A Jeff Resnick Six Pack

by L. L. Bartlett

  I wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Mrs. Alpert was still staring at her great granddaughter, her lip curled in contempt.

  “There’s part of you in that little girl,” I said, lamenting the fact.

  My words seemed to have struck a nerve with her. Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. She stared at me for a long moment and then looked back at the baby. Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly looked away.

  “She’s your great granddaughter—your flesh and blood,” I pressed, hoping that might inspire some molecule of family pride, but instead my words seemed to agitate her. The old woman shook her head and began to cry in earnest. “She’ll carry your genes into the next generation,” I said, and she shook her head even harder.

  “Stop it—stop tormenting me,” she cried.

  I wasn’t sure what to say next, so I stood there waiting and watching.

  Mrs. Alpert wiped her eyes and seemed to get her emotions under control. She stared at little Betsy, who was still merrily kicking away. The old lady reached for the baby, but I caught her wrist, which turned out to be solid in my grasp.

  “Don’t touch her,” I grated, as protective as a mother bear.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Mrs. Alpert said, then frowned. “She is a pretty little thing, but she isn’t mine.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She shook her head, still staring at Betsy. “Because … because John wasn’t my son.”

  I blinked in surprise. “Whose son was he?”

  The old woman looked up to glare at me. “My husband’s love child.”

  Old Mr. Alpert had stepped out on the old lady? No wonder she’d made his life a living hell. “But how did you end up with him?”

  “I couldn’t have children. We paid her a lot of money to leave the state and never contact us again.”

  “So, not only did you take John away from his mother, you did the same to Richard, too,” I said with disgust.

  She said nothing, didn’t look ashamed, and why had I expected more from her? She’d been an evil witch in life, and death hadn’t changed her.

  I let go of her wrist.

  Her gaze moved from the baby to take in the rest of the room, which looked nothing like it had when it was mine. Finally, she looked at me once again. “I never liked you.”

  “The feeling was mutual.”

  She nodded, and it seemed like all the fight had left her, leaving her looking old and worn out—no doubt, as she’d looked when she’d breathed her last breath. “I suppose you’re right after all. This isn’t my house anymore.”

  “No, it isn’t. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

  She looked back down at Betsy, who’d closed her eyes and was sleeping once again. “Have a happy life, little girl. May it be far happier than mine ever was.”

  And whose fault was that?

  As I looked at her, the old woman seemed to dissolve in front of me, the image of her growing more and more transparent until she’d completely disappeared.

  So, the old girl had had one last secret to reveal, one last confession to make. Now that that burden had been lifted from her soul, would she finally enter eternal rest or was she facing the fires of damnation? I couldn’t work up much interest either way—I just hoped she was gone for good.

  I took one long last look at my little Cherry Pie, then turned, switched off the light, and left the door open.

  The house was eerily quiet as I made my way down the stairs. When I got back to Richard’s study, I nearly ran into him as he came out of the darkened room.

  “You were right behind me. How did you get out in the hall before me?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I thought better of it. “Then again, maybe you might. Get the new light bulbs, pour me a drink, and I’ll share one hell of a Halloween story with you.”

  CRYBABY

  Dedication

  For Leann Sweeney

  and school nurses everywhere.

  Jeff Resnick—babysitter? It wasn’t a reference that had ever graced his personal résumé, but when he’s entrusted to care for his brother’s most prized possession—his infant daughter—Jeff is tested in ways he could never have anticipated. With his girlfriend Maggie unavailable, Jeff has only one person he can turn to for advice when his tiny niece falls ill on his watch.

  “You’ve got our cell phone numbers,” my older, half-brother Richard Alpert said, his gaze deadly serious. “They’ll work until we get to the border. After that, we’ll be out of communication until we get to the hotel. I left that number, plus the restaurant and theater’s, as well as a list of other emergency numbers on the fridge. And, of course, if worse comes to worst, you can always call 911.”

