by Sosie Frost
And the stump…moved.
Uh-oh.
Was that good or bad? Too soon? I didn’t think the wheezing grandmother would be helpful with any information. I’m glad you’re not one of those sensible mothers—you just reach on in there and yank that sucker out.
Clue fussed a bit more, but I shushed her, reaching for the remains of the cord—
“Want to buy some cookies?”
The Girl Scout had popped up from the other side of the wall in the bushes, brandishing a box of Thin Mints and Samoas. She accidentally brushed against the dirty diaper. Her yell echoed off the building.
“Ew!”
The shrillness startled me. I jerked, the stump popped, and I gasped.
The umbilical cord pinched between my fingers.
And the Girl Scout screamed in abject terror.
The cookies flew from her hands. “You broke your baby!”
I stared at Clue’s belly where the cord had just been. “Oh my god, I broke the baby.”
To her credit, the elderly woman chuckled and sauntered to the Girl Scout. “Just wait until you start grabbing loose teeth. Then the fun begins.”
The Girl Scout bolted, abandoning her cookies and crashing into the cart as she retreated to her friends. The old lady helped herself to the crinkled boxes.
But Clue seemed no worse for the wear though she still desperately needed a new diaper.
Enough was enough. I couldn’t dress her in the soiled clothes, but I could swaddle her up and rush back inside for wipes before the lady convinced me Clue’s birthmark was actually melanoma.
I bolted into the store—baby in a blanket, purse on my shoulder.
Umbilical cord in my hand.
Ew. I couldn’t drop it. Not where civilized society meandered to get their food for the week. I curled it into my fist and tried not to think about which was more gross—the messy kid or the hardened chunk of leftover organ that had grown out of her.
It took five minutes to grab the wipes, head to the checkout, hide the cord, and pay for my initial purchase. I hurried back outside to finish the diaper change.
And I stepped into a warzone.
The parking lot turned demolition derby.
Cars twisted in the aisles, completely jammed in a jagged stream of vehicles throughout the parking lot. An Accord parked sideways as a business man lurched from his BMW, slamming his door. The blue tooth pitched from his ear, bounced through the passenger seat, and skipped across the asphalt. A red-headed spitfire launched out of her Escalade, ready for war. She stared him down, slamming the Baby On Board window decal in his face.
“Have you ever heard of right of way!” She screamed.
He pointed a finger in her face. “You don’t even know what a traffic law is!”
They weren’t the only ones fighting.
A pickup truck attempted a three-point turn while sandwiched between a beat-up van and a pristine, classic Mustang. An impatient SUV had bumped over the curb and swung through the grocery store’s grass onto the main street. He hadn’t made it, and the traffic congestion stuffed through the neighboring boulevard, stopping every car on the block.
Horns blared as two elderly women shuffled from the parking lot into the city, catching their walkers on storm drains. The one swore at the other.
“Come on, Mabel!”
“Ah.” The other gave an exasperated wave of her hand. “You’re always rushing!”
I clutched at Clue. “What in the world…”
Our cart was missing, and with it, my baby’s hand-me-down carrier. The only one I had, and one of the most expensive things for someone to steal.
Though why they’d want a dirtied baby seat…
Then I saw it.
“Oh, no…”
My cart wasn’t missing. In fact…it teetered into the center of all the excitement.
Somehow, my cart had rolled into the parking lot, skipping the first row of cars only to dip into a low spot and gently curving into the second aisle…
Into oncoming traffic.
The senior citizen access bus, to be precise.
“Oh Jesus! Lord Jesus!” The driver scrambled around the bus, trying to wrangle the elderly patrons who scattered in every direction. “Where’s Ruthie? Where’s Mabel? Someone find the baby!”
A flustered business man in a suit dropped a half-eaten container of sushi. He bolted across the parking lot, screaming into his phone. The California rolls splattered into the Redbox machine, and he shouted for a disinterested cart return boy to help.
“You!” Soy sauce showered the sliding doors. “Help! Someone’s stolen a baby!”
“A what…?” The clerk seemed to need another joint before he could comprehend the man. “What baby?”
“The baby in the cart there! I called the police. Get your manager! Maybe there were witnesses!”
Uh-oh.
“Someone took a cart?” The clerk rubbed his face.
“Someone took the baby! The baby was kidnapped!”
Was…he talking about my baby? And here I thought the diaper was bad.
A wail rose from the Girl Scouts at their table. They crawled away, ducking beneath their table and rushing from the cluster of elderly and confused people who had escaped from their bus only to fixate on the cookies at the table.
Boxes were opened. Dentures were removed.
And the bus driver bolted to the sidewalk, attempting to stop an old man from scarfing down his second row of Trefoils.
“Lord Jesus! James, you’re a goddamned diabetic!” The driver attempted to corral his herd back to the bus. “Regina, sit James down before he ruins his sugar!”
“The cookies!” The Girl Scouts wailed.
“The baby!” The business man pleaded with the clerk.
And, with that, I made the executive decision to abandon my shopping and order a pizza for dinner.
