the measles."
Of course.
"Is she very sick?" I asked, trying to sound Deeply Concerned. "Just the usual case, I guess." Amina was trying to be brave, not doing a very good job of it. "But she just needs me every minute, or at least she thinks she does. I've been taking her Popsicles and playing games with her all day. Do you think she's a little spoiled? That's what Hugh's mom says." "Only as much as any only child," I told Amina somewhat grimly. I had grown up as an only child.
"We'll take care of that soon," Amina said, with the confidence that comes of getting pregnant on your honeymoon. "Thank God I'm not pregnant now, since I have to take care of her and measles are so scary if you're expecting. Oh hell, I hear her calling. Again."
I cocked an eyebrow. Amina was wearing a little thin in the nursing department. I wasn't surprised. Tall, energetic, and attractive, Amina had always been a person who had to keep moving, had always had a project in the wings and another to keep her currently occupied.
"I'll let you go in just a minute," I promised, "but I need some information first."
"What can I help you with?" Amina's voice had fallen even lower. "What supplies do you need to take care of an infant for maybe two or three days?"
After a moment's thoughtful silence, Amina began, "Four sleepers, about twenty diapers..." I wrote furiously on the notepad I kept by the phone. Bless Amina, she didn't ask any questions. If I wasn't going to get to cry on her shoulder, I might as well not go through the whole explanation. After I hung up and checked on Hayden, I found my coat slung over a chair in the dining room. I put it on and grabbed my purse. Martin and Rory had a football game on in the den. I didn't think either of them could have told me the score if I'd asked, but I wouldn't have put money on it. To make sure I had their attention, I stood in front of the screen.
"Martin," I said, hoping I didn't sound like a total shrew, "the dishes are still on the counter from lunch. Please do them by the time I come back. Rory, you listen for the baby. He's asleep upstairs." They both stared at me groggily, so I didn't move until I had confirming nods from both of them. It was a real pleasure to leave the house.
I turned a country music station up real loud as I drove to that new southern cultural center, Wal-Mart. Somehow, country music seemed to fit the low-down strangeness of the past two days. "My Husband's Niece Done Shot Her Man" - how would that play? Or "Whose Baby Am I Feeding?" Nah, couldn't think of a chorus for that one. What about "There's a Dead Man on My Stairs and a Baby 'Neath the Bed"?
That kept me smiling until I got past the greeter (who happened to be a cousin of my husband's secretary and always had to pass the time of day with me due to that connection), got my cart (known locally as a "buggy"), and set off down the main aisle. I wheeled my buggy toward a corner I seldom visited, the corner full of baby paraphernalia. I had my little list with me, the list I'd scribbled while I was on the phone with Amina, and I studied it with care. I bought: a package of Pampers, a can of powdered formula, some baby bottles, three more sleepers in what I estimated was Hayden's weight range, one rubberized bib, another baby blanket, an extra set of fake keys, and four spare Binkys. I thought pacifiers were the most wonderful inventions on earth, and I planned to boil them and put them in little plastic bags and stow one in my purse, my coat, Martin's coat, and keep the spare in the diaper bag. I paused, my hand resting on a box of wet wipes. I looked down at the fuzzy sleepers in the buggy. Why did Hayden need clothes? I put the wet wipes in the buggy very slowly, wondering. I recalled the look of the apartment, the open suitcase, the spill of clothes.
Clothes for Regina. Not clothes for the baby.
Aimlessly, I began pushing the buggy around the store, trying to figure out what that meant. Regina had known she was going on a trip. But she hadn't planned