Sandy, Breaking the Pattern

By P.D. Workman

From USA Today Bestselling Author, P.D. Workman!

“I love my Da.”

Raised to a life of crime, Sandy is a teenage prostitute, junkie, and con artist. She always joked that her Da taught her a trade, that it hadn’t hurt her to be brought up like she was.

But things keep getting more complicated, more dangerous, and Sandy doesn’t want to admit even to herself that she longs for an honest, normal life.

Even when she tries to change, things don’t go smoothly. Sandy’s past keeps interfering with her new relationships. In the end, if she and her family don’t pull together, Sandy will not be able to escape yet another ghost of her past. Do they have what it takes for her to change her life completely?

Previously published as Deviation.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ If you love stories with strong female protagonists who fail forward to become a better version of themselves, this story will capture your heart. Sandy was an unforgettable character. I lost hours in this book!

By the author of Tattooed Teardrops, winner of the Top Fiction Award, In the Margins Committee, 2016, Sandy’s hope for a better life will touch your heart and keep you rooting for her right to the end.

If you enjoy gritty contemporary young adult books like those by John Green and Stephen Chbosky, give P.D. Workman’s Breaking the Pattern series a try.

Start your journey with Sandy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.D. Workman
• Release date: Feb 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781774682067

P.D. Workman

P.D. Workman is a USA Today Bestselling author, winner of several awards from Library Services for Youth in Custody and the InD’tale Magazine’s Crowned Heart award. With over 100 published books, Workman is one of Canada’s most prolific authors. Her mystery/suspense/thriller and young adult books, include stand alones and these series: Auntie Clem's Bakery cozy mysteries, Reg Rawlins Psychic Investigator paranormal mysteries, Zachary Goldman Mysteries (PI), Kenzie Kirsch Medical Thrillers, Parks Pat Mysteries (police procedural), and YA series: Medical Kidnap Files, Tamara's Teardrops, Between the Cracks, and Breaking the Pattern.Workman has been praised for her realistic details, deep characterization, and sensitive handling of the serious social issues that appear in all of her stories, from light cozy mysteries through to darker, grittier young adult and mystery/suspense books.

Book preview

1

Sun streamed through the dingy windows of the hospital onto the white sheets of the bed and curtains. Mol held the squalling pink bundle out to Rene. Rene took the baby and jiggled her, gazing down at her. She had a fuzz of rusty orange hair covering her head. Her eyes, though blue, were dark, shifting a little under the light, making him think that they would turn out to be green or brown.

She has a healthy cry, he observed, no?

Very, Mol agreed, wincing. Now, you tell me now if you’re going to look after her, because I’ll just give her up if not.

He shook his head. No, I will look after her.

How can you look after her? What do you know about babies? Molly demanded.

The baby’s sobs were gradually slowing as he jiggled her.

I know all about feeding and changing. What else is there? Rene said flippantly.

Plenty. And don’t you be calling me every time you have a problem. One kid is more than enough for me. I’m not going back to diapers.

I won’t call you, he promised.

Good.

Rene looked down at the baby girl. She had stopped crying and her stormy eyes stared at him with a focus and intensity far too old and wise for a newborn. Rene gave her a satisfied smile.

I have big plans for you, little girl, he promised. Big plans.

A couple of years later, Mol saw Rene at the grocery store. Usually, they just ignored each other, but this time he approached her.

Good morning, Molly, he greeted politely.

Rene.

That’s her, Rene said to the solemn little redheaded toddler sitting in his shopping cart. That’s your mom.

Oh.

Mol looked at Rene with a frown.

What’s all this about, then? she questioned.

She’s been asking who her mom is.

Mol looked at Sandy for a moment and shrugged.

Whatever.

Years would pass before Molly would voice to Sandy her regret that she had ever put Sandy into Rene’s custody.

