Chapter 8: The Baby Store

I answered Candace's text myself, from Miles's phone, with his permission.

"Where?" I wrote.

She replied in under a minute. "Little Harbor Baby, Pine Street. I'm there Thursdays at two. Please come alone."

"I'll be there."

"Mom," Miles said from the doorway, "I don't love that you're going alone."

"I'm not. Marcy is parked across the street with a thermos and a very bad attitude."

"Okay, that's better."

Little Harbor Baby smelled of lavender and new cardboard.

I walked past rows of strollers and a wall of tiny white socks.

Candace stood at the back by the cribs.

She wore a loose gray dress and flat shoes, and one hand rested on the rail of a white crib.

She looked up when she heard me, and her face crumpled.

"You came."

"You asked."

"I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think you'd write to my son." I stopped a few feet away. "Seven messages. He's fifteen, Candace."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I didn't know who else to ask." She wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist. "I thought he'd tell me if you hated me."

"I don't hate you."

"You should."

"I'm working on it."

She let out a wet laugh and held onto the crib.

I took in the room, the wall of soft gray blankets, the little hats on a rack, the price tags in tidy rows.