Hush Little Baby by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

It’s so like Dusty to be stupid, and drive around, and hurl her most precious possession into somebody else’s care while she races off with what nobody else would call a strategy.”
    “He’s falling asleep,” whispered Muffin. “Stop talking.”
    “I don’t think he’ll notice if we keep talking,” said Kit.
    “Did you see his eyes close?” said Rowen. “They just clamped shut.”
    They admired the baby for a while. Sleeping babies, Kit realized, were perfect, whereas waking babies had drawbacks.
    “Maybe Dusty’s blackmailing your father,” said Rowen, because it is your father’s baby and she’s going to make him pay.”
    Kit shook her head. “Blackmail is out. Dad’s a wonderful father and if he’s the father of this baby, he’d be a good one. But I’m sure he’s not. Dusty wanted to stay with him. If they were having a baby, she’d have told him in order to get him back, and it would have worked. So it isn’t blackmail and Sam isn’t his.”
    She hadn’t stopped to think that of course Dusty would tell Dad; it was interesting how talking out loud was a way to hear yourself. She felt a pang of sorrow, though, because then Sam wasn’t hers, either. She imagined Sam growing up somewhere unknown to her, becoming a kid and a teenager and a man, and she would never know. She had only this afternoon. Suddenly, weirdly, she was grateful to Dusty for giving her this strange afternoon. Her only day with Sam the Baby.
    “Kidnapping, then,” said Rowen.
    “It wasn’t on NJN. ”
    “Dusty ordered them to keep it quiet or she wouldn’t give the baby back after they paid her the ransom.”
    “Be real, Rowen. Dusty can’t plan a run to the grocery.”
    “Stupid people commit the most crimes,” said Rowen. “They don’t notice the pitfalls that smarter people would notice.”
    “Row heard that on TV,” said Muffin. “He’s quoting a cop show.”
    In Muffin’s arms, the baby had slumped into what looked like a very uncomfortable posture, but perhaps babies didn’t know about comfort yet. He had fallen into a sort of stupor, staring wide-eyed at nothing.
    “So you have no idea what to do next?” asked Muffin. “I know, though. I always know what to do next. Listen to me. We’ll take him home with us. My mother loves babies.”
    “Muff,” said Rowen — in the kind of voice that meant Shut up or I’ll squash you — and the phone rang again.
    “This time,” said Kit, “it has to be Dusty. I’m counting on it to be Dusty.” She picked up the phone.
    “But be more sensible,” said Rowen. “Don’t give anything away.”
    So Kit said carefully, “Hello?”
    “Hi, is this Kit Innes?” said a woman’s voice. It was a pleasant and friendly voice, but not familiar to Kit. Not Dad’s assistant, not his secretary, not his travel agent.
    “Yes,” she said uncertainly.
    Row stood up and came close to listen in on the phone. She held it a little away from her ear so he could follow the conversation.
    But he was very close to her, and it distracted Kit. She thought of his shirt, and of Row under it; and she thought of how worried she had been about how to talk to him, but they had had the topic of the year, as it happened, and subjects were not going to be a problem. Her eyes met his and she felt a flutter intense enough that she had to turn her whole face away in order to hear the woman on the line.
    “This is Cinda Chance,” said the woman. “I’m another cousin of Ed and Dusty’s. I am so relieved to have reached you, Kit. We are so desperately worried about both Dusty and the baby. I know you were shaken by Ed coming over, and I apologize for that. We’re at our wits’ end, you see. My husband, Burt, and I are adopting Dusty’s baby, you know, and we’re so excited, we’ve been waiting for years for this to happen, and now Dusty is worried about her decision, and we’re trying to be understanding, but Dusty just flew off in her car without anyplace to go. And that’s