definite touch of the surreptitious.
We watched him go with relief.
"If he had two thoughts at one time, they'd throw a surprise party," Martin said mysteriously, and I nodded.
"The question is, is he bad or good underneath the stupidity?" I said.
"I don't think he's smart enough to be bad," Martin said. The same streetlight made my husband look hard and angry. Really, he was just tired and grumpy. Maybe.
"You don't have to be smart to be bad," I reminded him. It was too late, and we were too tired, to cope with any surprises the farmhouse might have to offer. We checked into the Holiday Inn, staggered to our room with all the paraphernalia the baby required. Martin set up the portable crib while I changed Hayden, who rejected another bottle. There was a little refrigerator in the room, so I stuck the bottle in there, laid Hayden in the crib, and patted him on the back until he fell asleep. By that time, Martin was in bed. I felt like an elephant had rolled over on me and lain there for hours. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and crawled in beside him. Two hours later Hayden woke up.
I was standing beside the crib when I attained consciousness.
Hayden was hungry.
The formula was cold, and there was no way to heat it. Finally, I tucked it in my nightgown next to my body - you can imagine how good that felt - and held Hayden and jiggled him in the room's straight chair, trying Binkys and bouncing and humming with no effect. When the formula was slightly less chilly, I stuck the nipple in Hayden's mouth, and after a brief protest, the baby began to suckle.
Martin slept all the way through this.
In the morning, when he shook me by the shoulder - very gently - I buried my face in the pillow.
"Roe," he said, kissing me on the cheek, "it's nine o'clock, and the baby's awake."
"Take care of him."
"I changed his diaper," Martin observed, trying not to sound proud and failing.
"I think he's hungry, and there aren't any bottles." "Go to the store, and see if they sell formula already made up," I advised. "Or take him to Craig's aunt and uncle and let them worry about it." Martin heartlessly laid Hayden on the bed by me, and I raised my head enough to see his tiny finger waving. He made his little "eh" sound. His cheek was close enough to kiss, so I did, inhaling the now-familiar baby smell. I could hear the diaper rustle, and knew Martin hadn't put it on snugly enough. Oh, hell. I sat up, groggy as it is possible to be. "I was up with him last night," I said, fixing Martin with as baleful a stare as I could scrape together. "While you slept," I emphasized, in case he hadn't gotten the point. I could not find any trace of sympathy for Martin in my heart. It didn't make any difference that his niece was missing and her husband dead. He'd had what I hadn't - undisturbed sleep.
"I'll go look," he said hastily. "What kind should I get?" I made him write it down. Hayden was beginning to escalate in his demands. "And hurry," I added, in case he hadn't gotten that point. There was no going back to sleep. I found a Binky, stuck it in Hayden's mouth, rejoiced to find that pacified him at least for the moment. I dashed into the bathroom, took a hot and sketchy shower, scrubbed my teeth again, and was appalled at the amount of makeup I needed to make myself look healthy this morning. I pulled on tobacco-brown slacks and a sweater of a deep yellow that I believed was called goldenrod. I took a moment to sit down on the bed and do some research with the local phone book. Then I finished rigging myself out with my rings, a chain, some earings, my gold-rimmed glasses, and socks and loafers ... By the time I'd finally put myself together, Martin was coming back in the room with a bag. It contained clean bottles and a few cans of ready-made formula.
"You wouldn't believe what I had to pay for this," he said with some indignation.
"I don't care. Did you get a can opener?" I asked tensely. He produced one from the bag with an air of triumph, and I gave him a heartfelt kiss on the cheek. He was about to go for something more