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The television flashed in the background. Pictures of snow being cleared in some areas, with aerial shots of previously deserted streets now with a few people on them, or a single car slowly edging its way along. The snow was finally going to stop. New York was going to return to a sense of normality.
Maybe it was for the best. Abraham would be able to go to Angel’s Hospital and be checked over by Shana. That was good, except it made her want to run over and snatch him out of Dan’s arms.
How much longer would she be able to cuddle him? Would this be their last night together? And what hurt more, the thought of being separated from Abraham, or the thought of not having a reason to spend time with Dan any more?
It was almost as if Abraham sensed her discomfort. He chose that precise moment to pull his little legs up, let out a squeal and projectile vomit all over Dan’s shoulder.
Her reactions were instant. She held out her arms to take Abraham from him.
‘Yeuch!’ Dan pulled his T-shirt over his head, trying to stop the icky baby sick from soaking through. It was an almost unconscious act and she tried not to be distracted by his flat abdomen and obvious pecs. If only her stomach looked like that.
But it didn’t—ever. No matter what the TV ads said, women’s abdomens just weren’t designed to look like that, even before they’d had a baby.
Stifling a sigh, she pretended to fuss over Abraham as Daniel walked past on his way to the laundry basket. What about his shoulders? And his back? Was the view from behind just as good?
She tried to take a surreptitious glance and her breath caught in her throat. While Daniel’s torso was something a model would be envious of—his back was entirely different.
Scars. Chicken-pox scars all across his back. She winced inwardly, remembering how itchy she’d been as a child when she was covered with the spots. She’d only had a few on her back and they’d driven her insane because she couldn’t—probably thankfully—get to them to scratch them.
‘This is my favourite T-shirt,’ he moaned as he flung it into the laundry basket. ‘I bet no matter what I use, I’ll never get rid of that smell.’
He looked up and caught sight of her face. She felt her cheeks flush and looked down at Abraham again.
But it was too late. He’d seen the expression that she’d tried to hide. He’d seen the shock. And maybe a little bit of horror.
She wanted to take back the past few seconds. She wanted to stand here with a smile fixed on her face. But it was too late.
Dan made to walk past, heading to his bedroom to get another T-shirt and cover up, the shadows apparent in his eyes. But something made her act. She put Abraham down in the crib and grabbed Dan’s arm on the way past.
‘What?’ he snapped.
‘Stop, Dan. Just stop for a second.’
She had no medical background. She had no training whatsoever. But something had registered in her brain. Something inside was screaming at her.
She nervously reached her fingers up and touched his back. He flinched, obviously annoyed at her touch. His voice was lower. ‘What are you doing, Carrie?’
Her fingers were trembling. She was almost scared to touch his flesh. But something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The scars weren’t what she’d expected. She had chicken-pox scars herself. And she and her fellow friends had spent many teenage years debating over how to hide their various scars.
Chicken-pox scars were pitted and uneven. No two looked the same.
But that wasn’t the case on Dan’s back. All his scars looked the same. Uniformly pitted circles across his back with not a single one on his chest, arms or face. Nothing about this was right.
Her pinkie fitted inside the little uniform scars. They were all the same diameter, all perfect scars, but of differing depth. Almost as if...
‘Oh, Dan.’ Her hand flew to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. She’d seen scars like these before. But only single ones, caused by accident by foolish friends.
These hadn’t been caused by accident. These had been inflicted on a little boy. One at a time. Cigarette burns. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of a person could do this to a child. What kind of a person could willingly and knowingly inflict this kind of pain on another human being. It was beyond unthinkable.
Everything fell into place. Dan’s reactions. His feelings towards his mother. The fact he’d ended up staying with his grandmother.
She reached her hands up around his neck and pulled him towards her. ‘Oh, Dan, I’m so sorry. Your mother did this to you, didn’t she?’
He was frozen. Frozen to the spot at his secret being exposed.
Even as her hands had wrapped around his neck her fingers had brushed against some of the scars. It was so unfair. So cruel. It made her feel sick to her stomach.
Finally, he answered. ‘Yes. Yes, she did.’ She could feel the rigid tension disperse from his muscles.
He walked back over and sagged down on the sofa, Carrie at his side. She didn’t want to leave him—not for a second. Carrie couldn’t stop the tears that were flowing now. Tears for a damaged child. Tears for a ruined childhood.
She shook her head. ‘Why? Why would she do something like that? Why would anyone behave like that towards a child?’
The words he spoke were detached. ‘Not everyone is like you, Carrie. Not everyone is like Mrs Van Dyke or my grandmother.’ The words were catching in his throat, raw with emotion. ‘My mother should never have had children. I was a mistake. She never wanted me. I ruined her drug habit. As soon as her doctor knew she was pregnant my mother was put on a reducing programme—even all those years ago. She couldn’t wait to get her next fix. When she didn’t use, she was indifferent to me, when she did use, she was just downright nasty. My grandmother tried time and time again to get her to give me up. Most of the time my mother kept moving around the city, trying to stay out of the way of my grandmother, social services and the drug dealers she owed money to.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Drugs aren’t a new problem in New York. They’re an old one. One that affected me since before I was even born.’
His other hand was sitting on his lap and she intertwined her fingers with his.
Touch. The one thing she knew to do that felt right.
So many things were making sense to her now. So many of the words that he’d spoken, or, more importantly, not spoken. So many of his underlying beliefs and tensions became crystal clear, including his prejudices towards Abraham’s mother.
She would probably feel the same herself if she’d been in his shoes. But something still didn’t sit right in her stomach about this whole situation.
She squeezed his hand. ‘So how did you end up with your grandmother, then?’
‘The cops phoned her. Our latest set of neighbours heard the screams once too often.’ Carrie flinched. She didn’t like any of the pictures her mind was currently conjuring up. ‘They were concerned—but didn’t want to get involved. Fortunately for me, one of their friends was a cop.’
‘And he just picked you up and took you out of there?’
Dan shook his head. It was apparent he didn’t like the details. ‘It was more complicated than that. Social services were involved, as well as the police—it took a little time to sort out. But from the second I set eyes on the cop in my mother’s house I knew I would be safe. There was just something about the guy. He wasn’t leaving without me—no matter what happened.’
She gave him a smile. ‘I guess he paved your way to the police academy.’
‘I guess he did. He even gave me a reference eighteen years later when I needed it.’
‘And what did your grandmother say?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. My mother’s name was never mentioned again. As far as I know she never had any more contact wi
th my mother. Neither of us did. I can only ever remember a woman from social services coming to the door once. That was it. Nothing else.’
There was silence for a few seconds, as if both of them were lost in their thoughts. ‘Thank you,’ Carrie whispered.
‘For what?’ He looked confused.
‘For sharing with me.’
‘But I didn’t. Not exactly.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Now I understand why you’re so concerned about Abraham.’