I had to get the hell out of here before things got worse…
The wail of a police siren cut across the parking lot. An undercover cruiser roared into the parking lot, flashing its lights and cutting across the grass when the traffic could no longer clear for him. The plainclothes officer raced onto the scene, ripping off his suit jacket and sprinting to the overturned cart and baby carrier. He rapidly radioed to the station and surveyed the scene with fierce, ice-blue eyes.
“Uh-oh, Clue.” I held the baby a little closer. “We might be in trouble.”
The officer looked up.
He met my gaze.
And I was done for.
Shepard studied the carnage in the parking lot and whistled with two fingers to break up a fight between a soccer mom and business man in the far corner.
Then he pointed at me.
Curled his finger.
Busted.
“Somehow…” He gave me a lazy smile as I approached. “Somehow I knew this was your doing.”
I only wanted to buy some bread. “I’m pleading the fifth.”
“I got this call,” he said. “First it was that a senior citizen access bus struck a baby. Then it was a fight in the parking lot of the Shop ‘N Save. Then a kidnapping because no one could find the alleged struck baby…” He pointed to the carrier. “That’s the seat I bought you.”
“Yes.”
“If you didn’t like it, I could have returned it. Didn’t have to throw it into traffic.”
“They only offered store credit.”
Shepard wasn’t amused. “What the hell are you doing?”
I gave up. “I wanted to change her diaper.”
“And instead you caused a traffic jam, a fist fight, and…” He pointed to the Girl Scouts. “Why are they crying?”
“I think the retirement community ate their cookies.”
One of the girls sobbed. “What a-about scuba camp?”
“Jesus.” He shook his head and reached for his radio. “This is 3948. 10-23 on the Shop ‘N Save. GoA on the call. Situation resolved.”
Was it?
&nbs
p; The parking lot had turned disaster. The elderly stole their cookies and migrated back to the bus. The Girl Scouts consoled each other, heartbroken about their one and only chance to swim with Nemo. Clue fussed, in desperate need of a bath.
And I was still holding her damn umbilical cord.
I made a face and uncurled my fist. Had it gotten more leathery?
“What the hell is that?” Shepard took a step back.
“Her…umbilical cord fell off.”
“Why the hell are you holding it?”
I dropped it and wiped my hand on my pants. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, all this mayhem is damn exhausting.”
I prepared to fight, but Shepard laughed, warm and teasing.
It was wrong to enjoy it, but I’d take any comfort I could get.
He brushed a gentle finger over Clue’s chubby cheek. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but you should have seen her inside, fighting for the last fifty-cent a pound ham.”
“Need any help?”
I glanced over the parking lot. “Looks like you have your hands full.”
Why did he have to smile?
Why did he have to stand so tall and gorgeous?
Why did he have to charge into the scene, rip off his jacket, and prepare for a battle against an unknown evil-doer kidnapper?
He still breathed hard, adrenaline pumping, eyes searching the parking lot for anything else that might threaten the innocent people doing their shopping.
He was like my own personal hero. He begged for a chance to save me.
And I refused him. He could help me, but who would rescue us once we made the worst mistake of our lives?
The Girl Scouts rushed over, pointing at the table and the crumbs left behind. Shepard glanced at the senior citizen bus, nodded, and retrieved his wallet.
“I’ll cover what they ate.” He handed the girls a stack of twenties.
The girls stared, astounded at the money in their hand.
“You don’t have any Thin Mints left, do you?” he asked.
The girls pointed to the bus. One old lady whacked another with her cane for getting close to the box.
“Maybe next time.” Shepard winked.
The girls scurried away. I didn’t have that escape. He turned to me, voice caramel smooth and just as sweet.
“What can I do?” he said. “Say the word.”
I was getting tired of refusing him, and the grocery list only grew in my head.
“I might need some diapers tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll stop by tomorrow with diapers.”
A terrible warmth wound its way around my stomach, creeping a little too close to my thudding heart. “Thank you.”
“Need a lift?”
“Something tells me I shouldn’t ride with strangers.”
“Do you really think I’m a stranger?”
I smirked. “Okay then. I shouldn’t ride in the back of a police car.”
“I’ll let you play with my nightstick.”
“And somehow I’ll end up in handcuffs.”
“That’s how most of my nights end…” Shepard laughed. “The bad nights…and the good.”
Dangerous, dangerous thoughts. I wagged a finger at him.
“Behave.” I strapped Clue into the carrier, though neither of us were happy about the environmental hazard staining the material. “I should get her home.”
“I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”
“Remember—no diapers, no dinner.”
“Oh. I get dinner now?”
“Goodbye, Detective Novak.”
He studied me, eyes flashing with a perfect mischief. “Goodbye, Evie.”
Evie.
I turned as a completely inappropriate shiver dashed over my body. It was the first time the name sounded right.
And it wasn’t because I was used to it. And it wasn’t because I liked it.
It was because Shepard called me Evie.
And that thrilled me more than any recovered memory.
5
Ding!
