“Don’t you have nieces or nephews?”
I shake my head. “I have a niece, but her mother was smart enough to learn while pregnant that the Brennans are toxic. She moved to England after the baby was born. How about you? Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?”
Moving the conversation along is best. I can’t tell him that even though she’s ten, I never met her. My brother Wilson and his wife divorced right after her birth and they disappeared.
He looks down at the baby. “Can you help me, please? I’m incapable of taking care of him.”
I wish I could turn him down, but with that face of desperation and the kid’s wailing, I can’t just leave, can I?
I’m not lying when I say I don’t have much experience with babies. I had a few rotations in pediatrics during my residency. I’ve helped thirty mothers give birth while working in the emergency room. Yes, I’m counting. I’m not obsessed with babies, but some days, I wish I could have one of those cuddly little humans. Still, my knowledge of taking care of a baby is basic.
Tracy is the one who knows about these beings. Not only did she babysit during middle and high school, but she has a daughter. She read all the parental books before Tara was born. She follows influencers and of course, has the wise guidance of her amazing mother. I’ll probably have to call her tomorrow and…what am I going to tell her?
So, my neighbor has a newborn, and we have no idea what to do. Can you help?
“Where are his parents?” I ask, extending my arms.
“I think he’s mine,” he mumbles, handing me the baby.
“You think?” I stare at him and then at the baby.
He scratches the back of his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Everything with you is a complication,” I say, bouncing the baby. I look at him. “What’s happening with you, my little friend?”
The baby responds by crying louder.
Okay, he’s too tired and worked up to reason with any of us. I turn my attention to Fisher. “Did you change his diaper?”
“Yes. A thousand times since he arrived. I fed him. I patted him on the back. I…I don’t know what else to do.”
I enter the house. “Do you have a place where I can change him?”
“Upstairs, the room next to the master suite. Across from the yellow bathroom.”
“He’s staying where you have a bunch of instruments?”
Is his crib inside the piano or one of the drums?
Fisher arches an eyebrow. “Did you snoop around my house?”
“I lived here for a few days. Obviously, I got acquainted,” I say defensively and march upstairs with the baby.
When I step inside the room, a series of LED lights turn on. They’re on the floor. I’m guessing, so that they won’t bother the baby. All the instruments are gone. There’s a crib pushed toward the wall. He has a dresser, a changing table, a…this is a nursery.
“You set this up fast.”
“Lang did it.”
“The snobbish suit that offered to buy my practice?”
“He did what?” He groans.
“Never mind.” I wave a hand and lay the baby on top of the changing table. I fasten the security belt and take off his footie pajamas.
I check the diaper.
He’s dry.
Still, I change it for a clean one.
I look at his umbilical cord. “This is about to fall off. Whoever cut it was careless. How old is he?”
“A week old. I don’t have the exact date. I should ask for it, shouldn’t I?”
I don’t answer. I unfasten the security belt, take the boy into my arms, and pat him. He continues crying. Poor little thing, he’s tired and maybe lost. Where is his mother?
That gives me an idea. Tracy. I hand the baby to Fish. “Here, take him back.”
“Don’t give up on me. On us.”
I glare at him and call Tracy. “Did something happen?” She answers right away. “Wait, is that a baby in the background?”
“You guessed it.”
“Who is killing that poor innocent child?”
“The baby is the reason I’m calling you. We’re desperate.”
“I’m listening,” she says.
I explain to her the basics. He’s been crying for hours. We’ve fed him, changed him, and he’s still in anguish.
“How old is he?”
“About a week old?” I look up at Fisher to confirm. He nods.
“Tara did that a lot during the first two weeks. She wasn’t a preemie, but she was born three weeks early. The doctor suggested we do the kangaroo technique.”
“I’m a doctor, and I’ve never prescribed something, so…what is that?”
“Skin-to-skin contact.”
It sounds like what we do with preemies and their parents when in intensive care. Why would that help with this baby?
“Lay the diapered baby on your bare chest. Then, put a blanket on his back to keep him warm. It helps build the bond between you and the baby. Mark used to take off his shirt and walk around the house, bouncing her gently.”
“That’s what they do in the NICU. Not for normal babies.”
“It’s good for well-developed kiddos too. The skin-to-skin contact seems to soothe them. The doctor who gave me that advice said she was missing being in the womb. Plus, it’s hot to see the dad shirtless, carrying a newborn.”
“I guess we can try that,” I say, trying not to think of Fisher shirtless with the baby. My ovaries are going to explode. They’ll weep. They’re going to demand a baby.
“Maybe…did the kid go through any changes lately? Where are her parents?”
I wish I knew where the mother was and… “He moved out of state.”
“That’s probably it. He misses home. Make sure his mom and dad hold him a lot and make him feel loved. If it’s colic…well, you should know what to do. You’re a doctor. Oh, make sure he doesn’t have anything tight.”
“Tight? The clothes or where?”
“Clothes or…I read that some babies can have hairs around their toes or fingers. You don’t notice them, but it’s bothersome—even painful for babies.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready to come back home?”
I stare at the poor baby who might’ve been kidnapped or…I don’t know what Fisher did to him, but I’ll stay with him—to protect him.
“Not yet. I have several patients who need me. Thank you for helping, Trace. Say hi to Mark and Tara.”
“I’m glad I could assist. Call me if you need me again.”
“Who was that?” Fisher points at my phone.
I put it back inside the pocket of my hoodie and extend my arms to get the baby back. He hands him over immediately.
“Take off your shirt,” I order.
“I’m starting to think that you love me shirtless. You have a thing for my body, don’t you, Doc?”
“If you want me to help you, you’re going to stop your foolishness, and you’re going to tell me where you got this baby.”
“That’s complicated,” he says, taking off his shirt.
“Simplify it, or I’ll leave.”