Rock-a-Bye Bones by Carolyn Haines Page A

alive. If you know where she is, you’d better spill it. She deserves to know her baby is safe.”
    â€œWhat if she doesn’t care?”
    â€œI don’t think that’s the case, Jitty. I think Rudy Uxall stole Libby. Now why he did such a thing, only to leave the baby on my doorstep, I can’t answer. But I’m going to find out. That’s one thing I promise you. And if Pleasant doesn’t want her child, maybe she will let Tinkie and Oscar adopt her.”
    â€œWhat about you? You found her.”
    Jitty had baby fever worse than Tinkie. “She’s a baby, not a cookie. It isn’t finders keepers. Tinkie and Oscar can give the baby things I can’t. They’ve made an appointment for her at Boston Children’s Hospital. That’s way out of my reach.”
    â€œWho are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
    Jitty was wise beyond her years—and she was old. “I’m a single person with a job that requires long absences. Tinkie and Oscar can afford a private nanny or whatever Libby needs.”
    â€œAnd what about love? Who can give that the best?”
    The question stopped me, because it was one that needed an answer. “I don’t think Tinkie can love her better than I can. Love can’t be quantified that way. I think Tinkie will choose to make the time to love her.” I squared my shoulders. “I don’t know that I’m ready to make that sacrifice yet. Libby deserves someone who is ready.”
    I almost cringed, expecting the barrage of recriminations Jitty was sure to fire off. From the first day I’d come home to Dahlia House, she’d been all over my ass to get pregnant and have an heir. Libby wasn’t my flesh and blood, but if she was adopted, she’d be the legal heir. There would be Delaneys to reside in Dahlia House for the future.
    â€œYour mama said the same thing when she got pregnant, Sarah Booth.” Jitty had grown pensive, and the Ma Barker persona was again replaced with the mocha-tinted beauty of my haint. “I remember when she told your daddy she was pregnant. She worried that she wouldn’t have the focus to be a good mother. She wanted to accomplish things, to fight for justice, to organize literacy groups, and if she were alive right now, she’d be fighting against the corporate chemical companies that spray poison over the cotton. But when push came to shove, she chose you.”
    I’d never doubted the love my parents had shown me. One of the bitterest realities of life was summed up in one of Aunt Loulane’s old adages—you can’t miss what you’ve never had. And I had had that rarest of things, complete and unconditional love. And, boy, did I miss it.
    â€œWhy didn’t they have another child?”
    â€œI don’t know. It would have been easier for you—their death—if you’d had a brother or sister to share the sorrow. Loulane was a godsend and a remarkable woman, but she was an older generation. Young grief is the most intense and the most damaging. As we age we learn to handle loss with more ease, because we’ve accepted the process. We are born to die. But to a young person, that kind of death is like being skinned alive.”
    Jitty was far wiser than even I’d suspected. “I wish I’d had a sister.”
    â€œAunt Loulane would have been institutionalized.” The pity party was over. Jitty was back on track, reminding me that I could be a pain in the butt. “Two children as headstrong as you, it would have put her in the hospital.”
    â€œMaybe I would have been the evil one and the other would be the good sister.”
    â€œNot a chance. Your mama encouraged you to be independent and to get things done. That combination always leads to a willful, determined child. A sibling would have been no different. But just know that you were chosen. You were wanted from the moment of conception. Libby and