Love to Love You Baby

  * * *

  Jack would rather be back in Double-A, stuck on the side of a country road as a new tire was put on the team bus so that they could continue their five-hour drive to East Nowhere and play another ball game in front of fans who had shown up mostly to watch the hog and chicken races scheduled for the end of the fifth inning.

  He’d rather be anywhere but where he was, which was stuck smack in the middle of baby land. “What are you doing?” he asked Keely as she headed toward a line of shopping carts.

  “I’m getting a shopping cart, what does it look like I’m doing?”

  “For a crib? Do you think it will fit?” he snapped back, watching as she settled the still sleeping M and M in some kind of seat built into the cart. He took a moment to admire her long legs below the hem of the denim skirt, then shook his head. Was he out of his frigging mind? The woman was poison!

  Keely turned the cart and headed through the automatic doors, into the store, which was about the size of two football fields.

  “This store is just for baby stuff?” Jack asked, looking around in amazement. “The kid could only weigh fifteen or so pounds. She can’t walk, can’t talk, only has one tooth—how much could she need?”

  Keely, obviously, wasn’t listening. “I firmly believe in having a plan in places like this,” she told him, aiming the cart to the right. “We start at the beginning and work our way through, row by row. Here—what’s this?”

  Jack saw one of the salesclerks smiling at him as if to say, “Oh, what a good daddy, going shopping with the baby,” and quickly turned away, picking up the box Keely had indicated. “I don’t know. It says something here about—no, they’ve got to be kidding. Who’d do that?”

  Keely grabbed the box and turned it around, looking at the pictures on the back. “Oh, isn’t that cute? You can make plaster of Paris molds of M and M’s little feet and hands. Look, they even include a mounting board, so you can display everything on a shelf. Let’s get it.”

  “Let’s not,” Jack said, taking the box from Keely and replacing it on the shelf. “I’ll just have the kid bronzed. It’s easier.”

  Keely rolled her eyes at him, then grabbed the box again, dropped it into the cart. “You’re just not going to allow yourself to enjoy this, are you?”

  “What was your first clue?” Jack responded tightly, watching as she picked up yet another box. “Do you have to look at everything? At this rate, we’ll be here for hours.”

  “Possibly days,” Keely agreed, throwing a Baby Memories, A Time Capsule album into the cart. “Okay, next row.”

  “Next row, next row,” Jack grumbled under his breath, but the clerk was looking at him again, so he followed after Keely.

  He looked up at the sign marking the aisle. “Child Safety? What’s this about?”

  Keely handed him a small package filled with plastic plugs to be inserted in wall outlets. “There’s lots more,” she said, a rather dangerous “I want it, I want it all” gleam in her big brown eyes as she scanned the shelves. “Locks for cabinets, something to put on doorknobs so little hands can’t open them. Oh, look at this! I just love gadgets. Don’t you love gadgets? This is a keeper for M and M’s pacifier, to keep it clean. It even hooks onto stuff, like her stroller or diaper bag. See, it says so right here. Oh—and I’ve got to get this,” she said, tossing the pacifier keeper into the cart while already picking up another packet.

  Jack saw the bits of terry cloth inside the plastic packet and read the description over Keely’s shoulder. “Knee pads? Why? Is M and M going to take up rollerblading tomorrow, and nobody told me?”

  “These are for when she starts crawling, to protect those soft little knees.”

  Jack pulled at his nose, considering this. “Crawling? She’s going to start crawling? When?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m an interior decorator, not Mr. Spock.”

  “Um... I know I’m only relying on my memory, but I think that would be Doctor Spock. Mr. Spock was the “Star Trek” guy, the one with the ears.”

  “Whatever,” Keely told him without interest, tossing the package into the cart, and then several more packages, none of which he wanted explained. They’d gone two aisles and the cart was already filling up. “But we ought to be ready, don’t you think? Katmandu is pretty far away, so who knows when your cousin will come back.”

  “I’m trying not to think at all, Ms. McBride,” Jack told her honestly. Keely didn’t know Cecily the way he did, although that damn note had probably given her a lot of clues as to his cousin’s lifelong flightiness. Jack was still busy attempting to forget the time, when they were all kids, that Cecily had told them all to go hide, then lost interest in the game and went inside to bed without finding anyone. Dipstick Joey had stayed hidden until the streetlights had gone on, then run home, sobbing.

  They rounded another aisle, and Jack stopped, reached for a box on the shelf, just trying to do his part. “Do you need one of these?” he asked helpfully, looking at an artist’s rendition of a bottle with what looked like a funnel stuck to the top. “What is this? A horn?”

