by Sosie Frost
Brave, brave girls.
I turned to the benches. I couldn’t ask an old man with one leg or a stooped-over old lady to move their two, ten pound bags of birdseed. Besides, some of these people were probably war vets—they’d seen enough in their life without being exposed to the PTSD loaded in Clue’s diaper.
I wheeled my car to the side, parking it next to a curb. A half-retaining wall separated the flowering landscaping from the sidewalk—good enough for a makeshift changing table. I whipped a spare blanket from the diaper bag and laid Clue on the wall.
I forgot to brace for impact.
The scene wasn’t pretty. The disaster had happened quick, but it hadn’t offered much warning. As for survivors? We’d rebuild, but the aftermath of this tragedy would live on. It wasn’t a memory I wanted to keep, but it’d build resilience and character.
And help with the gag reflex.
Clue hated the cold wipe against her behind, but she sure as hell would hate the hammer and chisel I’d need to properly clean the child. She wailed—the only sound most of the elderly could hear. The clanking of a walker echoed behind me.
“Oh, Lord have mercy, look at the little angel!”
The old woman’s voice croaked out the compliment. She probably regretted it the instant she said it.
Angelic? The destroyed diaper did not look holy to me.
I looked away while cleaning what I could, grimacing as something warm touched my hand. Gross. I forced myself to think of anything else.
Kittens. Puppy. Ice cream.
The faint tinkling of ice cream truck music—Turkey in the Straw?—echoed in my head.
Wow, the diaper change went so badly I relived the accident. Damn.
“She sure is crying!” The old lady laughed.
“Yeah…”
I reached for another wipe. My fingers grazed only the cold plastic of the container.
Oh. No. This wasn’t happening.
I thought I had plenty of wipes with me!
Why didn’t I grab a second container?
I could fix this. I’d just…
Toss a new diaper onto Clue, redress her, and run inside the store for more wipes. Yeah. That made sense. Sacrifice a diaper and finish the job.
But what about her dress? I peeled it off the baby and held it up. My beautiful princess dress turned…drippy.
And the elderly woman shuffling at my side stepped right into a slick spot. Her cane flipped, clattering over the half-wall. She shouted and flailed backwards. I dove for her before she did the osteoporosis jig into the sidewalk.
“Easy there!” I steadied her. “Are you okay?”
“Look at those cheeks!”
Apparently, she was fine. The lady reached for Clue. Not sure which cheeks she referred to, but I blocked her hand before she pinched any part of the kid.
“She’s still very little.” I didn’t know if it served as an apology or not, but the baby was fussy enough—literally pissed off and on. She wasn’t dressed, wiggled all dirty, and she wouldn’t appreciate anyone poking at her during one of the worst moments in her life. “Thank you though.”
“What’s her name?”
I thought today I’d try out Shayla—but that was only after I ran though Kylie, Melody, and Alana.
“Clue,” I said.
“She’s so tiny.” The old lady coo’ed at her. “She must not be a good eater yet.”
What? I stilled.
Was she still too little?
Her belly seemed pretty damn chunky. And she certainly hadn’t skipped a meal yet. Clue would probably learn to walk just to raid the tap whenever she could.
“Um…” I swallowed. “The doctors said she was normal.”
“And you. It’s refreshing to see such a natural mother.”
Ha. Natural? “Thanks.”
“All these new parents these days. More concerned with their makeup and clothing than what their baby needs.”
Goddamn it.
I ran a hand through my ponytail. I’d found a scrunchie. That made the day a win.
“Bless her.” The old lady smiled. “Look at this little dear. Just crying it out.”
I didn’t have to look. Everyone with a hearing aid could hear her.
“Good for you,” she said. “So many new mothers coddle their children.”
My self-esteem couldn’t hit a lower low. If the lady wanted to bring me to my knees, all she needed to do was whack me with her cane.
I struggled with the diaper, bundling it a little too tight over her waist. Her umbilical cord had hardened, blackened, and was generally disruptive to anything I tried to do with her. The diaper brushed it a bit too hard.
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?
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, thoug
h 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.
