The Baby Bond (7 page)

He gooed happily, arms and legs waving. Slowly, breath held, she backed to the doorway. So far, so good. She snapped off the light. Only the tinkling lilt of Brahm’s lullaby shimmered in the quiet.

With a relieved exhale, she tiptoed down the hallway and fell facedown, still fully dressed, on a down comforter that had cost three days’ pay. Normally fussy about anything on top of that cover, right now she was too tired to care.

From the monitor at her bedside came the continuing sounds of lullabies and baby noises. All was well in the nursery. Maybe tonight was the night Alex would sleep.

Cassidy thought about getting up to read her devotional, something she hadn’t done since Alex moved in. Instead, she muttered a half-baked prayer, eyes closed, body beginning to float away. Thank goodness. Rest.

The banshee cry shot a stinging bolus of adrenaline into her brain. She sat straight up.

“No. Please,” she whimpered like a kicked pup. “Don’t cry.”

But the sounds from the monitor grew louder and more furious.

“What could he want?” He was fed, changed, warm. What could be wrong with him?

Cassidy brushed limp hair from her face and stumbled into the baby’s room. “What is it, sweetheart? Tell Aunt Cassidy.”

If only he
could
tell her. If only she understood his signals. Janna always said she could tell the difference between every cry.

“Not me.” Every cry sounded the same—painful to the ears and nerves.

Maybe she didn’t have the mother gene. “Lord, I’m trying. Show me what to do.”

Such a pathetic prayer, she almost felt guilty for praying it.

“I want to make him happy. I want to be a good mom.” She lifted Alex’s stiff, screaming body against her shoulder. “I love you, Alexander Brown. I love you.”

She began to swing her body back and forth, back and forth in what she hoped was a soothing rhythm. Alex kept crying.

Out on her feet, ready to collapse, she considered taking him into her bed. But if she lay down on the bed with him, she might fall asleep. Wasn’t that a bad thing to do? Wouldn’t she be in danger of rolling on him or something horrid like that?

Alex stiffened his whole body, pushing back from her shoulder to scream into her ear. His red, contorted face indicated something was wrong. But what?

She slid into the rocker again. What if she rocked herself to sleep and dropped him? The high-pitched crying rose a notch. Not much chance of falling asleep right now.

Arms heavy, head aching, she rocked and prayed. Alex found no comfort.

Her heart ached, too, knowing that Janna would have known what to do. Brad and Janna should be here, loving their baby, tending to his needs, not her. Not a workaholic aunt whose only venture into caregiving was a dozen exotic house plants.

She needed help. But who? Last night, she’d phoned every coworker she could think of. Some had laughed at her. Some had offered advice that hadn’t worked. The trouble was, most of her friends were single.

“I know you miss your mommy, Alex.” Tears pressed at the back of her eyelids. “I miss her, too.”

Alex jerked his knees to his chest and screamed.

Cassidy paced to the front window, murmuring words of comfort and slips of prayers. Light from an apartment below and to the right of hers beamed like a beacon of hope.

James and Marla were still awake. Maybe they would have an idea.

Desperate, Cassidy muttered, “Any port in a storm.”

The late April night was glorious. Usually, she would have sat out on the stairs and breathed in the scent of blooming lilacs and watched a handful of cars slide past. Not tonight.

In minutes she was pounding on the door of the apartment below. Loud barks greeted her as the door opened.

“Cassidy, hello.” Marla was in her robe. The tiny woman of Thai heritage looked back over her shoulder toward the living area. “It’s Cassidy, honey.”

An indistinguishable male rumble answered.

Dismay drifted through Cassidy. She shouldn’t have come. “Were you already in bed? Marla, I’m so sorry.”

“No problem. We were watching
The Late Show.
” She waved Cassidy inside. “What’s going on?”

As if she couldn’t tell, Alex lifted his face from Cassidy’s shoulder, went momentarily silent while he took a long, searching look at Marla and then belted out another cry.

Two fat English bulldogs plopped onto their bottoms, heads cocked to one side in fascinated silence.

Marla’s exotically beautiful eyes looked at Alex as if he were a Martian. “Why is he crying so hard?”

Cassidy’s face crumpled in disappointment. “I was hoping you might know.”

