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“Mmm, this is so good and just what I needed.” A caffeine fix. “Thanks again.”
“Hey, anything for the mother of my goddaughter.”
I twitch a smile, my mind wondering what’s inside that envelope. Gabe cuts my mental ramblings short.
“Where’s that nanny of yours…Marti, right?”
“Marley,” I correct. “So much for your great memory.”
He blushes. God, he’s so cute.
“How do you know about her?” I ask.
“Your old man hasn’t stopped raving about her.”
For the second time today, I feel myself bristling. Doesn’t Ned talk about me or our baby?
“Can I meet her?” asks Gabe.
I take another long sip of my Frappuccino to keep myself in check. “She went out to pick up some groceries and things we need for the baby.”
“You’re all alone?” Genuine concern shines in his eyes.
“My mother’s here. I think she’s in her room watching her favorite talk show, or daytime soap.”
At that moment, I hear a loud wail on the baby monitor. An alarm goes off inside me. While it’s likely Isa’s just hungry, my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario. Something’s happened. Something’s wrong.
“Gabe, I need to go.” My voice sounds rushed and anxious. It’s not like my mother is going to tend to my baby’s needs. She’s the least maternal woman I know. With her TV blasting, she probably doesn’t even hear my baby screaming.
“Thanks for stopping by.”
He sets his drink down. “Hey, I’m in no rush. I’d love to see my little princess again.”
Moments later we’re in Isa’s nursery. Her wails are louder than ever. She’s kicking and flailing in her crib. Her face is beet red, her tiny hands clenched. Her face grows redder, her wails louder. A wretched odor infiltrates my nostrils. Fear pulses through my veins.
“Gabe, I think there’s something wrong with her!” Gripped by terror, I bend over the crib to lift her out, but wince when a sharp pelvic pain stabs me. I almost double over. Gabe’s strong surfer arms catch me.
“Ava, are you okay?”
The knife-like pain subsides as fast as it attacked me. My baby’s wails consume me as I straighten up. “I’m fine, but Isa is freaking me out.”
The vile stench grows more intense. More toxic. She’s wailing like a banshee.
Banshees…the sirens of death. I remember learning about them when we studied Irish mythology in tenth-grade English Lit.
Tears gather in my eyes. My baby is dying like in one of my nightmares. Were they horrible premonitions?
To my utter shock, Gabe laughs.
“Gabe, how could you be laughing at a time like this? Something’s seriously wrong with Isa! Call 911,” I cry out as he lifts my bawling child out of the crib. He holds her in the large palms of his hands like a rare, delicate treasure.
“I think I know what’s wrong with her,” he says with confidence, as he ambles over to the changing table. My heart in my throat, I follow him, and watch as he gently lays her on her back on the cotton pad.
“Ava, I think our little Isa just took the biggest dump of her life.” With one hand, he gently lifts up her pudgy legs by her little feet. “Take a sniff.”
Hesitantly, I bend over and put my nose to the area between her legs. I inhale. “Oh my God!” I could die from the smell. “I think you’re right. It must be the new formula Nurse Marley put her on.”
He rips apart her onesie. The snaps all sounding at once. Exposing her tiny legs and tiny diaper.
