Hush Little Baby by Caroline B. Cooney

Author:Caroline B. Cooney [Cooney, Caroline B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453264218
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2012-07-13T02:31:00+00:00

Chapter 9

IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, THEY were back at Dad’s house, which was lit from every downstairs window, with the outside spotlights on, and a little row of ground lights illuminating the sidewalk like an airport runway. Muffin leaped out of the car as her brother flung open the front door, and Kit, in perfect imitation of Dusty hours earlier, struggled with the straps to scoop up the baby.

Sam was still yelling. His tiny chest heaved with effort, his lungs punishing big people the only way he knew.

Kit came in the big foyer, amazed by how much light there was: light from the enormous chandelier hanging from the second floor; light reflected from the gleaming black and white tiles; light bouncing off mirrors. The baby squinted, and she cradled him in the shade of her hand.

Dusty was upon her like an attack dog. “How could you do that, Kit? How could you go someplace? I trusted you! I counted on you to stay here! Cinda and Burt! I can’t believe you did that!”

Immediately things were normal. She had a thought. She had a ton of thoughts. “You’re the who can’t be counted on! You threw Sam into this house without a single explanation! He could have been a UPS package! A box with a bar code! You didn’t tell me one single thing. You didn’t even tell me his name.” Kit remembered now that she hated Dusty. And looking at this woman who had dumped her son, she thought, Dusty’s beautiful again! She’s had her hair done! Did she leave her baby so she could go to the salon? I don’t believe it.

“Why is he screaming like that?” demanded Dusty. “What have you been doing?”

“I don’t know why he’s screaming like that. He’s your baby. You comfort him.” Kit felt like shoving Dusty through the window glass or into the microwave. She closed her arms around Sam, sorry she had suggested that Dusty even touch Sam, let alone attempt to comfort him. She had not given Sam up to Cinda, or to Ed, and she was not giving him up to Dusty, either.

Her head suddenly ached. She felt physically terrible. Conked over and over again with a stone, maybe, right behind her eyes. Poor Sam the Baby. Did he feel this terrible?

Dusty quit having hysterics. The tantrum had been faked. Kit could remember whole rows of tantrums, back during the divorce. Dad simply got on a plane and found sanctuary on another coast. Kit remembered herself defending Dusty; being friends with Dusty; sympathizing with Dusty — and now she could see that it had been Dusty’s style, not Dusty’s heart.

Dusty’s lovely features came together in a pout, so she looked remarkably like Muffin, age nine, unwilling to touch icky diapers.

In Kit’s arms, the baby was sweaty and hot, and the sobs had diminished to a scratchy level, as if he were giving himself a sore throat. He needed a bath, he needed a flat place to lie down, he needed —

Everything, thought Kit.

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