by Zoe Chant
She gave Amy a silent look of relief and held the baby out to her even before Amy could step inside. Amy didn’t hesitate. She took Baby Doe and cuddled her close, pulling her grandmother’s necklace out of the collar of her shirt as she did. The heavy gold pendant fascinated Baby Doe. Sure enough, she curled her tiny fist around it and snuggled into Amy’s chest, magically soothed.
“Please tell me you’ll stay long enough to give her a bottle,” Jamila whispered. “She’s been crying all day.”
Amy nodded quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. She—or at least her grandmother’s necklace—had had better luck than anyone else soothing this particular baby since she entered foster care. Baby Doe had been getting more and more difficult to comfort all week, as if she knew her chance at finding her family was slipping away.
At midnight, this unnamed baby, given up by her mother already, would turn thirty days old. That had been the family court judge’s deadline for tracking down her father.
The mother had told the police officer she gave the baby to that she’d met the father at a party; she’d lost his phone number and didn’t know how to get in touch with him, but his name was Teo Gray. The judge had decided that they ought to make an effort to find him, just to cover all the bases, on top of the routine process of confirming that the surrendered baby didn’t match the description of any babies reported missing. The week’s wait would also give the mother time to change her mind and come back for the baby.
Amy had contacted, or attempted to contact, dozens of Theodore, Teodor, and Teo Grays (and Greys) in New York and New Jersey. Some she’d never been able to get hold of. The rest had insisted—often loudly and furiously—that the baby couldn’t possibly be theirs. It wasn’t actually a surprise; Amy had enough trouble getting people who were indisputably parents to be responsible for their children sometimes. Of course no one was going to just answer their phone and take responsibility for a baby he’d never heard about before. Amy didn’t regret trying, though. Baby Doe had deserved the chance, however remote it was.
After tonight, Baby Doe would move to long-term foster care to wait out the rest of the three months before she would be eligible for adoption. Amy would pass her off with the rest of her caseload, and she wouldn’t have any more reason to visit Baby Doe and cuddle her.
For now, though, Amy was here and the baby needed to be fed. Amy followed Jamila inside and quickly settled in on the couch with a bottle. The baby drank hungrily, still clutching Amy’s necklace to her cheek. Amy forgot everything else for a little while—all the rough situations she’d dealt with today, all the things she’d be leaving undone while she went on leave. She even forgot the way her feet hurt.
For now there was just Baby Doe and a bottle and Amy. For now neither one of them was alone.
Amy closed her eyes just for a second. When she jerked her head up, blinking away a half-formed dream, the bottle was nearly empty. Baby Doe had fallen asleep in her arms. Amy glanced at the clock and winced.
It was five minutes after midnight. Amy was officially on leave, and Baby Doe was a month old and still didn’t have a father.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Amy whispered, cuddling the baby closer. “I—”
Amy’s phone vibrated in her pocket. It wasn’t just a text. It was the insistent continuous buzz of an incoming call.
She thought about not answering; it was after midnight, so she was technically on leave. But her handed-off files hadn’t necessarily been handed off to anyone just yet. It might be an emergency; Baby Doe wasn’t the only one who had no one but Amy looking out for her.
Amy shifted Baby Doe to one arm and pulled her phone out. The number displayed looked vaguely familiar. Amy picked up and tucked the phone against her ear while she shifted the baby up against her shoulder and started rubbing her back firmly.
“Hello, this is Amy—”
“I know you said I had to call by the 27th,” the unfamiliar voice on the other end said. It was a man, and he sounded frantic. “I know it’s after midnight but I literally just got your message—my phone was off and then I was on a plane, and—please, please, tell me I’m not too late.”
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