comparison to my frenzied desire for Hayden to shut up.
I wished Martin would stir himself to help me, but he was standing with his hands on the Mercedes hood, looking out into the night, that odd introspective look still on his face.
The baby's diaper bag, feeling considerably lighter, was lying on its side in the middle of the floor. I was glad to see it. I looped the strap over my shoulder and carried the shrieking Hayden on yet another trek into our house. I was utterly unable to think of what to do next. But Hayden wouldn't stop crying.
I tried to reason through all the noise. He must be wet, or hungry, right? Or both. Wasn't that generally what was wrong with babies? I opened his diaper bag and pulled out one of the disposable diapers Regina used. Then I had to figure it out, since I'd never even examined such an item, much less put one on a baby.
When I thought I understood the thing, I ripped a paper towel off the roll and spread it on the kitchen table where we ate most of our meals. I plopped Hayden down on the middle of the towel and began to unsnap his sleeper, which seemed incredibly complicated. I extricated his kicking legs with great difficulty, peeled open the tabs holding the diaper shut.
Whew. He did need a fresh one.
I had to clean him off. What with? I couldn't take my hands off him. What if he rolled off the table? This problem absorbed me so thoroughly that the sirens of the arriving cars were only background noise. My free hand found a plastic box in the diaper bag. I flipped it open and found premoistened towelettes inside. Yahoo!
After a few more strenuous minutes, Hayden was clean and rediapered... more or less. He was whimpering now, and I knew he'd break out into screaming again if I didn't solve whatever other problems he had. Hunger seemed the most likely, and I remembered Regina preparing the bottles that afternoon. God bless her, I thought. If she left me bottles for this baby I'll forgive her, no matter what else she has done.
There were four bottles in the refrigerator. I heated one up in the microwave as Regina had shown me, and I wondered if she had foreseen her departure when she made such a point of telling me how to prepare the bottles, how to test them for temperature.
The idea that Regina might have known she'd be leaving was so unpleasant I was sorry I'd thought of it. I put Hayden in his infant seat, which I found in the living room and carried back into the kitchen, and held his bottle to his mouth. Hayden did the rest. I slumped in a chair, my forehead resting on my hand, my other hand holding the bottle in the right position (I hoped). I heard feet tramping up the steps to the kitchen door, and I knew it was time to answer questions. I looked down at Hayden who was pulling on the bottle as if it were the answer to all the troubles of the universe. I wished I could have one.
Chapter Three
After an hour or two of the county cops coming in and out, I was so exhausted, angry, and horrified that I could hardly put two words together, much less come up with coherent answers. Martin was outside most of the time, but he came through the kitchen with Sheriff Padgett Lanier following close on his heels. They went into the study across the hall and didn't come out for ages. I passed the dreary time trying to resnap Hayden's sleeper, holding him, and trying to burp him, something I recollected you were supposed to do to babies after you fed them.
"You need to hold him up a little," said one husky young man in the khaki of the sheriffs department. "I got a four-month-old," he added, to establish his credentials. I shifted the warm bundle cautiously, offering it to him. "And you need to have a diaper over your shoulder," he continued helpfully. I passed him a cloth diaper from the bag just in time. Hayden smiled and burped formula all over the diaper. The young man smiled back at him and handed the child to me. I held out my arms reluctantly. I was unused to the baby's weight and my shoulders were already aching.
Then I was horrified by how spoiled I must be, since