“Just realized I’ve been walking around like this all day,” she said. “It’s stuck on there like glue, and if I put him down now he’ll start wailing.”
I peeled the napkin off her leg and tried to brush away as best I could whatever had held it there. I hoped it was baby food.
I said, “My friend has a baby, and I want to help her out, and I was wondering if you could help me with what kind of stuff she needs.”
The girl wrinkled her nose, stuffing the napkin into her back pocket. “You mean, like food stuff? Or clothing stuff?”
“Well, what would be the basics?”
“Depends,” she said. “Boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
“How old?”
I hesitated. “Well, my friend is one of those health-nut types, you know, so she hired one of those home birth people and—”
“A doula,” she said.
“Yes, that. And she had the baby at home, because she…” I cleared my throat. “Because she doesn’t really believe in doctors and everything.”
The girl tilted her head. “Uh-huh. And how old is the baby?”
“Ummm, an hour?” I said, looking at my watch. “Two hours tops.”
The girl pursed her lips together and looked at me with one cocked eyebrow, like I was perhaps the most moronic creature she had ever laid eyes on.
“Oh,” she said. “Wow.”
I raised my shoulders as if to say “What are you gonna do?” and made a face that was half apologetic smile, half tormented grimace.
She sighed. “Go get a cart.”
You wonder how anybody ever had a baby before the invention of Walmart, plastic, and the assembly line. Disposable bottles, wet wipes, pacifiers, panty shields, rubber nipples, baby powders, booties, syringes, gas drops, burp cloths, Onesies, crib pads, cotton swabs, nursing bras, diaper pails, bottle warmers, breast shields, bottle brushes, bumper shields—the list goes on and on. I nearly had one whole cart filled and was ready to go get another when the girl finally said we were done.
Since I wasn’t sure if Corina would choose to breastfeed her baby, I had to cover all my bases and get some powdered formula as well, not to mention eye drops, aspirin, rash cream, a bulb syringe, and an aspirator. I could barely remember what half the stuff was for, but between me, Joyce, and Corina I was sure we could figure it out.
“You can use this as a crib for now,” the girl said, sliding a bright pink car seat onto the rack under the cart. “And you can never have too many baby blankets.”
She handed me a fleecy pink blanket. As I tossed it on top of the basket, I was about to thank her for all her help when she said, “You know, it’s not my place to say, but your friend should see a doctor.”
For a second I thought I detected some quotation marks around the way she said your friend. She had definitely avoided asking any more questions, and I was pretty sure she was convinced I was either a kidnapper or was running some sort of illicit, black-market baby-supply company.
“No insurance, right?”
I shook my head. “She’s going through a pretty tough time right now.”
“Yeah, here.” She held out her baby. “Take him.”
Before I could think of a reason to protest, my arms were reaching out and taking the baby from her. He immediately howled in utter despair.
“I told you.” She pulled a pen from her purse and the napkin from her back pocket and started writing on it. “This is my pediatrician. Kind of a dork, but total sliding scale and no questions asked.” She handed the sticky napkin to me with a poignant look. “Watch out for the oatmeal.”
I laughed. “I was wondering what that was. I’m Dixie, by the way.”
The girl looked at me expectantly, and for a moment I thought she might be waiting for me to give her a tip.
She said, “Can I have my baby back?”
“Oh my gosh, of course!”
She laughed and took the baby. His head smelled sweet, like talcum powder and clean sweat. As soon as he was back in his mother’s arms he stopped crying and turned around to look at me accusingly.
“I could use a break,” she said, “but I figure you’ve already got enough babies to deal with for today.”
Just then my cell phone rang.
“Well, I’m out of here,” she said. “This monster’s due for his nap. Cool?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. Thank you so much for your help,” I said, fishing my phone out of my bag. “I would have been shopping for hours!”
“I know,” she said as she disappeared around the end of the aisle. “Call that doctor.”
I pulled my phone out and flipped it open. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it was Ethan Crane. I held the phone to my ear with one shoulder and swung the cart around to head for the checkout lanes.
He said, “Hey, it’s Ethan. What are you doing?”
I thought for a moment. Just the sound of his voice made me a little weak in the knees.
“I’m shopping.”
“What for?”
I wondered how he would react if I said I was at Walmart buying a cartful of baby supplies for an illegal alien and her newborn baby that I found this morning behind the bushes in a bed of blood-soaked leaves.
“Hats,” I said.
“Fun. Listen, my friend just opened a restaurant downtown, and I was wondering if you might want to go down and check it out this Friday night.”
I stopped the cart in the middle of the aisle. “With you?”
“Yes, with me.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
“I’m asking you to go with me. Like a date.”
“Yes, I got that.”
“Just making sure.”
I said, “No, I’d love to.”
I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather not do. Not that I hadn’t been thinking about Ethan a lot lately, and not that I don’t find him completely irresistible, but the idea of going on a date with him made me so nervous that I wanted to stick my head in a hole.
“I have a meeting at six,” I lied. “So I’ll meet you there?”
“Excellent. Eight o’clock?”
Eight o’clock seemed horrible. “Perfect. See you then!”