  Keely took the box from him and put it back on the shelf. “We don’t need that, okay? Come on. Next aisle.”

  “But you haven’t bought anything in this aisle. I’m not coming back once we’re past it,” he called after her, picking up the box once more, reading the blurb on the front. He replaced the box, looked at others lining the shelves, all of them different, yet all of them designed for the same purpose. Breast pump. He closed his eyes, tried to imagine what the funnel part did, what the rest of the contraption did.

  “God, that must hurt,” he said, shivering, and then chased after Keely once more.

  The cart was definitely filling up. Night-light. Tinted window shade for the car. Small rearview mirror to attach beneath the car’s mirror, the better to see baby in the backseat. First aid and safety DVDs. A thermometer that went in the ear. Another one that went... he dropped that back into the cart, once more trying to put a mental block up between himself and reality. A machine for baby’s nursery that played different sounds—heartbeat, babbling brook, bird song, white noise. A plastic “guard” that snapped over the controls on the television. Okay, he liked that one.

  Keely called him away from a display of at least fifteen different kinds of pacifiers, to show him her latest treasure. “Look. A television monitor for M and M’s nursery. We can hear her, we can see her, and later it turns into a small TV, just for her. Isn’t that remarkable?”

  Jack peered at the price. “Remarkable,” he agreed, wincing.

  The box went into the cart, and they were off again, this time stopping at a row filled with different bottles. “These are the same brand M and M already has,” Keely said, loading a half dozen into the cart, along with a box of plastic “inserts,” whatever the hell they were. Then she picked up some accessories, showing him a pack of really disgusting, orangish, round nipples, and explaining, “It says these are the closest thing to mother. What do you think?”

  “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Payback for something you think I’ve done,” Jack accused, feeling his cheeks growing hot, his hands growing cold. “Just buy the damn stuff and let’s get out of here.”

  She bought. Bottle brushes, nipple brushes, more pacifiers, toothpaste, and a toothbrush—for one small tooth. A rubber gum massager. Shampoo, powder, lotion. A medical kit. Spoons and dishes. Two cases of the same brand of formula Keely had found in M and M’s wash basket.

  Bibs. Jack bought the bibs. A dozen of them.

  Next to go into the cart was a small microwave for the nursery, to heat bottles in the middle of the night without having to go downstairs. What would they think up next?

  A moment later, Jack found out. What they’d thought up next was a magic can for wrapping and disposing of dirty diapers, then hiding them out of sight. The cutaway picture of the inside of the pail showed a line of diapers, each wrapped in its own plastic cocoon—sort of like
a lumpy strand of pearls, or a white boa constrictor that had somehow swallowed a whole litter of small animals. He wanted to buy two, just to be able to play with one of them, but Keely rolled her eyes and he gave up the idea, heading back to the front of the store to get another cart.

  First to go into the new cart was a humidifier in the shape of a duck. He didn’t even question it.

  Then a bathtub. A seat to go inside the bathtub. Bath toys. A net bag to hold the bath toys. A strangely shaped kneeling seat to put next to the tub, for the washer to lean on while scrubbing the washee. Towels, washcloths. He insisted on lots of towels.

  “This is interesting,” Keely said, having actually walked down two more aisles without tossing anything else into the carts. “It says to push this button to try it out.”

  Jack watched as Keely turned the box holding a brown plush teddy bear and pushed an exposed button on the back of the box. He expected to hear a lullaby. What he heard, when Keely pushed the box in his face, was the sound of a heart beating—from the inside.

  “Sounds of the womb,” Keely said. “I was wondering if they’d put in sounds of someone’s stomach gurgling. Yeah, well, the bear’s cute,” she said as the box hit the cart. “I could do the entire room in a teddy bear motif, you know, because the white eyelet may be pretty, but it’s rather delicate. Yes, I think I’ll try to go with the bears.”

  “Do that. Follow them straight into their den. They might like it if you bring along some mustard and ketchup.”

  “Funny,” Keely told him, and pushed the cart around the corner to the next aisle.

  Baby wipes. Baby wipes warmer. Both were tossed into the cart, but Keely was only “warming up,” for now they’d gotten to the big stuff.

  “She has one of these,” Jack pointed out as Keely walked down a wide aisle lined on both sides with at least two dozen varieties of car seats. Jack looked at one seat that he was pretty sure could withstand a launch in the space shuttle. “They’re kidding here, right? Designer label car seats?”

