BABY MAGIC Read online

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

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  Chapter 1

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  It rained the afternoon of Lisa Reed Armstrong's funeral.

  One hundred percent humidity augmented two weeks of an energy-sapping, record-breaking August heat wave, and all along the southern coast, from Virginia to Florida, the air was almost unbreathable. That morning the newscaster on Savannah's radio station, WAEV, warned the elderly and people with breathing problems to stay inside air-conditioned buildings.

  A sober-faced attendant from the funeral home held a large black umbrella over Natalie Robinson Armstrong as she got out of her car at the cemetery. "This rain sure hasn't cooled things off any," said the young man, trying to make conversation.

  Natalie didn't want to talk. "No," she answered. Her normally quiet, evenly modulated voice sounded hoarse.

  They joined the parade of other mourners, men and women dressed in dark colors, hidden under umbrellas, who made their way through a gray driving rain toward the grave site. A funeral tent had been set up to shelter them from the inclement weather. The only element of color in the scene, visible even from this distance, was the blanket of pink roses that lay atop the casket.

  Natalie was in shock; her heart felt numb, her eyes were puffy from unshed tears and nausea sat like a knot beneath her collarbone. She and Lisa had grown up together in Charleston, South Carolina, forty-five minutes north of Savannah. It still seemed unbelievable to her that her sister-in-law, and best friend for most of their twenty-nine years, was dead.

  Raindrops beat a noisy tattoo on the heavy nylon fabric over Natalie's head. She and the attendant skirted a low stone marker. Walking on the turf was like treading on a sponge; with each step Natalie's high heels sank into the ground, threatening to throw her off balance.

  Finally the man noticed. He offered his arm, which she took gratefully. "Thank you," she said.

  Her life had been intertwined with Lisa's since the day in first grade when the Jefferson boy, whom everyone knew was a bully, had squirted Mary Lou Delaney with his water pistol, making her cry. She and Lisa had responded quickly in their characteristic and complementary ways. Lisa had pushed Tommy Jefferson down and stomped his water pistol into plastic pieces, and Natalie had comforted Mary Lou, mopping her tears.

  From that day on Lisa and Natalie were a team, as close as sisters. They had gone to Girl Scout camp together, giggled over boyfriends, experimented with makeup and hairstyles. They'd been cheerleaders together in high school, sorority sisters at the university and they'd married brothers.

  Three years ago Natalie had lost her husband. Now her friend was gone.

  Lisa, like a lovely butterfly, should not have to be buried in the rain, thought Natalie, sudden tears springing to her eyes. At the very least, yellow sunlight, a warm, bright reflection of her spirited personality, would have made this parting more endurable. This steamy, dismal day seemed to drain the vitality from Lisa's memory.

  And Lisa shouldn't be buried before her life was complete. She should have been buried far into the next century, with grandchildren—even great-grand-children—in attendance.

  "Mind this step," said Natalie's escort, recalling her to the present. She straightened her shoulders, telling herself that she had survived the other crises in her life. She would get through this one. But she would never be the same.

  The grave site was near an ancient oak tree, its branches dripping with water-soaked moss. Up close the green tent looked inadequate.

  Natalie thanked the man with the umbrella again and ducked under a scalloped edge of canvas. Folding chairs had been arranged on a carpet of artificial grass, facing the bier. There were empty places in front, but she ignored them, making her way to a chair in the far back corner. Absently she picked up a wood-handled paperboard fan that lay on the seat.

  She was feeling clammy and light-headed. She made use of the fan, dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead with her handkerchief and prayed that she wouldn't be nauseated again. The only dark dress she owned was long sleeved and high necked, appropriate for the circumstances but totally unsuitable for this weather. Though she had pulled her long, thick hair into a tight chignon to lift it off her neck, the heat and humidity had become enemies allied to sap her strength.

  Natalie had none of that to spare. She would need every bit of endurance, fortitude and determination she could muster to get through the coming months.

