"Pick up the baby," I said to Martin.

"What?" he said, turning to me with an automatic smile. "I can't hear you, the baby's crying."

I hadn't had a cup of coffee.

"Pick ... up ... the ... baby," I said.

Martin was so surprised he put down his mug, picked up the baby. I took the bottle from the microwave and shook it. I tested some formula on my arm. It was the right temperature, as far as I could tell. I handed the bottle to Martin, who had to free his left hand to take it. I left the room.

I stomped across the hall, or at least I tried to, but stomping is uphill work in fuzzy slippers. I stuck John's hospital phone number by the desk telephone. I flung myself down sideways on the red leather sofa, my back braced against one armrest, and stared out the window at the nasty gray cold windy day. That was exactly how I felt inside, I fumed, nasty and cold and gray. Maybe not windy.... Then all my rage turned into something much more immediate as a head appeared between the back of the couch and the window. It was the head of a young man, a blond and handsome young man, and his expression was groggy. "Hey," he said. "You're Aunty Roe? I thought you'd be old. Where's the kid?"

I shrieked and set a record for bounding off red leather couches. Martin was hampered in his rescue attempt by the baby. He looked ready for action when he appeared in the doorway, but the effect was spoiled by the feeding Hayden. Martin shoved baby and bottle into my arms and stood waiting. He was spoiling for a fight, which the young man was just perceptive enough to see. "Hey, man, it's okay, didn't Regina tell you I was here?"

We stared at him.

It gradually sank into his dim consciousness that something was drastically wrong.

"So, where's Craig?" he asked uncertainly, working his way out from behind the couch. He proved to be not much over five-eight, and he was wearing ancient blue jeans and a none-too-clean flannel shirt hanging open over a T-shirt. A golden stubble made his face look dirty. But he didn't look threatening. He had an aura of amiable stupidity that I came to learn was, to some extent, quite accurate. Martin and I exchanged glances.

"Did you come here with Craig?" Martin asked, as if the answer were not important.

"Sure, didn't he tell you?"

"Was Regina expecting you?" I asked next.

"Well, no. She didn't expect Craig to get out early, but the jail got real crowded, and Craig really toes the line when he's in, so they released him early."

There was so much in this sentence to absorb that we just stood and stared. Visibly unnerved, the stranger tried to fill the silence with chatter. "See, after we stopped for some beer at that liquor store on the main drag, we had to help this lady who was having trouble with her car. And then we got here, but all of a sudden I was feeling really really tired. I never felt anything like that. So we came over here to this house, and Regina was in the kitchen with the baby, and she and Craig started fighting right away, you know, and I could see this couch across the hall while I was standing there listening to them, and I was so sleepy I just came in here and lay down. That's the last I remember, except I had a dream about hearing someone scream, and I musta hid." We exchanged glances again.

"Ain't you ever going to say nothing? You are Regina's aunt and uncle, right? Though I got to say, lady, you don't look old enough to be anyone's aunt." He grinned at me, or tried to, but by now it was so obvious something was wrong that his grin was only a shadow of what it could be. Martin scowled. I am less than thirteen years younger than he, but I look even younger than that. The same genes that are keeping my mother's skin smooth at fifty-seven are being equally kind to me, and I'll never be taller than my present inadequate height.

Hayden finished the bottle. I put him up to my shoulder to burp and began patting, trying to think of what to say next.

"Martin is Regina's uncle and I'm Martin's wife Aurora," I said cautiously.

"Last night some things happened here."

"Don't tell me Craig hit Regina or nothing like that."

"Could you tell us who you are?" Martin asked, trying to sound very calm.

"Sure, man. I'm Rory Brown, Craig's buddy. We've been best friends forever."

"Then I have bad news for you... Rory."

"Craig's back in jail?"

I had to sit down. This was going to be worse than I thought.

"No," Martin said. "He's dead."

Chapter Tour

I'm no psychic, but Rory Brown seemed genuinely stunned by this news. He sank back down to the couch, his face contorted with horror and disbelief. "But he was alive just a few hours ago!" Rory protested, as if it took a long time to die.

"I'm sorry," I said. "He was killed last night. We found him lying on the steps to the apartment."

"Where's Regina?" Rory's voice was hoarse with, I swear, unshed tears. "She's nowhere to be found," my husband told him. Martin was in his thinking posture, arms crossed over his chest, fingers tapping. As he reached a decision, Martin moved toward the telephone.

"You calling the police?" Rory slid onto his knees. "Man, please don't! I'm violating my parole. They'll send me back to jail for sure. I'm not even supposed to see Craig, much less leave the state with him!" "Parole." Martin said it thoughtfully, as if parole were a common condition among his acquaintances. "You were in jail with Craig?" "Uh, well, yeah. You know. We, uh, we wrote a few bad checks." So Rory wasn't any desperate felon. I hadn't known how tense I was until I relaxed.

"Whose name did you sign to the bad checks?" Martin asked. I glanced at him admiringly, for making a point I'd never have considered. "Well," Rory said, trying on his charming grin, "ours. Or it'd have been forgery. Much more serious."

Rory seemed to know his way around the penal code. "Craig's boss would have paid him that money at the end of the month; we just needed it a little earlier than that."

Martin and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. This sounded very weak to me. It was becoming all too clear that Regina had made a poor choice in the man she married. Of course, some people thought I had done the same when I married Martin. Ha! At least Martin had never been in jail! I thought. I opened my mouth to make what would have been a very ill-timed query, when we were interrupted...he phone rang, startling all of us out of our skins. In Hay-den's case, this naturally meant he started to cry. I began patting him more rapidly, saying "Sshhhh, baby," in an increasingly frantic whisper, as Martin grimaced at me while he tried to hear the caller. "Give him his Binky," suggested Rory.

"His what?" I patted faster.

"His pacifier."

A lightbulb went on in my head as I remembered seeing Lizanne's baby sucking on a plastic thing.

"Where?" I asked eagerly. "Where is one?"

"You didn't find one in the diaper bag?"

Martin's scowl increased in ferocity.

"No." I scooted into the kitchen as fast as I could burdened with Hayden, and returned with the diaper bag. I thrust it at Rory. "Find one!" I told him. The young man turned the bag around, opened a Velcroed flap, and reached in a pocket, one I hadn't even noticed. He pulled out a plastic and rubber object and offered it to me.

It looked like it had lint on it. I stuck it in Hayden's mouth anyway.

Blessed silence.

Rory beamed at me angelically. Hayden's face looked just as sweet, all of a sudden. Martin became my handsome husband instead of Ebenezer Scrooge. I felt as if the vise clamping my temples had been loosened a couple of turns. I sat down on the couch very carefully, easing Hayden onto his back. He looked up at me with hazy blue eyes, relaxed and content.