Free A Blossom of Bright Light by Suzanne Chazin Page A

Bob.”
    Vega identified himself again and shook the startled man’s hand. Vega wasn’t sure what was startling him, having a cop in his house or having all these kids. Vega realized he’d never gotten the woman’s first name.
    â€œAnd you are?”
    She seemed stumped by the question for a moment, as if she couldn’t recall any name except “Mom.”
    â€œOh, sorry. I’m Karen.”
    The five-year-old must have realized her tantrum over carrots wasn’t having the desired effect. Her parents were preoccupied. So she walked into the living room and began screaming at the top of her lungs. The two-year-old made another pass through the room pushing his fire truck. The baby’s fussing seemed positively blissful by comparison.
    â€œIs Dominga here?” asked Vega. At the mention of her name, the five-year-old stopped screaming.
    â€œDo-ga? Do-ga? Where’s Do-ga? I want Do-ga!” Her two-and-a-half-year-old brother took up the cry while he smacked his truck into a wall.
    Karen smoothed her daughter’s blond hair. “She’s not here, sweetheart.” She turned to Vega. “I’m afraid Dominga doesn’t work for us anymore, much to my children’s disappointment.”
    The little girl kept up her chant. Vega wasn’t sure what was more annoying, her previous tantrum or her new fixation.
    â€œSounds like your children really miss her.”
    â€œOh my goodness, they do! We all do.”
    â€œDo you know where I can find her?”
    Karen gave Vega a wary look. “What is this about?”
    Vega studied the living room. There was nowhere to sit but on the beanbags, no way to talk over those cartoons and the screech of kids.
    â€œIs there someplace we can sit and talk? Perhaps the kitchen?” He knew he could never hope to catch the complete attention of both parents in this house, so he decided to settle on Karen. Women were more perceptive and often more accommodating in his presence. “Mr. Reilly?” he turned to the husband. “Could you keep an eye on your children, sir, while I chat with your wife?”
    â€œUm. Okay.” Bob Reilly looked like he hadn’t quite recovered from the last episode when Karen handed off the baby to him.
    â€œYou can start C.J. and Brody’s bath,” she told her husband.
    Vega felt sorry for the guy.
    The kitchen was small and frilly, with flowery curtains across a window and school calendars and snapshots on the refrigerator. Tiny sneakers lay in a jumble by the back door. The table still had dinner plates across it. Kayla’s carrots sat in a congealed lump on her plate.
    Karen looked embarrassed by the mess and started clearing everything. “Can I get you some coffee?”
    â€œNo thank you, ma’am. I’m fine. And you don’t need to clear anything on my account.”
    â€œI don’t really know how to sit still anymore,” she admitted. “Would you mind?”
    â€œDo whatever you feel comfortable with.”
    She grabbed a stack of plates and began scraping the remnants into the garbage. “You still haven’t told me why you want to find Dominga. She’s a wonderful young woman. I don’t want to get her in trouble or anything.”
    â€œThis has nothing to do with her immigration status, if that’s what you’re concerned about. I just need to know whether or not she’s had her baby. Do you know if she’s given birth yet?”
    â€œNo. I don’t. The hospital might know.”
    â€œHer due date was two weeks ago, but there’s no record she gave birth.”
    Karen stacked the plates in the sink and ran water over them. Upstairs, Vega could hear Bob Reilly trying to maintain order with an army in revolt. The tears and tantrums seemed endless.
    â€œI thought she’d stay in touch with the kids,” said Karen. “You saw Kayla. She adored Dominga. But Dominga just—left—and