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I stare at the paper for far too long. My heart breaks for this mother. I look down again at the baby in my arms. “Your name is Lyla? It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart, my name is Evie.”
I turn and finally notice a stack of boxes that were behind me this entire time, next to the front door, one of which is clearly labeled “bottles and formula,” written in the Gravian language.
“Oh…oh,” I gasp. What the heck? This means…
I turn back toward the front yard and shout out to the frosty darkness because I can’t get over the sensation that I’m being watched. “You want me to keep your baby long-term? But I…I don’t know anything about taking care of a baby. I mean, of course I can do this for you, but are you sure I’m who you want? Isn’t there someone better?”
No answer. Nothing but the distant howl of a night animal and the rustle of dry leaves on the walkway.
I blow out a breath. “Okay, okay, I’ll do my best. Take care of yourself. Lyla will be here for you to take back when you’re ready.” I’m sad. I wish this baby’s mother felt comfortable enough to tell me her problem. Maybe I could help? But the wall of gray fog in impenetrable, leaving me no one to counsel.
A glacial breeze lifts the hem of my nightgown and suddenly I’m shivering, and the baby’s fingers and face are cold too. Enough deliberation, I’ve got to get us both inside. I put Lyla back in her basket, grasp the handles and carry it into the house, which isn’t much warmer than outside, but not freezing.
“Okay Lyla, I’m going to have to put you back down again for a bit.” She starts crying instantly. “Sorry, baby,” I huff as I place her on the floor next to my couch. I place the note from Lyla’s mother onto the Traq table so I can look at it again later. “It’s just me here and I’ve only got two arms. I need to get all of this inside fast because it’s cold. And maybe you’re hungry and I’m hoping the box that includes formula is going to get you fed quick.”
I move as fast as I can, back and forth—while Lyla cries—and place the pile of boxes in the front room. Thankfully they aren’t too heavy for me to pick up and carry, but they sure aren’t light either. Finally, I’ve got them all in and I close the front door behind me with a pant of exhaustion. I race down the hall to my bedroom and grab my robe, and I pause on my way back to turn up the heater for us.
Lyla cries louder now, insisting I pick her up again, but at least it’s not as sharp as before. “Sssh, sweetie,” I tell her as I lean over the basket for a moment, trying to calm her down. “Let me open this first box at least. Especially this one that I know has your food.” Luckily, she stuffs her fingers in her mouth and quiets down a little and I’m able to get back to work.
I open the first box and then the rest of the boxes too. I really don’t even know what most of this baby paraphernalia is for—this is how little I know about babies. But I guess I’ll soon learn. When I first picked up Lyla in my arms a few moments ago, that was the first time I’d ever held a baby in my entire life.
The box of formula and bottles thankfully includes a list of directions for how to prepare and heat. I do what it says, adding water to the dried formula and then putting the bottle in the food dispenser. Magically, perfectly warmed formula appears. Yay.
“Okay, it’s ready.” I return and sit on the couch and pick Lyla up, hold her in my arms and gingerly place the tip of the bottle against her lips. I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m just hoping and praying that she’ll drink from what her mother left behind. Because if she doesn’t, I’m really screwed.
Lyla opens her mouth and eagerly starts sucking at the nipple, one perfect little red hand on the bottle and the other splayed on my chest. I smile indulgently and lean back into my seat and get us both comfortable. I stare at her in wonder as she drinks her bottle, amazed at her beauty and the fact that I’ve got a baby in my arms. How is this even possible? I went to bed, innocently thinking I’d wake up the next morning to life as usual, and instead this baby was dropped off on my porch and I have a feeling nothing will ever be the same.
“Lyla,” I say to her. “At least I know your name now. That’s a pretty name. And I am Evie. Evie Jones. A human who came to Salo for university and I loved it so much I’ve never left. I hope you don’t mind that I don’t know the first thing about babies, but I’ll do my best to take care of you until your parents return.”
She continues happily drinking her bottle.
“You like that, don’t you?” I laugh. “Good thing there’s lots of it.”
I suppose I should technically be calling the peacekeepers. Pinging the authorities is what most Gravians living in the big cities would do in this situation. But I’m originally from New Earth and I really, really know what it’s like to be in a tough situation with no way out, needing to rely upon the kindness of strangers to get you through and out to the other side. And the mother left me a note saying she would return, along with a stack of supplies to make sure I could care for her daughter. One thing I’ve learned from living in this small community for the last few years is that we help each other out. I’ll wait to call in the authorities and the government and give this mother a chance. I can do this for her. I can do this for Lyla.
“It looks like your parents, or your mother, have left you here with me to take care of.” I bend down and kiss her adorable forehead. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
Lyla finishes her bottle and promptly falls asleep.
Heh.
I put her back in her basket, right next to me and I close my eyes and fall asleep too.
