Seeing Red

by Dana Dratch

  “When he first arrived here, he wasn’t this calm,” I started. I looked over at Nick, who nodded. “He cried a lot. Almost all the time. Nick and I, we were running flat out to keep up with bottles and diapers and burping and rocking and laundry. There was a lot of laundry.”

  I looked at Nick for encouragement.

  “No breaks, no sleep,” Nick added.

  “How did you manage?” Ian asked, looking down at the contented baby who was dozing off in his arms.

  “Baba,” I said. “Nick went to Baltimore and explained the situation.”

  “Hey, she was happy to help,” Nick said. “And she really knows what she’s doing.”

  “When I found the note, when we realized who J.B.—I mean, Alistair—belonged to, we realized it would be tough for you, too. Anyway, we talked it over with Baba. And if you want, she’s fine with continuing to look after J. . . . uh . . . Alistair, over here until you find his mom or until things settle down a little at the inn. And, in the interim, she can walk you through some of the basics of baby care. Unless you have a lot of experience with babies.”

  Heck, for all I knew, back in jolly old England, Ian could have captained a fleet of nannies who served the royal family itself.

  “I have precisely no experience with babies,” he said, smiling down at the sleeping cherub in his lap. “This is the first time I’ve even held one. If your grandmother wouldn’t mind, that would be wonderful. He’s so small. So fragile. I just don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “You’re going to do fine,” I said, relieved. “You love him. And he clearly loves you. That’s what counts.”

  “I feel like an idiot,” Ian said, beaming. “All I brought for you was a bouquet of flowers.”

  Chapter 26

  When I padded out toward the kitchen the next morning, there was what looked like a log under a yellow blanket on the couch. But this log was snoring. Loudly.

  I assumed Nick was so tired he didn’t quite make it to his bedroom. Since Angie had put in her first order, he’d been working overtime testing out new recipes and techniques.

  Baba, Trip, and I were his guinea pigs, and it was the best job I’d ever had. Even the burned stuff was good.

  And the poor guy was still helping out with Alistair in the wee hours. So if he needed to sack out on the couch, so be it.

  But Lucy wasn’t at his feet. Odd.

  Maybe she’d taken over his empty bed.

  The kitchen smelled like apples and cinnamon. And there was a very large bakery box on the table.

  I half expected the note on the top of the box to say “Eat me.” Because that’s kind of how my life was going at the moment. Instead, in Nick’s scrawly hand, it read: Guys, My latest batch—give it a try and see what you think. Nick.

  I brewed up a big pot of coffee. Between me working at home, Nick’s late hours, Baba in residence, and Ian dropping in to see Alistair, we were gonna need a gallon of caffeine.

  Plus, I hoped it would go well with whatever was in the box.

  I poured a big cup, dumped in some milk, and took a long, satisfied sip. Now all I needed were the newspapers.

  On my way through the living room, I noticed that the snoring sofa log had picked up some volume. And turned over. The blanket no longer covered his head.

  His bald, wrinkled head.

  I blinked hard and stepped closer. It wasn’t Nick. It was Marty Crunk!

  Oh, hell no!

  I ran to Nick’s door and pounded.

  “Sleeping! Go ’way!”

  “Nicholas Edward Vlodnachek, you open this door right now!”

  I heard a scuffling sound. And the click, click, click of Lucy’s nails on the floor.

  When the door opened a crack, I saw one bleary brown eye. “What?”

  “Why is Marty Crunk sleeping on our sofa?”

  “Oh, hell, I thought something was really wrong. Your friend showed up last night. Well, more like early this morning. On crutches. Said his niece was trying to kill him, and he was formally ‘requesting sanctuary,’” Nick said, making air quotes. “All he really needed was a place to stay for the night. So I said he could take the sofa.”

  “He’s not my friend. He’s my, well, I don’t know what he is.”

  Nick looked puzzled. “And?”

  “He’s a superstar at the Sentinel. I met him working on my current gig. He recommended me for it, actually.”

  “So he sounds like a decent guy.”

