“What if she is being held against her will? And she can’t call us?” I asked, watching Ruth empty the cereal bowl into the sink.

“That is highly unlikely, and you know it.” Ruth switched on the faucet, and the garbage disposal roared.

“Yeah,” I said, and she was probably right.

Ruth walked over, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, her favorite green one. “Hal, she took the baby.”

I hated to think that. I hated to think Cally could have fooled us into believing she had good character, good motivations. It didn’t make sense. “But she wants to finish college. She took the money.”

“What does the contract say about this situation?”

“What situation?” I didn’t know what Ruth was implying, but I didn’t like the tone of her question. “You’ve read the contract.”

“In the event that she changes her mind?” asked Ruth, softening. She must have sensed me bristle.

“Well, she’d forfeit the final payment,” I explained. “And she’d have to pay us back. At least part of the money she’s already received.”

“Only part of the money?”

“Yes, Ruth, only part of the money. That’s how the deal was structured,” I snapped. She should have known that.

“Well, excuse me,” Ruth said. “I didn’t know.”

“And we’d be lucky to get anything back, to be honest. She’s probably spent it.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? The money?”

“No, of course not,” I said, standing up and slamming my chair into the table. I didn’t need to listen to more of this. The contract was valid. Thorough.

“Okay,” said Ruth, as if trying to calm me down.

“We have rights under the contract,” I said, leaning on the counter and facing away. “We can enforce our rights. I’ll take her to court if I have to.”

“Forget the contract, Hal.” Ruth stood up. “That baby is yours.”

“Not in the eyes of the law it isn’t,” I said, turning around to face her.

“You are the father in my eyes,” she said, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head on my chest.

“The court would have to recognize me as such and grant me parental rights.” We stood rocking slightly, together.

“Okay, how do we get that?” she asked, looking up at me.

“A paternity test,” we said in unison, as we sometimes did.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ruth added.

“That’s the law,” I said, fully accustomed to the dissonance between what’s logical and what’s statutory.

Suddenly, a drink seemed like a good idea. I opened the spice cabinet and reached to the highest shelf, the place where we kept the liquor. Jostling aside the bottles of olive oil and soy sauce, the disguise we used to hide our stash so the teenagers wouldn’t get into the alcohol, I pulled down the green Jameson bottle and poured myself a double whiskey.