  I let out a long—a very L-O-N-G—breath and nodded. How many times had he lectured me in the past few weeks about the same thing? Richard and his wife, Brenda, were heading for an overnight in Toronto. As a Christmas gift to her, he’d bought tickets to see the Canadian version of the hottest play on Broadway and my lady, Maggie Brennan, and I were going to be entrusted with Richard’s and Brenda’s most prized possession—if you wanted to objectify her in that way—their four-month-old daughter, Elizabeth Ruth.

  They called her Betsy, after Richard’s and my mother, but to me she was CP, otherwise known as Cherry Pie. Why? Because before she was even conceived, I knew that little girl was destined to be born and had bought her several little red dresses (in various sizes) decorated with white polka-dots and miniature cherries. You see, almost two years before, I’d been viciously mugged and suffered a serious brain injury. As a consequence, I’m just a little bit psychic. Not that I’d say the ‘p’ word out loud to anyone. To be perfectly correct, I’m empathic—sort of like Councilor Troi from Star Trek. Only, most of the time, my ability is more hit-and-miss, and sometimes I just know things that I could not know by any other means.

  “It’s not like I don’t know how to take care of a baby,” I told my big brother—the ever-worried physician. Since CP had arrived, I’d spent my fair share of time taking care of that precious little girl. Not only had I changed wet and stinky diapers, but that tiny girl and I had bonded in a very special way, thanks to said head injury.

  I worked nights at a local bar called The Whole Nine Yards and often came home after two in the morning. I live in the apartment over the garage on Richard’s property. If I arrive home in the wee hours and see the lights on at the big house, I know CP is having a bad night. That also means her parents are having a bad night. Since I need time to wind down after hours of pouring drinks for thirsty Buffalonians, I use my key to enter the house to relieve a grateful mom and pop from walking the floor.

  I rarely worked the more lucrative weekend shifts, so Maggie and I were more than happy to give Richard and Brenda (who also happens to be Maggie’s best friend), a short respite from parenthood. That is, if they would ever leave.

  “If we hit the road by ten tomorrow morning, we could be back in time for lunch,” Richard said.

  “Wait a minute,” Brenda interrupted. “You mean I don’t get time to shop?”

  “I thought you wanted to stop for afternoon tea in Niagara-On-The-Lake on the way home,” I said.

  “That, too,” Brenda eagerly agreed.

  Richard seemed to squirm in his heavy winter coat. “I don’t want to abuse your generosity. This is a big responsibility,” he told me gravely.

  Yes, it was. But Maggie and I were more than qualified to take on the task.

  “Go. Enjoy yourselves. And don’t worry. You’ll be gone a little over twenty-four hours. What could possibly happen in that short amount of time?”

  Richard opened his mouth as though to give me an extended list of possible disasters, but Brenda leapt forward and clamped a hand over his lips. “Don’t you dare even speculate,” she admonished him.

  “You know I’d give my life for CP, but I really don’t think that’s going to be necessary. At least not tonight.”

 
“Me, either,” Brenda said.

  “When’s Maggie going to get here?” Richard asked.

  Hey! I was the one who’d changed diapers and walked the floor with CP on many a cold winter’s night. Maggie had a niece and several nephews, but hadn’t had all that much experience with infants. Why did Richard seem to think that her two X chromosomes were more valuable when it came to childcare?

  “Don’t worry. Maggie will be here after she gets off work—about five thirty. I’m sure CP and I can manage for the next few hours without her,” I assured him.

  His expression was still grave. “Okay,” he said at last. He consulted his watch. “I guess we’d better get going. I’ll just go up and give Betsy a good-night kiss….”

  “Oh, no you won’t,” Brenda said. “She’s asleep. I don’t want you waking her. Now let’s go—now!”

  Richard still looked skeptical.

  “Rich, I know you trust me with your life. Can you give me the benefit of the doubt that I’ll look after CP, too?”

