Pitcher's Baby Read Free

the
lamp on the ground. It shatters, causing tiny glass fragments to splinter
across the wooden floor.
    “Stop. Who are you?” I try to catch her
swinging hands, but just when I think I have her, I hear the soft wails of a
baby coming from the corner of the room.
    “Get out. I’m calling 911!”
    “Just stop. Who are you? You’re in my
room,” I yell back at her and flip on the light switch, casting a bright glow
across the room.
    “This is my brother’s house. Not yours,”
she says, reaching for the squalling baby. I pick up my cellphone and hit speed
dial, calling Aaron.
    “What’s up man?”
    “Did you forget to tell me something?” I
have to yell over the screaming woman and baby in the background, but I think
he manages to hear me.
    “Oh fuck, Charlee.”
    “Aaron?” she asks, and I pass the phone to
her, sitting on the edge of the bed as she walks into the hall for privacy.
    “You said the first door on the left was
mine, Aaron, and then I had some strange man crawling in the fucking bed with
me while I was dead asleep, giving me a heart attack.” She pauses while Aaron
answers her. I already know what he’s going to say.
    “I was in the first room on the . . .
fuck. Ok. You’re right. Son of a bitch. You mean I was in his damn bed? Oh my
God.” Another pause. “Yeah, I got it. Okay, I’ll see you then. Love you.”
    She walks back in the room, holding my
phone straight out for me, and for the first time, I get a good look at her.
She and Aaron favor a lot, which I guess makes sense, considering they are
twins. Long, kinky-curly, dark blonde hair hangs in her face, hiding her hollow
brown eyes. She looks exhausted, and judging by the squirming newborn in her
arms, I can imagine why. For a second, I feel like shit for waking her, and
then I shake my head. All I did was come home to my bed. How was I supposed to
know she was here when Aaron failed to tell me?
    “So, I guess I owe you an apology,” she
says, looking anywhere but toward me.
    “Don’t worry about it. Shit happens.”
    “Right, okay then, I’ll just get our stuff
and go.” She takes another step in the room, and her foot catches on a piece of
glass from the shattered lamp. “Oh, fuck.” She hops up and down on one foot,
blood pouring from her heel. I can see the cut is deep.
    “Here, sit down. Let me get you
something.”
    “No, I’ll be fine,” she says, turning back
toward the door. The baby in her arms is crying again and squirming around,
making it even harder for her to hobble on one foot. I try to sit and give her
the space she asked for, but I just don’t have it in me.
    “You’re really hard-headed, aren’t you?” I
say, taking the baby from her arms and cradling her in mine. “Go on, clean up
your wound. We will be right here when you come back.” She looks from her
crying daughter back to me, weighing her options before hobbling off to the
bathroom. I just shake my head and glance down at the squalling baby in my
arms.
    “Votre maman est si têtu bébé fille,” I
murmur to the infant in my arms while I bounce lightly up and down. She stops
her crying and instead gazes up at me questioningly. I think she finds me
entertaining. That, or she agrees with my prior statement that her mother is
very stubborn.
    “Une jolie petite fille es-tu?” I
murmur, nuzzling her soft cheeks. The sweet, intoxicating scent of a newborn
baby takes me back to five years ago and the last time I held someone so tiny
in my arms. I would do anything to be able to go back to those days.
    “Oui, you’re a pretty little girl.” She
smiles up at me and yawns widely before closing her eyes and drifting off to
sleep.
    Charlee walks back into the room just as
I’m setting the baby on her bobby pillow in the center of my bed. She glances
around the room frantically at first, and then, after spotting her daughter,
she sighs and walks back out the door, returning moments later with the broom and
dust pan. Together, we manage to clean