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"Hope they're clean." I chuckle.
"Shit, it's good that I'm a germophobe,” he says.
"Would you call yourself one?"
"Because of my asthma," he says with hesitation.
"That's right." We won’t get on that subject right now.
"So...this way?" He nods to a hall on our right. "To the nursery and the kid stuff?"
"That way."
He walks faster as the baby starts to fuss again. The bouncing seems to soothe him or her, so V turns his attention to me again. "You never mentioned taking foster kids."
"Because it wasn't kids. I took in a foster child once, shortly after I started working at the church. You want to hear the story?"
He nods, looking bright-eyed.
"It was a four-year-old girl. Ana. She was a refugee, and she needed someone Spanish-speaking to take care of her. I spoke Spanish. I happened to find her at the church's front doors, and she got attached. So I took her home with me."
"Oh, wow."
I nod, smiling at the memory. "I wasn't sure if I could do it, but I did, and we did well together. She was with me for three months until someone from our church adopted her. Turned out her mother took her to our doors as she was dying from cancer. So she needed something permanent rather than foster care. That family—the one that took Ana forever—had two Spanish-speaking children adopted from El Salvador, so it made some sense."
"Is she...uh...still around here?"
Sweet Vance. I can tell he’s being cautious. Trying not to upset me or something along those lines.
So I’m happy to report, "She is. She's thirteen or maybe fourteen now? I see her every Sunday."
"Damn. I just had no idea."
I wink. "Santa's full of surprises."
"Somehow I thought you'd mention a bag of toys." Vance chuckles, and I shake my head. "In front of a baby, too. Someone's on the naughty, naughty list, Rayne."
As if in protest of what I said, the baby starts to yowl, and Vance doubles the length of his strides, nearly bounding toward the nursery. I jog out ahead of him, grinning as I run backwards so I can watch V being awkwardly paternalistic with a little baby.
"I see a hot daddy," I tease as he shoots me a look.
"Sky, what if we waited too long?"
"Too long for what?" I ask.
"I don't know." He looks anguished as I hold my card up to the nursery doors and shoulder through one of them. "Can't a baby...die without enough sustenance?"
"Probably." Which means yes, of course; babies die all over the world every day from starvation—not that I’m bringing that up right now. "But this one looks healthy enough. It'll be okay."
The nursery is a brightly lit space with murals on two of the walls. I notice V's eyes sweep them—probably assessing and almost surely finding them wanting, in comparison to his own incredible work—before settling on a long row of white cabinets. "Where's the goods, McD?"
I smile as I step over to the cabinets. The third one I try holds all the formula.
"Good Start," he says, reading the label from where he stands beside me. "Is it a good start? Do you think she—or he—will go for it?"
"Oh, yes. Most of them are not picky."
V brings the baby closer to his face and gives it a sweet smile. “Don’t worry. I gotcha covered, cupcake.”
9
Vance
"I swear, I've never seen one do this," Sky says.
"Maybe it's the way the bottle is or something?"
Luke frowns at the cabinets and then walks over to them, rifling through one as I bounce the screaming creature on my lap.
"C'mon, little baby. You don't like the milk inside here?" That scrunched red face lets out another piercing wail, and Baby flails its arms and legs as I rock in the nursery rocking chair. I shake the bottle gently in front of her. Or him. "Look at this here. It's some milky milky. Everybody loves milk. When you're big, you get to eat it with cookies."
Luke huffs. "There's not another type of bottle here. I remember someone saying that these little round ones were the best. Some kind of European thing."
I frown at the bottle, which is oddly shaped. As I do, I shift the baby, and I feel his or her diaper.
"Uhh, is it okay for the diaper to be puffed up?"
Luke turns around. "Puffed up how?"
I get up, my heart still fucking racing because this baby is still screaming. I walk over to him, trying not to let the scream stress throw me off my game. "Do you want to hold her or him and see?"
"Let's just go to the diaper changing table over here in this corner,” Sky says, nodding at it.
He leads me over to a white table topped by a green cushion-like mat.
"Just lay the baby down and we can take it off and look."
I hesitate, and Luke smiles as he scoops the baby up and holds it to his chest. "Hi, baby. You having a rocky day?" I'm shocked when the baby blinks up at him, its poor, small mouth quavering, and Sky puffs his lips into a duck face. "Maybe this is what's the matter? Maybe you just want a different diaper?" He sounds so damn sweet and empathetic.
