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tugging on her mother’s striped jumper. “He could fit in the back of T. J. Deroucher’s toy dump truck. The yellow one. The one he never shares.”
    Mrs. Vorlob nodded. “He’s beautiful,” she said, rubbing her finger around the edge of Baby’s ear. “Beautiful.”
    â€œCan I do that?” Carla asked. She accidentally fell against the crib, her finger striking the side of Baby’s head. Hard.
    Baby wiggled. And moaned. The moans were barely audible. As if he wanted to cry, but couldn’t quite manage it.
    â€œCareful, Carla,” Aunt Irene barked.
    â€œSorry, Mama,” Carla said sheepishly, her bottom lip sticking out. “I didn’t hurt him. Anyway, if people looked like worms, that’s exactly what they’d look like.”
    â€œDon’t be a smarty,” Mr. Vorlob said, motioning for Carla to come to him. She stomped over to her father, her sunny red sandals clapping like applause. Mr. Vorlob set Effie down, picked Baby up, and knelt, holding Baby low enough so even Dot and Effie could see. Mr. Vorlob made gurgling noises and softly touched his nose to Baby’s. Baby seemed to disappear in his father’s thick, hairy arms. Mr. Vorlob’s beard and deep voice were like weights pressing down on Baby’s frail body. “Look, Carla,” Mr. Vorlob said, as quietly as he could. “Look what a little man your brother is. He’s as perfect as can be. Perfect eyes, nose, mouth. Perfect ears, fingers, toes,” he continued, lightly kissing everything he mentioned. They all took turns holding Baby and kissing each of his toes. Then Mr. Vorlob placed Baby back in the crib.
    â€œOkay, troops,” Mr. Vorlob said, scratching his beard. “I’ve got a project that needs attention.” His dark eyes flashed. “Follow me.”
    Mr. Vorlob led Bernice, Carla, Dot, and Effie out of the nursery toward the kitchen.
    â€œCan I stay with you, Mom?” Adine asked.
    â€œScoot,” Aunt Irene said firmly, pointing Adine in the direction of the door, with a dismissive push. “Give your mother and me some time alone. We need it.”
    I need time alone with her, Adine thought. She’s my mother. Tears burned hot in Adine’s eyes as she closed the nursery door, wishing she remained behind it.
    Mr. Vorlob’s project was to cart the flowers and cards that Mrs. Vorlob had received at the hospital from the bus into the living room. There was a shopful, and the back of the bus smelled like a parlor crammed with old ladies, each wearing a distinct perfume: rose, lilac, lily of the valley.
    Adine thought some of the arrangements were beautiful—the globe of peach tea roses in the pewter bowl and the yellow daisies cascading from the white wicker basket. Others, she thought were questionable, particularly the planter from Mrs. Vorlob’s bowling team. The planter was in the shape of a bowling ball, large and black. It was filled with orange plastic tulips and green plastic leaves that looked like knives. The plastic smelled like K Mart. Gross.
    They placed the flowers on the floor, on the end tables, on the hutch. The cards—decorated with teddy bears, rattles, and blue baby booties—were lined up in between.
    When the bus was empty, the living room reminded Adine of church when someone dies.
    â€œLookit this one,” Bernice said, holding up a ceramic pot decorated with primitive-looking cats. “I’ll bet it’s from Aunt Irene.”
    Who else? Adine thought. The pot held an azalea plant, heavy with lavender blossoms. And when no one was watching, Adine grabbed one of the blossoms and snapped it off.
    That night, Adine did spend time alone with her mother. With her mother and Baby. Dinner was over. Everyone else was playing Chutes and Ladders in the kitchen. Adine didn’t mind missing out at all. She wasn’t terribly fond of playing games with a lot of people. Especially with