Chapter Three
She blended seamlessly into the L.A landscape, with her blonde hair, dark sunglasses, and the fashionable Baby Bjorn strapped across her chest, sporting the infant as if it were the latest accessory. She mounted the steps to the apartment building—not so fashionable as the Bjorn—with chipping paint around the corner of the front doors, barred windows, and a security system that was not reassuring precisely because it was necessary. She entered the code and let herself in before walking down the front hall.
She stopped beneath the flickering overhead light and inserted her key in the mailbox labeled A. Jones. It was a prop, that mailbox; she never expected to receive anything but advertising flyers and credit card offers, and, for the most part, that was all she did receive. But once a week there would be a letter, hand addressed, always to the wrong pseudonym. Jack couldn't keep up with the name changes, even if he could keep up with the addresses.
She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the college-ruled sheet of paper. It said what it always said. "I'm here if you need me. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of the baby too. – Jack." She did what she always did; she folded it back up, replaced it in the envelope, and proceeded to shred it into tiny pieces over the open trash can.
Then Kate climbed the stairs to her third story apartment and turned on the one living room lamp, which emitted just enough light to see with the blinds closed fast. It wasn't that Jack's offer wasn't tempting. She was more alone than she had ever been in all her years of running. But what were they going to do? She was still a wanted felon.
Once the boat had hit shore, she had found herself locked in another showdown with law enforcement, and Sawyer had helped her to escape, the last act of affection, she supposed, he would ever show her. Sawyer himself hadn't been so lucky, she later learned. He had been arrested in Australia in connection with the past murder of a vendor. Kate couldn't imagine his motive. Perhaps he hadn't required one. She'd always felt alternately drawn to and repelled by him because he was too much a mirror of herself. Now she didn't have to choose whether to gaze or walk away. The choice had been made for her. As for Jack…She wasn't going to ask Jack to run like her, and besides, he would only hold her back, wouldn't he?
She walked past the telephone—another prop. It wasn't connected; she had no service, and she used only a disposable cell, which she changed every one or two months. The only people in the world who had her current number were Jack, Sayid, and Sun.
Sun called once a week. When she did, she would drop hints that she was willing to take the baby off of Kate's hands, to provide a loving, two-parent, and above all a settled family. Kate felt badly for Sun, after all the woman had been through, and she knew her child would be better off without her, that it wasn't fair to insist on keeping it while she remained on the run. Nevertheless, Kate continued to ignore Sun's hints.
Jack called twice a week, drunken and ranting, and always she cut him off after a few sentences. Sayid, oddly enough, called every day, deadly sober and concise. Every time their conversations followed the same precise script:
Kate: Hello, Sayid.
Sayid: How is the baby?
Kate: As well as can be expected.
Sayid: How are you?
Kate: As well as can be
expected. How's your wife?
Sayid: There are threats.
Kate: Still?
Sayid: Yes.
Kate: How are you?
Sayid: I had better leave. Take care.
Every day. The same conversation. Kate tried not to think about why Sayid kept calling to ask the same meaningless questions again and again. No doubt it was for the same reason she kept answering.
Kate unsnapped the Bjorn and placed the baby in its pack n' play. There was no point in buying a crib. She bent down and kissed its brow, whispered, "Nighty, night, Huck," and made her way to the kitchen. She walked past a countertop stacked with baby food and a single loaf of bread. She opened the refrigerator door to reveal the neatly arrayed bottles of formula, a half gallon of milk, a package of sliced ham, and a sole apple. She took the apple and sunk her teeth into its yielding flesh.
When her cell phone rang, she recognized Sayid's number. Mechanically, she answered it and prepared herself to carry out their usual routine to the letter. "Hello, Sayid," she said, but this time, he did not ask, "How is the baby?" Instead, he said, abruptly, "I need a place to stay tonight."