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By Sunday afternoon, I’d had enough of the beach. Ryan had come up to Pam’s house again, and I decided he was an energy vampire. All that sweetness and concern just didn’t ring true. And I thought it was weird that Pam had so thoroughly embraced him, her husband’s kid with another woman. Randy, too, was so enamored with Ryan. I wished I could tell them the story of Ryan, Sandra, and the scarf.
When I got home, there was enough time to contact Yasmine’s mother, Eimy Simon. I wanted to find out what Yasmine’s father’s name was, and it only took a minute searching on Google to discover that Emory Bryant was already out of jail. The only thing I could surmise was that the judge had been lenient because it was a custody issue. Evidently, it didn’t make any difference that I’d witnessed the man drop the baby to the ground. They had never asked me to come downtown to tell the story, either. It was something else I would take up with Mark Spinoza.
***
Eimy Simon and I seemed to genuinely hit it off. She knew about me from the paper; I’d missed seeing that and wasn’t too happy about it because they should have never mentioned my name. But she was so grateful for what I had done. She had taken Monday off to be with the baby after the ordeal. We planned to meet downtown at a café I knew of in Chinatown that wasn’t too far from her house, and she was bringing the baby.
Monday dawned with me excited about the day. This was the first time since I had moved to Manhattan that I could honestly say I was happy to be there. The baby had done that for me, but it might also have been the completion of the television series. I was so glad that was over with.
I didn’t think I had any expectations about meeting the mother, but that, of course, was untrue. I was full of expectations.
The first sign was that I took more time getting dressed and doing my hair and makeup. I wanted to look nice for Yasmine/Jessie and her mother.
The restaurant was only three miles from my house, but it might as well have been one hundred because traffic was so bad. I arrived with a minute to spare.
I made eye contact with Eimy immediately. The sensation was so strange; I was overcome with emotion, having to hold back my desire to hug her and maybe even shed a tear or two, feelings that were out of character for me. I hadn’t felt so emotional meeting my own father for the first time.
Eimy stood up when I approached the table and put out her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Thank you for what you did for my baby.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Where are you from?” I asked, noting her thick accent.
“The Dominican Republic,” she said, grinning at me. “You already know Yasmine.”
“Yes, I do!” I bent down to see her, that little sweet face. “I’ll go wash my hands so I can hold her, if you’ll let me.”
“Don’t go. I have wipes right here,” she said, pulling out a small container from the same diaper bag that had made the trip out the car window.
I took one and carefully wiped off my hands. I had just put the wipe on the table when she passed the baby over to me. The weight of her body felt so familiar in my arms as I cradled her head in my hand. Something about the movement woke her up, and she looked right at me.
“She remembers you,” Eimy exclaimed. “Look at her, watching you.”
“I remember you, too, baby.”
After ordering hot tea, I sat back and waited for Eimy to talk. While Yasmine slept in my arms, waves of longing for a baby flowed over me. But it was distracting. I had a thousand questions, wanting to know how Emory Bryant had gotten the baby and why he’d wanted her. Why had he gone to the trouble of taking her, knowing it could land him in jail, and then disposed of her in such a dangerous way? What had happened between the taking and the leaving?
“Why did you want to see us?”
I had to consider how to word my response so it didn’t come off like I was stalking her. Looking up from Yasmine, I saw concern in Eimy’s expression. I’d be careful to make my answer all about me.
“I felt like I had bonded with your baby, that’s all. I’ve never had that experience before. It’s almost like we are meant to know each other. Does that make any sense?”
“Like fate,” she replied.
“Maybe. Except I don’t feel like I’ll have a role in her life. I’m not sure what it would be even if I did.”
“I appreciate what you did for her. I know it makes Emory look bad, what he did.”
“What did he do?” I asked, thinking I was about to hear the answer I was looking for.
“He came to the daycare where she stays while I work and took her. I complained to my attorney about his child support not arriving, and that pissed him off.”
Before I asked if she knew why he’d dumped her on the ground, I wanted to get her to relax a little more. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a nanny,” she said, smirking. “Yep, my kid stays at an unlicensed daycare because that’s all I can afford, and I go to my employer’s swanky house and take care of her toddler.”
