I saw the concern, even fear in her eyes. She hadn’t even met the child and she was already fiercely protective. “Except what?”

“Freya wants nothing to do with her. She doesn’t feed her, doesn’t cuddle her. The only time she ever touches her is when we do a photo session.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie muttered. “What is wrong with her?”

“Not everyone’s cut out to be a mother,” I said.

“She doesn’t have that luxury,” Jamie cried. “She has a child who’s depending on her.” Her face crumpled up and tears filled her eyes. “This could be damaging the baby’s development.”

I hammered the nail in. “Yeah. She doesn’t seem as alert as my brothers were at the same age.”

Jamie looked at me intently. I could see her internal deliberations, wondering if she could trust me. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” I said, keenly. “What is it?”

“I ordered a DNA test,” she said. “If you’ll swab Maggie’s cheek, we can prove that she’s Brian’s child.”

“And then what?” I asked, but I knew what. They would take the baby away.

“We’ll try to work out some kind of custody arrangement with Freya and Max. We’re not trying to take Maggie away from them, but we’re her parents, too. We deserve to be a part of her life.”

A big part, I hoped. “What if they won’t be reasonable?”

“Then we’ll go to court,” Jamie said. “We’ll demand visitation rights. We might even sue them for custody.”

Now she was talking. “I’ll do it,” I said, taking the plastic envelope she proffered. And then I smiled.

“I just want the truth to come out. I just want what’s best for Maggie.”

Chapter 58

58

I had ample opportunity to swab the baby’s cheek. In fact, once I was settled into the guest bedroom, I spent hour upon hour alone with Maggie. My presence seemed to lift Freya out of her funk somewhat (a sign of her strong feelings toward me, surely), and she rejoined the world of the living. She still slept a lot, but she also went for mani-pedis and massages, and embarked on a series of laser treatments meant to firm sagging skin at the town’s only medi-spa. Her demeanor was decidedly improved. Though she still showed little interest in her daughter, she was no longer hostile toward her. She would tousle Maggie’s soft blond hair as she passed by, even hold her little hand and marvel at her beauty.

“So pretty,” she’d mumble, like her child was an inanimate object, a ruby necklace or a Birkin bag. Then she’d say, “You two have a nice day!” and leave.