2

Sandy watched herself in the mirror as she brushed her long red hair. She assessed herself critically, studying her hair, makeup, and outfit. Examining her legs and stomach for any extra weight, carefully evaluating everything. Her pager went off, and she silenced it without looking and finished brushing her hair. Sandy put down the brush and looked at the number on her pager. She didn’t recognize it.

She really should be hitting the street, but she shrugged off the momentary guilt at delaying, and made the call.

Sandy? an unfamiliar male voice queried.

Who’s this? she questioned.

It’s Dr. Denzel.

Sandy swallowed. Henry had given her name to Denzel as his emergency contact.

Is Henry okay? she questioned.

He’s well… but he’s in some trouble. Denzel sounded grave.

What for? Drugs?

No… it’s worse than that.

What?

There are some officers who would like to talk to you. They want to talk to people who know Henry. You’re the only one I know about.

Okay. It’s pretty bad, huh? Sandy questioned, her voice catching.

Yes. Do you want an officer to pick you up, or—

I’ll get there on my own. What precinct? Downtown?

Yes. Ask for Aberdene.

Okay. I’ll be there.

Sandy ended the call and stood there wondering what Henry had managed to get himself into. She assessed her outfit and decided she’d better tone it down. After slipping out of the mini skirt into a pair of blue jeans and pulling a crocheted sweater over the crop top, she picked up the phone again and called Marcia.

Hey, Sandy, Marcia greeted.

Hi, Marcia. Listen, I’m not gonna be out today.

You sick or slacking off? Marcia challenged.

Got a last-minute call.

Okay, girl. Thanks for letting me know.

Yeah. See you tomorrow.

Sandy stood around waiting for Aberdene. He eventually showed up, looking around and picking her out.

Sandy?

Yeah. She looked at his name tag, which designated him a detective.

So, what’s Thomas got himself into? she questioned.

You know him by his real name, he observed.

Sandy shrugged. Thomson. He was Henry Thomson now. He was always reminding her.

Come sit down with me, we’ll talk, Aberdene invited.

Sandy went along with him. She caught him looking at her sidelong a couple of times. She looked to see whether all of her buttons were done up, and then ignored his looks. He took her to a conference room and sat her down. They were joined by another detective named Bentley. Sandy saw startled recognition in his eyes. She didn’t recognize him; but she met many men and only really remembered the regulars.

So, what’s this about? she questioned again.

Your friend Henry is under arrest for murder, Aberdeen said.

It was so completely unexpected, Sandy wasn’t able to suppress a gasp at the information.

Murder? she repeated in disbelief. You’ve got the wrong guy!

What makes you think that?

He’s a nerd. He’s not the kind to kill someone!

He’s confessed.

Henry? Who would he kill?

Bentley slid a photo across the table toward her. Sandy looked at the picture of the blond. A candid shot, soft edges, glamorous.

Is that one of Henry’s photos?

Bentley nodded. Sandy studied her face. I’ve never met her. Was she… his girlfriend? Or a stranger?

Girlfriend.

The one from school?

They both nodded.

Why? Why would he kill her? Sandy still couldn’t believe it. Not Henry. She knew a lot of guys who were violent, who she wouldn’t doubt for a minute could kill. But Henry? That baby face?

This one… we’re not quite sure why, Aberdene said. The others… it appears that people started to get suspicious, noticed him hanging around where he shouldn’t be.

The others? Sandy repeated.

Bentley shifted his seat forward.

There were others, he confirmed.

Sandy swallowed. She looked from one cop to the other.

He’s not a killer, she affirmed. He hasn’t been killing girls. Then suddenly, everything connected and Sandy felt nauseated. Oh, no…!

They waited for her to go on. Sandy cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady.

Don’t tell me he’s the one… who’s been strangling working girls…

What makes you suggest that? Bentley questioned sharply.

There hasn’t been any other series of unsolved murders, has there?

Even those girls haven’t been identified as a series, Aberdene pointed out. How do you know about that?

Because I’m in the business, Sandy said in exasperation, and we notice when other girls are being killed, even if no one else does. So, is he the one? Is he the one killing them?