  Keely, backtracked, looked at the seat Jack had indicated. “Pull out one of the sheets from that plastic holder,” she told him. “We just turn it in at the checkout and they’ll get us one. Because we should have two, you know. One for your car, one for mine.”

  She doesn’t need two seats, damn it,” Jack said, folding his arms over his chest, fully prepared to fight this one to the death. He wasn’t a poor man, but Keely McBride was quickly running up a tab that could rival the national debt.

  Keely jammed one fist on her hip. “Okay—scenario: I have to go somewhere—while M and M is napping, so don’t make your eyes all wide like that—and suddenly you need to take her somewhere. She’s choking, or she’s out of diapers, or you get some wild urge for Chicken McNuggets. I’ve got the car seat, the only car seat. Now what, genius?”

  Jack pulled the tag.

  After that, everything became sort of a blur.

  Two baby carriers, one that would sort of wrap M and M to Keely’s chest, and a second one, made to be worn on Jack’s back, that would probably be suitable for assaulting Everest.

  Crib, crib mattress, chest of drawers, changing table. Sheets, blankets, bumper pads, dust ruffle, mobile, matching lamp, wallpaper border, curtains, and pillows. A stroller made with one huge wheel in front, two in back, so that M and M could go along on his morning jog—like that was ever going to happen. Sherpa seat pad for the stroller, cup holder for the stroller-pusher. Rain hood for the stroller, mosquito netting for the stroller.

  High chair. Low chair. Bouncing chair. Gliding chair. Hang in a doorway jiggle up and down chair. Swing. Playpen. Portable crib.

  All color-coordinated. And with accessories to match.

  Hamper. Teething rings. Pads. More pads, just bigger. White satin hangers. A toy box. A talking butterfly. One-time-use cameras to record M and M’s growth for the memory book. Picture frames to hold more pictures. A huge bottle of odor remover that Jack would have considered cheap at twice the price.

  Three how-to-raise-the-baby books, including one from Dr. Spock. Compact discs of classical music and lullabies. Brush and comb. A gallon jug of “just for baby” drinking water that Jack considered outrageous at half the price.

  New diaper bags because they matched the teddy bear motif of everything else. Puffy wall hangings, including one teddy bear dressed in a baseball uniform that Jack insisted upon buying. “You sexist or something? M and M can’t like baseball?” he’d asked when Keely protested. The baseball bear stayed, as did a soft baseball Jack found—pink with places to write M and M’s “starting weight, home field, and opening day.” Keely thought that was “adorable.”

  Jack wanted to smack her.

  M and M, who had slept through the entire shopping orgy, began to stir as they pushed the two overloaded carts to the checkout. She opened her huge blue eyes, looked around, and her bottom lip began to quiver. A moment later she was in full throat, howling to bring down the roof.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Jack asked, looking at Keely. Keely was looking at him, the same question in her eyes.

  Keely shrugged. “Do you think she’s hungry again?” .

  “How the hell would I know?” Jack shot back at her. “You’re in charge, remember? I thought you said you knew about babies.”

  “Yeah? Well, guess what. I lied,” Keely all but shouted, to be heard above M and M’s wails. “Did you bring a bottle with you?”

  Jack smacked a hand against his forehead. “No-o-o-o, I didn’t bring a bottle with me. That’s your job, lady.”

  “Oh. Right.” Keely reached into her huge purse, withdrawing an insulated cylinder with a zip top. “I forgot. This was in with her things.” She unzipped the cylinder and pulled out a full bottle of formula. “Here you go, baby,” she said, sticking the nipple in M and M’s mouth.

  “You’re first supposed to squeeze all the air out of the plastic bag inside,” someone behind them said, and both Keely and Jack turned around—and M and M started to wail again because the bottle had been yanked out of her mouth.

  “I’m supposed to—what?” Keely asked as Jack looked down at a little girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old. Great. Seven or eight years old, and she knew more than McBride. It figured. He wondered if the kid could be paid by the hour.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” the little girl said, taking the bottle from Keely, squeezing the liner, and then expertly inserting the nipple into M and M’s widely opened mouth. “We had twins last month, so Mom lets me help,” the child explained. “There. Do you think you can handle it now?”

  “Smart-ass kid,” Keely grumbled after thanking the child and watching her skip away to rejoin her mother. “Everyone’s an expert these days.”

  “You’re not,” Jack pointed out sourly. “Do you think we can get out of here now? M and M isn’t the only one who’s hungry.”

