Baby Love Lite (45 page)

“
That brings a question to
my mind about your gift,” I said.

He looked over at me waiting for me to
continue.

“
Why give those to my
mother? They'd belonged to your grandmother. Wouldn’t you've wanted
Olivia to have them?”

“
Tylar, for the brief period
of time that I had the privilege of knowing Marley, I knew
immediately that she was an old soul. The jewelry was old and
charming; it doesn’t have significant monetary value, but it was
something treasured by me because it was my grandmother’s. She'd
raised us after our parents were killed in a boating accident. I
was just 5 years-old. The jewelry reminded me of the person that
had raised and protected me until I reached adult age. I wanted
that for Marley.”

“
That brings me to another
question. In Mom’s diary notebook it mentions the day that you
stopped by her house to give her the jewelry boxes and tell her
good-bye. She mentioned that you'd had words with Matthew; she
mentioned he stopped threatening her after that.”

“
Oh, that,” he replied. “I
put the fear in him. I told him I knew he was running prostitutes
including his own sister. I let him know I'd given Marley my
protection and that she'd the means of notifying me if he ever
tried to put her to work like that again. I led him to believe he
was being watched."

“
That was kind of
brilliant,” I conceded.

His face looked pained. “If only I'd really
done it rather than simply alluding to it. She may be alive
today.”

My dad was clearly anguished by the thought
that he could've or should've done more. But frankly, who'd have
thought Matthew was the sociopath it appeared he'd been. How had he
managed to stay underneath the radar for all of these years? It
appeared Matthew had graduated to much more lucrative schemes. Just
then, our quiet reverie was broken by Preston. Her face was smeared
with soggy graham cracker crumbs. She was looking over at me
saying, “Num-num, num-num.”

She was squirming in Dad’s arms reaching for
me. “I’m not sure what it is she requires,” my father said, handing
her off to me.

I blushed taking her from him and feeling her
fingers tugging at my shirt. “She wants to be fed,” I said. “I
still nurse a couple of times each day.”

“
Of course, darling,” he
said. “Let me give you your privacy unless you would be more
comfortable upstairs in your suite.”

I thought about Ms. Deeny, his nosey
housekeeper. I truly hoped she wasn't one in the same with the
‘nanny’ he'd told Trey would be at my disposal.

“
I think I'll go to the
suite and nurse her. She probably needs changing before I put her
down for her afternoon nap.”

“
Of course. Do you want to
rest up as well?”

I actually was tired. The going-away fuckfest
that Trey and I'd enjoyed the night before had left me less than
rested sleep-wise.

“
That sounds wonderful to
me, Dad. I think I'll rest with her as well. I'll see you at dinner
then.”

“
We'll be eating around six.
Enjoy your nap.”

I took Preston to our suite and washed her
face off and changed her diaper. I set the alarm clock on the
nightstand. Preston and I settled back on the ornate canopy bed and
fell asleep within minutes. I dreamt of my mother for the first
time ever. Reading her notes and being around my father had
conjured her up in my subconscious. I could now picture her and
what she'd looked like.

Maggie, of course, had never kept a picture
of her around since she was posing as my natural mother for all of
those years. I had the impression that my mother and Maggie didn't
resemble each other all that much physically or morally; for, that
I was very thankful.

It had only seemed like moments had passed
before the alarm clock on the nightstand went off. Preston was
still dozing peacefully next to me. I moved quietly from the bed
letting her sleep.

I went into the bathroom to freshen up,
changing into a pair of dress slacks and blouse for dinner. I had
no clue how formal my dad rolled at his estate. Preston was
stirring as I returned to the bedroom. I scooped her up and she
rubbed her eyes with her hands and yawned.

“
Hey, baby girl, did you
have a nice nap?”

I cleaned her up, putting a fresh diaper on
her and dressing her in a jogging suit. I took my brush and ran it
through her baby locks getting rid of her ‘bed head.’