Aberdene nodded, looking grim. Yes, he’s the one.

Bentley laid down a series of other photos on the table. Sandy touched a couple of them.

Kaitlyn… Josie… are you sure Henry did this?

He has their pictures. They’re dead. He admits it.

Sandy swore; she couldn’t believe it. How could it be him?

Henry has had two other prior murder charges, you know, Aberdene pointed out.

Two? I only knew about one. He was in juvie with my brother—but someone else confessed to it.

They shrugged.

He got lucky, Bentley said. Twice. But this time…

Sandy shook her head. I just… can’t believe it.

We’d like to ask you some background questions about Henry, okay? Aberdene said.

Bentley held up his hand. Hang on one sec, he told Aberdene, and delved into his portfolio, looking for another series of pictures. He shuffled through them, and pulled a few out, handing them to Sandy.

Sandy looked down at pictures of herself. Her stomach lurched. They were pictures she never knew Henry had taken. Head shots, full length, pictures through her window, down the street, laughing with a friend, meeting a client, even one of her shooting up, totally unaware she was being observed. He must have used a telephoto lens.

You could have been next, Bentley said.

I never knew he was taking those, Sandy said. Her stomach lurched, and she put her hand over it. Oh man… I’m gonna be sick…

Aberdene stood up. Let’s take a break. I’ll show you to the restroom.

Yeah. Thanks.

Sandy splashed water on her face and took a few deep breaths, trying to settle her nerves and clear her mind. So what if Henry Thomas was a serial killer?

It wasn’t as if they were that close to each other. He’d never been her type. He was a loser. Sure, she’d taken him under her wing when he was hurt and sick, she felt sorry for him and his baby brother. He didn’t have anyone else.

That was all over. He was going away for a long time now.

Sandy stepped out of the room and looked around. Aberdene was talking to another cop and made a sign indicating that he’d be with her in a couple of minutes. Dr. Denzel was sitting in a lobby at the end of the hall and Sandy walked down to talk to him. He looked as sick and gray as Sandy felt. He saw her and stood up to shake her hand.

Sandy—how are you?

Well—in shock, I guess. I just… I had no idea.

Denzel nodded. They sat down.

Henry told me, Denzel said, pain in his eyes.

He did? Today?

No… when he was at the clinic.

Sandy stared at him in shock. Denzel knew back then, months ago?

He was on a new medication when he told me, Denzel explained further. He was uninhibited, his associations were very loose. I thought it was a psychotic break.

Sandy shook her head wordlessly.

I didn’t believe him, Denzel said. I thought it was his imagination. A hallucination.

You couldn’t have known.

I should have known. I should have paid closer attention. Seen the warning signs.

How could anyone have known? Sandy protested. I even talked to him about them! About the girls getting killed. He never acted suspiciously.

I knew more about him than anyone. I knew his family history… his mom’s mental illness and her tendency to pick abusive partners… I knew all her worries about him, but he always seemed like such a responsible, mature kid… I never took her concerns seriously…

He put his face in his hands, shaking his head and breathing raggedly.

Sandy sat there wondering what she could say or do to comfort him. She understood the guilt. She felt it too. They sat in silence, both at a loss, in shock over the development.

3

After getting back from the police station, Sandy opened her door, disarmed the alarm, and threw herself down on her bed, mentally and emotionally wrung out.

She just lay there for a while, drained. Eventually, she rolled over and grabbed a needle from the night table drawer. She had been hurting for a hit all day. Sitting there, all sweating and jittery with the cops, while they tried to learn everything they could from her about Henry Thomas. The shock, the stress; Sandy had downed cup after cup of coffee, when what she really wanted was something hot straight into her veins.

With one hand and her teeth, she swiftly tied a tourniquet around her arm and picked up the needle. Then she stopped, looking at the ugly track marks riddling both arms. She remembered just a few months ago, showing them to Henry, trying to scare him into kicking his heroin habit.

