taking care of Marie for another day,” she told him after she made it back to the couch. “I’m still sort of noodle-kneed.”
At his worried look, she added, “But I’m sure it’s only temporary.” What she meant was she hoped it was only temporary. Still, it had to be, didn’t it? “Any sign the storm’s letting up?”
He shook his head. “Usually these spring storms are three-dayers. Can last four, but no longer. We’re stuck here for a while yet.” As he spoke he brought her a tray of food, pulled the coffee table closer to her and set down the tray.
She eyed the toast and eggs with real hunger. “That gives me at least one more day to recuperate enough to ride into town, then.”
“More than one or two. The road’s private, so the county plows don’t come in here. The plow’s still on my truck, though, so I’ll get us out to the main road when the time comes. No use starting out from here unless the highway is cleared, and they won’t begin ’til the storm’s pretty well over. What I can do when the wind dies down is to go look for your car and bring back your stuff. Any idea how far you were from the cabin when you had the crash?”
Fay put down her fork. “I’m not sure. It seemed to take forever to see a light. To get here.” Chilled by the realization neither she nor the baby would be alive if she hadn’t, she hugged herself.
He reached down and touched her shoulder. “Hey, you made it. Eat up, you need to.”
She nodded and picked up the fork, aware he was right. She did need food. Without her breast milk, Marie would have no nourishment. “Thanks. I could use a change of clothes. And I did pack a box of disposable diapers and some baby clothes in the car, too.”
She swallowed a forkful of scrambled eggs, then paused. “It just occurred to me to wonder why you left that outside light on in the midst of a storm. Were you expecting someone?”
He shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “A habit left over from childhood, I guess.”
“You mean from when your mother left a light on for you?”
“You might say that.”
Puzzled, but also curious about his obvious uneasiness, she asked, “Have I said something wrong?”
He released his breath in a sigh before muttering, “At least I had the sense to leave the damn light on.”
She’d hit a nerve, though she hadn’t a clue why. Somehow she knew, though, it had nothing to do with her.
“Your eggs are getting cold,” he told her.
So they were. She picked up her fork again.
Between naps and nursing the baby, the time passed so quickly Fay was surprised to note darkness when she looked at the windows. Dan had run the washer and dryer, so temporarily, at least, Marie had clean diapers and blankets. That evening, after he’d prepared dinner and cleaned the dishes, he pulled a chair up beside the couch where Fay had propped herself up on pillows.
“I’m still curious about how you got here,” he said. “Want to talk about it?”
“Just the facts ma’am?” she asked, smiling at him.
“My dad used to watch Dragnet,” he said. “Police work in those days seemed pretty cut-and-dried.”
“My dad watched it, too.”
“Was he a cop?”
She shook her head. “He worked as a foreman in an automobile foundry until he retired.” When he could have been so much more, she couldn’t help thinking. At least she hadn’t inherited her dad’s lack of ambition. Fay sighed. “I guess you could say my dad is part of the reason I’m here in this cabin. He didn’t want me to have the baby.”
Dan frowned. “Because your—the baby’s father was dead?”
How careful he was not to say husband, Fay told herself, wondering if all cops were so tactful. “You’re right in thinking I wasn’t married to Marie’s father,” she said. And that was all she intended to tell him about what had happened there.
“Anyway,” she continued, “my mother died five years ago. Since my father and I were at odds, I decided I’d rather have my baby in a more nurturing atmosphere. I still had a couple more weeks to go before my due date, and I made up my mind to drive to Duluth to see my mother’s sister and have the baby there. Aunt Marie and I have always been close.”
“So she’ll be worrying about why you haven’t shown up.”
Fay shook her head. “Aunt Marie invited me to come stay with her any time I wanted to. She said she wasn’t planning on making any trips for a few months and she’d love to have me there. I knew she meant it, which was why I decided to go. I called her to let her know, but when the answering machine started to kick in, I hung up.”
“You didn’t leave a message?”
“No, I thought I’d call her on the way. You probably think that sounds so impulsive, but that’s the way I am.”
“You’ll get no polite denial from me.”
She tamped down her spurt of annoyance. Okay, she had been a tad impulsive. But she’d badly needed someone who cared about her, someone who would welcome the baby. “I did try to call, but my cell phone battery went dead.
“I planned to use a pay phone and I tried that, too, from a gas station near the Straits. But there was only one phone at the place and the guy using it apparently intended to talk forever. The next place I stopped, just before I crossed the Straits, had an out-of-order phone.”
“What you’re telling me is your aunt didn’t know you were on your way to Duluth.”
She sighed. “That’s one of those Sergeant Friday facts. So Aunt Marie won’t be worrying about me.” Fay eyed him. “I did plan to call once I crossed the Mighty Mac, but by then it had started to rain and I figured I’d just drive straight through. No need to tell me, I realize it was a bad choice.”
When he raised one eyebrow slightly and seemed about to speak, she tried to change the subject. “You must have some kind of police rank.”
“Sergeant, just like Friday.”
Though no expert about the police force, she knew sergeants didn’t walk beats. “That makes you a detective?”
He nodded. “Once over the bridge, the rain got progressively worse, I gather.”
“Yes, but I had no idea it was going to get so bad I got lost.” She glanced toward the makeshift crib. “And I certainly had no warning I was going to start labor.”
“The cabin phone’s still out,” he said. “Can’t expect any repairs ’til the storm blows out. And a cell phone won’t work in this remote area, so it’s just as well your aunt didn’t know you were on your way to her. How about your father?”
“I did leave a message on his answering machine saying I was leaving town and didn’t know when I’d be back. Not that he cares.”
She