“
There,” I said smiling at
her. “Preston looks beautiful.”

A high chair had been moved up to the big
dining room table for Preston. My father seated us both, taking his
place next to the baby.

A servant brought out a lovely roast with new
baby potatoes, glazed carrots and freshly made bread. I was
famished. I started to get up to feed Preston first but my father
motioned for me to remain seated. He said he wanted to do the
honors of feeding her. I was sure he didn’t know what he was in
for. By the time Dad had finished feeding Preston, they both had
their fair share of pureed chicken and yams on them.

Ms. Deeny had come out viewing the aftermath
and pursed her lips giving a ‘tsk-tsk’ while shaking her head in
disapproval. “Judge, I'll get a cold wet cloth to dab those food
stains off of your shirt and tie,” she said heading back to the
kitchen.

“
No, Karen,” he said
abruptly, waving her off. “Please see to cleaning my granddaughter
up. I want to eat dinner with my daughter.”

My motherly instincts were on ‘high alert’ as
the frigid midget lifted my baby girl from her high chair to take
her into the kitchen to clean her up.

“
I can do that,” I
started.

“
Oh, no,” she said to me
with a statue-like smile. “I love babies. I've several
grandchildren that I thoroughly enjoy.”

Why do I not believe you?

I watched as they disappeared through the
swinging door that lead from the dining room into the kitchen. I
didn’t like Preston to be out of my site with the hag. I relaxed
just a couple of minutes later when Ms. Deeny returned with a
cleaned up Preston.

“
There she is, all nice and
clean,” Karen cooed as she placed her back into the high chair. She
must've given Preston a graham cracker in the kitchen as she had
one clutched in her chubby little hand. Karen got her situated and
belted into the high chair.

Just as she slid the tray back onto the
chair, Preston leaned in and grabbed Karen’s gold necklace that was
dangling within the baby’s reach. Preston had it clutched in her
fingers, pulling at it.

“
No! No!” Karen said in a
loud voice that startled the baby.

Preston immediately released the chain and
turned to me, her face puckered up ready to cry.

“
There now,” Karen said as
she adjusted the necklace back around her turkey neck. “No harm
done, sweetheart.”

Karen brushed past us as she left the dining
room. It was if she hadn’t noticed that she'd upset the baby - or
hadn’t cared. I lifted Preston out of her high chair her crying now
reduced to a whimper; she turned her attention back to the graham
cracker as I sat her on my lap to finish eating.

“
It’s likely been some time
since Ms. Deeny's been around a baby. I’m sure she didn’t mean to
come off so harshly,” my dad commented.

I'm sure as hell she did!

“
What about those
grandchildren of hers she thoroughly enjoys?"

“
I believe they live in
another state,” he replied.

I then realized her aversion to the baby and
me was likely caused by jealousy; pure and simple jealousy. She'd
probably thought since Olivia had passed on she'd become mistress
of the manor. In her own twisted mind, she may've even presumed
she'd share my father’s bed. He was still young and vibrant; she
was a dried up hag, trying to look like she still had it going
on.

“
How long has Ms. Deeny
worked for you, Dad?”

“
She actually worked for my
late wife’s family prior to our getting married. Olivia insisted on
having Karen join our staff after our wedding. She thought of Karen
like an older sister. Olivia was an only child born late in life to
her parents. When Olivia’s mother passed away while she was in
college, Karen joined the staff.”

“
Karen looks like she's in
her sixties,” I commented. “Wouldn’t she have been nearly old
enough to be Olivia’s mother?”

“
Well, Olivia was eight
years older than me so not quite the age gap that you'd
imagine.”

“
How did you lose Olivia?” I
asked.

“
She died last year of a
sudden cerebral hemorrhage. It was very unexpected. She was
physically active and lived a healthy lifestyle.”

I was quiet for several moments, watching
Preston gum and slobber on her graham cracker.