  “He is a decent guy. I just didn’t expect to find him on the sofa this morning. He’s supposed to be in the hospital.”

  I hoped he hadn’t escaped again. Justin and Arlene were gonna be frantic.

  “He’s been out for a couple of days,” Nick said. “Apparently, that’s the problem. His niece is his caretaker. And she sounds like a real piece of work. Look, talk to him when he gets up. I’m gonna let Lucy out for a quick break, then get some shuteye. I was up ’til almost three. Toward the end I was so tired I was actually imagining things out in the garden again.”

  “How’s the baking going?”

  “Great! Got a new batch for you guys to try. Fresh apple doughnuts. C’mon, you little fuzz-ball,” he said, looking down at Lucy. “Let’s get you outside.”

  “Go back to sleep,” I said. “I’ll take Lucy duty.”

  “Aww, thank you,” he said, yawning. “I’m beat.”

  Lucy, who seemed to realize some sort of transfer had been made, looked up at me expectantly as Nick trundled off to bed.

  “First, a nice walk in the backyard. Then we hit Nick’s doughnuts,” I told her.

  She wagged her tail all the way to the back door. Some days I was convinced the pup understood me better than anybody.

  Lucy and I had a blissful few minutes in the backyard. She frolicked in the ever-growing grass. I vowed to mow the lawn when I had fifteen minutes.

  That’s when the yelling started. I recognized both voices. Baba. And Marty.

  Yikes! I’d forgotten to tell Baba about Marty!

  I raced into the living room. She had him backed into a corner.

  Naked from the waist up, he held the blanket and one crutch over his midsection—partially covering what looked suspiciously like white boxers. His right arm shielded his face, and his sparse white hair was flying in all directions as he dodged Baba.

  For her part, Baba was wielding a large Pyrex baking dish like she meant business.

  “Lady, it’s OK! Oh! Kay!” Marty shouted, bobbing and weaving.

  “Go! Shoo! Leave! You go now!”

  “Baba!” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. He’s a coworker of mine from the paper. He needed a place to sleep last night, and Nick said he could stay here. I just found out about it myself.”

  “Humpff!” Baba said loudly. “Vagrants!” With that, she toddled off to the kitchen.

  “Damn, who was that?” Marty asked, as he wrapped my favorite blanket around his midriff like a sarong. A pair of short, white athletic socks completed his ensemble.

  “That’s my grandmother, and she’s in charge.”

  “Well, sorry,” he said, smoothing down his hair. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes. I got up to hit the head, and suddenly she was coming at me, screaming like a banshee.”

  “Neither one of us knew you were here last night. So it was kind of a surprise.”

  “Shock” would be more accurate.

  “Look, why don’t you get dressed and come on out to the kitchen. I just put some coffee on, and Nick made some fresh doughnuts.”

  “That would be great, kid. Thanks. And I’ll, uh, apologize to your grandma. For, you know, trying to kill me.”

  Marty might be a pest. But he was a fast learner.

  Still, I was gonna have to burn that blanket.

  Chapter 27

  Luckily for me, Baba was all wrapped up with Alistair.

  Not that she was thrilled about the prospect of hosting Marty. For that matter, neither was I.

 
; Baba held Alistair on her lap while she gave him his bottle, singing softly as she rocked him. I recognized the Russian lullaby from childhood. Lucy, who had already devoured her own breakfast—and a doughnut—was curled up at her feet.

  “Would you like more coffee, Baba?” I asked.

  “Da!” she said, smiling as she put a drowsy Alistair on her shoulder to burp. “And one of Nick’s dough apples,” she said.

  “Nuts?” I said.

  “No, apple,” she said decisively.

  “You got it.” I topped off her coffee cup and put a doughnut on her plate.

  We were both just finishing up when Marty swung in on his crutches. This time, dressed, washed, and shaved, by the look of it. He’d even dabbed on a little cologne. Although I suspected he might have “borrowed” it from Nick.

  “I . . . uh, just want to say I’m sorry about before. For showing up out of the blue like that. And for scaring you,” he said, looking at Baba.

