She walked right up to him, her face directly under his chin. He was angry. She could tell he was angry. But she wasn’t intimidated at all. Dan would never direct his anger at her.
‘So, you can kiss me to death, but you can’t tell me how you feel?’
Dan walked over to the crib, placed Abraham down and raked his hand through his short hair, his hand coming around and scraping at the bristles on his chin. ‘Just leave it, Carrie.’
‘Why? Isn’t it normal to disagree about things? I just can’t understand why the guy who was prepared to risk his life for a bunch of strangers can’t take a minute to show a little compassion to a woman who is clearly desperate.’ She pointed over at the crib. ‘No woman in her right mind would abandon her baby. Not without good reason. I bet she’s lying crying and terrified right now. I bet the past two nights she hasn’t slept a wink with worry over how her son is doing.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, Carrie. You’re more than wrong. Good people don’t do things like this. Good people don’t abandon their babies or make them suffer. Everyone who has the responsibility for children should put their needs first—before their own.’
She wrinkled her brow. ‘What are you getting at, Dan? What need do you think Abraham’s mother was putting first?’
He couldn’t meet her eyes. He couldn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed either on the floor or the ceiling. He walked towards the window, staring out at the snow-covered street, his hands on his hips. ‘Drugs, Carrie. I think his mother was looking for her next fix.’
Carrie’s hand flew up to her mouth. It hadn’t even occurred to her. It hadn’t even crossed her mind.
Maybe she was too innocent. Maybe she’d lived a sheltered life.
‘No.’ She crossed quickly to the crib and looked down at Abraham. His eyelids were fluttering, as if he was trying to focus on the changing shapes around him. He looked so innocent. So peaceful. The thought of his mother being a drug user horrified Carrie.
She hadn’t lived her life in a plastic bubble. There had been women who clearly had drug problems in the maternity unit next to her’s. But they were in the unit, being monitored for the sake of their babies. Although they had other issues in their lives, their babies’ health was still important to them.
She reached out and stroked Abraham’s skin. It still had the slightest touch of yellow, but these things wouldn’t disappear overnight. Could his mother really have been taking drugs? It was just unimaginable to Carrie.
She felt a little surge of adrenalin rise inside her. ‘No, Dan. No way. It can’t be that. It just can’t be. We would know. Abraham would be showing signs. Drug addicts’ babies show signs of withdrawal, don’t they? If Abraham’s mother was an addict he would be screaming by now.’
‘Hasn’t he screamed the past two nights?’
She shook her head firmly. It didn’t matter that she was no expert. She’d heard enough to know a little of the background. ‘He would be sick, Dan. He would be really sick. And Abraham’s not. Look at him.’ She walked around to the other side of the crib to give Dan a clear view. ‘He’s not sick like that. Sure, he gets hungry and has wind. He pulls his little knees up to his chest. That’s colic. Nothing else. And there are pages and pages on the internet about that.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘If we had a baby in withdrawal right now, we’d need Shana to airlift him to the hospital. There’s no two ways about it.’
It was clear from the tight expression on Dan’s face that he wasn’t ready to concede. He wasn’t ready to consider he was wrong.
She could feel her hackles rising. She could feel they were on the precipice of a major argument and she just didn’t want to go there. All her protective vibes were coming out, standing over Abraham like some lioness guarding her cub. But why would she have to guard him against Dan? The man who’d opened his door and welcomed them both in?
She took a deep breath. ‘Dan, you’re tired and you’re cranky. I know what that feels like. Let’s leave this. Go and sleep for a few hours. I’m going to take Abraham upstairs to see Mrs Van Dyke. She’ll be happy to see him and, who knows, she might even give me some tips.’
She could see he still wanted to argue with her but fatigue was eating away at every movement he made. His shoulders were slumped, his muscular frame sagging.
‘Fine. I’ll go to sleep.’ He stalked off towards the bedroom—the bed she’d recently vacated—before he halted and turned around. ‘Mrs Van Dyke, ask her if she needs anything. Anything at all. I can phone Mr Meltzer and go back along to the shop in a few hours and get us some more supplies. We’ll need things for Abraham anyhow.’
There it was. Even in his inner turmoil, the real Dan Cooper could still shine through. He was still thinking about others, still concerned about his elderly neighbour.
She picked up Abraham from the crib, tapping her finger on his button nose and smiling at him.
Just when she thought Dan had gone he appeared at her elbow, bending over and dropping a gentle kiss on Abraham’s forehead.
‘I’m not going to let anything happen to this little guy, Carrie. Nothing at all.’ His words were whispered, but firm, and he turned and walked off to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
CARRIE WALKED UP the stairs slowly, Abraham cradled in her arms.
The way that Dan had come over and kissed him had almost undone her. She was ready to fight with him, to argue with him over his unforgiving point of view.
But Daniel Cooper was a good guy—his most recent action only proved that. There was so much more to this than she could see. Maybe she’d been so wrapped up in her own grief and struggling with her own ability to cope with the situation that she’d totally missed something with Dan.
It just didn’t figure for a warm-hearted Everyman hero to have such black-and-white views. To be so blinkered. Maybe it was time for her to crawl out of the sandbox and get back in the playground—to start to consider those around her.
She reached Mrs Van Dyke’s door and gave a little knock. ‘Mrs Van Dyke? It’s Carrie from across the hall. May I come in?’
She heard the faint shout from the other side of the door, once again almost drowned out by the theme tune of Diagnosis Murder. She turned the handle and walked in, crossing the room and kneeling next to Mrs Van Dyke’s brown leather armchair.
She adjusted Abraham from her shoulder, laying him between her hands so Mrs Van Dyke could have a clear look at him. ‘Guess who I brought to visit,’ she said quietly.
Mrs Van Dyke reached out for the remote control and silenced the television. ‘Well, who do we have here?’ she asked, one frail finger reaching out and tracing down the side of Abraham’s cheek.
‘We call him Abraham. It’s been three days now and there’s still no sign of his mother.’
‘May I?’ Mrs Van Dyke held out her thin arms. For a second Carrie hesitated, instant protective waves flooding through her, wondering about the steadiness of Mrs Van Dyke’s hands. But she pushed the thoughts from her mind. This woman had held more babies, more little lives in her hands than Carrie probably would in this lifetime. She had a wealth of experience to which Carrie really needed even the tiniest exposure.
She placed Abraham in her shaky hands and watched as Mrs Van Dyke repositioned him on her lap, with her hand gently supporting his head as she leaned over and spoke to him quietly, all the while stroking one cheek with her bent finger.
It was magical. Even though Mrs Van Dyke was obviously feeling