Hit & Mrs. by Lesley Crewe Page A

nab their car before someone else grabbed it. She shoved a piece of paper at them with the name of the car service on it. Gemma stayed behind. She sat and swayed on her luggage, nodding off every few minutes.
    Bette and Augusta hurried through the airport once more. They followed the signs and eventually arrived at what looked like the main entrance. They went through the doors and saw cars and taxis and minivans, with people hopping in and out, and traffic being directed by parking attendants. But the wind very nearly knocked them off their feet and the rain didn’t help matters.
    â€œI’m not sure which one is our car service,” Bette yelled into Augusta’s ear.
    â€œWhat does Linda’s note say?” Augusta no sooner had words out of her mouth than the paper flew out of Bette’s hand.
    â€œOh no.” Bette started to run after it, but Augusta put out her hand to stop her.
    â€œNever mind, Bette. It doesn’t matter.”
    Bette brushed her hair out of her face. “Are you nuts? Linda will have a fit. She’s already stressed about her luggage.”
    â€œShe’ll be along in a second. If we don’t get the one she booked, we still have lots of cabs to choose from.”
    â€œI guess you’re right. Let’s wait inside.”
    So they trooped back indoors.
    â€œWhile we’re waiting, we might as well go to the restroom,” Bette said.
    â€œWhat if the girls come and can’t find us? I think I’ll stay right here.”
    â€œGood idea. You always were a camel.”
    â€œListen, Weinberg, it’s not my fault you don’t do your Kegel exercises.”Bette grinned at her and walked to the nearest ladies’ room, which was full of women and their luggage and coats. When she was done, she had to wait to wash her hands. A few beauty queens were doing their makeup in the mirrors, along with three elderly ladies who seemed to have all kinds of time. That’s when she noticed the young mother, changing her baby’s diaper on the pull-down changing table.“He’s lovely,” Bette said.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œHow old is he?”
    â€œThree months.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œKeaton.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    The mother looked up and Bette said, “Oh, it’s a lovely name. It’s my best friend’s last name. Isn’t that funny? She’s the one you hit with the stroller.”
    The girl nodded.
    Bette filled in the silence. “It’s our first time in New York. We can’t wait. We’re staying at the Waldorf, if you can believe it. Linda arranged it. The one you hit with the…”
    Bette trailed off because it was obvious the mother wasn’t listening to her. She looked distracted, or even ill. Bette washed her hands and got ready to go, when the young mother turned to her. “Could you watch the baby? I think I’m going to throw up.”
    â€œSure, of course. It was probably the plane ride. It was pretty bumpy.”
    The young woman lurched into a stall, and from the sounds of it she was quite sick. Those in the bathroom looked at each other sympathetically. The baby started to cry, so Bette put her carry-all down next to the mother’s bags and picked up the little fellow.
    â€œShh, don’t cry. Mommy will be right back.”
    Little Keaton wasn’t reassured. He was furious. He looked at Bette, screwed up his face, and let out a piercing scream. Bette jostled him up and down in her arms and made funny faces to try and get him to stop. It made things worse. She looked at herself in the mirror. “My record holds. I’m rejected by every male I meet.”
    The mother finally limped out of the stall. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Bette shouted over the baby’s cries. He had turned beet red by this point, and Bette was a little frantic, as if she were to blame for this