The Swap - Robyn Harding Page 0,84

when to change her and put her down for a nap. Freya was clueless. And selfish. The child would be in jeopardy if not for Low’s capable presence.

The bell above the door jingled then, and I closed my laptop anticipating a customer. But it wasn’t a patron. It was a seething ball of fury with pale-blond hair and a pristine white outfit. It was Freya, and something had enraged her.

“You fucking cunt.”

I was rendered speechless by the venom and vulgarity. Had Low told her that I’d submitted Maggie’s DNA sample? But Low couldn’t have outed me without revealing her own complicity. Could Freya have discovered it some other way?

“Your plan backfired,” she sneered at me. “They found nothing of concern.”

A moment of relief was chased away by confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Freya.”

“You called Child Protection Services on me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You’re delusional, Jamie. You know, that right? The fact that you’re barren has fucked with your head.”

Anger heated my belly. “I didn’t call them,” I snapped. “I guess someone else knows you’re a terrible mother.”

She came at me then, and I thought she was going to attack me, but she stopped just short of where I stood. “You and Brian will never get near my daughter,” she spat. “You will never be her mother.”

“Maggie is Brian’s child! He has a right to be in her life!”

Freya stepped back and I thought I sensed the slightest softening, a receptivity in her posture.

“We were friends once,” I tried, my voice gentler. “I—I loved you like a sister. We can work this out. For Maggie’s sake.”

She cocked her head slightly to the side. “Why would I want someone like you in my daughter’s life? You’re so basic. And boring. You’ve wallowed in self-pity for so long that you’ve lost any semblance of a personality. You’re pitiful.”

“At least I’m not a narcissist,” I shot back. “At least I’m not so shallow that I crave the constant validation of a bunch of online strangers.”

She smiled then, a mirthless grin, and narrowed her eyes at me. I hadn’t thought my rebuttal through, and I felt a sudden flicker of panic. And fear.

Freya’s tone, unlike her words, was calm and casual. “Even if you prove that Maggie is Brian’s, even if the courts take your side, I’ll run. I’ll take Maggie and I’ll disappear. I’ll take her and I’ll drive off a cliff. You will never, ever be a part of her life.”

It was an admission. She knew the truth. But Freya would fight us till the end. She was unhinged, suffering from postpartum depression, even psychosis. I had to get the baby away from her. She wasn’t safe.

The bell jingled as Freya stormed out of my store.

63

low

Max returned to the house about an hour after the woman from CPS had left. He’d been windsurfing. Or kayaking . . . some watersport that had wet his dark hair with salt spray. He wore a tank top and board shorts. He looked like he’d just walked off some Hunks of Summer calendar, but I barely noticed.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the rooms for his wife and her daughter, and finding only me, seated at the dining table. “Where is everyone?”

“A woman came,” I said, swallowing the dread that was clogging my throat, “from Child Protection. Freya thinks Jamie called her. I think she went to the store to confront her.”

Max’s face darkened. “Where’s the baby?”

“Asleep in her crib.”

He ran his hands through his damp hair, making his biceps bulge. “Should I go after her?”

“Yes!” I cried. “What if Freya does something to Jamie? Beats her up or something? She was so angry. . . .”

“She’d never attack Jamie.”

How could he be so confident when he knew, better than anyone, Freya’s violent side?

“She might smash up the store,” I said. “She could get arrested! CPS could take Maggie!”

A few weeks ago, this option might have suited me fine, but I’d grown to care for the little creature. I didn’t want to look after her 24-7, but I didn’t want her in the system. Hawking probably didn’t even have a system. They’d send Maggie to the city, where she’d get swallowed up by the foster care behemoth. She belonged with her father and Jamie.

“Shit . . . ,” Max muttered and moved toward the side table and his car keys.

But the sound of an SUV pulling up out front stopped him in his tracks. A car door slammed, and small feet crunched across the gravel toward