He gave a noncommittal grunt. "What's the big deal about Phoenix, anyway? What have you got to go back to?" He set the stack of tiny clothes beside the cash register and pulled out his credit card.
That was a stopper. Wendy had forgotten for a moment that she no longer had a job. She had no way to support herself, much less Rory.
If she did present this proposition to Samuel and Elinor Burgess, she'd have to ask them for financial help as well, at least for the immediate future, until she could reestablish herself – and she had no trouble predicting how that notion would be received. She'd heard the ice in Mack's voice during that first telephone call, when he thought she was asking for money. And though she was sure he now understood she wasn't the sort of person who tried to benefit from a child's helplessness, she had no illusions about what the rest of his family might think.
It had been a silly idea, anyway. She couldn't quite picture herself suggesting that the Burgesses give up their house and their social network in order to move halfway across the country. The logistics alone would be a nightmare; moving the household staff would be like shifting a good-sized company from one city to another. To suggest they go to all that effort for the sake of a tiny baby who couldn't care less where she lived …
"I'd look like a fool," Wendy admitted.
"Now that you mention it, yes, you would." Mack handed her a shopping bag and glanced at his wristwatch before he picked up the other two bags. "That's everything on the list, isn't it?"
"And then some, I'd say." Wendy's voice was dry. He'd been particularly hard to restrain in the toy store.
"Do you mind if I stop at my apartment for a minute? I have to pick up my gifts for the rest of the family."
Wendy blinked in surprise. "I thought you lived with your parents."
He smiled. "Not since I left for college. I know exactly how it feels to be desperate to get out of that house."
"That's crazy! Your parents are – "
Mack stopped in the middle of the mall, ignoring the shoppers who had to swerve to avoid him, and stared at her, eyebrows raised. "Yes, Wendy?"
She wrinkled her nose and said honestly, "Your parents would be difficult to live with."
"Bingo." He extended an elbow and Wendy automatically laid her free hand on the soft wool of his coat sleeve. "But now that I can go back to my own place whenever I want, I spend holidays and weekends with them quite cheerfully. As a matter of fact, they probably see more of me than if I were living there all the time and thinking up ways to escape."
His apartment was in one of the landmark towers on the shore of Lake Michigan. In the fast-gathering darkness, the building's polished steel and sleek glass reflected the sparkle of street lamps and headlights. A uniformed valet came running to park the car as they pulled up, but Mack shook his head. "We'll just be a few minutes. Keep an eye on the car, will you?"
"I could wait here," Wendy offered.
"And freeze? Don't be silly. Come along, I'll give you a drink."
The elevator whisked them upward at an ear-popping pace and opened silently on a large and luxurious lobby. Mack unlocked a door and stooped to gather up the mail which had collected under the slot. He flipped through it, then tossed the pile onto a marble-topped table in the tiny foyer and led the way into a living room which looked east to the lake. The room was small but tidy, and it was definitely a man's domain. The furniture was sparse and large in scale – no dainty chairs or fragile tables, but solid wood and thick-padded upholstery which invited a visitor to kick off her shoes and curl up in comfort.
Wendy remembered the maid's comment this morning about Mack's female friends, and wondered just how many of them had accepted that unspoken invitation.
"Some sherry? A glass of wine?"
She shivered a little.
Mack smiled. "I can take a hint. How about cappuccino?"
"If it doesn't take too long."
"It's instant. Sorry to disillusion you, but even if I had the inclination to be a gourmet cook, I don't have the space." He opened a louvered door which led to a tiny gallery kitchen. "Or did you mean you're anxious to get back to the house?"
Wendy ignored the smile in his voice. She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he spooned cappuccino mix into two mugs and added hot water from a special tap at the edge of the kitchen sink. Steam rose from the mixture as he stirred it.
"Your mother did say something about going to church," she said, "since it's Christmas Eve."
He handed her a mug and glanced at his watch. "I suppose we'd better hurry or the rest of the family will be there by the time we get back. It's a family tradition – the Christmas Eve services, followed by a late supper." He waved a hand at an answering machine which blinked steadily beside the kitchen telephone. "Mind if I listen to my messages?"
"Of course not. I'll wait in the living room."
"You needn't. I'm not expecting anything embarrassing."
Wendy gave him an ironic look over her shoulder as she let the louvered door swing shut behind her. She moved to the windows which overlooked the lake. Darkness had settled over the city in the past few minutes, and reflections of the building's lights shifted and shattered on the water as waves lapped against the shoreline.
She wasn't purposely listening, but even from that distance no one could have ignored the sultry feminine voice which came from the answering machine. "Hello, darling. Happy Christmas! I will see you on the holiday, won't I? I've got the most wonderful gift for you."
Mack laughed.
If the woman had dipped herself in molasses, Wendy thought, she couldn't have sounded any sweeter. Though of course it was none of her business if Mack's taste ran to that sort of thing.
There were a lot of messages; Wendy had almost finished her cappuccino by the time the machine shut off. When Mack emerged from the kitchen, he was tucking a slip of paper into his pocket. Wendy couldn't help wondering which calls he was planning to return. She'd bet on the molasses-voiced sweetheart, for one.
"Sorry," he said. "That took longer than I expected."
While he stacked gaily-wrapped packages in a large box, Wendy quietly rinsed the mugs and put them in the dishwasher. She was buttoning her coat by the time he finished.
"Mack," she said finally, "do you think your brother and his wife might take Rory?"
He paused as if considering the idea. "Why do you ask?"
"Something your mother told me this morning. She said Tessa – is that her name?"
Mack nodded.
"She told me Tessa couldn't wait to meet Rory. I don't know, it just sounded as if … " Her voice trailed off.
Mack picked up her scarf and wrapped it warmly around her throat. "Anything's possible. I wouldn't like to bet on what John and Tessa might do. If Tessa was to take a notion she'd like to have a baby, a ready-made one just might be to her taste."
He didn't sound surprised, Wendy thought. So he'd obviously at least considered the idea and thought it was a possibility.
She chewed on her lower lip. Mack's assessment didn't make John and Tessa sound much like the warm and loving caretakers Rory needed. But it was hardly fair to form an opinion of these people before she'd ever met them. Maybe she'd jumped to conclusions. Perhaps they weren't interested in raising Rory, just in meeting the newest member of the family. And even if they did want her …
Just because Tessa Burgess isn't you doesn't mean she couldn't be a good mother to Rory, Wendy reminded herself.
And in any case, whatever happened to Rory, the decision wasn't hers to make. It wasn't even Mack's – but no matter how careless he had sounded just then, she was certain he wouldn't stand by while Rory was turned over to just anyone. She would simply have to trust him.
It wasn't until they were at the gates of the Burgess house that Wendy remembered the moment of confusion this morning about how long she'd be staying in Chicago. "About my return ticket, Mack."
He frowned a little. "What about it?"
Wendy was a bit annoyed; surely she shouldn't have to explain to him why she was asking. "I'd like to know how long I've been invited to stay, before there's an embarrassing question about it. I wouldn't like to be the last to know when my welcome wears out."