He had gotten in rehab, but Sandy hadn’t. She was still trying to do it on her own or get into a program, while he had gotten straight in. Somehow, it wasn’t fair. It was a waste of resources, rehabilitating him just for him to turn around and get sent to prison, while she still waited for an opening.

Changing her mind, Sandy released the tourniquet and put it all back away. She popped a Valium and lay back down for a nap.

As much as Sandy wanted to just hunker down and spend the rest of the day and night in bed, she was too disciplined to waste a full day on activities that didn’t turn a profit. Rene would be horrified to hear she was wasting daylight in bed, without a paying customer.

Not that he would ever know. But Sandy would.

She stretched and forced herself to get up. She splashed water on her face and popped a no-doze, then touched up her makeup before going out.

Alyssa was at her usual corner, easing her feet out of a pair of shiny red stilettos and rubbing them tenderly.

New shoes? Sandy questioned. They’re cute.

Alyssa laughed. Yeah. Cute is right. I thought you weren’t coming by today.

I had some time. How’s it been today?

Bit slow. Steady, no excitement.

Sandy nodded. Still some daylight left.

They both preferred daytime work. While it didn’t bring in quite as much as nighttime jobs, it was safer. They hoped.

A rusty Chevy pickup truck pulled up alongside them.

Take you for a ride? the balding forty-something suggested to Sandy.

Sandy carefully checked up and down the street and walked up to the truck, putting her head in the open window to check out the driver and the interior of the vehicle. He wasn’t a regular; she didn’t recognize him. The interior of the truck was tidy, but not too clean. Sandy thought it smelled faintly of marijuana. Everything looked kosher.

What’s your fancy? she questioned.

He named a couple of possibilities, carefully couched in euphemisms in case there was a sting. Sandy nodded.

You got the means?

He pulled out a money clip with ample funds and displayed it. Sandy lifted the handle on the door.

Your friend want to join us? the john questioned, nodding to Alyssa. Sandy turned around.

You up for a double feature?

Sure, babe, Alyssa agreed.

They both climbed into the truck; Sandy first, then Alyssa. The john pulled the truck away from the curb, and they discretely finalized terms.

4

As afternoon drew on to evening, Sandy changed out of her spiked heels into more comfortable sandals and headed over to the mall. She did a little window shopping until she spotted Denver. She approached him in the food court as he nursed a coffee and sticky bun that had probably been cold for a couple of hours already. The smell of grease hung heavily in the air.

Sandy. It’s been a while, Denver greeted.

Yeah, I know.

She sat down and pulled an envelope from her purse, which she slid across the table to him. It’s getting harder to pass p-notes, she explained. Lots of places are refusing to take hundreds, or training their staff to examine them properly.

Denver shrugged. You’ve got to expand your base. Be smart. Look for cashiers who are trainees. Dark, busy clubs. Chop shops used to running a cash business. Make bigger purchases at commissioned sales. You’re a bright kid. Be creative.

Sandy nodded. Okay, she agreed. I’m pretty good at the ‘oh no, you’ve got to be kidding’ act if they recognize them as counterfeit, but one of these days, they won’t fall for it. Then it will go on my record and I’m gonna have to get out of p-notes.

Denver chuckled. Well, we’ll keep it going for as long as we can.

Okay. If you have anything else… more lucrative… you’ll let me know?

He gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. Speaking of lucre, you seen Chad today? he questioned.

No. What’s up?

He said he had some kind of special proposition for you.

Special proposition? Sandy raised her brows, intrigued.

He wouldn’t say what it was. But we all know our Sandy’s up for any new venture. Like daddy, like daughter.

Sandy nodded.

I’m a good student, she agreed. I’ll see what Chad’s got cooking. He should have just called me.