  “Humpff!” Baba said, rising and leaving the room with Alistair, who snoozed heavily on her shoulder. Lucy followed.

  “I really am sorry,” he said to me. “After you live on your own for a while, you sort of forget how to live with other people.”

  “How about some coffee?” I said. “And my brother made apple doughnuts. They’re really good.”

  He took a seat, gingerly. The new knee, I was guessing.

  I poured a fresh cup into a big glass mug and set it in front of him. Shuffling through the cabinet, I even found a glass plate that kinda matched.

  “Thanks, kid, this is really great. You saved my life. Literally.”

  “Two newspapers, pick your poison,” I said. “And there’s milk for your coffee, if you need it.”

  “Nah, I drink it black,” he said. “Man, you weren’t kidding about these doughnuts. These from the kid I talked to last night?”

  “Yup, that’s my brother Nick. He’s staying here while he gets settled. He moved from Arizona last month. And he’s starting a bakery.”

  “Sure beats the hell out of hospital food.”

  I’m guessing doughnuts weren’t on his approved diet. In or out of the hospital.

  “Cute baby. Didn’t know you had a kid.”

  “Not mine. We’re just watching him for a friend.”

  Marty’s eyebrows went up an inch. But he didn’t say a word.

  I smelled cigarette smoke. But for the first time since I’d known him, there were no lit cigarettes in his hand.

  “Have you quit smoking?” I ventured.

  “The patch,” he said, pushing up his baby-blue sweatshirt sleeve to reveal what looked like three fat, square Band-Aids. “My doc’s idea. We’ll see how long it lasts. I’ve got the gum, too. But it tastes rank. ’Course, I’m just relieved I can taste anything.”

  “Wow, was it that serious?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. But right after surgery they had me on these meds. Totally wiped out my sense of taste. And smell, too. They said it was only temporary. But, you know. Until it comes back, you wonder. And I do like my chow.”

  “So Nick said you were having some kind of problem with your niece?”

  “Helen? I think she might have been trying to kill me. So yeah, I call that a problem. Hey, you mind if I get a second cup?”

  “Take as much as you like. I’ll make more if we need it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, easing himself out of the chair and hobbling over to the counter. “Man, it’s good to have the high-test again. In the hospital, all you could get was decaf. Instant. And most of the time it was lukewarm. Tasted like brown water. Mighta been, for all I know.”

  Helen may have been trying to kill him, but I was supplying a post-op patient with an unlimited stream of fat, sugar, and caffeine. If something did happen to the guy, I was definitely on the hook as an accessory.

  “So what makes you think she was trying to kill you?”

  “Eh, it was a lot of little things. Part of the deal with this thing,” he said, slapping his knee, “is you have to do your rehab and move around plenty in between sessions, too. But every time she’d bring me a meal, I’d fall asleep. Breakfast Wednesday was the corker. When I woke up, what I discovered convinced me it was time to get out of that house.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It was Friday afternoon.”

  He took a long slug of coffee, and I did the same.

  “The worst part is, I missed two rehab appointments. If I want to get back on my feet—and back to work—I need those. Plus, I don’t want to get a clot,” he said, grabbing the last doughnut out of the box. “That’s the enemy right now. Clots.”

  “Well, yeah, your health is priority one, clearly.”

  Was Helen really trying to kill him? Maybe she was drugging him to keep from killing him.

  Marty must have read my mind.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m no picnic. And Helen has always been a charitable woman. Even if she is a tight-ass.”

  He shook his head and winced. “Her house rules? No drinking. No smoking. No swearing. No books with drinking, smoking, or swearing. No TV with drinking, smoking, or swearing. No cable TV. And no SportsCenter. Even if it wasn’t for the nausea, I had to get out of there.”

  “The nausea?”

  “I had to take some antibiotics for a couple of days after the surgery. To prevent infection. Helen had the prescriptions filled, and she kept the bottles. Doled ’em out like I was a kid who couldn’t be trusted with candy. I was sick as a dog. Thought I’d picked up a bug in the hospital. But then I finally started feeling better.”

