back from Kit in every way, as if he did not know her after all.
Kit had been soothed by their company and the silly posing for photographs, but now she realized that Row was reacting the way he ought to — and she, Kit, had not reacted the way she should have. She’d let herself drift around, like Dusty, whose porch light was definitely not on.
A baby abandoned on the doorstep was not puzzling.
It was shocking.
Muffin was awestruck.
How incredible that this little soft folded-up thing with its little elbows and knees curled like bananas was a person! It seemed as if it might be something else entirely.
It had perfect, incredibly tiny fingers, with perfect tiny fingernails and perfect tiny knuckles. Its little sweet eyes tried to find hers but couldn’t, so Muffin shifted herself until she was in front of the eyes, and the baby smiled at her.
She feasted her eyes on the beautiful infant. Row and Kit were talking, but Muffin paid no attention; how could she think of anything except this baby? “What’s his name?” she interrupted them.
“I don’t know his name,” said Kit. “I made one up. I’m calling him Sam the Baby.”
Sam the Baby.
It sounded like one of Muffin’s favorite picture books from when she was very small, where they combined silly stories and counting and ridiculous made-up animals. Red fish, two fish, Sam wish, ham wich. “Hello, Sam the Baby,” she said very softly, and she put her lips on his cheek and it was the softest, most perfect thing she had ever touched and then she yelled, “Peeeee — you!”
“He does need his diaper changed,” agreed Kit. She was laughing. “I did just the same thing, Muff. I was thinking how sweet and adorable he was, and then I smelled him.”
“He doesn’t even notice,” said Muffin. “How can he live inside himself when he stinks like that?”
She helped Kit change the baby and this, too, was amazing, because the baby did not know that he was bare, and being held, and being washed, whereas if Muffin were being treated this way she would die of humiliation and hide under blankets.
He doesn’t know anything yet, thought Muffin, and this filled her with awe, and with kinship; as if Sam were her brother. There was so much Muffin didn’t know yet, either, and it tired her out, staring at the years of school in which she must learn, learn, learn; catch up, catch up, catch up; remember, remember, remember. And Sam didn’t even know that yet. He was just here, and now he didn’t smell anymore, and she loved him for knowing nothing.
Row said, in a heavy, almost angry voice that made Muffin watch him hard, “Kit. What is going on? Of course you know the baby’s real name. You’re his baby-sitter.”
“Or possibly his sister,” said Kit.
“You’re supposed to be sure of things like that.”
“It hasn’t been that kind of day,” said Kit, and she told them what had happened since three o’clock.
“It sounds like a typical Dusty screwup,” said Rowen at last. “I remember when your dad married her. No offense, but my parents said he was totally nuts and the marriage wouldn’t last half an hour. Dusty really and truly has a room temperature IQ. What do you bet that she went and had this baby, and then the day she came home from the hospital, she got kicked out of her apartment for some Dusty-type reason, like having friends over to line-dance at three in the morning when tired old ladies who need their sleep are living on the floor beneath her? So she drove over here to live.”
Kit thought about Rowen’s explanation. It was entirely possible that Dusty had come here to camp out.
“Why didn’t you just ask Dusty?” said Muffin. “I don’t think you handled this well, Kit. I think my mother would say that you —”
“Muff!” said Rowen.
“Dusty didn’t give me time,” said Kit, “but you’re right about what your mother would say. Probably the same thing my mother would say. But Dusty is the mother this time!
Kit had been soothed by their company and the silly posing for photographs, but now she realized that Row was reacting the way he ought to — and she, Kit, had not reacted the way she should have. She’d let herself drift around, like Dusty, whose porch light was definitely not on.
A baby abandoned on the doorstep was not puzzling.
It was shocking.
Muffin was awestruck.
How incredible that this little soft folded-up thing with its little elbows and knees curled like bananas was a person! It seemed as if it might be something else entirely.
It had perfect, incredibly tiny fingers, with perfect tiny fingernails and perfect tiny knuckles. Its little sweet eyes tried to find hers but couldn’t, so Muffin shifted herself until she was in front of the eyes, and the baby smiled at her.
She feasted her eyes on the beautiful infant. Row and Kit were talking, but Muffin paid no attention; how could she think of anything except this baby? “What’s his name?” she interrupted them.
“I don’t know his name,” said Kit. “I made one up. I’m calling him Sam the Baby.”
Sam the Baby.
It sounded like one of Muffin’s favorite picture books from when she was very small, where they combined silly stories and counting and ridiculous made-up animals. Red fish, two fish, Sam wish, ham wich. “Hello, Sam the Baby,” she said very softly, and she put her lips on his cheek and it was the softest, most perfect thing she had ever touched and then she yelled, “Peeeee — you!”
“He does need his diaper changed,” agreed Kit. She was laughing. “I did just the same thing, Muff. I was thinking how sweet and adorable he was, and then I smelled him.”
“He doesn’t even notice,” said Muffin. “How can he live inside himself when he stinks like that?”
She helped Kit change the baby and this, too, was amazing, because the baby did not know that he was bare, and being held, and being washed, whereas if Muffin were being treated this way she would die of humiliation and hide under blankets.
He doesn’t know anything yet, thought Muffin, and this filled her with awe, and with kinship; as if Sam were her brother. There was so much Muffin didn’t know yet, either, and it tired her out, staring at the years of school in which she must learn, learn, learn; catch up, catch up, catch up; remember, remember, remember. And Sam didn’t even know that yet. He was just here, and now he didn’t smell anymore, and she loved him for knowing nothing.
Row said, in a heavy, almost angry voice that made Muffin watch him hard, “Kit. What is going on? Of course you know the baby’s real name. You’re his baby-sitter.”
“Or possibly his sister,” said Kit.
“You’re supposed to be sure of things like that.”
“It hasn’t been that kind of day,” said Kit, and she told them what had happened since three o’clock.
“It sounds like a typical Dusty screwup,” said Rowen at last. “I remember when your dad married her. No offense, but my parents said he was totally nuts and the marriage wouldn’t last half an hour. Dusty really and truly has a room temperature IQ. What do you bet that she went and had this baby, and then the day she came home from the hospital, she got kicked out of her apartment for some Dusty-type reason, like having friends over to line-dance at three in the morning when tired old ladies who need their sleep are living on the floor beneath her? So she drove over here to live.”
Kit thought about Rowen’s explanation. It was entirely possible that Dusty had come here to camp out.
“Why didn’t you just ask Dusty?” said Muffin. “I don’t think you handled this well, Kit. I think my mother would say that you —”
“Muff!” said Rowen.
“Dusty didn’t give me time,” said Kit, “but you’re right about what your mother would say. Probably the same thing my mother would say. But Dusty is the mother this time!
Similar Books
