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“I agree.”
“She’ll also take fingerprints and photos of the baby. How is she?”
“Right now, she’s doing wonderfully.”
I didn’t admit that I was clueless. Cheryl finally said goodbye after telling me a nurse would contact me about an emergency home visit.
After ending the call, I thought of a reason to call that detective. I wanted someone with me when CPS showed up in the morning. Keying in his number, I remembered it was getting late and hoped he wasn’t sleeping, or worse, lying in bed next to his wife.
But he answered right away. “Miss Long.”
I grinned, my anxiety deflating. “Detective Spinoza. CPS is coming by in the morning to fingerprint baby and me, and it suddenly made me nervous.”
“I can come by,” he said. “Did they give you a time?”
“No, just that someone would contact me.”
“As soon as they do, send me a text.”
“I’m not sure what shape I’ll be in if she stays up all night,” I said. The baby had started to gnaw on her fists. “I think she’s hungry. This is the best baby.”
I thought I might have to reconsider having a family if this was what babies were like.
I could hear him breathing. “Do you have a family?”
“You were just in my apartment. Did it look like I have a family?”
“No, but they could have been at a sitter’s house for all I knew.”
“I’m only twenty-four,” I said.
“Oh, man! Right. Boyfriend?”
“Um, you’re asking me a lot of personal questions,” I said.
“Just curious. You must.”
“Nope. And most men would have never tolerated me picking a baby up off the street and bringing it home.” I laughed at my own comment. It was the truth. “Do you have a family?”
“No. No wife, no kids, no fiancée or even a date.”
“Why?”
“The right person hasn’t come along yet,” he said.
Then a text appeared on my phone screen.
“Oh, I just heard from CPS. A nurse is coming by tonight to do an examination. And a case worker will be here at nine tomorrow morning. At least it’s not at sunrise, like I feared. Truthfully, I’m surprised they let me keep her.”
“You’re a local television personality, Laura. That is about as transparent as it gets. If the news gets wind of this, you’re in for a wild ride.”
“Oh, God, I can’t stand it,” I cried. “I don’t want anything like that to happen. I hate talking into a microphone.”
“How did you come to get involved in the program, then?”
“My father, of course. Who else?”
“Right, sorry. I’d like to hear the story.”
