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Quincy met me at the door where the car seat and baby were.
She’d taught me how to attach the base and make sure the carrier was secured inside it—also that the baby should face backward. Whoops. She’d explained it was for safety reasons, and that made sense, but it seemed counterintuitive not to be able to see the infant by looking in the rearview mirror.
“Here we go. Brace yourself,” I said as I opened the door. The baby’s face was screwed up in an angry cry, still going at full volume. “How do I get the carrier out?” I had to raise my voice to be heard.
“There’s a release lever on the back, right under where Juniper’s head is,” Quincy said.
I leaned in, nearly choked on the stench, and felt around for the lever. It was easy to find now that I knew it was there. When I lifted it, the carrier loosened and I raised it out.
“Fast learner,” she said with a smile.
“I like to think I’m not stupid, just completely inexperienced.” Truth be told, I’d never felt so incompetent in my life.
I led Quincy to the front door, unlocked it, and let her precede me inside.
She gave a cursory glance around and then turned her attention to the bundle in my hand. “Let’s get her stripped down and washed up. I hope Ava gets here soon.”
“Where do you want to do this?” I asked.
She looked around again and apparently realized the open living, dining, and kitchen area wasn’t the place, as half-unpacked boxes were everywhere.
“Since we don’t have baby wipes, we’ll need some water and a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
“Right there.” I pointed at the first doorway in the hall.
“Do you think you can take her out of the carrier?”
“I think I can manage that,” I said. Surely I could do that.
I set the carrier down on the floor and squatted in front of it as Quincy disappeared into the bathroom. “You’re having a rough day, aren’t you?” I said to the baby as she gulped in a breath between cries.
I’d been absorbed in the immediate panic of what to do with this baby—Juniper—and hadn’t had a real chance to wonder what the fuck Gina was thinking. Leaving her baby? With me? Whether I was the father or not—and that was a question I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around—you didn’t just drop an infant off and disappear.
There was no more time to ruminate on Gina, not with this squalling, intimidating little bundle depending on me to figure shit out—fast.
I unfastened the straps holding her in, then worked her flailing arms out so I could pick her up. Copying what I’d seen Quincy do, I pulled the baby to my chest, bracing myself against the smell and the noise.
“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” I said into her ear, even though I wasn’t sure of that at all.
Tense as hell, I kept murmuring into the baby’s ear what I hoped were soothing things. I could hear Quincy in the bathroom, presumably setting things up for Project Clean Juniper, so I stood there and waited for her to tell me what to do next.
And then I felt it…moisture soaking through my shirt. Damn. Somehow she’d peed on me.
“Quincy? I’ve got a bit of a problem.”
My savior popped her pretty blond head out of the bathroom with a questioning expression. “What’s wrong?”
“My shirt’s wet.”
As she walked toward me, her gaze on the infant, Quincy’s eyes widened. “Oooh, no.” She grimaced. “Welcome to blowout city. Wow. You’ve landed right in baptism-by-fire territory.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Trust me, when I woke up this morning, one thought Ididn’thave was that I’d get peed on today.”
“Oh, that’s not pee,” she said, holding her hands out for the baby.
I stopped short as her meaning sank in. “This is stench?”
Quincy smiled sympathetically. “Pretty much.”
