Designer Genes (14 page)

Allie didn’t
look as if she had that much ancestry in her. She was such a tiny thing, and
incredibly smart, to be sitting up straight at the age of six months.

The way she
shook her rattle and chewed on her teddy bear’s ear showed uncommon alertness.
For a baby, she was delicate and ladylike, and she had gumption, like her
mother. Surely everyone who drove past on the street must sense that herein
dwelled a rare and special child.

Then Allie
flashed him a mega-watt smile that illuminated the garage, the street, the town
and the universe. His heart shifted into a new rhythm.

Scooping her
from the playpen, Carter lifted his daughter to shoulder height. The baby
responded with a delighted gurgle and whacked him in the head with her rattle.
“Just like your mother,” he said, and carried her to the worn couch where he’d
fallen asleep last Tuesday.

She gazed at
him with such wisdom and interest that he started yakking away. Until now, he’d
never understood why people bothered talking to babies.

“Those gray
eyes sure do look like your grandmother’s,” Carter said. “And like mine, I
guess. What did you think of the sale this morning? Did you have fun?”

“Bo ha,” she said.

“You’re right.
They should have had at least a few dresses in your size,” he pretended to
agree.

“Ga!” She
nodded.

It was a
letdown when Mazeppa appeared to take the baby for a feeding. Carter reminded
himself that he had work to do and obligations to meet.

A father had
to set a good example for his child.

*

Buffy hadn’t
meant to tell the whole story to Mazeppa, but the older woman had noticed
Carter’s strange mood and questioned her until she blurted it out.

“Now I
understand what’s thrashing around in that tangled brain of his,” the woman
said when Buffy finished. “The way he was holding that child and chattering at
her a minute ago, I thought he’d drunk windshield cleaner by accident.”

Restlessness
seized her. “I can’t just stand here,” Buffy said. “Excuse me.”

“Both
bathrooms are free. Take your pick.”

“Thanks, but
that’s not what I meant.” From the closet, Buffy fetched the vacuum and set to
cleaning the house. While she worked, she reflected on the strange fact that
Carter hadn’t rejected his daughter despite the method of her conception.
Still, she knew better than to make too much of a little fatherly interaction.
Just because the man wasn’t a jerk like Roger didn’t mean he’d turn out to be a
saint, either.

After lunch,
while Mazeppa proudly took the baby for a walk in a borrowed carriage, Buffy
dusted the furniture, degunked the oven and scrubbed the bathrooms. Carter kept
the place in decent shape, but he’d missed the fine points.

She tore a
fingernail, one of three such casualties in the past week. Afterward, she gave
herself a manicure. Reluctantly bypassing bright purple and dark green polish,
she settled on pale pink, in view of the fact that she would have to apply for
employment as soon as she reached a city.

Buffy hated to
admit how much she didn’t want to leave Nowhere Junction. During her childhood
and teen years, she and her sister had been carted all over Southern
California, and she’d learned not to care where she was as long as she could go
shopping.

But the
townspeople had welcomed the dress store with open wallets. And she’d promised
to fix dinner for Murdock on Saturday. And if somebody didn’t tease Carter into
playing hooky and sneaking into swimming pools once in a while, he might grow
old without ever having lived.

She had no right
to meddle in his business, Buffy reflected sadly. Furthermore, she’d be a fool
to grow attached to a town or to a man. There was no sense breaking your heart
longing for what would never be yours.

Not to
mention, how long could she be happy in a place with no mall?

*

The meaning of
life became clearer to Carter while he was replacing the spark plugs on the
Reverend O’Rourke’s car. It wasn’t that he received a divine revelation.
Rather, his gaze fell on a bumper sticker.

It said, Real
Men Stick Around.

Now, he hadn’t
been figuring on decamping, considering that he owned a business here. But he
suspected there was a nugget of wisdom there that might help him, if he probed
deep enough.

Hoping for
further enlightenment, he glanced over at Gigi Wernicke’s front bumper. Her
sticker read, Groundhogs, Eat My Socks!

Since that
didn’t help, he circled to the back of the preacher’s car. It advised him to
Pray for Peace, which was not a bad idea, depending on Buffy’s mood.

