Chapter 19

Katherine the Bitch was moved from the baby care rooms to a special post-Caesarean section. I was mildly curious about the treatment she was getting from the head nurse in this section and her doctor. Then I remembered the full name of the hospital: Atlanta Southern Baptist Medical Center.

They were doing all they had to do medically, but clearly felt that the chlamydia she had back in month four had damned her as a sinner – and clearly these medical people felt that she was determined to give the STD to her new born. It must have been on her chart: ‘sinner – developed STD while pregnant,’ or some such. While I didn’t feel a random pregnant mother deserved a scarlet A to be carved on her forehead, b-K certainly did.

Could I use this as a way of winkling the child from her? Maybe.

I decided to show her the real DNA certificate. The one that showed me as the father, and to hell with Lucas. I had the fake DNA report to show to him. I could always just say that I was deceiving the courts and/or Kathy – or something like that.

As for b-K, I’d want to have no part of her, because of the STD. And the rest of her slutish ways, of course. Wonder where she got that, was it Mr. Lucas? Mr. ‘C’ in New York? Or some other passerby who happened to get sneezed upon? I was clean, my check-ups were clear and I hadn’t been tempted by some temptress. I didn’t think you could catch anything from your own right hand – although I admit sometimes I used my left, just to provide an alternate experience.

Little Mark latched on to a nipple for a few feedings, but when he bit her tit unknowingly, all maternal feelings raced away from the b-K like ... like ... like what? Like the Red Sea parted for Moses? Anyway, she suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. She told me in one of my infrequent visits.

“Can’t you take him back to the condo? Find a wet nurse somewhere.” How motherly of her. “I’m thinking of accepting that position I was offered to move to New York.”

“Oh?” I said. She was offered a position in NYC? I wondered if it would be missionary position or doggie-style. “I’m not going to move. I actually like Atlanta.”

“Well, I’ve given it some thought. And I think that going our separate ways could be good for both of us.”

“Uhmm ... there are three of us these days. And I couldn’t take care of the little tyke and hold down the job at DOJ, too.” She didn’t know about my impending retirement from government service, and I wasn’t going to tell her.

“How ‘bout I grant you title to the condo, free and clear? I mean, we’d have to have some sort of ... what do they call it?” She sounded so business-like. She had to have given it some thought.

“The condo and ... say ... you pay enough to cover condo fees for a year?” She did bring in several times what I made. Couldn’t squeeze some cash from her, could I?

“Six months,” she countered.

“How ‘bout, you pay it through the end of the year? It’s already March, you know.”

“Good. I’ll transfer the money to you and you can deal with paying it out. When I leave town, I don’t want to have anything to do with Atlanta ... Problem is, what do I do with Lucas? He’ll think the kid is his.”

“Oh. I’ll deal with him. I’ll tell him it is his and I’m adopting. You’re running away. I’ll sell it to him.” This could work out. “What about little Mark? He’ll want to know about his mommy, eventually.”

“I don’t care what you tell him. This whole thing was a fucked up situation from the start. Tell him I was abducted by an Arab prince. Or that I died in child birth. Anything.”

So she wasn’t even going to give Lucas his very own ‘Fuck You Announcement.’ I guess it didn’t fit into her schedule. Or maybe she got a better offer from some guy in NYC. Probably, since she now wasn’t even worried about getting money from J.L.