“
Is there something that you
want to ask me, Tylar?”

My father was watching me; a fairly intuitive
person but then I supposed in his profession it was a
necessity.

“
I don’t know how to word
this without offending you,” I commented quietly.

“
Don’t worry about offending
me. Maybe I deserve to be offended - and a lot more. Ask me
anything.”

I flushed trying my best to pick my words
carefully. “You’ve already told me that you fell in love with my
mother the first night you were together; you admitted to her that
if you could change things before you married your fiancé you would
have.”

“
That’s correct,” he stated
waiting for more.

“
So, why didn’t you call off
the wedding? If you really loved my mom, why wouldn’t you've done
that?”

“
It’s a bit more complicated
than that, Tylar. I'd a history with Olivia. I'd made a commitment
to her; our plans were in place to build a life together. And
there's one very important factor that you've left out.”

“
What factor?” I
asked.

“
Your mother had given me no
indication that she cared for me, let alone loved me. They were
words she wrote in a diary of sorts that I didn’t see for decades -
after it was too late.”

“
If you'd known my mother
loved you - if she'd said those words to you back then would it
have changed anything?”

“
That’s not a fair question,
Tylar, given what I now know. I can't answer it objectively, I’m
sorry.”

“
One final question, Dad,
did your marriage to Olivia boost your appointment to the federal
bench?”

He looked at me and was clearly bothered by
what I'd asked.

"In all truthfulness, Tylar, I have to say
that having the backing of such a powerful and prestigious family
as my wife’s certainly didn’t hurt. Was that my sole purpose in
marrying her? I can honestly say it wasn't.”

I looked at him for several moments; I
assessed what I saw and what my instincts so far in life had taught
me. I believed him.

The drive to Vidalia took less than two
hours. My dad had arranged for a limo to take us. Preston was kept
entertained by the assortment of toys we'd brought along with
us.

Vidalia was a small town with less than five
thousand residents. It was quaint and had an attractive river walk
along the banks of the Mississippi river. The sign that welcomed
travelers into town boasted Vidalia as being the ‘sister’ city of
Natchez, Mississippi directly across the river.

Miss Trinity LaFleur owned a shop in the
small downtown area. It was located in an old brick building on the
end of the main thoroughfare. My father opened the door of the shop
for me and a bell overhead tinkled our entrance.

The shop wasn't well-lit and had a musty
smell to it. The shelving that adorned all of the walls displayed a
variety of homemade pottery in various shapes and sizes. They were
hand-painted with exquisite landscaped scenes of the river and the
town itself. There were glass cases that held a variety of small
potted herb plants; various seed mixtures were bagged and labeled.
There were books for herbal remedies and holistic healing.

“
A little bit of everything
it appears,” my father commented as we headed to the back of the
store. The aisles were narrow so my main concern was keeping
Preston from reaching out to touch the colorful pottery. A door
from behind the glass counter creaked open and a light-skinned
black woman appeared.

“
May I help you?”

“
Are you Miss LaFleur?” my
father asked. “We're expected.”

“
Ah yes,” she replied with a
faint smile. “Judge Tylar and Mrs. Sinclair, please come around
through here. Trinity's in the parlor.”

We followed her down a hallway and entered
the room she'd indicated. She closed the door behind us going back
to the storefront.

Miss Trinity LaFleur wasn't as I'd expected.
She appeared to be in her early forties which would've made her
fairly young at the time of my birth. She was of Creole dissent;
dark eyes, hair and creamy pale skin. Her ear lobes boasted
multiple piercings from which a variety of long, dangling earrings
danced about sounding musical. She'd a very exotic look about
her.

She came toward us and I noticed she was
dressed in an ankle-length silk caftan. She wore socks underneath
her laced up leather sandals. Her focus was immediately turned to
me as I clutched the baby close.

“
You've the essence of
Marla,” she stated simply taking my free hand into hers. “It was
there at your birth and it still remains.”