When she emerged from her bedroom, slightly freshened for the evening, she heard Daphne stirring, making little sounds that might soon turn into a full-throated cry. Diaper. Feeding. Blaine had been right about one thing: it was actually very simple. Demanding but simple.
In a very short time, she had become practiced at pulling out a bottle and filling it with room-temperature formula from a can. The woman who had turned Daphne over to Diane had told her she didn’t need to warm the baby bottles as long as the formula was at room temperature. However, it had been chilly outside, so she put the bottle in a pan of warm water from the sink and gave it a few minutes to lose any chill.
She tested the warmth of the formula on the inside of her wrist, then went to rescue her increasingly noisy charge. A finger in the diaper told her that could wait, so she gathered the child to her and let her drink from the bottle.
Sitting in her recliner without putting her feet up, she became fascinated with watching Daphne eat. Her little eyes, beginning to get darker and resemble her mother’s, watched her back. Intense. Content.
Amazing. After just a few days she could feel her heart reaching out to this child, taking her in, wrapping her in swiftly growing love. If MaryJo got well, it was going to hurt to have to give this baby up. Hurt like hell.
But the social worker’s assessment had been brutal: MaryJo would never be well enough to care for her own child. If she improved, like so many with her illness, she probably couldn’t be trusted to stay on her meds. And if she didn’t keep taking her medication...
Diane shook her head a little and began to hum softly. Daphne continued to watch her, then with a surprisingly strong thrust of arms and legs, she turned her head from the bottle.
“Enough of that, huh?” Diane asked. “A little gas bubble, maybe? You eat more than that.”
Daphne scrunched up her face, so Diane quickly put the girl over her shoulder and began to pat and rub her back. She felt a bit embarrassed that Blaine had done it for her earlier, clearly thinking she didn’t know to do such a thing. But she’d forgotten in the midst of her overwhelming day.
She wouldn’t forget now. Rising from the chair, she paced and patted, continuing to hum quietly. When the little burp emerged, she offered more formula.
“Easy peasy,” Diane said. Twenty minutes later, she had the child changed—she decided she was going to need a changing table soon—dressed in a fresh onesie and apparently content enough to yawn.
“Success.” The best evening yet. She paced with the little girl on her shoulder some more, drawing out another tiny burp, then moved her to the cradle of her arm. Daphne waved one fist around then shoved it toward her mouth. In an eye blink, she fell asleep.
A very successful evening. Diane was smiling happily as she settled Daphne into her small travel bed. She needed to get a crib soon, too. But first there’d be another round of hungry baby around eleven.
One of her girlfriends had told her before she left her old job that she was lucky, missing the first three months of caring for the baby. “By four months,” Lucy had said, “I was beginning to wonder if the little brat would ever sleep through the night. You remember. I was in a fog of sleep deprivation all the time.”
Diane didn’t really remember, because she hadn’t seen a whole lot of Lucy after she birthed her first child. “Too busy” had been Lucy’s response to every invitation. She probably had been, too.
For that matter, she felt a bit guilty about how little she’d seen of MaryJo in the past five years. The kind of closeness some claimed with cousins had never existed between them, and there was little enough to pull them together when they no longer lived in the same town.
MaryJo’s parents had divorced a long time ago. She’d never seen her dad again. Then her mother had dived into a bottle and never emerged. The most amazing thing was that those two had been together when they got caught in a flash flood in Texas. As if they might have been reaching out to one another again? No one would ever know now.
It was hardly to be wondered that MaryJo was troubled, but the social worker assured her that the causes of schizophrenia involved so many factors nobody could pin all of them down. Bottom line, she really didn’t need to worry about Daphne getting it.
Diane hoped that was so. She couldn’t imagine that darling child growing up to be so ill.
She was just about to move to the recliner and close her eyes for a little while before heating up the remains of her lunch when someone knocked at the door.
Her heart accelerated. She’d come from a much larger city where knocks on the door at this time of night were a bit threatening. Too late for regular deliveries, and friends always called first. Plus, she really didn’t know anyone here, so it couldn’t possibly be a friendly call, could it?
On the other hand, as an official now, her address was had become public record, so finding her wouldn’t be hard if someone wanted to rant about something. Lovely idea.
But she shook herself, telling herself not to be ridiculous, and went to answer it.
She should have guessed. Blaine Harrigan stood there, wearing a light jacket now and holding a potted red gerbera daisy. “To brighten a windowsill,” he said with a smile. “I take it your new boss is happily sleeping?”
Just seeing him drew a bright smile from her and a rush of warmth. Man, she didn’t even know this guy. It was too soon to be happy to see him, wasn’t it?
Heck, she didn’t care. It was nice to see him, to feel as if she might have made her first friend here. She stepped back, inviting him in. “Thank you for the daisy. I just love it. What a kind thought.” She looked at the bright flower with a sudden feeling of comfort, as if she weren’t a total stranger here anymore. “I was thinking about making some tea. Would you like some?”
“I never turn down a cuppa,” he answered. He handed her the flower, and she motioned him to follow her to the small kitchen and dining area. She placed the daisy on the sill over the sink then turned to find him standing in the doorway, evidently awaiting an invitation to sit or go.
“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the ridiculously small table with two chairs. This place had come partially furnished, a relief to her because she hadn’t wanted to ship her things from Iowa. None of it had been worth shipping. Her life revolved around her work, and decorating had mostly involved plastic storage containers and repurposed boxes. Hey, it had served her needs.
But now...well, what was here could do with a few additions for the baby.
“So you’re enjoying a little peace and quiet,” he said as she filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove.
“Until around eleven,” she agreed. “I’m sorry you caught me in such a mess earlier. I’m new at this, but I’m not stupid. I don’t know why I didn’t think of burping Daphne. I do it all the time!”
He laughed quietly. “No excuses needed. You’re tired, probably overwhelmed. I mean, a new job and a new baby all at once? And more to come, I believe. I’ll bet the little one starts creeping and crawling soon.”
“She’s already trying,” Diane admitted. “When I put her down on a blanket. But I’ve only had four days with her. A lot to learn.” She hesitated. “You said you were from Ireland, right?”
He nodded.
“Then my tea is probably going to appall you.”
He leaned forward a little on his chair. “Tea bags? I’ve learned to admire their advantages. Easy and quick, especially for a single guy who only wants one cup. Now, if I really want to brew a pot, I can do it, but usually I’m on the run.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I make a pot with tea bags.”
“I’ll show you when we have some time. Anyway, I’m going to buzz into yer meetin’