“I don’t know!”
“Where did he come from?” I ask as I hold him in my arms, rocking and shushing him. Then I grab the blanket off the counter and drape it over him.
“I don’t know. The porch?”
“Jesus, he’s freezing. He’s only wearing a onesie,” I say, and hold the baby closely.
“A what?” Zane asks, looking even more confused.
“Nothing,” I say. I pad over to the couch, and Zane follows. “It’s alright. Let’s just take a little peek in your diaper and see what’s going on,” I coo at him. I am curious how long he’s been sitting in his diaper because while it doesn’t smell, it’s definitely full.
“So let me get this straight,” I say as I unbutton the onesie. “Somebody just dropped him off?”
“I mean, I assume he didn’t walk here,” Zane says, and I give him a look.
“Any idea who he belongs to?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Alright,” I smile down at the baby whose chin is starting to quiver. “Did he come with anything?” I ask.
“You mean like an instruction manual?” he asks snarkily.
“I mean, like a diaper bag.”
“Oh. No. Should he have?” he asks.
I decide to ignore Zane for now and focus on the baby. I peel the diaper back, and he wiggles before he starts crying again. The sound is an immediate trigger for panic on Zane’s normally cool and collected face.
“What’s happening? What’s wrong with it?” he asks.
“Could be a lot of things,” I answer as I inspect him. There’s no sign of rash or neglect, though this diaper is definitely saturated. “Babies cry for all sorts of reasons.”
“Well, fix it,” Zane says, and I look over at him.
“Fix it?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “You worked at a daycare. You’re a professional. What do we do with it?”
“Well, it’s a boy. Let’s start there.”
“How can you tell?” he asks, and I peel back the diaper a little further. A geyser of pee shoots into the air.
“Any more questions?” I ask.
“We gotta figure out whose baby this is,” he says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Bryan? Oh good, you’re still there.”
“Tell Bryan he should probably call the police,” I say as I pull the diaper out from under the baby. He can’t be any more than a few months old. I bundle him back up without the diaper. I’d rather he be warm and dry than sitting in that diaper any longer, even if I am taking the chance of getting peed on. I pull him close to me again.
“Ashlyn and I decided we should have the cops come for sure,” Zane says. Then he stops. “Wait. How do you know Bryan?”
“I met him at the front gate the night I came in to take photos,” I say casually as I rock in place. “He caught me trying to sneak in. I offered him a bag of M&M’s to keep his mouth shut and give me thirty minutes.”
“M&M’s?” Zane shouts, and the baby starts to cry again.
“Can you not?” I ask. “You’re scaring him.”
“It’s that what my security is worth to you, Bryan? A bag of M&Ms?” he asks.