  She blinked to clear her eyes and glanced down at the cardboard fan. One side was decorated with a misty Eden-like photograph of a garden, and the other quoted scripture heralding the glory of God. At the bottom, of course, was a list of the advantages of using Lehey Funeral Home when your time came.

  At last, when all the other mourners were settled into place under the tent, the doors of the long black family limousine opened. Two men emerged first, then they turned back to assist a woman. She was stooped with the weight of her grief, her face shielded by a mourning veil. Accompanied by the minister and the somber black-clad men from the funeral home, Lisa's parents and her husband walked slowly to the front row of chairs.

  Natalie swallowed hard. She dropped the crumpled handkerchief into her small shoulder bag and took out a fresh one.

  The minister took his place beside the casket and a hush sank over the group. He opened a worn prayer book and began to speak.

  Mr. and Mrs. Reed, Lisa's parents, sat motionless as the minister intonated Lisa's wonderful qualities and her contributions to the community. Though their heads were erect, though they stared straight ahead at the roses that covered the coffin of their daughter, though they seemed attentive, Natalie doubted that they heard a word the man said.

  She knew how deeply their eyes reflected their agony; she'd seen it yesterday when they arrived from their home in Charleston. She'd seen their resentment, too, as she had greeted them. And she'd felt it even as they each hugged her and accepted her condolences. They resented her, alive and well, when their only child lay dead as the result of a grotesque automobile accident.

  Lisa's husband, Jake, had also been unable to hide his antagonism toward his brother's widow. She had been the only one in the town house when the policeman had come to inform them about the accident. She'd been the one to break the news to Jake. She'd gone with him to the morgue. And she had made the call to Charleston.

  She closed her eyes. Only two days ago Lisa had been alive and full of enthusiasm, racing off in one direction or another, always active with a project of some kind…

  Natalie had been at the computer. The insistent knock at the front door had interrupted her train of thought. She muttered something unkind under her breath and went to answer it. She was surprised to see a young, fresh-faced policeman standing on the sidewalk. "Yes, Officer? Can I help you?"

  He was backlit by the bright sunlight, and she couldn't see his expression clearly. "Is this the home of Lisa Armstrong?"

  Lisa, Lisa, I told you your cavalier attitude toward parking tickets would catch up to you someday. Natalie grinned. "Technically, yes. But this is a separate apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong live upstairs," she said, stepping out the door to indicate the twin arms of the curved, split stairway that led to the main entrance of the house.

  She could see his expression now and he looked very serious. "No one answers the door," he told her.

  The grin slipped from her face. "I'm Natalie Armstrong. May I take a message?"

  He held her gaze for a moment. "Ma'am, there's been an accident. I need to locate—" he glanced at the notebook in his hand "—Jake Armstrong."

  Natalie stared, disbelieving, at the man. Suddenly an awful premonition seized her. "Lisa?" Her voice sound
ed shrill.

  He hesitated. "You're a member of the family?"

  "Lisa Armstrong is my sister-in-law—" she waved her hand in the air, a gesture to suggest the tangle that was her relationship with Lisa "—my late husband's brother's wife."

  "I'm afraid I have bad news. She lost control of her car, ran it into a telephone pole."

  "When? Where?"

  "About an hour ago, ma'am. Out on the Isle of Hope."

  "What hospital is she in?" She whirled to go back in for her car keys but his quiet words halted her abruptly.

  "I'm sorry."

  Dealing with her own grief, while having to tell Jake that his beloved wife was dead … it had been unbearable. That was why, though Natalie had been invited to accompany the family, she'd chosen to drive her own car to the funeral.

  Jake sat as immobile as a statue on the other side of Mrs. Reed. Only his profile was visible, but it was enough to reveal his grief. The inherent strength and sureness that were so much a part of him had clearly been exhausted. His normally healthy, tanned face was worn gray; his full, dark mustache contrasted with the pallor of his skin. He'd not used an umbrella and his hair was wet, making it appear even darker. As she watched, a muscle tripped convulsively in his square jaw.

