didnât mean milk.
Damn. I had killed the scotch.
âIâm afraid not. But look, I can run to the package liquor down the street.â
âNo, please donât. I shouldnât anyway. I quit last year. Tom hasnât, though.â
âHasnât? Or didnât?â
She blanched.
âMrs. Hanady, my buddy on the force said that there was no death certificate for your husband.â
âNo, there wouldnât be. Heâs alive.â
âDid you not tell Miss Reyes that your husband had died?â
âI did. At the time, I couldnât think on my feet.â Although I found this hard to believe, I let her continue. âBesides, he might as well be dead.â
âWhy do you say that?â
âBecause the bum is always off somewhere. Heâs barely in Rachelâs life. Not to mention mine.â
âI saw a photograph of the three of you at the school. I have to admit you all looked happy.â
She grimaced. âThat was a happy time. Tom was home more often. Rachel had gotten used to our home, our life. I had quit drinking.â
âWas alcohol a problem?â
âIt was. I was justâ¦. You see, we had tried for years to have a child. Finally, a doctor told me that I couldnât have children. I was devastated. Tom took it well at first, but then something changed in him. He was travelling at the time, making more trips to Colombia. So, I wallowed in alcohol when he was gone. When he returned, he could see something was wrong. I think he chalked it up to infertility, and that just seemed to sour him more.â
âHow long did this go on?â
âFor several months. But then he came back from a trip with flowers. For me. He took me in his arms like he did when we first married, and I fell in love all over again. Excited by his spontenaity, I laughed and asked, âWhat? What is it?â He swung me around and said, âWeâre going to have a child! Weâre going to adopt!â I was so taken aback that I cried. He told me all about the opportunity in Colombia, how there were so many sweet children in desperate need of a mother and a father. We shared a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate. It was the first time in a long time Iâd felt so good.â
âWhen did you make the trip to Colombia yourself?â
âI donât know. Maybe three months later. Weâd found out who Rachelâs birth mother was, and I wanted to meet her.â
âAnd did you?â
âYes. She was almost a child herself, barely nineteen. She was so beautiful and shy. It was important to me to see her.â
âWhy did she give Rachel up for adoption?â
âSheâs poor. So many of them are. They work on the banana plantations. Many of them live right on the edge of the fields, in shacks. Tom looks for the best supervisors; he really does.â An unexpected defensive note entered her voice. âBut he can only pay so much himself, in order to turn a profit here in the States.â
âI see. Where is Tom now?â
âI thought he was in Colombia. Heâs been gone the past week. Iâve been taking Rachel to pre-school all this year. Itâs been very difficultâbeing away from her while sheâs at school, that is. But all the other mothers insisted it was a good thing. All of them in the charity send their children there.â
âWhat charity is that?â
âOrphan Care. We raise money to help families adopt children from Central and South America.â
âSounds noble.â
She blanched and plunked her cup on the desk, sloshing coffee over the side. âIt
is
. And you donât need to say it like that.â
âI didnât mean any harm, Mrs. Hanady. I meant what I said. What I donât get is why you donât have a nanny.â
She glanced out at her car, like she was now doubting her decision to hire me. I looked outside, too. The rain was abating.