The doctor said I wouldn’t get any real smiles until about six weeks, that any resemblance to a smile was simply Laurie practicing the use of her facial muscles.
Hmmm!
What did that doctor know anyway? This was really a smile. My little jelly bean was a genius.
I tickled her toes again. “This little piggy went to market.”
Laurie blinked up at me. Suddenly, I noticed she had grown beautiful black eyelashes. She was so fair that her eyebrows were barely visible. The same had been true about her eyelashes, until today.
“When did you get those gorgeous long black lashes?”
Laurie flapped a response, then turned her head and examined the side of the tub. I finished bathing her, then laid out her towel and gingerly picked her up. I patted her dry as I made my way into the nursery.
The nursery window was open. I rushed to close it. I didn’t want Laurie to catch a cold.
Wait.
When had I opened the window? Had I opened it?
Oh, how I wish I had a memory. Any memory at all would be good. My mind was a sieve.
Maybe Jim had opened it before leaving for work. Had it been open all day? My stomach lurched as I glanced around the room. Nothing looked displaced.
A loud beeping sounded throughout the house. The smoke detector. I had forgotten the lasagna in the oven. I ran toward the kitchen with a howling Laurie in my arms.
“Shh, it’s okay, pinochle,” I soothed, staring at the oven.
How do you get a burning lasagna out of the oven with an infant in your arms?
I returned to the nursery to put Laurie down, then remembered the window. What if a stranger was in the house? After all, our cars had been broken into. My address was out there in someone’s hands. The logical part of my brain was telling me to calm down, but I looked around for a weapon anyway.
Then I heard the footsteps.
Someone was in the house!
Suppressing the scream rising in my throat, I grabbed the cordless and raced with Laurie into the only hiding place I could think of. The closet.
I concealed us as best I could behind some clothes. My heart was racing. I said a prayer as I dialed 9-1-1. The smoke alarm was still ringing.
The operator said, “What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Someone’s broken into my house. Please send the police. Hurry, I have a baby!”
Suddenly, the smoke detector stopped. I hung up. I didn’t want to give away our hiding place.
Could 9-1-1 trace my call? Could they get my address?
I pressed Laurie to me, trying to keep her quiet. Thankfully, she seemed lulled by the darkness of the closet and her proximity to my wildly beating heart.
I heard the door to nursery creak open.
Dear God. What could I do?
I nestled Laurie onto a fallen jacket on the floor. She seemed content enough to stay quiet. I straightened. If the intruder opened the door, I wanted to be ready.
Ready for what?
The fight of my life.
I clenched my fists and prepared myself. I heard footsteps circle the nursery, then exit.
Air rushed back into lungs. Could it be that the intruder would simply leave?
I heard the footsteps retreat down the hall, then return. This time Laurie betrayed me, letting out an enormous wail.
The door to the closet swung open.
I yelled out my best self-defense karate scream—“Hi yaah!”—while kicking and punching with blind fury. The heel of my foot caught the intruder square in the groin, doubling him over.
Uh-oh!
The intruder was Jim.
He fell to his knees, glaring at me in disbelief. “Kate? What’s going on?”
Relief rushed over me. “Darling! Jim! Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were . . . I thought . . . the window . . .” I embraced him, tears burning my eyes.
“Where’s Laurie?”
I rushed back into the closet and picked her up.
Jim got to his feet. “What are you doing in the closet with the baby?” He scooped her out of my arms. “And why are you screaming at me and kicking me in the—”
“The window was open. I burned the lasagna. The alarm went off. I heard footsteps. You said you were going to be late.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, exhaustion overcoming me. I collapsed into the rocker by Laurie’s crib and sobbed.
Jim put Laurie into her baby swing and knelt down beside me. He took me into his arms.
We heard sirens screaming down the block.
“Oh. And I called 9-1-1,” I whimpered.
“Let me get this straight. Did you say you burned the lasagna?” he said through a smile.
After reporting the false alarm to the police officers on our doorstep, we ate the burned lasagna in silence.
I filled Jim in on Galigani’s visit, finally asking, “You remember June fifteenth?”
“No. Should I? It’s not our anniversary or anything, right?”
“We were at Paula’s party.”