  When the minister asked them all to bow their heads for a last prayer, Jake seemed to fold up into himself, his broad shoulders and dark head dropping forward. He took a deep shuddering breath and covered his eyes.

  Natalie looked away quickly, unable to bear the sight of his sorrow. She hurt for all of them and for herself, as well. Funerals were barbaric, she thought, not for the first time.

  The last prayer of the service was blessedly short. Mr. and Mrs. Reed and Jake returned to the limousine for the drive back to town.

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  The mourners came from the cemetery to the restored three-story town house where the Armstrongs lived. They had paid their respects to the deceased; now they would pay their respects to the family. They would bring casseroles and cakes, potato salad and deviled eggs, country ham and fried chicken. And they would make gallons of sweetened iced tea, laced with lemon. They would offer assistance, comfort, encouragement.

  Fruitlessly.

  Or, looking at this situation from a different perspective, the family was expected to play host to this lot of well-meaning people. Natalie knew from her memories of her husband's death that all any of them wanted to do was curl up alone somewhere and let the grief have its way with them, let the sharp knife of sorrow cut them to ribbons.

  The narrow street in front of the house was congested as people searched for parking spots. Lisa and Jake had moved to Savannah as newlyweds eight years ago. They had both become successful in business here, and they had made many friends.

  Natalie parked her own car in the rear alley behind the house. She entered through an elaborately wrought gate into a formal garden that had been Lisa's pride. She paused for a moment and drank in the beauty around her. The rain had stopped, and the garden was washed clean.

  Planned as a disciplined riot of prolific color and myriad scents, the garden offered daylilies and hollyhocks lining the neat paths, backed by shaped box-woods and Savannah holly trees. Old-fashioned roses perfumed the air. Bougainvillea climbed one corner of the brick wall that surrounded the area, and brilliant fuchsia spilled over another.

  A tree, dripping with water and long wet tails of Spanish moss, shaded the garden bench that skirted its trunk. The high-gloss varnish of its slatted seat was beaded with raindrops.

  A stray beam of sunlight reflected off a polished window. The beautiful house had been built with coral-colored brick, trimmed with black-green shutters and sparkling white trim. Originally constructed in the late-eighteenth century, the building had been purchased and lovingly restored by Lisa and Jake shortly after they moved to the city.

  Natalie resisted the temptation to withdraw into the ground-floor apartment where she was living temporarily and close the door on the tragedy. Instead she climbed gracefully curved wrought-iron steps to enter the main floor of the house through the kitchen.

  As expected, neighbors had prepared enough food for a small army. The dishes were now arranged in a variety of containers on the dining room table. Delicious aromas wafted through the rooms. The gracious old house was crowded, straining the capacity of the air-conditioning; the living room was nearly as sultry as the outdoors.

  Natalie roamed through the crowd, greeting the few people she knew. She'd moved here less than a month ago and had not had time to meet many of the couple's friends. She felt like an interloper and wondered how long she would have to stay before she could safely slip away without offending Jake and the Reeds.

  One group of people broke and reformed as she passed through them, some eyeing her curiously, others ignoring her.

  How many of them knew about the circumstances that had brought her here?

  It wasn't a secret. Lisa and Jake had never planned to hide the reasons for Natalie's leaving Charleston and moving into the street-level apartment of their town house, but neither had any of the three of them ever made a point of explaining.

  She looked around for Mr. and Mrs. Reed, but they had disappeared. She assumed they had gone upstairs to the guest room to be alone.

  Jake was in the hall, talking in low tones to three other men. She hadn't spoken to him since yesterday and at that time he'd been intensely formal and stilted, as though he were holding on to his reason by the merest thread.

