Taylor, the strange feeling he got the minute he opened the door and looked at her. He’d swear he’d never seen her before, yet something in him said he knew her, had always known her. As if she’d somehow sprung out of him and had found her way back to where she belonged. It wasn’t sexual, at least he didn’t think so, though when he’d opened the door, she’d reacted to him as woman to man. But she had quickly controlled it. A refined woman. He’d give her that.
Tonya, too, had sensed something special about her. Granted, you couldn’t miss her warmth and sincerity. And she was pretty easy on the eyes. For a second, he let himself imagine what she’d look like if she pulled her hair out of that old-lady’s twist in the back of her head. He shrugged. A little too plump for his taste, but she had the height, around five-six, he guessed, to carry it. But why did he feel as if he knew her? He played with the change in his pocket and dismissed the thought. Some people had the kind of face that cropped up everywhere.
He started to Tonya’s room to check on her and stopped. Dee Dee’s notice had been in the paper more than a month, and Justine hadn’t answered it. So she wasn’t looking for a husband. Thank God for that. Accustomed to examining both sides of an issue or a fact, he considered the possibility that Justine hadn’t answered the ad because she didn’t read Maryland papers. Well, his daughter liked her, and that settled it as far as he was concerned. If Justine Taylor possessed any unsavory traits, Mattie would detect it at once, he could count on that. But he’d gotten good vibes from Justine—honesty, warmth, femininity, and self-confidence, traits he admired in a woman. And she clearly loved children. He phoned his sister.
“Banks speaking.”
Duncan took a deep, impatient breath. If only he could knock some sense into his sister. “Leah, I’ve told you a few million times to stop calling yourself by our last name. It’s too masculine.”
“And I’ve told you not to call me Leah. I can’t stand that name.”
“Then change it, for Pete’s sake. Oughta be easy, since nobody but the family knows what it is.”
“Duncan, did you call me to fight with me? I’m sleepy.”
“When will you have an evening free? I want to ask some people over. Seems like I owe everybody I know an invitation to dinner.”
“I’m always free. Promise to invite some men who still have their own hair on their head. And I’d like to see their chests before I see their bay windows.”
Duncan was used to his sister’s cynicism, but he couldn’t resist trying to change her. “Leah, your attitude needs refining. Learn to judge a man by the content of his character—to quote a famous one—instead of his girth and how much of his scalp you can see.”
He imagined that she tossed her head and shrugged her left shoulder. She was the only person he knew who did that. “Thanks for nothing, brother dear. Most of us women like a guy we can get our arms around, if need be. Besides, Martin Luther King was talking about kids; I had in mind cool brown brothers over the age of thirty.”
She never failed to amuse him—the best dose of anti-tension medicine to be had anywhere. Laughter flowed out of him. “Trust you to twist it your way. How about it?”
“Improve your list of men friends, and you can count me in. And no cigars. Why do newspaper men like those hideous things?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Everybody needs at least one virtue. Good for you”
“All right. All right. You’ll be glad to know that I just hired a nanny for Tonya.”
“You mean you’ve given up the idea of marrying somebody to mother her? It’s a dumb idea, anyway.”
“No, I haven’t, Miss know-it-all, but I haven’t found anyone who suits me, and I needed somebody to look after Tonya. So I hired Justine Taylor.”
“Well, this I’ve got to see. Is she good-looking?”
Trust Leah to focus on a side issue. “Among other attributes. See ya.” He hung up and called Wayne Roundtree in Baltimore.
“Say, man, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Duncan said when Wayne held the receiver a long time before speaking.
“Nah. I had to shake a couple of pests a few minutes ago, and I fully intended to hang up the minute I recognized either one of them. That’s the life of a managing editor. What’s up?”
Duncan trained his ear in the direction of Tonya’s room. No, she wasn’t crying, only talking. “I just hired a nanny. She won’t be on the job ’til Saturday, and I want to spend a few days at home after she starts to be sure she and Tonya get on. So I’d like to postpone work on that municipal bribery case.”
“Okay, but I hope it doesn’t break in The Sun or The Afro-American. What does she look like?”
“Who?”
“You know who I mean. This nanny you hired.”
Duncan leaned back in the big barrel chair, propped his left knee over his right one, and grinned. “Not worth a backward glance, man. And, I’m going to introduce her to Listerine mouthwash the minute she walks back into this house.”
His ears hummed with Wayne’s roar of laughter. “No kidding. She must be a knockout. When can I come over for…well, for dinner?”
“Come to think of it, I’m planning a dinner party soon as my sister can get over here to help me. I owe everybody I know an invitation.”
“Count me in. I have to meet this poor unfortunate nanny you hired. Let me know when you can get on that case.”
“Will do. In a couple of days, I’ll fax you my story on ward politics.”
“Right on, man.”
Duncan hung up and went into Tonya’s room to turn out the lamp beside her bed and put on her night light. It worried him that she feared the darkness so much. Maybe having Justine—someone who’d be with her all the time—would give her a greater sense of security. Justine. Why had he felt so comfortable with her? He’d swear that she had in some way been a part of his life.
Chapter 2
Justine took an old purse from a shelf in her closet and, for the first time in twelve months, looked at the picture taken of Tonya at birth. The little red spot at the top her right ear was now brown, but it was there, the final proof that she had found her baby. She needed to talk with someone, anybody. But who? She couldn’t expect another person not to divulge a secret as ripe for gossip and, at the same time, as potentially damaging as hers. She replaced the photo and lay down and, for the first time since Kenneth’s death, she slept through the night, and no horrible memories invaded her dreams.
She rose early the next morning and began preparing for life as her child’s nanny. Her first act was to phone Big Al, editor of The Evening Post. “You’re on, Al,” she squeaked out, less sure of her decision than when she’d made it. “As of now, I’m Aunt Mariah. I have to get a post office box. I’m moving to Tacoma Park, Al. You’ll get it all by fax sometime tomorrow.”
“Right. Soon as I get your P.O. address, I’ll tell the world not to be troubled any