Gigi’s rear
sticker gibed, “Groundhog Station? That’s
really
nowhere!”

Still
searching for more, Carter ambled over to the third car that had been dropped
off that morning. It belonged to George Weinbucket. The banker-cum-Realtor’s
bumper sticker said, Fathers Are Not Optional.

“There you
have it,” Carter announced to the empty garage. “Exactly.”

*

Buffy spent
the afternoon at Finella’s in conference with her seamstresses, who now
numbered half a dozen. She decided not to break the news of her imminent
departure for fear of disrupting the momentum. It would be better to tell
Finella at the last minute, and trust her to carry the ball. The group could
continue to raise funds for the school, which was important.

Also, maybe
Buffy could stick around a while longer. Carter had said he wanted to work
things out. She was dying to know what he meant by that, although a bit afraid,
too.

Would he
arrive with a lawyer and dispute the DNA findings? If the clinic had made one
mistake, he might point out, it could also make another. That she herself had
once worked for the clinic and had recruited him as a sperm donor looked bad,
even though it was pure coincidence.

Buffy
stretched her shoulders as she walked the five blocks home from Finella’s
house. While she hoped for the best, she had to be prepared to cut her losses.

She arrived at
Carter’s place to find that Mazeppa had done the grocery shopping. When Buffy
tried to repay her, the older woman balked.

“I always
contribute something, wherever I’m staying,” she said. “I really moved in here
to get away from Billy Dell and Willie’s diaper bills.”

The two of
them cooked side by side. Nothing fancy, just canned chili to which Mazeppa
added garlic powder and cut-up zucchini, along with baked corn bread from a
mix. Buffy, who was fixing the salad, couldn’t believe that Gigi’s store didn’t
carry arugula, avocados or fresh basil. Thank goodness there were marinated
artichoke hearts and herbed croutons.

Her heart
performed gymnastics when she heard Carter enter. As usual, he headed first for
the shower.

Mazeppa
stirred the chili. “Don’t eat too much of this,” she warned. “The spicy stuff
gets into Allie’s milk, you know.”

“It’ll toughen
up her taste buds,” Buffy said. “She’ll need it when she’s older.”

“Why’s that?”

When I haul
her from one place to another, she won’t get indigestion from unfamiliar food.
Now
what had inspired that negative thought? she wondered. Sad thoughts led to sad
results, her mother always said. To dispel the bad luck, Buffy took a pinch of
salt and tossed it over her shoulder.

Mazeppa
mistook the gesture for a reply to her question. “Okay, I understand you can
use garlic as a salt alternative, but there’s no sense messing up the floor.
Just because I’m a bag lady doesn’t mean I live like a pig.”

“That was to
banish the bad luck.”

“What bad
luck?”

“Any of it
that snuck in the back door while we were talking.” Buffy got out the broom.
Since she’d mopped the floor once already today, a modest sweeping sufficed.
“What happened to your family?” she asked to sidestep the fact that her reply
made no sense. “You seem too intelligent to be a bag lady.”

“You think
only stupid people can be homeless?”

“I never
thought about it.” Buffy swept the salt and a few crumbs into a dustpan. “Don’t
you have any relatives you could live with?”

“Those
quarreling ingrates make King Lear’s brood look like the Brady Bunch,” muttered
the thin-faced woman. “I can’t tolerate my own flesh and blood.”

“You have
kids?” Buffy asked in surprise.

“They’re not
kids anymore,” Zeppa said. “They’re grown up, except for their immature moral
development.” She tightened the rubber band that held her lank hair out of her
face. “Useless bunch, that’s what they are. And I’m not fixing to say another
word about them, either.”

“Another word
about what?” Carter strolled into the kitchen, looking fresh and smelling
better than bread straight from the oven.

Buffy stifled
the urge to throw her arms around him and nuzzle his newly shaved cheek. And to
whirl him around until they found themselves transported into a 1950s sitcom in
which their biggest problem was what to fix when his father came to dinner,
instead of how to deal with a baby that modem technology had helped to create.

She must be
suffering from low blood sugar. She’d heard it could muddle one’s thoughts.

