round, messy face.

“There’s no way,” he whispered.

And then, for the first time in Alma’s recollection, Evan Quartermain faltered.

“I mean, there’s a way, but…” He looked both annoyed and in shock.

Collecting himself, Evan tried to approach the problem logically, as if it were merely another project to be conquered at work and not something with far more devastating consequences. “The woman who brought the baby, what did she look like?”

Like a typical mystery woman, Alma thought. She recited what little there was. “Tall, thin, sunglasses and a scarf.” Pointy shoulders rose and fell. “She was in and out before I could stop her.”

Evan sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. For whatever reason it was happening, it still had to be a mistake, a gross, ridiculously annoying mistake. There was just no possible way he could be responsible for this gurgling bit of humanity.

Her arms were beginning to ache. Since Evan was making no effort to take the child from her, Alma rested the baby seat on his desk.

“Maybe the note might give you a hint,” she suggested. Then, when he didn’t remove the paper from the baby’s shirt, Alma opened the large safety pin and took it off herself. She handed the note to Evan.

Like someone trapped within a bad dream that refused to end no matter how hard he tried to wake himself up, Evan looked down at the note.

It was addressed to him, all right.

Evan, it took me a long time to find you—otherwise, I would have brought your daughter to you sooner. I’ve given this six months, but it’s just not working out for either of us. You can give Rachel a much better life than I can.

He turned the note over, but there was nothing on the back. No signature, no name, no indication whom the note had come from.

“That’s it?” he asked incredulously. He looked at Alma, waiting. There had to be more. “She didn’t say anything?”

Alma shook her head. “Just what I said. She wanted me to give you the baby.”

There had to be something Alma was forgetting, some minute clue that she didn’t realize she had. It was something his brother had told him once. People were always giving away clues about themselves; you just had to listen. Up until this moment, Evan had thought Devin was pontificating from some old Agatha Christie novel, but now he fervently hoped his brother was right.

“Her words,” he prodded, “her exact words, Alma.”

Since it had happened less than five minutes ago, recalling wasn’t a challenge. “‘Tell Mr. Quartermain that he’ll know what to do with this better than I do,’” Alma recited.

From the frozen, horrified expression on his face, Alma figured that the woman had seriously overestimated Evan’s capabilities.

“But I don’t know what to do with a baby,” he protested.

Evan circled his desk slowly, as if searching for some infinitesimal escape route hidden to the naked eye. And then, slowly, he looked up at Alma, making a last-ditch attempt to reroute the problem, at least temporarily.

“Alma, you’re a woman—”

Alma raised her hands. “Stop right there. That fact doesn’t necessarily qualify me for anything more than you.”

He refused to believe that. “But you must have some sort of maternal instincts—”

“No, I don’t. George and I didn’t have kids for a reason.”

There were more bubbles flowing from the baby’s mouth, and she was cooing. Alma reached for a tissue, but rather than wipe the tiny mouth, she handed the tissue to Evan, who took it reluctantly. He dabbed at Rachel’s mouth as if it were a stain on the carpet.

Alma frowned at the baby. Her presence was obviously upsetting her boss, and he had work to do.

“Under the circumstances, Mr. Quartermain,” she said, already edging her way to the door, “I think your best bet here is family services. Would you like me to get them on the line for you?”

It was a rhetorical question, one Alma was certain her boss would jump at. He didn’t disappoint her.