The Clone's Mother by Cheri Gillard Page A

mother—was my most valuable asset, my insurance to tide me over if my archaic beast of a hospital ever got shut down. If only he could talk. He could tell me what had happened, since Ollie had spent the ordeal outside. Ollie jumped into my lap, probably jealous that I was eyeing the monkey so closely, and curled up. Guess the near-death stapler incident hadn’t phased him.
    While I let Ollie collect himself—I think he was already asleep—I stopped rocking and leaned back against the wall. My eyes came to rest on the mirror above my credenza.
    The business cards for Howard and Anna’s lawyer were gone. I knew they had been there. I’d seen them both there that morning when I left for errands. I pushed Ollie off my lap and jumped over to the credenza. After I pulled it back from the wall and searched everywhere they could have fallen, I sat back on my stool. They were gone.
    Why would someone bother to break into my apartment and run off with just a couple of business cards? So maybe they weren’t an antique expert and they overlooked my collector monkey statue, but you’d think they’d at least want my George Clooney poster before a couple of business cards.
    Nothing in the rest of the apartment was out of place. But I did find how someone had gotten in. The window off my kitchen by the back fire escape was unlatched. That lock had never worked well.
    The intruder must have come in the window then left out the front door, letting Ollie get out. Or maybe he just put Ollie out so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.
    I didn’t bother calling the police. With shootings about every three seconds in Chicago, the cops had more important things to do than to look for a business card thief. That’s just what a girl living alone in the big city had to deal with. So I got proactive. I found some nails and a shoe with a hard heel and closed the back window permanently.

 
    Chapter 14
     
    Two mornings later, which was Labor Day, Mack called and asked me to go downtown to Millennium Park with him to the jazz festival.
    Guess he wasn’t worried I’d turn out to be a weirdo stalker.
    We had a terrific day. We heard incredible music and ate amazing food. My favorite music was an outstanding band with a singer who reminded me of Sarah Vaughan. As far as food, I couldn’t pick a favorite. Vendors from the best restaurants all over Chicagoland had booths and I ate better than I had all year. The sun was intense and freckles popped out all over my face—Mack said he liked them and he played Connect the Dots with his fingertip—and my nose burned until he bought me a hat. And by evening, when the sun started to give us a break, the atmosphere turned romantic and we sat close to each other on our blanket in the grass as the smooth jazz tunes washed over us. The heat I felt where our bodies touched had nothing to do with solar power. It was all love power.
    At my door again when the time came to say goodnight, Mack kissed me. After such a great day and feeling safe with him, my happy-gauge went nuts. The kiss was long and passionate and my insides waved with desire. I really liked kissing him.
    He stopped a second and said, “You’re beautiful.”
    I laughed.
    “Don’t laugh. You are.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    He looked kind of sad. “Why would you say that? You’re very pretty, very attractive.”
    “Nobody’s ever told me that.”
    “Then Nobody is blind. Don’t listen to him. You are beautiful.”
    He kissed me again and it made me almost believe him. I mean, wow. It was steamy!
    When we stopped, I was a little out of breath and it took a minute to figure out what to do. I thanked him for the great day, then I got all flustered and shy and I felt the heat of a blush rise in my face. I just wasn’t quite ready to go to the next level and invite him upstairs , but of course I had no idea how to communicate it well, so I gave him a quick, awkward hug and dashed inside.
     
    ***
     
    The rest of the week, I worked the day