It took Sandy a couple of days to catch up with Chad to see what he was working on. He was unusually difficult to reach, working even farther below the radar than usual. Through various acquaintances and intermediaries, she finally managed to meet up with him in a motel room on the west side. Sandy knocked on the door and he called for her to let herself in. Sandy opened the door, standing to the side and taking a covert glance inside for any strangers or sign of a sting. She’d already checked for suspicious vehicles or watchers outside, or unusual activity in the neighboring rooms.

Chad was hunched over the bureau scribbling something down, reminding Sandy of her father, always scribbling odds or calculations on scraps of paper, making lists or mapping out new schemes. Chad looked up.

Come in, Sandy. It’s clear. Don’t stand around with the door open attracting attention.

Sandy stepped in and closed the door. The room was permeated with a strange, sweet smell that was familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on.

How’s it going, Chad? she greeted.

Just fine. Hey, he frowned, what’s this I hear about you talking to the cops?

What? Oh, they were asking questions about a guy I know. They already had him in custody.

Ah. What they get him on?

Serial killer. Strangling girls, Sandy told him succinctly.

Eep, Chad looked a little green. Not his speed at all.

So, what’re you up to? Sandy questioned.

Chad gestured to a basket in the corner on the other side of the bed. Puzzled, Sandy went over to the basket for a look. She pulled back the cover and stared at the red, scrunched-up face of a tiny baby.

A baby! she exclaimed, picking it up and cuddling it to her chest. She was surprised, but not shocked. Some people might wonder what an entrepreneur like Chad would want a baby for. But Sandy was too experienced. She knew her dad was selling pictures of Sandy herself by the time she was a few days old. Sandy might not approve of kiddie porn, but the pictures had never hurt her. She was lucky to have had someone who had loved and protected her. Other kids were not so lucky. And there were always other possibilities, other markets interested in babies.

So, what do you need me for? Sandy questioned.

I need a mother for her.

No way! Sandy laughed. I’m not into that scene.

Chad smiled thinly. His fingers fidgeted with the pencil as he looked at her. His eyes were slightly protuberant and always gave him an intense look.

Not permanently, just for a meeting or two. An act. I’ve got a nurse taking care of her until everything is finalized.

Sandy nodded. Pose as her mother for what?

To hand her off to her adoptive parents.

Where’s her real mom?

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, he advised. The birth mom is not in the picture.

What do I need? ID? Documents?

All the paper is being handled. We just need someone to act the part. We’ll maybe get you a bit of padding around the tummy. I just need someone young and innocent-looking, who is savvy and won’t blow the con.

Sandy nodded. Sure. What’s it pay?

Always the bottom line, eh, Sandy? Five G’s.

And what if it backfires?

Then you’re just a kid we talked into acting a part. Maybe you thought it was just a practical joke or something. You don’t know anything about what is going on. But who’s gonna pull the plug on it? Everyone benefits. The adoptive parents get a baby, baby gets wealthy parents, and we all get a bit of cash.

And the real mom gets her life back, Sandy supplied.

Who wants to drag a brat around all the time? Chad agreed.

Sandy rocked the baby, who was starting to wake up.

So, are you in? Chad questioned expectantly.

Sandy shrugged. Sure. Sounds like an easy score.

You bet. All the work’s been done. All you gotta do is show up.

When?

They got down to details.

At the prison, Sandy walked through the metal detector. It was all quite routine.

Nice day out? Bennett questioned as he patted her down.

Yeah, clear and sunny. Supposed to be nice all week.

I’ll have to get out and enjoy it later.

Uh-huh.

He finished up and took her through the next door. Sandy sat down at the table and waited. Eventually, a heavyset blond man in an orange jumpsuit was escorted through the door.

Hi Da, Sandy greeted. He bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Against the rules, but overlooked since they otherwise followed the rules for Sandy’s weekly visits.

There, Sandy, and how’s my girl? he queried in his thick accent.

Just fine, Da, she assured him.

They sat down. The CO moved over to the door and pretended not to be listening.

Have you had a good week? Sandy asked.

