Motherhood Is Murder

“Do you know who he’s seeing?”

She leveled her gaze at me. “Does it matter? The guy’s a two-timer.”

I nodded in agreement. “It matters. An affair is hard to prove without knowing who the other party is.”

“Why does she need to prove anything? Just dump him.”

It didn’t feel right to outline Margaret’s suspicions to Sara, so I simply said, “Sometimes it’s not that easy.”

“Well, I know they have kids and all.”

Sara put a spoonful of mush to Amanda’s mouth. Amanda promptly turned from it.

Maybe she would like Gerber’s instead?

“Any idea how long the affair has been going on for?”

“Let’s see, Amanda is six months now. I’d say she was probably four months or so when I first noticed him coming home late.”

Sara succeeded in stuffing a spoonful of slop into Amanda’s mouth, only to have Amanda’s little tongue push it back out again. Sara sighed and wiped Amanda’s chin.

She stirred the food and made another attempt. Amanda turned her head.

“Guess she’s not hungry,” she said, pulling the baby from the highchair.

Amanda wailed in protest. Sara sighed. “I don’t think she likes my squash pottage.” She placed the baby back in the highchair. Amanda kicked her feet in delight. Sara pulled some Cheerios off a shelf and sprinkled a handful in front on the tray. Amanda dug in with relish, wrapping her chubby fingers around each Cheerio and shoving them into her mouth with a giggle.

“What did you and Helene fight about that night?”

Her eyes darted around the room. “We didn’t fight.”

“I thought there had been a disagreement between you two . . . ?”

“Oh right. Someone with a very big mouth said that at our table, right?”

She poured more cereal onto Amanda’s highchair tray. Her hand was slightly shaking and the cereal tumbled in droves over the side. She swore under her breath.

I took the moment to unlatch Laurie and burp her, hoping Sara would fill in some gaps. When she didn’t, I said, “Evelyn said Helene was canceling a construction project your husband was working on and you were very upset by that.”

The box of Cheerios slipped from Sara’s hand and spilled out on the floor. “No. No, she didn’t cancel. We’re still on. Set to start next week for Bruce.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sitting Duck

To Do:

1. ?

2. Get manicure.

3. Order turkey.

4. Exercise.

5. Figure out how to make homemade baby food.

The next morning I could barely drag myself out of bed. I had been up at 11:00 P.M., at 1:00 A.M., at 3:00 A.M., and at 6:00 A.M. Jim had hardly seemed to notice.

Thankfully he was brewing coffee.

He sauntered into the bedroom. “Honey, do you have plans today? I have a meeting with Dirk Jonson.”

Dirk was Jim’s big client. He was the reason I was able to be at home and not back in the corporate world. Had Jim not landed this freelance client, I would be stuck in the nine to five grind, pumping milk every three hours and missing Laurie like crazy.

“I was hoping you could watch Laurie. I have an appointment, too.”

After leaving Sara’s place the day before, I had phoned Bruce and requested a meeting. He’d invited me over around noon.

Jim grabbed a sport coat out of the closet. “Can you ask your mom? I have to leave in a few minutes.”

I didn’t have to be at Bruce’s until noon so I climbed back into bed. Jim kissed my cheek and disappeared down the hallway. I propped myself on a pillow and dialed Mom.

“What are you up to?” I asked her.

“Oh, darling, I’m almost out the door. Why?”

“I wanted to see if you could babysit. Jim just left for a meeting and I have one this afternoon with Helene’s husband. But don’t worry about it. I’ll take Laurie along.”

“Is that safe? Isn’t he a suspect?”

“No. You’re thinking of Alan, that’s Margaret’s husband.”

“No, I’m not. I mean the widower. Isn’t the widower always a suspect?”

“Hmmm. Well, I suppose . . . no. Come on, Mom, don’t fuel my paranoia. Even if he was guilty of something, he’s not going to try anything at his own house. That would point the finger directly at him, don’t you think?”

“I guess you’re right,” Mom said.

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“Napa. Wine tasting with Albert.” Mom giggled.

“Sounds like fun, but is wine healthy for Galigani?”

“Well, it’s not like we’ll be chugalugging!”

“You don’t even drink, Mom.”

“Just a taste, darling. Nothing drastic. We’re taking my car.”

“Be careful,” I said.

At 11 A.M. I bathed Laurie. I’d scrubbed the lint out between her fingers with a Q-tip.

Where did all the lint come from?

It seemed that no sooner had I removed it than it was back. The only thing I could guess was that she constantly had her hands in her mouth. Maybe the fact that her hands were wet made any blanket or piece of cloth fuzz stick between the little webs in her hands.

I stuck a little rubber ducky in the bath with Laurie. She watched it float around. I let her enjoy the soak and sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to her.

I toweled her and dressed her, then I basically force-fed her. I knew it was a bit early—our routine was to nurse around noon—but if I wanted to be on time, I had to feed her now. Plus, it would eliminate any awkwardness in front of Bruce.

She seemed to take well enough to the early feeding, but when I burped her, she spit up all over her clean polka-dot top and my blouse, too, somehow missing the burp cloth entirely.

I laid her in the bassinet and hurried to my bedroom to change my top.

When I returned to the nursery, she was gazing at the teddy bear mobile in her bassinet.

Why did she seem to find something to amuse herself only when I needed to run out the door? Why couldn’t she amuse herself with the mobile when I was, say, napping?

“Come on, Peanuty Pie,” I said, scooping her up and placing her on the changing table.

She cooed and grinned at me.

“Yes! You’d be really cute if you didn’t smell like spit-up.” I leaned into her and rubbed my nose against her. She cooed again.

I selected a clean top for her with tiny sunflowers on it. As soon as I slid it over her head, she turned and spit up again.

Darn it!