  Natalie's late husband had been this man's brother. Her best friend had been married to him. And they shared another, deeply personal connection. That very thought made her wary of approaching him.

  One of the men in the group was Andrew Roberts, Jake's right-hand man and the vice president of Jake's successful shipping business. As she watched, the men shook hands all around, and Jake left the group.

  He turned and caught sight of her. He hesitated and she inhaled sharply when she saw the expression that crossed his face—an expression of hostility, even more severe than his earlier antagonism, much more severe than the resentment of Lisa's parents.

  It hurt. But despite her distress, she understood and she tried to stay calm.

  Though the circumstances were different, though Joseph had died following a long illness, she'd felt something akin to the same emotion three years ago when her husband, Jake's brother, had died. She had probably looked at Jake in much the same way then.

  It was natural, she told herself. But though she and Jake were in a rather unique situation, his reaction was still something of a blow. She waited quietly while he made his way toward her.

  When he reached her side, he unbuttoned his suit coat and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, displaying a broad expanse of white shirt bisected by a dark blue tie. His gray eyes, bloodshot and sunken in their sockets, burned with emotion. He was larger than Joseph had been. His posture, as he stood looking down at her, underscored his size. Natalie, who was not a small woman, felt diminutive in contrast. And intimidated.

  "Natalie," he greeted her evenly. "Are you all right?"

  She pushed her sleeves as far up her forearms as they would go. Immediately she realized that for the nervous gesture it was and forced herself to stand still, fingers linked loosely in front of her. "Okay, I guess. How are you, Jake?"

  How am I? Dead inside. Empty and hollow. Jake shook his head, not answering for a minute, and looked down at the floor. He could not bear to look at her. His lovely Lisa was dead, her car wrapped around a telephone pole. Suddenly he loathed Natalie with an intensity that overwhelmed him.

  He struggled to regain control of himself. "I'll get by," he said finally, wondering if that were true.

  "Is there anything I can do for you? Or for the Reeds?" She glanced toward the staircase. "Are they all right?"

  "They don't need you to do anything for them," he said tersely. "They're upstairs packing to return to Charleston this afternoon. They most likely won't leave witho
ut saying goodbye."

  Natalie was clearly puzzled by his wording and his sharp tone, but she nodded in her typically calm, composed way. "I see," she said.

  Just then he thought he heard someone call his name. He glanced around, over the heads of the people in the room, but didn't see anyone paying particular attention.

  "I'll talk to you later," Natalie murmured. She started to turn away, but he halted her with a touch on her arm. The contact disturbed him. He quickly dropped his hand.

  "The Reeds aren't young anymore. As you might imagine, the funeral was a shattering experience for them," he said without any change of expression at all. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave them alone, wait for them to come to you."

  This time he knew his caustic remark couldn't be misinterpreted. She stiffened, staring at him, her blue eyes wide with hurt. "How could you say such a thing to me?" she demanded in a low, shaky voice.

  He felt the sharp sting of guilt as he watched the color drain from her face. But he immediately mustered himself against any feelings for her. He couldn't afford them. Important decisions would have to be made very soon, and he was not going to let weakness or emotion dictate those decisions.

  She went on with barely a pause. "I wouldn't dream of hurting the Reeds, or intruding on them if they don't wish to see me. And as for you, Jake." She shook her head, clearly bewildered. "If you don't want me here, please say so. I'll be happy to leave."

  "Don't be childish," he snapped. "I simply—" The call was repeated; he looked around again, then raised his hand to acknowledge the minister's summons. "I'll be back in a minute. We need to talk." He moved away.

  Natalie watched him go with a sense of helplessness; pain gripped her heart. She was fully aware of the movement of people around her; she heard their subdued voices. But she felt as alienated, as isolated, as she had ever felt in her life.

  She looked down at her hands; they were trembling uncontrollably. She scanned the room, suddenly frantic, anxious to escape from this crowd of people. And from Jake Armstrong.