“Me? My babies are bulldogs, Cassidy, not humans.”

“I know, but…” At a loss, Cassidy puffed out a sigh. “I guess I was desperate.”

A tinkle of laughter erupted from Marla’s lips. “To come to me, you surely were. I never even babysat.”

“Me neither.”

“Want me to hold him for a minute? You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I am.” Tears burned Cassidy’s eyes as she handed him off. “I love the little guy. I’m just not a very good mother.”

“Hey.” Marla patted Cassidy’s arm. “Give it some time. This is new for both of you.”

“Maybe I should take him to the hospital,” Cassidy said.

“Is he sick?” Marla’s voice rose above Alex’s crying.

“I don’t think so. Anyway, he was all right when I picked him up at day care and they said he’d had a good day.”

She didn’t add that this was after she’d “dropped by” the place four times on unannounced visits. Every time he’d been asleep. She’d started to wonder if they drugged him. He certainly didn’t sleep like that for her.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t know. It seems pointless to take him to the emergency room for crying. What about a nice cup of chai?”

Cassidy’s humor returned. “For me or Alex?”

Marla giggled. “Both of you. That’s my solution anytime I’m upset. Chai, massage, pray.” She held up a finger. “Good idea.”

The tiny woman turned and yelled, a surprisingly loud noise coming from such a small body. “James, come in here. We need to pray with Cassidy.”

Cassidy realized then that this was really why she’d come downstairs to the Taylor’s place. James and Marla were the only other believers she knew in the apartment complex. The three of them, along with Janna and Brad, had shared a monthly cookout, Bible study and time of fellowship. She needed her neighbors even more now that Janna and Brad were gone.

James, a blond giant as opposite as could be in looks from his tiny, dark wife, padded barefoot into the living room wearing baggy shorts and a T-shirt. Both bulldogs jumped up,
tags jingling, to greet him. He placed an enormous hand on one’s head.

All this time, Alex continued to fuss, sometimes quietly, sometimes with earsplitting cries.

Marla, her face an amusing mix of horror and compassion, handed Alex off to her giant husband. Again, Alex stopped crying long enough to examine the new stranger. The two bulldogs sniffed at the baby’s dangling feet.

“Let’s pray while he’s quiet,” James said. Before Cassidy could get her eyes closed, he began. “Father God, Cassidy is new at this parent stuff. She needs some help. Guide her, give her wisdom.”

“And some sleep,” Marla said. “Every night.”

“Yes, Lord,” James picked up the tag-team prayer. “And help Alex adjust to his new situation and sleep like a baby, too. In Jesus’ name.”

All three said, “Amen.”

“He isn’t crying.” Marla stroked a tiny, pink-nailed hand over the back of Alex’s smooth, round head.

“Is he asleep?” Cassidy asked. Please say
yes
.

James leaned away from the baby and looked down. “No. Wide awake. One out of two isn’t bad. At least he’s quiet.”

“For now,” Cassidy said, taking him from the man’s arms.

Though she hadn’t accomplished anything as far as understanding Alex’s problem, Cassidy felt better. James and Marla were unorthodox in some ways, but they had hearts for God.

“Thanks, guys.” She turned to leave. “Go finish your show. I hope you haven’t missed too much.”

“We’re good. TiVo,” James said with a grin. Cassidy noticed the remote protruding from his T-shirt pocket. “This thing with Alex will work out. Don’t worry.”

Easy for him to say.

With a bulldog at either side, he opened the door and all
three faces—one large human and two fat canines—kept guard while Cassidy walked down the sidewalk and up the stairs to her apartment.

A siren split the night. Cassidy shivered and slammed the door, locking it. Someone somewhere was in danger.

Alex’s fussing started up again.

So much for bothering the neighbors. But they had prayed, and with her fuzzy brain of late, her own prayers seemed to bounce off the ceiling. She only hoped God was listening and would show her what to do.

The sirens grew louder, reminding her of that tragic night and of Nic Carano.

She didn’t want to think about it or about him. The fire had brought back terrible memories of the time she’d been alone and terrified, trapped under a mountain of rubble while the smell of death and distant smoke moved ever closer.

