The woman hands me back the baby, telling me that I have a beautiful daughter. I don't correct her. When she's gone, I tell Sophia I'm going to miss that quilt. Sophia motions for me to follow her to the door of the back room. She flings the door open dramatically and I see boxes stacked five feet high with quilts just like the ones hanging up front perched in plastic on top of each. Even the crazy quilt has boxes and boxes of more just like it. I say, "I thought they were hand-stitched," and Sophia says, "Yeah, in Pakistan," when she shuts the door.
"Why didn't you just get one out of the back then?"
"She wouldn't even want it then, dummy."
Gracie starts crying in her stroller, kicking her feet furiously. She doesn't like for me to be out of her sight for even a minute. I pick her up and quiet her down while Sophia goes back to reading her book. I tell her we've got to go and she just grunts, waves a little without looking up when we're going out the door.
Gracie is looking around like she's lost something and won't stop crying. I put the pacifier in her mouth and she spits it out. Sometimes I think it would be a lot easier if I just had to stay gone for a few hours but without the baby. Sometimes I picture leaving Gracie on one of the benches in the town square and finding her in the exact same spot, two hours later, still sleeping. It'd be nice to have a locker to put her in where she'd be safe and a pause button so she wouldn't get scared or bored.
We pass the pharmacy. A woman walking out looks at me like I've been beating the baby to make her cry. I stop outside the pharmacy window and pull Gracie up out of her stroller. Shut up, I hiss in her ear. She looks at me for a second from her wet, red face and stops, like she understands me and then she starts in again louder, bouncing her body like she can bounce away. I pinch her calf. I ought to stuff you in a trash can, I whisper. She slumps against me, cries against my shoulder like she's lost her last friend. I feel bad. I relax my grip, hold her gently and say Gracie, Gracie, Gracie over and over in her ear, as soft as I can.
She stops crying, drawing a few sharp breaths after the tears stop. I look into the pharmacy, through all of the posters and displays. The only person in there is the woman behind the counter. I've already read all of the cards in there. I imagine buying one, "Thinking of you," for my mom. But it seems like a lie. I think about buying one for Sheila, "For a GREAT! sister," but she's not great anymore. Maybe it would guilt her into being at least a good sister again.
I take Gracie into the library, which is the best place as long as she's quiet. If I let her taste the books she doesn't cry. We stay in the back aisles and I rotate the books in her hands so none of them get too soggy. She drops them a lot and it used to make me mad. All of the people here are nice. I got a library card last week so I check out some fairy tales for the baby and a book called Zami for me. The cover is orange and has a woman standing between an island and a city. I look at Sheila's watch: 4:00, too early to go back but I'm tired. I want to go home.
When we get back, Paul's station wagon is still there. It's unlocked. I think about putting Gracie in the backseat. She's falling asleep. I've put the books in the dirty blue canvas seat of the stroller and I'm carrying her; she's still cranky and her face starts to ball up when I try to put her down. Her little body is hot and sticky and heavy. I could sit in there with her and read or just lock the doors and go for a walk by myself. I'm not sure I want to go upstairs now. What are they doing?
The baby sighs. She doesn't know we're almost home. I have a key. I park the stroller, leaving the books at the foot of the stairs. I grab the diaper bag from the back and walk quietly up the stairs. Gracie starts to whimper but I hush her. Maybe they're in the bedroom and we can just sneak in. I open the door and tiptoe in, glancing to the left. I can see down the hallway just far enough to see the bedroom door is closed. I put the diaper bag on the kitchen table and Gracie starts crying again.
They're in the living room, on the floor, but it's dark in there so I can't see if they are dressed or not. Gracie is really wailing now and I take her and put her in her crib, try to give her a bottle which she knocks away from her face. I keep saying sssh but she won't even look at me, her eyes are sweeping over the room like a searchlight.
"What's wrong with her?" My sister is suddenly there, picking up the baby who is hiccupy from all of her crying.
I almost say she wants her mother, because that's the first thing I think and the first time it's occurred to me. But I don't want to admit it.
"I think she's got a fever."
Sheila starts pacing slowly up and down the room, running her hand against Gracie's forehead, bouncing her. Gracie is quieting.
I go into the living room and Paul is sitting on the couch, reading one of Jack's magazines. He looks up at me.
"Come here and talk to me," he pats the sofa beside him. I sit in the chair next to the sofa, look out the window behind him.
"Did you have fun?" he asks and I wonder if he expects me to ask him the same question. I shrug. He looks at my face.
"So, you're sixteen, huh? Sheila tells me you're sixteen."
I look down at the floor but remember they were just there, doing something I don't want to think about now.
"You and I should get to know each other, spend some time alone together. Sheila talks a lot about you," he says, moving closer to my chair.
I look at him. Why do I think he's lying? His Sheila doesn't even know me, maybe that's why.
"I want to get to know Lilly, the woman of mystery and babysitter extraordinaire," he is leaning on the arm of the sofa, whispering and smiling like he's telling me some great news.
"Sure," I say.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know, what do you want out of life?"
"Oh, what do I want to be when I grow up?" This is the question adults love to ask, like they're taking a survey.
"No. No one ever knows that and even if they do, who cares? What do you want now? What does Lilly want, right now?" he pokes his finger at my chest, a few inches away. I pull my shoulders in tighter.
I shrug. "Everybody wants something," he says.
I wonder when my sister is coming back in. I can hear her singing to the baby.
"Why do you want to know?" I decide I don't have to be as nice to him as I am to regular adults.
"If you find out what somebody wants, you know who they really are. I just want to know you."
"What do you want?"
"I just told you: to know you."
"You know my sister."
"Lilly has claws. Good for her. Come on, Lilly, if you had three wishes, what would they be?"
Wishes? Is this what he teaches at his community college?
"World peace."
"Come on, that's a cop-out."
"There's nothing wrong with world peace," I say, sitting up straighter. He's somehow honeyed his voice so that the words seem smooth and inevitable.
"Boring."
"I'd wish for everyone to be happy, including me." I know I don't want to be unhappy but I haven't given much thought to the alternative.
"You're a regular fucking Girl Scout, aren't you?"
"If everyone isn't happy and you are, then they have a reason to want to make you unhappy. The only way to guarantee you can stay happy is to make sure everyone else is." I'm making this up as I go along but it makes sense to me. I like it.