As I clicked the phone off I heard him say, “Dixie, you don’t even know where—”
The D-word, I said to myself as I rolled my cart into the checkout line. Ethan had used the damn D-word. I’d known it was only a matter of time before he asked me out on a date, but I still wasn’t ready for it. Did this man think we were going to be a couple now? Did he think he was just going to drop in and sweep me off my feet? Did he know things were over with Guidry? Were things over with Guidry? And did he not realize I had absolutely nothing cute to wear?
Then I caught myself. There was that voice in my head again—telling me to run away, to hide, to stay safe.
I decided for now I wouldn’t think about it. Six bags and three hundred and seventy five dollars later, I was back in the Bronco on my way to Joyce’s when the phone rang again. It was Ethan, but this time I let it go to voice mail. Ethan had used the D-word.…
At Joyce’s, I carried the first two of the bags up the front walk and was about to set them down on the mat when Joyce slipped out the front door and pulled it closed behind her. She looked a little bit flustered.
“How is she?” I asked. “How’s the baby?”
“They’re fine, they’re fine,” she whispered. “They’re just waking up. But I have two things to tell you.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”
She looked over her shoulder and then leaned in with a whisper. “There’s ten one-thousand-dollar bills in Corina’s purse!”
I put the bags down.
“What?”
She said, “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have been going through her purse, but she was asleep and I thought I might be able to find a phone number, somebody I could call and let them know she was okay, a relative or something, and that’s when I saw
the money. It’s just loose in her purse. Ten thousand dollars!”
“Does she know you found it?”
“No no no, she’s still resting and I put it right back. Oh, Dixie, why on earth would she have that kind of money in her purse?”
I said, “Now, let’s don’t jump to any conclusions. For whatever reason, she has a lot of money. It could be her life savings for all we know.”
“You’d think with that kind of money if she knew she was going to have a baby, she’d at least have gotten a hotel room.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, and plus it’s none of our business.”
Joyce didn’t look convinced, and to tell the truth I wasn’t too sure either. It did seem strange. Why would a young girl who apparently had nothing but a cardboard box and the clothes on her back walk around with so much cash? I had heard that illegals often come into the country with every penny they own. They need money to pay the people who help smuggle them in, and they have to pay for everything with cash. Still …
We decided to let it go. For whatever reason, Corina had a ton of money in her purse, and it wasn’t our place to ask why. Although I did wonder if I shouldn’t give her my Walmart receipt.
I said, “What’s the second thing?”
“What second thing?”
“The second thing you wanted to tell me.”
She nodded. “Oh yeah. You know that dead bird?”
“Yes?”
“Well it’s not dead!”
* * *
Joyce’s handbag was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. It had exploded. There were bits and pieces of tissue thrown about, a scattering of crumbs from what looked like a granola bar, a couple of lipstick cases, loose change, and a few fluffy chartreuse feathers. Proudly perched atop the handbag in all its multicolored glory was the resplendent quetzal, clutching a ring of keys in its bright yellow beak and eyeing us curiously.
I said, “Joyce, that bird is not dead.”
She said, “Nope. In fact, it is very much alive.”
The bird cocked its head to one side, flicked the ring of keys onto the table, and chirped what sounded like a cheerful cool!
Joyce said, “I was in the bedroom with Corina and the baby, and I thought I heard you out here unpacking things. I came out and there he was. He looks a little groggy, but other than that he seems perfectly fine. Do you think he got sick and just passed out?”
“Could be something he ate,” I said, “or just plumb exhausted. Do you have a box or something we can put him in?”
“I can do better than that. I have an old antique birdcage in the garage.”
I kept an eye on the bird while Joyce went out to the garage. He did seem a little out of sorts. Occasionally his eyelids would droop and he’d list to one side for a split second, but since I’d never spent a lot of quality time with a resplendent quetzal, for all I knew that was perfectly normal behavior.
Joyce returned with a beautiful handmade wire cage, about three feet tall. It had a gabled roof and several swinging perches, a couple of wooden feeding boxes, and a hinged door just big enough for the bird to fit through.
“Now all we have to do is catch him,” Joyce said.
I got down on my knees so my eyes weren’t higher than the bird’s and then shuffled slowly toward him. He hopped to the far end of the handbag and eyed me warily.
“We could use the pool net,” Joyce said, “or I can throw a blanket over him and you grab him.”
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot easier than that.”
Looking away from the bird, I moved my arm toward him with my palm down and two fingers extended. He hopped right off the bag and onto my hand with a high-pitched cool! and started pecking at my watch.
Joyce said, “Oh my gosh! Who are you, the bird whisperer?”
“His flight feathers are clipped,” I said. “This little guy didn’t blow in with a hurricane. He’s somebody’s pet.”
Joyce set the cage down on the coffee table and opened its little hinged door. Moving my hand as slowly as possible, I ferried the bird up to the cage and held him level with the doorway. He flicked his long tail a couple of times, looked at me with one eye and then the other, and then hopped right in without so much as a peep.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind us, and we both started at the sound of it. I turned to see Corina standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her eyes as big as dinner plates and her jaw hanging wide open. She reached out to the door frame to steady herself.