Oh no.
I braced myself, hands poised over the crib inches over the sleeping baby.
Dong!
“You son of a—”
Ding-ding-ding dong!
Clue’s mouth popped open first. The cry echoed off the walls. Feet kicked. Arms swatted. Socks were lost.
Who the hell conducted an orchestra on my doorbell?
It had taken an hour to put the baby down. And I hadn’t had any sleep after a long night of fussing, crying, whining, sniffling, and general irritability—and the kid had been pretty upset too.
The doorbell rang again. More impatient this time.
Fantastic. Did I let Clue cry it out in her crib? That seemed cruel. On the other hand, I only needed to run to the door. But every inch of me ached when she cried, and if holding the baby meant it comforted me, I’d have to rationalize it later.
Now I had to punish the cop responsible for pounding my door down. It should have been a felony to wake a baby.
I yanked the door open. “Detective, I’m going to shove that magnifying glass into a brand-new crime scene—”
Whoops.
The woman in a pastel pantsuit was not Detective Novak—and she didn’t share his patience or sense of humor. Still, she was lucky I didn’t shove the doorbell down her throat.
“Are you Jane Evie Doe?”
The woman spoke like she swallowed her cigarette after her one and only lay. Hopefully the shower sprayer gave her a good time in a lover’s absence. No one was getting close to her puckered gullet, goopy mascara, and judgmental scowl.
“That’s what they’re calling me,” I said.
“Who?”
Wasn’t like anyone scrawled my name on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I might have found it down a dark alley or scribbled on some bounced check, but I still waited for that discovery.
I hesitated. “I’m sorry, who are—”
“And this is the child?” The woman checked the folder in her hand. “Suzette Doe?”
I knew I’d regret that name. “The baby is a prima donna…she’s not responding to it yet.”
“Is that her name or not?”
Three hours of sleep permitted an invited guest three chances to come at me with some common decency. This lady struck out immediately.
I had a baby in my arms but hell if my eyebrow didn’t punch up when I needed a bit of attitude.
“Who wants to know?” I asked.
The lady soured. “My name is Lauren Mills. I work for Child Protective Services.”
Damn it. Now was the time to play it cool. Be polite. Genuflect and hope for the best.
Somehow, I didn’t think that was my game.
I gave it a long pause, just enough to irritate her. “…And?”
The lady sucked in a haughty breath. I didn’t have many instincts or memories, but something told me to tug my earrings out and find the seam for her weave so I knew where to yank.
“I’m here to check on the welfare of the child,” she said.
“She’s fine.”
“She’s crying.”
“You woke her from her nap by playing Beethoven’s Fifth on my doorbell.”
“Were you unprepared for visitors?”
Dangerous question. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“May I come in?”
I had a lot of bad ideas. Grocery shopping without packing extra wipes was not a great plan, but letting this lady anywhere near my child was the shittiest idea of all.
“The baby is fine,” I said. “We’re fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
Clue wasn’t helping the situation, but I bounced her and waited for the fussing to stop.
And waited. And waited.
“She needs a nap,” I finally said.
“Is your baby normally sleep deprived?”
I ground my teeth. “No, but I am, so you best be careful.”
&nb
sp; Lauren gave me a bitter smile. “I’m only doing my job, ma’am.”
“And I’m raising my baby.”
“You’ve recently been in an accident.” She moved on quickly, checking her notes. “Head trauma? Have the complications resolved?”
“I’m doing better.”
“So no further mental impairments?”
It was a good thing I had a baby in my hands. “I never had a mental impairment. I lost my memory.”
“Have you regained it?”
Nope. I wasn’t answering that. “I thought you were here to check on the welfare of the baby?”
She attempted to step foot into my apartment. “I’m here to ensure the child is in no danger.”
“Oh, the baby isn’t in danger.” I edged in front of her. “I can’t say the same about you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“It sure sounds like you’re threatening me.”
Lauren gripped her folder tighter. “I’m here to interview you and do a home inspection. If you please, give me a tour of your apartment. The sooner you comply, the sooner I’ll leave.”
I liked the thought of her leaving, but every hair on my neck rose as I stepped aside and let her in. She surveyed the apartment—beautiful and in pristine condition. Her gaze fell to the fireplace, the large windows, and the hint of the countertops in the kitchen.
“This is your primary residence?” she asked.
“This is where I’m staying to recuperate.”
“You have no income?”
I gritted my teeth. “I just had a baby.”
“So no job?”
Maybe? At one point? I’d sure as hell be fired by now. Or insulted that no one thought to call the police when I didn’t show up for almost three weeks. Talk about a bad office.
“Nothing presently,” I said. “You’ve seen the home, if you would…”
“Then you’ve been subsisting on charity?”
“We’re doing fine with what we’ve been given.”
Lauren wasn’t impressed. “I would like to detail in my report the child’s living environment.”
“Excuse me?”
“A tour, if you would, Miss…Doe.”
She’d need a bulldozer to move me. “If you have a problem, say it. The house is fine. The baby is healthy.”