  As Richard had once—literally—taken a bullet for me, he had to know I’d do the same for him—and CP. “Yes,” he admitted. “I know you will.” He looked in Brenda’s direction. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “About time, too,” she muttered, then turned to me and leaned up to give my cheek a kiss. “Take care of my girl, Jeffy.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Richard said.

  “I’ll be here.” I followed them to the back door and watched them cross the driveway to the garage side door. A minute later, Richard backed out his Mercedes, turning so that the front of the car faced the road. They waved and the garage door went back down as they took off down the driveway. Snowflakes slowly drifted down. I hoped they wouldn’t hit any nasty weather on the two-hour drive.

  I closed the back door and suddenly noticed how quiet the house was. I’d lived there for more than three years when I’d been a teenager—after the death of Richard’s and my mother—but it had never felt like any kind of a home to me during the years when Richard’s paternal grandparents had been alive. The old lady had been a shrew and the old man was pussy-whipped by his antagonistic wife. The vibes were different since Richard and Brenda had taken over the manse. It wasn’t—and never would be—my home, but it did feel homier. CP would enjoy growing up here, something her dad could never claim.

  I settled at the kitchen table with that morning’s Buffalo News and thought about brewing a fresh pot of coffee, but then decided against it. CP had been sleeping through the night for the past couple of weeks and I hoped that Maggie and I would be able to do the same. Maggie and I would never have kids of our own, but we had no problem spoiling CP—not that you could do all that much for so young a child.

  I read the newspaper, but half of my attention was tuned to the baby monitor that sat on the kitchen counter. If CP woke, I’d hear her cries.

  It made me smile when I thought of how much that baby had changed all our lives. Her presence had been a bridge for Brenda to reconnect with her estranged family. CP had given me, Richard, Brenda, and even Maggie, the best Christmas any of us had had in years. Maggie surprised us all—even tiny CP—with ugly Christmas sweaters. Thanks to the timer on my digital camera, we had a fantastic geeky shot of the five of us that we could haul out and laugh at for years to come: Maggie, me, and Brenda looking manic, while a dour Richard held up a sleepy CP, who sported a smelly diaper.

  I looked at the clock on the wall. Richard and Brenda hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes when I could no longer stand the silence and trundled up the stairs to check on my little niece. The door to the nursery—what had once been my bedroom—was open. I peeked inside to see CP bundled in a pink sleeper, fast asleep, just as her mommy had left her. Her breathing sounded a little noisy, but nothing to worry about. The house was dry and my nose was just a little stuffed, too.

  I tiptoed from the room and went back down to the kitchen, glancing at the clock before I resumed my seat. Maggie was going to stop at the grocery store to pick up a frozen pizza for our dinner. Oh, yes, the babysitters were going to really live it up. That’s what I thought. Then the phone rang. I leapt out of my chair to grab it before it could jangle once again and wake CP.

  “Hello?”

  “Jeff?” the voice croaked.

  “Maggie?” I asked, shock and worry suddenly filling me.

  “I’b sick.”

  “Since last night?” I asked, the muscles in my shoulders suddenly starting to bunch.

  “I think I’b got the flu. I was sidding at by desk at work when I suddenly got the chills, then I started to cough. Next thing I knew, I was in the ladies room barfing my guts up.”

  I winced. Not an image I wanted to contemplate. “So, CP and I won’t have the pleasure of your company tonight, will we?”

  “There’s no way I want you or Betsy to catch this. I feel like I’b going to die.”

  “Are you home?”

  “Yes. I got in just in time to—”

  “Poor, Maggs,” I said to stave off a possibly more graphic description. “You ought to climb right into bed and try to get some sleep.”

  “I will—if I can ever stop coughing.” And to prove her point, she launched into a nasty hacking fit. I held the phone away from my ear, glad I’d let Brenda talk me into getting a flu shot back in the fall.

  Finally, Maggie was able to speak again. “I’b sorry to let you down. I suppose they’ve already left for Toronto.”