  “When you shook the bug?”

  “When I stopped taking the meds. Anyway, when I came to yesterday, I decided it was time to make a run for it.”

  “I gotta ask, why here?”

  “All I had were the clothes on my back. Helen confiscated my luggage, my wallet, my laptop, and my meds.”

  “Well, you do kind of have a history of legging it,” I pointed out, helpfully.

  “Yeah, not with a new knee. Besides, I heard her on the phone with my doc. She’s trying to make it sound like I’m non compos mentis. I didn’t know where she was going with it, but I knew it was time to get out of Dodge. I remembered you lived not too far away. So I had a friend run your name through our circulation database. Got your address. Bing, bang, boom, here I am.”

  Lucky me.

  “Look, one newshound to another, I just need a place to crash for a night or two, while I straighten this out. And I could help you with the column. I mean, who knows more about writing Aunt Margie than me?”

  He looked at me expectantly. Saying “no” would be like kicking a puppy. But if I said “yes,” Baba would kill me. Then him. Baba had no problem with the word “no.”

  Maybe a compromise?

  “What about the B&B across the street?” I asked.

  “Do they have any rooms on the first floor, because right now I can’t handle stairs. And I don’t have any money or credit cards, either.”

  I might have been able to convince Ian to run him a tab. But I knew for a fact that all their rooms were on the second story and above. If the B&B had an elevator, I’d never seen it.

  “We’ve kind of got a full house right now,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding about Alistair—the baby. We’re looking after him for a friend. That’s why Baba is here. We don’t even have any spare beds.”

  “Hey, I’m happy with the sofa. It’s really comfortable.”

  He looked so hopeful. And what if his niece really was trying to kill him? Nick was right. Marty was a decidedly decent guy. A little loopy, but decent. He’d given me a chance to boost my fledging freelance career. And after the week he’d had, he deserved a break.

  “As long as you don’t mind the sofa. Sure, why not?”

  Chapter 28

  I figured the quickest way to get Marty off my couch and back to his natural habitat—whatever that was—was to supply him with the resources he needed. I showed him my hom
e office setup.

  “Nice!” he said. “I like that rolltop desk. And a landline. You don’t see many of those anymore. It’s solid, and you always know where it is. Don’t know why they ever went out of style.”

  What does it say about me that I have more in common with an old curmudgeon than my own peers? But I loved my landline. Last St. Paddy’s Day, when a drunk in an eighteen-wheeler took out the local cell tower, I was one of only two people in the neighborhood with a working phone.

  Of course, Trip pointed out that the other one was a ninety-five-year-old woman with five cats who thinks Nixon is still president.

  “So this is where you’ll find scrap paper, pens, and pencils. I have more notebooks in here,” I said, opening a large drawer in the bottom. “Just help yourself.”

  “If it’s OK with you, I’m gonna call my physical therapist first. I gotta get that back on track.”

  “Let me know if you need a ride,” I said, jogging toward my bedroom. Now for the hard part. I had to break the news to Baba.

  I actually thought about saying nothing. But the minute she hit me with those catlike brown eyes, I’d crack like cheap glass. Besides, I owed her.

  She was tidying up the bedroom. Alistair was asleep in his crib, and Lucy was snoozing nearby. When she started to make the bed, I grabbed the other side of the comforter that served as my bedspread.

  What I’d never tell Baba: Most days, I didn’t even make the bed. I just pulled up the big, puffy indigo comforter.

  “Marty is a good guy. He just had a knee operation. He’s having some problems with his family—his niece. I told him he could stay here for a couple of nights if he sleeps on the sofa. And behaves himself. And wears pants.”

  She stopped fluffing the bed and looked at me. That look could have burned a hole in the wall. I could feel the heat coming to my face. I’m guessing it was redder than my hair.

  “He’s afraid his niece is trying to kill him. I know he seems a little unusual. But he just got out of the hospital. He’s not exactly at his best. And he really is a nice guy. I’m taking over his column while he’s on sick leave. He recommended me.”