She shivered. For years, she’d tucked away the fear, but Janna’s death had brought the memories back with a vengeance. Everyone she loved died tragically. Though in different ways, fire had been involved both times.

Fireman Nic was a reminder she didn’t need.

But his family had brought her a baby book filled with advice. She’d been too busy and tired to read it.

The Caranos. Her exhausted mind drifted to Rosalie, the warm earth-mother woman whose babies probably had never cried. Like some sitcom mother of the fifties, Rosalie would have cradled one child, fed another, played with two others and baked a delicious Italian dinner for the family, all while running a bakery single-handedly and keeping a pristine house.

Nic’s mother would know what to do with a baby who cried and refused to sleep at night.

A teensy bit of guilt nagged at her. Nic had phoned a few
times. She hadn’t answered or returned his calls. He probably thought she was a snob. How could she explain that who he was and what he did for a living struck terror in her heart?

She couldn’t, of course. Her fear was irrational.

Hopefully, Nic considered that she was busy adjusting to a baby in the house.

The notion almost brought a sob. Adjusting? No one was adjusting around here. Her work suffered. Her appearance suffered. Even her miniature lemon tree was droopy.

How had Rosalie Carano become a superwoman?

With Alex against her shoulder, she paced, trying to remember what she’d done with Nic’s phone number.

When she found the slip of paper in the bottom of her purse, her shoulders sagged.

She had no right to call him. She didn’t want to call him.

But who else?

She battled her conscience. It was too late at night to call anyone. She’d already bothered the neighbors. And phoned her handful of good friends.

Alex shuddered against her, then wailed louder.

Was it incredibly rude of her to call a man she was trying to avoid?

More like incredibly desperate.

A guy like Nic would either be on duty at the fire station or out having fun. He would be awake. She could find out from him if it would be all right to call his mother.

Though aware that her brain was not working on all cylinders, Cassidy dialed anyway.

The line
brrred
in her ear. Twice. Three times. Cassidy bit her lip. What if she got his voice mail? What would she say? “Nic, I need your mother. Alex won’t go to sleep, and I’m about to die over here?”

Pathetic. A stupid idea.

She must have been delirious to even consider calling Nic Carano.

Ready to hang up, she was lowering the receiver when a
snick
sounded.

A slightly slurred voice, deep and grumbly, muttered, “Party Central.”

N
ic pushed back the blanket and sat up, pressing the receiver to his ear. What was that racket? After the trip to Galveston, he had been dead asleep and had considered not answering the phone at all. Now he was glad he had. Someone was in trouble.

“Who is this? What’s going on over there? Do I need to call 9-1-1?”

He swung his feet over the side of the twin bed—the same twin bed he’d slept in since he was twelve. His high-school baseball trophies still lined a shelf in the corner.

Sheesh,
he thought.
Nic, when are you going to grow up, man, and break out of here?

“Nic, I need your help.”

The voice sounded familiar. Fumbling with the lamp at his bedside, he clicked on a light and squinted at the caller ID.

“Cassidy?”

“I’m sorry to call this late. You’re probably busy.”

Busy? His blurry eyes found the clock. Yeah, he was busy. Catching
Z
s. “Not busy at all. Just got back from the beach. What’s going on over there?”

And why are you calling me?
Not that he was complaining about hearing from her, but the timing was weird. Real weird.

“Alex won’t stop crying.”

Nic’s ego whimpered. No woman had ever called to tell him about a crying baby. “Give him a bottle, maybe?”

“I did. I changed him. I rocked him, I walked him. I’m dying, Nic.” The desperation in her voice was apparent. “I haven’t slept in a week because Alex cries all night. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Nic had visions of the breathy, gushing phone call he’d dreamed of getting from the sleek blonde. This was not it.

He got up and stumbled around his bedroom, kicking a lump of clothes out of the way, rubbing his chest as he shook off the cobwebs of sleep.

Certain he was missing something in this conversation, he asked, “Want me to come over?”

“No!”

“You said that too fast. Broke my heart right in half.”

“Nic. This isn’t funny. Is your mother up? I thought she might be able to give me some advice, but I didn’t want to wake her.”

She hadn’t minded waking him though. Hmm. Interesting.

Suddenly wide-awake and feeling zippy, Nic said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”