He waited until after one o’clock, and since he hadn’t passed any semblance of an eating establishment on the ride out from Brenham, he made his way back to the town. He ate lunch in a vintage hotel and wandered around the quaint downtown for a time.

Around five, he headed back up Highway 50 to the cemetery. He waited until dark before heading back to town.

He downed a few beers at a tavern to take the edge off his disappointment, then fell asleep watching TV in his motel room.

The next morning he killed time poking around the rolling countryside, arriving at the cemetery well before noon. He wandered up and down the rows of headstones, glancing up every time a car approached, which wasn’t very often.

At two, he got on the Harley and headed back to town. At five-thirty he was back at the cemetery. Once again there were no people, no vehicles, no Jamie.

But it was not yet dusk.

To pass the time he began to make a more methodical inspection of the cemetery. He hadn’t taken two steps when he saw a pair of tattered athletic shoes jutting out from behind a tombstone.

The wearer of the shoes was a sleeping female with a baby in her arms. Her face and arms were sunburned and smudged with dirt. Her brown hair was dusty and disheveled. Her clothing was filthy. She looked limp-more like she had passed out than fallen asleep. The baby was awake and seemed to be studying the gently moving leaves on the low-hanging branch of a live oak.

He felt as though he should look further. This person could not be Jamie. Jamie had long, beautiful blond hair. Jamie was a lovely young woman. This woman wasn’t lovely. And Jamie wouldn’t have a baby.

But this person had her long legs. And the sweet curve of her chin.

He knelt and put a hand on her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she smiled.

“Jamie?”

“Hi,” she said, struggling to a sitting position, the baby cradled in one arm. He grabbed her free arm and helped her to her feet. Once she was upright, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just hungry and thirsty,” she said. “And I desperately need a bath.”

Joe fished a water bottle and a small bag of peanuts out of one of the Harley’s saddlebags and watched while she wolfed down the peanuts and drank the entire bottle of water.

He helped her put the baby in a cloth contrivance she wore across her stomach, then held her arm as she slung a leg over the Harley. When he climbed on, she grabbed hold of his belt. “Don’t go fast,” she said. “I’m feeling kind of dizzy.”

He drove at a very sedate pace back into Brenham, enveloped in a cloud of disappointment. He had expected more from finally seeing Jamie once again. A great deal more.

He pulled into the same motel, wondering if he should find someplace nicer. But Jamie felt pretty limp behind him, and the baby was crying. He helped her off and took her into the room. “I’ll go get you something to eat. What sounds good?”

“Anything. And I need diapers. And I’d really like to see a newspaper.”

“What about some milk for him?” he asked, nodding toward the baby.

She shook her head. “I’m nursing him.”

“So, he’s your baby?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Oh, yes. He’s my baby.”

When he arrived back at the motel, Joe knocked on the door. There was no answer.

He unlocked the door and peeked inside. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. The baby was lying in the middle of one of the double beds. Joe put his purchases on the table, iced the beer, then stood looking down at the baby. He was quite small and had big eyes and was waving his arms about aimlessly. “I’m sure you are a nice enough baby,” Joe said, “but I must admit that I’m not very happy about you.”

Jamie came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her head.

“Do you have any extra clothes?” she asked, heading for the table. “And I need to borrow a comb,” she added as she picked up one of the milkshakes, took off the lid and gulped some down. Then she ate a handful of fries and unwrapped a hamburger.

Joe produced a pair of gym shorts, a T-shirt, and a comb. Jamie went back into the bathroom. When she emerged again, her wet hair was combed, and she was wearing his clothes. She picked up the phone and called the office to ask if there were laundry facilities.

When she hung up she covered the now sleeping baby with a corner of the bedspread, picked up the newspaper, and glanced at the headlines on the front page. Apparently she found what she looking for on page two. She read the story and ate the rest of the hamburger. “You have any quarters?” she asked.

While she was in the laundry room, Joe read the article on page two. A baby girl kidnapped from an Oklahoma City apartment house had been left in a hospital waiting room apparently unharmed and was returned to her mother’s arms. A woman named Janet Wisdom had been caring for the baby in her apartment. Wisdom was now missing, along with her own child. There were no signs of violence in the apartment, but there was a dead dog on the bed. Police were searching for Wisdom and her infant son.

When Jamie returned, she glanced at the baby, then sat across the table from Joe and reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said and burst into tears.

Joe knelt in front of her and took her in his arms. Then he helped her to the empty bed and stretched out beside her, cradling her, stroking her damp hair, her arms, her back. His shoulder grew wet with her tears. At one point he went to the bathroom for the box of tissues. She blew her nose and tried to regain control. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She said something about a dog named Ralph. And being so afraid. So very afraid.

Finally, she was cried out. She blew her nose again then went to splash water on her face. When she returned the baby was starting to thrash about. Jamie picked him up, leaned against the headboard, propped a pillow under her left arm.

Joe carefully looked away as she placed the baby at her breast. He felt jealous of a very small baby.

He wanted to ask who the father was-and if she had loved the man. If she had been married to him. Or maybe he should turn on the television. He couldn’t just sit here not watching her nurse a baby. He offered to get her clothes from the drier.

He took his time, jogging around the block several times before searching for the motel laundry room. When he returned, Jamie was curled on the bed. The baby was asleep in a dresser drawer with a folded blanket for a mattress. Jamie opened her eyes and offered a small smile. “I’m in terrible trouble,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured out that much on my own.” He covered her limp body with a blanket then sat beside her and stroked her shoulder.

“They killed my dog so he wouldn’t bark while they stole my baby, but they took the wrong baby. Then they came back to kill me.”

He could hear the utter exhaustion in her voice. “You go ahead and sleep,” he said with more gallantry than he felt. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“This isn’t how I thought it would be when we first saw each other again,” she said, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Have you thought about that-about us seeing each other again?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Me, too,” he said. He ran a finger along her jawline, then briefly touched her lower lip. She had a beautiful mouth. As a sixteen-year-old boy he had felt like a dirty old man because he thought that ten-year-old Jamie Long had the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen.

She kissed the tip of his finger, then gave herself over to sleep.

He understood that she was exhausted, but he felt cheated. And a little regretful that he was here at all. Maybe more than a little.

He drank two cans of beer then took a shower and crawled into the empty bed.