“Another word
about dinner,” Zeppa said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.
That’s a heavenly aroma. Thanks, ladies.” At the playpen, Carter crouched for a
clear view of Allie. “How’s my little girl?”

“Da da,” she
said.

“Your little
girl, huh?” snapped Mazeppa. “Only if you love her and care for her. Biology
doth not a parent make.”

He gave the
baby his finger to examine. “Buffy told you the news.”

“And swore me
to secrecy,” the bag lady responded. “So don’t go scolding her.”

“We could
hardly keep you in the dark, with you living here.” After reclaiming his
finger, Carter pulled out a chair at the table. “I mean to raise my daughter
right here where she belongs. Sooner or later people will guess the truth
anyway, although I’d prefer it was later.”

“Wait a
minute.” Buffy couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “What do you mean, raise her
here where she belongs? Allie belongs with me!”

He served
himself chili and corn bread. “You don’t have a home. Not that I’m throwing you
out. But you’ve indicated you’ll be moving on soon, hunting for work. With no money,
you might be living out of your car for a while. It’s hardly a suitable
situation for a baby.”

“Carter
Murchison!” cried Zeppa. “I don’t believe you plan to separate this baby from
her mother.”

He took a deep
draft of water before speaking. “I don’t aim to. But tell me this, Buffy.
Who’ll watch her while you work?”

“Ever heard of
day care?” she snapped. “Besides, who would watch her while you work?”

“Zeppa, for a
while,” he said. “Don’t forget my dad. He already dotes on her and he doesn’t
even know yet that she’s his granddaughter.”

“You’d turn
this sweet little thing over to that old grump Murdock?” The dark-haired woman
dumped so much ranch dressing onto her salad that hardly a speck of green
remained visible. “I wouldn’t trust a cat to that man.”

“My daughter’s
breast-feeding,” Buffy noted. “She can’t be away from me for more than a few
hours. Haven’t you heard the research? Breast-feeding helps prevent cancer,
diabetes and ear infections. Where I go, she goes. End of discussion.”

Carter studied
her ruefully. “You can stick around here, if you like. But she needs her dad,
too. Fathers are not optional.”

“Didn’t I see
that on a bumper sticker?” asked Mazeppa.

“Truth is
truth, wherever you find it.” Carter’s air of self-satisfaction infuriated
Buffy. How dare he expect to keep Allie. She had never in her wildest dreams
anticipated
 
such arrogance.

“It’s my
responsibility to support my daughter,” she said. “The dress shop is promising,
but I’ll need capital to establish it on any kind of permanent basis. Right
now, I have to land a regular job, and that means moving to a city. Away from
you, I might point out.”

“Real men
stick around,” he said.

“Now, I know
I’ve seen
that
on a bumper before,” Mazeppa said.

Someone
pounded at the front door and flung it open. Before anyone could rise, Billy
Dell marched through the living room and into the kitchen. “Hey, Carter! Ain’t
you comin’ to the ‘mergency school board meeting?”

“Shoot. I
forgot.” He crumpled his napkin. “No need to trouble yourselves, ladies.”

“As if I’d
miss a school meeting.” Mazeppa bustled around, putting food away. “Just give
me a sec to fetch my cart. You never know when some old papers or a clean jar
will come in handy.”

“Meeting’s
being held in the kindergarten room, on account of the auditorium floor’s still
wet,” Billy advised. “Now I better go make sure Willie’s okay. She was feeling
a mite crampy earlier and she don’t fit into those tiny chairs. Mimsy’s sitting
on the crafts table with her.”

Buffy’s first
thought was that she didn’t give a damn about a school board meeting. Then she
remembered that, if Carter had his way, five years from now Allie would be
attending that very school.

It was a
sobering thought.

Carter hustled
across the street, his mind buzzing. Would Buffy really take her daughter and
leave, just when he was getting to know his child?

He’d hate for
Buffy to go, with or without Alison. The prospect left him twitchy and
restless. If he weren’t careful, he’d do something stupid like follow her to
the big city.

That kind of
impulsive behavior always led to disaster. Look at that time he went to Houston
with Amy, and again when he made his sperm donation in L.A. How many times
could a man make a darned fool of himself in one lifetime?