Same as usual. Did you bring cigarettes?

Yeah. I checked them in already.

Good, he shifted in his chair. How’s business?

Got some new stuff coming up next week. Looks profitable.

You be careful…

Always, Da. Balance the risks against the rewards. Have a cover, an alibi, cover your butt.

He nodded, pleased. Good girl. You always learn your lessons.

Yeah. You need anything?

No. You brought cigarettes. I have everything else I need.

5

After the visit with her father, Sandy hesitated before leaving the prison.

I wonder if you got a Henry Thomas here? she suggested to the CO. They might have put him here instead of in juvie.

Don’t have a clue. You want me to check?

Sandy shrugged. If it’s no trouble…

Just one phone call. Sit down for a minute. Sandy sat while he checked on it. He nodded after hanging up. Yeah, he’s here. You want to see him too?

Sandy hesitated. Sure. I may as well.

Henry looked pretty grim—and small—when they brought him through the door. Unlike with Sandy’s dad, she had to visit Henry through bulletproof glass, using a phone. Maximum security. When Henry saw Sandy, his expression brightened. He picked up his phone.

Sandy! The only people I’ve seen lately are cops and lawyers.

Yeah. Hi. Sandy didn’t really know what to say to him.

Hi.

So… how’s it going?

Well… better than when I was in juvie with Marty. I guess the meds help. Stuff isn’t so… foggy. In juvie, I couldn’t keep track of what was going on… I couldn’t really think things through.

Have they got you in isolation?

No, but it’s been okay… the COs are pretty good… and— he shrugged philosophically, I’ve dealt with worse on the outside.

Sandy studied him thoughtfully. Henry’s eyes were a bit distant, despite his claim of being clear. His real emotions seemed to be buried far beneath the surface.

What he said was true; it wasn’t that long since the gang had put him in hospital with multiple broken bones, and though he didn’t really like to talk about it, she knew that he had been abused in the past. How badly, she didn’t really know, but the way he clammed up about it and avoided even minor confrontations, it had probably been pretty awful.

So, you’re okay?

Yeah. I can manage it. And I’m… where I should be.

He tried to meet her eyes briefly, but didn’t quite manage it. Sandy sensed that he did not want to tiptoe around the issue.

You did it? she asked baldly.

Henry nodded, looking past her somewhere. Yeah, he admitted, and I’d keep doing it if I wasn’t in here.

It made Sandy slightly sick, but she tried to keep her emotions from showing.

Man, how could you, Thomas? What…?

It’s not like that… he protested. I liked them… loved to watch them… take their pictures… but after a while, it would get to be too dangerous, and I couldn’t just stop, I wanted them to myself…

So you killed them.

There was a spark of excitement in his eye, piercing the calming fog of medications, and a slight twitch of the corners of his mouth. He licked dry lips.

Yeah.

Some of them were my friends, Sandy protested angrily.

He focused on her again briefly. Sorry… It wasn’t about you. It was just…

Sandy shook her head as he trailed off. What? Exciting? Another way to get thrills?

Henry grinned in embarrassment, his round cheeks getting a bit pink. He shrugged, not denying it. I couldn’t help it, he said lamely. That’s just the way I am.

You could help it! You could have stopped any time—asked Dr. Denzel for help, turned yourself in to the cops, something!

Henry shrugged.

And was I next on your list? Sandy demanded. You were taking pictures of me, and you know I told you not to.

Didn’t see any harm in it.

Was I next on your list? she persisted.

There’s no list. It isn’t something planned. It just happens.

You were stalking me.

Not stalking—

Like you stalked those other girls!

I just took some pictures of you.

Like you took pictures of them.

Henry shrugged in defeat, smiling a bit.

You think it’s funny? Sandy demanded.

I never hurt you, he pointed out.

But you would have, sooner or later.

He changed the subject abruptly. Why don’t you like having your picture taken?

Because I don’t like being stalked by psychotic killers, Sandy snapped.