  “And that’s my problem how? I won’t cook for you.”

  “I won’t ask you to.”

  “You’d better not.”

  “I’d rather be reduced to going out back to graze.”

  “You mean you don’t already do that? I would have thought a horse’s a—”

  “Jack Trehan! Oh, my God, Sally, look—it’s Jack Trehan!”

  Keely frowned, not finishing a sentence that would probably have gotten her fired on the spot, and both of them turned to look at the man now approaching them, his right hand held out in greeting.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You are Jack Trehan? Pitcher, Yankees, two Cy Youngs? Man, what a tough break, having your arm go on you like that. Well, the Yankee’s loss is our gain. I’m Bill Hunsberger, by the way. Played ball myself, but nothing like you, that’s for sure. Welcome home, Jack, and thanks for all the great games.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jack said, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s good to be home.” He was dying to look at Keely, dying to see her standing there, bug–eyed, her mouth hanging open. Maybe she didn’t recognize him, but
the rest of the world did, damn it!

  “Sally?” the man called over his shoulder, still not relinquishing Jack’s hand. “Sally, you’re always so slow. Come on over here, for God’s sake. I was right, it is Jack Trehan. Give me that shopping list, why don’t you, and stop standing there acting like I’m doing something wrong.” He turned back to Jack. “You wouldn’t mind signing Sally’s shopping list, would you? For my kid, Sean. He’s only two months old, but someday he’s going to treasure that autograph.”

  Sally approached, an infant hanging in a sling around her belly, her arms full of disposable diapers, a purse and diaper bag hanging over her left shoulder. Pack mules carried less, but Bill’s hands were empty as he impatiently waved his wife over to them.

  “Don’t you want to help her?” Keely asked as Sally struggled to hold the pack of diapers between her knees as she rummaged in her purse for pen and paper.

  “Naw, she can handle it,” Bill said, still looking at Jack.

  “Men,” Keely growled, motioning for Jack to hold the bottle while she went to help Sally. “You’re all idiots.”

  “What’s the matter with the wife, Jack?” Bill Hunsberger asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Keely, who was helping Sally hold her packages. “Mine’s the same way. Baby blues, that’s what the doc calls it. Pain in the ass is what I call it. Like women haven’t been having babies for years.”

  “For a long time,” Jack agreed, but quietly, because he had a feeling that if Keely heard him, he’d pay for it later. “And she’s not my wife. This isn’t even my baby.” Why he felt compelled to share that information with a stranger he didn’t know, but he thought it was important.

  And not that it mattered, because Bill wasn’t listening. “How’s your brother, Jack? Tim the Tiger’s arm is okay, right? Like, this bum arm stuff isn’t a twin thing, is it? He’s still okay? I mean, he’s hitting the hell out of the ball right now, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Hitting the hell out of the ball,” Jack said, his teeth clenched as he scribbled his name on the scrap of paper Sally handed him. “Well, it’s been great, Bill, but we have to go now, get the little woman home and all of that. Keely? You ready to check out?”

  “You might want to burp her now,” Sally Hunsberger said rather meekly, pointing at M and M.

  “Your turn, Slugger. Mr. Ego. Mr. What Do You Mean You Don’t Know Me, But I’m Not Going To Tell You Who I am—like I’d really care,” Keely said as she took hold of the other cart, aimed it toward the checkout counter. “Oh, and for what it’s worth, I’m a Mets fan. I hate the Yankees.”

  “Oh, yeah, pumpkin? Well, guess what—you’re fired!”

  She wheeled back to face him. “Oh, good. Now I get to go home and you get M and M all to yourself. Have fun. She seems to load her pants right after she has a bottle.”

  Jack opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell, then rethought the sentiment as the words “load her pants” struck home with him. “Don’t push me, lady,” he warned tightly.

  “And don’t you call me ‘pumpkin,’ ” Keely responded, her jaw similarly clenched.

  “Deal,” Jack gritted out, hating himself. That remark probably had been a low blow. He could see it in the pain that had sparked in Keely’s eyes. But, damn, she could piss off Miss Manners!

  “Deal,” Keely repeated. “But it’s still your turn to get upchucked on. I’m going to go unload the carts.”

  Jack looked at Keely, looked down at M and M, who was still sucking on the-most-like-mother nipple. “God,” he moaned quietly, thinking back to his conversation with Cecily. “I should have just said no.”

  “I know the feeling,” Sally Hunsberger said, walking past him. “Damn, do I ever know the feeling.”