Come Fly With Me.... Fiona Brand
Weren’t there environmental laws about noise? No one seemed to have told this little guy.
He changed him over to the other shoulder. This had been going on for the past fifteen minutes. What on earth had gone wrong?
He screwed up his face. Why was he even thinking that? He knew exactly what had gone wrong. The little guy had nearly finished the entire bottle without burping once. And according to what he’d read on the internet—that wasn’t good.
He tried to switch off from the screaming. Tried to focus his mind elsewhere. Who would leave a baby outside in the cold?
The thought had been preying on his mind since the second Carrie had found the baby. Sure, he’d done the cop thing and made a half-hearted attempt to look for the mother—to see if someone was in trouble out there.
But truth be told—he wasn’t that sure he wanted to find her.
Some people just weren’t fit to be parents. Fact.
He was living proof and had the scars to back up his theory.
Even twenty-five years ago social services had tried to support his mother to keep him, when the truth of the matter was they should have got him the hell out of there.
Thank goodness his grandmother had realised what the scars on his back were. The guys in the station thought they were chicken-pox scars, and he wasn’t about to tell them any different. But cigarettes left a nasty permanent burn.
The expression on Carrie’s face had said it all. She’d felt compassion; she’d felt pity for the person who’d left this baby behind. He felt differently. Maybe this little guy was going to get the start in life he deserved.
There was a light tap at the door, then it was shouldered open. Carrie—with a wooden crib in her hands.
She wrinkled her nose at the noise. ‘What did you do?’ She crossed the room and sat the crib at his feet. Had she been with Mrs Van Dyke all this time? It was the only place she could have got the crib.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fed him.’
She shook her head. ‘He shouldn’t be squealing like that. Give him here.’ She held out her arms and he hesitated. What was going on? This woman had hightailed it out of here as if there were a fire licking at her heels. Now she was back as if nothing had happened?
He placed his hand protectively on the little guy’s back. ‘What happened, Carrie?’ He didn’t care how blunt it sounded. He didn’t care how much help he really wanted right now. He needed her to be straight with him.
She looked him straight in the eye. But he could see it—the waver. The hesitation in her blue eyes. ‘I needed a little space for five minutes. And now—I’ve had it. I spent a little time with Mrs Van Dyke. She’s great. I wish I’d had the opportunity to speak to her before today.’ She walked over to the sink and lifted one of the pacifiers out of the sterilising solution. ‘Has this been in there thirty minutes?’
He glanced at the clock and nodded, watching as she put the pacifier in the baby’s mouth and lifted him from his shoulder. ‘Let’s try something else, then.’ She sat down on the sofa and laid the baby across her lap, face down, gently rubbing his back.
Dan looked at the crib and shook his head. ‘I hadn’t even thought about where he was going to sleep.’
Carrie smiled. The kind of smile that changed the whole expression on her face. There it was. That little glimpse again of who she could be if she let herself.
‘Neither did I. I asked Mrs Van Dyke if she had any clothes and it was she who suggested the crib.’ She peered over at him as she continued to rub the baby’s back. ‘We don’t have a mattress, though. Do you have something we could put inside?’
Dan tried to rack his brain. ‘What about those new towels? We used one earlier, but I have plenty left. I could fold some of them to make a mattress for the crib.’
‘That sounds perfect. I don’t have a lot of clothes. A few cardigans, some embroidered vests and some socks. She also gave me a beautiful crocheted blanket. It looks brand new.’
The baby had stopped crying. Dan turned his head just in time to see a little pull up of the legs and to hear the loudest burp known to man.
‘There we go. Is that better, little guy?’ Carrie had turned him over and lifted him up again, staring him in the face. She put him back on her shoulder and kept gently rubbing his back. Her tongue ran along her lips. ‘I remember somebody mentioning that trapped wind makes a baby cranky.’
Dan let out a snort. ‘Cranky? You call that cranky? You only had to listen to five minutes of it.’
She bit her lip. ‘Yes, I know. Sorry.’ He could see her take a deep breath. ‘I find this difficult, Dan. And I’m not sure I’ll be much help.’ She stood up and walked over to the window with the baby on her shoulder. ‘I can’t help feeling really sorry for whoever is out there. Why didn’t they think they could take care of their baby? I wish I could help them.’
There it was again. The sympathy vote. The thing he just couldn’t understand.
‘Maybe they don’t want our help. Maybe they just weren’t designed to be a parent. There’s a good chance they didn’t have any prenatal care for the baby. Why on earth would they leave a baby on a doorstep? They didn’t even ring the doorbell! This little guy could have frozen out there—he wasn’t properly dressed or even fed. No diaper. He could have died during delivery. This isn’t a person who wants a baby, Carrie. This is a person who has no sense of duty or responsibility.’
She spun around. ‘You don’t know that, Dan. You don’t know anything. This could be an underage girl’s baby. She might have been terrified to tell anyone she was pregnant—afraid of the repercussions. What if she was abused? What if she lives with her abuser? Have you thought of that?’
He was trying not to get mad. He was trying not to shout. He took a long, slow breath, his eyes lifting to meet hers. ‘It could also be the baby of someone who wasn’t interested in prenatal care. Someone who wasn’t interested in making sure their baby was delivered safely. Someone who doesn’t really care what happens to their baby.’
There was a tremble in her voice. ‘You don’t know that, Dan.’ She looked down at the baby. ‘You don’t know anything. I just can’t imagine what would make someone dump their baby on a doorstep. But I’ve got to believe they were desperate and wanted their baby to get help.’ Her hand stroked the baby’s head. ‘A baby is a precious gift. I don’t know any mother who would give their baby up willingly.’
‘Then I guess our experiences of life are different.’ The words were out before he knew it. No hesitation. No regrets.
Her eyes met his. It was as if she was trying to take stock of what he’d just said. As if she was trying to see inside his head.
He gave himself a shake and walked over next to her. ‘I agree with you, Carrie. I think babies are precious and they should be treated with respect. So I think we should do something.’ He lifted his finger and touched the baby’s cheek.
‘What?’
‘I think we should give our baby a name.’
SHE LOOKED STUNNED.
As if he’d just suggested packing up the car and heading off into the sunset with a baby in tow.
‘What? We can’t keep calling him “the little guy”. You know what happens with abandoned babies. At some point somebody, somewhere gives them a name.’
‘But we don’t have any right. This isn’t our baby.’ She gave a little shake as if the thought was too alarming.
‘Actually, right now, he is our baby. And