We both jumped up and helped her to the couch. I got a pillow to put behind her back, and Joyce went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Corina was staring at the bird like it was a ghost.
“El pájaro,” she said, shaking her head. “Ay dios mío.”
Joyce came back with the water and handed it to Corina. “She must have seen it lying dead on the path.”
“She probably thinks it’s a sign,” I said. “I know that’s what I’d be thinking if I were her.”
I sat down on the couch next to her and pointed at the bird.
“Uh, the bird … no es muerte. Es muy bueno!”
“Yes,” Corina said and nodded. “It is good.”
“Joyce found it on the path this morning, uh … esta mañana, right before we heard the baby … antes de la niña.”
“Yes, yes,” Corina said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bird.
“It’s very exotic,” I said, trying to think of the Spanish word for rare. “It’s not from here. No es de aquí.”
“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Dios mío, dios mío, dios mío.”
I decided to take this opportunity to ask Corina again about seeing a doctor. I had the number that the young mother had given me at Walmart, and if anything was a sign, it was that a random stranger had given us a doctor that supposedly wouldn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t want to risk anyone turning Corina over to the immigration officials, but I didn’t see how it was possible that we could let her go much longer without at least having the baby looked at by a pediatrician—and this seemed like my only chance.
“Corina,” I said, taking the crumpled napkin with the doctor’s number on it out of my pocket. “Es necessario…”
I paused to make sure I was using the right words.
She looked at the napkin and said, “Yes?”
“Es necessario … el médico.”
She was silent.
“Es muy importante, for the baby.”
She nodded. “Yes, yes I know.”
I tried to figure out a way to tell her that I had a doctor that would probably not report her to immigration, but I just couldn’t do it. All I could do was look Corina in the eye, woman to woman, and tell her with my voice that everything was going to be okay.
I said, “El médico es bueno.”
I could see a little note of doubt in her eyes, but it vanished. She seemed to understand.
She said, “Okay, I can go.”
“I promise nothing bad will happen,” I said, even though I knew I couldn’t honestly make that promise, and I’m sure Corina knew it as well, but we had no choice.
I said, “I’ll call the doctor and make the appointment. Comprende?”
“Yes, I understand. Gracias, Dixie.”
Joyce handed me the phone, and I dialed the number on the napkin.
A woman answered the phone. “Doctor’s office, how can I help you?”
I said, “Hi, I wanted to know if I could talk to the doctor? I just have a few questions for him before I make an appointment.”
She said, “What can I help you with?”
“Well, it’s a little personal, actually. I really would feel better if I could speak to him directly.”
“Alright,” she said, “hold on while I get the doctor.”
“Thanks very much.” I nodded to Joyce and Corina. “She’s getting the doctor.”
There was a slight pause, and then the same woman said, “Hello
, this is Dr. Harper.”
“Oh no,” I said. “I am a complete fool.”
The woman laughed and said, “No, no, it’s my fault, I should have told you when I answered the phone. My receptionist is out today with the flu, so I’m wearing a variety of hats and it’s making me a little bonkers.”
I knew right then and there that I could trust this doctor. I can relate to bonkers.
“A friend gave me your number,” I said. “I have a newborn that needs to see a doctor right away.”
“Alright, when would you like to come in? And congratulations, by the way.”
I nearly shouted, “Oh, it’s not mine! It belongs to a friend, but she doesn’t speak English so I’m calling for her.”
“I understand. I happen to have a cancellation tomorrow afternoon at three. Can you bring the baby and the mother then?”
“Oh, that would be great, thank you so much.”
“And the name?”
“Corina … uh, hold on one sec.”
I covered the phone and turned to her. “What is your last name? Corina…”
She hesitated. It was clear she didn’t want to tell me, but she must have known there was no sense in trying to hide anymore. We were clearly here to help her.
“Flores.”
“Corina Flores,” I said into the phone.
“And the baby’s name?”
I sighed. This was going to be tricker than I thought. I covered the phone again and turned to Corina.
“La niña? What’s her name?”
Corina folded her hands in her lap and smiled.
“Dixie,” she said. “Dixie Joyce Flores.”
Joyce laughed, and I rolled my eyes in disbelief.
“Seriously, Corina, they’ll need to put something down for the records, and you can always change it later. What’s the baby’s name?”
Just then the baby started crying softly in the other room. Corina stood up and looked at me with big, unblinking eyes.
“Dixie. Joyce. Flores.”
5
Some of the bathrooms in my clients’ houses are so big and luxurious, you sort of want to run down to the local gas station and clean up before you step foot in them. Roy and Tina Harwick’s master bathroom was like that. It was hands down the most flamboyant bathroom I’ve ever been in. You might even say it was a little crazy, but in their own way, so were the Harwicks. They lived in a huge, ornate mansion off Jungle Plum Road at the north end of the Key. They were driving to Tampa later in the afternoon, and I had gone to their house to meet their cat and to finalize our pet-sitting agreement.
The Cat Sitter's Cradle Page 3