No, before. You didn’t like it right from the start, when you found out I was a photographer.

Sandy took a few deep breaths, saying nothing, trying to keep her emotions under control. Then she thought about his question, tried to dissociate herself from the feelings and give him a considered answer.

You never struck me as particularly shy, Henry pointed out.

There are enough pictures of me out there already, Sandy said. I don’t like people gawking at me.

Pictures your dad took? Henry suggested.

Yeah, some of them, she wasn’t sure why she was so irritated about it. Sometimes he took them, sometimes they were for others. She always said her father taught her the trades, that it didn’t bother her, the stuff he’d involved her in. But some stuff she didn’t like to think about. She didn’t do porn anymore. She didn’t like people on the street recognizing her from her pictures. And she didn’t pay her father’s debts by posing. Not anymore.

Henry looked her over and she knew he was thinking of the jobs he’d done for John. Pictures that he’d taken to cover debts people had with John. Girls like Sandy, reluctantly posing to help out boyfriends or fathers. Exploited.

Mind your own business, she snapped.

Henry flushed and looked away. They sat in silence for a few long minutes.

So… Sandy let it hang for a while and forced herself to look back at Henry. You need anything?

No. I mean, I could use some good books or something. But there’s a library here.

Okay. I’m gonna go. I’ll see’ya later.

Are you going to come back?

I don’t know, Sandy said honestly. Maybe I’ll check in again next time I see my dad. We’ll see.

Okay. Sandy…? he called her back as she started to hang up. She put the phone back to her ear.

Yeah?

I’m sorry about taking your picture. I shouldn’t have.

He looked so earnest. So pitiful. Sandy shrugged. Okay. See you later.

6

Afew days had passed. Sandy looked at herself again in the mirror. It was weird to see herself like that—extra weight, no makeup; just blue jeans and a T-shirt, like she was on her way to the gym or something. She felt as if she had to do something with herself, so she brushed her hair. She tried pulling it back into pigtails and considered the effect. She looked even more young and naive. Pippi gets pregnant. She put in a couple of rubber bands and left it that way.

Eventually, she went to meet Chad. He was waiting at the diner they had agreed on. He looked up as she approached and then looked outside at the street. He hadn’t recognized her. Sandy stopped at his table and waited. Chad looked at her questioningly, and then broke into a grin.

Sandy! I didn’t even recognize you!

Sandy sat down. So, it’s, okay?

It’s perfect. Trust our Sandy to hit it bang on. You ready for this?

Yeah, I’m good.

Sandy bent over the baby carrier and sorted out the straps. The baby had noticeably matured since Sandy had seen her last. She was wearing a little red frock and headband, and a leotard with lacy ruffles over the padding of her diaper.

You may as well leave her there, Chad pointed out.

Sandy shook her head. I’d better look comfortable with her.

Holding the baby, she reached for the diaper bag and opened it up. Everything was neatly arranged, obviously brand new.

You’ve got to be kidding, Sandy said impatiently.

What? He looked at her, not understanding.

Sandy ran her hand through the bag, stirring the contents around. You ever see a diaper bag this tidy? Sandy questioned. It looks staged.

"It is staged," Chad pointed out.

Yeah, but it can’t look like it.

Chad shrugged, and watched her take out various odds and ends, squeezing tubes in the middle, crumpling diapers, spilling dry formula powder and baby powder. She pulled out one of the bottles of water and inexpertly measured formula into it.

She shouldn’t be hungry yet, Chad protested.

Doesn’t matter, as long as she’ll take some, Sandy pointed out, shaking it up.

Why? Chad was obviously lost.

Do I look like a mother? Sandy held the baby against her and offered the bottle.

Well… no… maybe… you’re young, but teen moms… you look good.

The baby, snuggled against Sandy to nurse, sucking noisily, and left a damp spot on her shirt. After a bit, Sandy held her up to her shoulder to burp. She rifled through the diaper bag for a burp cloth, and settled on