  “Half an hour ago.”

  “You could call them. I’b sure they’d turn around.”

  “No way. Hey, I can take care of CP for a day. I’ve been changing her diapers since the day she came home from the hospital. I’ve fed her, walked the floor with her, and I’ve put her down for naps, too.”

  “You’ve watched her for a couple of hours at a time—not for more than a day,” Maggie pointed out.

  “And have you ever taken care of your niece or nephews for an overnight?” I asked.

  “Well,” Maggie began, and then was overtaken by another coughing fit. “I’b got to go—literally,” Maggie said, and hung up before I could tell her I hoped she’d feel better. I didn’t know where to buy chicken soup that didn’t come from a can, and didn’t trust my admittedly shaky culinary skills to try to make it from scratch. Maybe tomorrow, once Richard and Brenda came home, I’d visit Maggie after a stop at the local Chinese takeout to buy some hot-and-sour soup.

  I replaced the phone and again noticed how god-awful quiet it was in that big house. It was just CP and me now. I’d been looking forward to Maggie and me playing pseudo parents. We’d had a few hard months—okay, more than half a year—after her older sister had tried (and nearly succeeded) to break us up, but we were almost entirely back in sync and it felt good.

  I looked at my watch. By now, Richard and Brenda were probably nearing the Canadian border. Once they did, their cell phones wouldn’t work. They’d booked a room at one of Toronto’s fanciest hotels, had reservations for dinner at a top restaurant, and then would attend the show.

  I wasn’t at all surprised that it was Brenda who’d craved a break—short as it was to be—from being a caregiver. She’d been taking care of Richard and me, and now CP. She deserved a one-day reprieve, and I knew she’d come home refreshed and happy. I also knew that my big brother would pretend to be happy and relaxed, but during the next twenty-four hours would fixate on worst-case scenarios. I doubted he’d enjoy the dinner, the show, or sleep a wink, and would return home tomorrow a nervous wreck. Despite Maggie’s absence, I was determined to prove to him that I could handle an infant. The house would still be standing and CP and I would not only make it through the night, but we’d both be smiling. Okay, I might have to tickle that little girl for a smile, but I knew I could do it.

  Richard had promised to call as soon as they got to the hotel, so I wasn’t surprised when the phone rang nearly ninety minutes later.

  “It’s me. How
’s Betsy?” Richard asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” I said.

  “Sorry, Jeff,” Richard said contritely. “How’s my girl?”

  “Still napping.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tight with worry.

  “I’ve checked on her a couple of times. She must just be really sleepy today.”

  “I hope she won’t keep you and Maggie awake tonight.”

  I’d already decided not to admit that I’d be CP’s only caretaker. I was sure Brenda trusted me with her baby girl, but not sure my brother would give me the benefit of the doubt where his daughter was concerned. He was just a little bit paranoid.

  “Not to worry. I’ve got the magic touch to get that baby girl to sleep.”

  “Yes, you do,” Richard admitted. “I don’t know what we would have done a couple of nights if you hadn’t come over and given us a break.”

  “If she wants to stay up late, you’ve got Netflix on the big-screen TV in the living room. I’m sure we can find something to watch to amuse ourselves until she gets tired again.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  “Okay, I’d better hang up so we can get to the restaurant in time for our reservation.”

  “Hi, Jeffy,” Brenda called from somewhere in the background. “Give my baby girl a kiss from her momma and daddy.”

  “Tell her I will,” I told Richard. “Now, go. Have a good time. And don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

  “You? Where’s Maggie?”

  “Probably in the bathroom,” I said, which may or may not have been true. At that moment, he didn’t have to know that she was at her own home, not his.

  “Okay. We’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re going to be fine.”

  “Yes, but I would feel better if I do.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  “If I haven’t said thank you—”

  “You just did,” I reminded him. “You’re stalling. Allow yourself to have a wonderful time and stop worrying,” I ordered.