Elizabeth and Dr. Brentwood exchange looks, but my concern falls with the baby. It’s as if Eva has forgotten all about her. My gut tells me all along, Baby was some kind of gimmick or tool or prop, something Eva could use to get what she wanted, which was ultimately me.
I rise, leaving Eva’s side, and take the baby from Elizabeth, tucking her in my arm like a swaddled football. There’s not a fatherly bone in my body, but out of the four of us here, I’m the best chance she’s got.
Baby is warm, and she nuzzles her face against my chest as if my arms are the most comfortable place in her new little world.
“Where’s she going to go?” I ask Dr. Brentwood. “If Eva is committed, who takes the baby?”
He draws in a sip of a breath, his hands resting calmly in his lap. “Well, Beckham, Child Services will take her into custody if there’s no other legal guardian. Did you sign the birth certificate?”
“Of course not.”
“So she’ll be temporarily placed in a foster home until Eva is able to care for her.”
“How long will that be?”
“We have no way to know that.” He pushes his glasses up, his shoulders falling slightly. He’s annoyed with me for being involved, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Where will she be? Are there foster homes in the city?”
“You won’t know where she’s placed,” he says. “Unless you’re a legal guardian. And even then, you’d have to get special permission to visit.”
I glance down at the tiny little girl sleeping peacefully in my arms. For a second, I see a part of me in her. My heart squeezes. The idea of handing her over physically pains me.
“I’ll take her.” I clear my throat, standing tall. “She can live with me. Eva listed me on the birth certificate. I’m the assumed father.”
“Beckham.” Dr. Brentwood tilts his head, placing his hand in the air to protest.
“I know you’re going to say it’s a bad idea,” I speak before he has a chance. “But I can’t ship her off like some puppy nobody wanted.”
There’s a knock at the door. Elizabeth jumps and scurries down the hall.
“You’ll need to contact a family law attorney,” Dr. Brentwood says. “They’ll have to arrange an emergency custody hearing, and you’ll have to explain to the judge why she’s better off in your care than in foster care.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
Elizabeth returns with a small team of Crisis Team workers wearing matching white polo shirts with blue hospital logos on them.
“Eva, my name is Monique.” One of the workers takes the spot next to Eva where I sat earlier. “You’re going to come with us, and we’re going to help you get better so you can take care of that little one, all right?”
Monique smiles. Eva’s mouth twists into a panicked frown. She scans the room for me, and the second she stands, Monique and Dr. Brentwood take her by the arms and lead her out the door.
The incessant wailing that ensues wakes sleeping Baby and Elizabeth rushes to my side to assist.
“It’s okay.” I bounce her gently, shushing to try and drown out her mother’s shrieks. “I’ve got you now.”
Baby quiets after a few minutes, and Eva’s screaming has disappeared. I’d look out the window, but I don’t need the image of her being strapped into a stretcher burned into my memory.
“Mr. King?” A woman in a khaki trench coat with bags under her sleepless eyes steps into the room. She wears the grayed look of a woman with a thankless job. “I’m with Child and Family Services.”
The way I see it, I have two options.
Dive headfirst.
Or run.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ODESSA
One last pair of flats goes into my suitcase before I yank the zipper tight. It’s almost nine o’clock, and the flight leaves in fourteen hours from LaGuardia. I texted Beckham earlier to let him know I’d meet him there around nine, but I never heard back.
He stormed out of the office after lunch today, and I never heard from him after that.
Washing up for bed and slipping into pajama pants and a tank, I climb under my cool sheets and pull my tablet from my nightstand for some late night reading. I read until my eyelids grow heavy and the e-ink words jumble together on the dimly lit screen.
The buzzing on my nightstand interrupts my gentle lull and pulls me back into the moment – into my cold, dark room. Eyes squinting, I grab the phone and answer immediately when I see who’s calling.
“Beckham,” I say, voice groggy. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?” His voice is dialed down, low. Almost seductive.