Diana Orgain - Bundle of Trouble

“Do you know who might?” I pressed.

He unfolded his arms and stood up, leaning in a little too close to me. “Might what?”

“Never mind,” I mumbled. It was none of my business anyway.

I closed my notebook and bent over to shove it into the diaper bag. The notebook caught on a little rag doll I’d packed for Laurie. I had to do a quick rearrange and cram everything in. When I straightened, my heart jumped into my throat.

He had Laurie in his arms.

He gazed down at her. “She’s really beautiful. Fragile, huh?”

“Yes,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I love babies,” he said.

Why hadn’t I strapped her in!

I forced myself to breathe.

And think.

I reached past him and pulled the office door open. Light flooded into the room, causing Laurie to stir and wail again.

“Here,” he said, handing Laurie back to me.

Such relief washed over me that my knees felt weak. I snatched Laurie from him, barely able to contain myself. I pushed her stroller into the hallway muttering, “Jerk.”

The office door clicked closed behind me. But not soon enough that I didn’t hear his snicker.

Laurie wailed again and I stopped short of the swinging kitchen doors to soothe her. She kicked her feet up at me. One foot with Mom’s booty on, the other bare.

I did a quick check underneath her, then down the hallway. No booty.

Probably left behind in the office.

Forget it. No way was I going back in there for a stupid booty.

Mom will kill me.

Maybe I could knock and not go inside. I pulled Laurie’s stroller backward down the hallway toward his office. I heard his voice through the door. “. . asking a bunch of questions ’bout Brad.”

There was silence. I froze.

Then he said, “No way. Why would I tell her ’bout the fight?”

He paused again. I held my breath.

Then I heard him say, “Haven’t seen George since last week, but he’ll be here tomorrow for the delivery.”

I abandoned the booty and wheeled the stroller out of the restaurant. I hustled toward Jim’s car hoping to dodge a parking ticket. Shattered glass littered the street. The driver’s side window was broken.

Not again.

I swallowed the panic building in my chest. I glanced up and down the street. Empty.

Thank God. What would I have done anyway? Beat the burglar with my diaper bag?

I dialed Jim. Voice mail. I dialed Michelle. Voice mail. Why was no one around when you needed them?

A vehicle pulled in front of Jim’s car. A stocky balding man stepped out. He noted the glass on the street, then moved toward me. He reached into his pocket and produced a badge reading INSPECTOR PATRICK MCNEARNY. “Miss, I’m with SFPD. This your car?”

Ah. Miss again!

“Yeah.”

“Anything taken?”

“No. I. . uh. . I haven’t checked.”

I glanced over my shoulder into Jim’s car. Everything seemed to be in order. I leaned over the driver’s seat and pulled open the glove box. Papers were crumpled, as if someone had rummaged through it.

“It looks like someone went through this,” I said.

The officer nodded.

“My address is on the registration,” I said.

“They were probably looking for money. I’ll write a report for you. The best I can tell you is to file an insurance claim.” He pulled out a notebook. “Your name?”

“Kate Connolly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Connolly?” He frowned, flipped through his book, and read an old entry.

My heart tightened. Could this officer be looking for George?

The officer scribbled something. “Is this car registered to you?”

“My husband, actually. My car. .” I took a breath. “My car’s in the shop.”

I didn’t have the guts to tell him my car had been broken into outside of Michelle’s house. What if George was behind this? Was he looking for his bags? Would he really break into my car and Jim’s?

Was I getting paranoid?

Could it be a coincidence? I’d lived in San Francisco my entire life and had never had my car broken into. Now twice in two days?

The officer copied information off the registration. “Like I said, I suggest you file an insurance claim.” He handed the registration back to me, his eyes narrowing.

“Meter’s expired.”

I watched in silence as he crossed the street and pulled open the door to El Paraiso.

I awoke, still groggy, to Laurie’s hunger cries at 3 A.M. I leaned over the bassinet and picked her up. She was soaked all the way through her little jammies.

I poked Jim. “You’re the night shift, remember?”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“She’s wet. She needs a full costume change.”

No answer.

“Jim! Wake up.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Laurie wailed. I put her right next to his ear. No movement.

“How can you sleep through this?”

Men!

I walked down the dark hall, to her nursery, bumping into the walls as I went. Somehow it seemed easier to get out of bed and change Laurie myself than try to get Jim up.

I switched on the light, rousing Laurie and me into wakefulness. She continued to complain throughout the entire diaper and pajama routine.

I was so exhausted I buttoned her pajamas wrong and had to undo everything, then redo it. I vowed to buy only pajamas with zippers in the future.

I made my way back to our bedroom, now fully awake, thinking about our cars getting broken into. Could George have done it? I couldn’t imagine George breaking into our cars; besides, how would he even know we had his bags? If not George, then who?

I recalled the mundane items in the bags. Why would anyone want them? Had I missed something?

I collapsed into the rocker with Laurie, trying to soothe her into quiet mode.

Michelle hadn’t returned my call. Maybe I should go over there tomorrow. After all, what else did I have to do all day?

Sleep?

Ha.

I filled the time the best way I could and dialed the only person I could think of that would be up at this ungodly hour, my girlfriend, Paula, in France. Paula and her husband, David, had relocated several months ago. David worked for a top consulting firm. In order to move up in his career, he’d been “asked” to take an assignment in France and relocate his family.

I jiggled Laurie in my arms and listened to the phone ring. With no sleep, I felt incapable of doing the math on the time difference. I figured it must be sometime in the afternoon. Her voice mail kicked on and I left a sluggish, incoherent message.

I logged on to the computer and emailed her.

Tried to call you. Lots to tell, but its 4am here and even though I can’t sleep because Laurie is awake I can’t really type with her in my arms either. Thinking of you. Call or email when you get the chance.

XOXOXOX.

I finally successfully placed Laurie in her bassinet and crawled back into bed as the alarm went off at 6 A.M. Every earlier attempt had been fouled by Laurie’s startle reflex; as soon as I set her down, her little arms would shoot straight up as though she were falling.

Jim jarred awake. “Were you up all night?”

“Practically.”

He rubbed my back. “Oh, honey, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried.”

“You did?”

My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and my arms and back were sore from rocking Laurie. “Yeah.”

He stroked my hair. “If she wakes up again tonight, get me up.”

If she wakes up again?