At the Corner of King Street by Mary Ellen Taylor

and smiled. She indicated that I should move to a side door, which she promptly unlocked. I washed my hands, donned a gown, and before I sat in the rocker the nurse put Baby Morgan in my arms. She handed me the bottle and instructed me to rub the nipple against the baby’s lips. When I did, she cried.
    â€œCome on, kid. I know you want it. Give it up and latch.”
    At the sound of my voice the baby’s cries eased and she began to root for the nipple. I tucked it between her lips and she immediately suckled. She snorted, sucked, and snorted again, reminding me of a little piglet. She smelled fresh from clean blankets and gentle baby soap.
    I leaned my head back against the rocker, all the while keeping a careful gaze on the baby’s face. Feeding her today didn’t feel as awkward as yesterday, but I was not a pro at this baby thing.
    â€œBaby Morgan,” I whispered. “We’re in a pickle. Aunt Addie is kinda freaking out here.” The baby gurgled. “Your mom has to go away for a month, and you and I are stuck together for a few days. Then Ms. Willis is going to find you a nice home where you’ll be so happy. And Aunt Addie can return to her real life.”
    The baby relaxed, her face as serene as Janet’s minutes ago.
    Addie to the rescue.
    *   *   *
    Driving home with a baby in the backseat for the first time was an unnerving task that stretched my nerves to breaking. The baby carrier was in the center of the backseat, buckled in tight by Ms. Willis, who had shown me how to jam my knee into the base as I hooked the seat belt through it. “For an extra tight fit,” she said.
    She’d settled Baby Morgan’s seat into the base and snapped it in place with practiced ease. She’d armed me with a box filled withbottles, pre-mixed formula, a pack of diapers, and a couple of onesies—my starter kit.
    Baby Morgan’s seat faced away from me so I couldn’t see her face. She was so quiet that once I pulled to the side of the road to make sure she was still breathing. She was sleeping, clearly falling for the lull of the car.
    As I drove, five miles under the speed limit, I avoided my customary rolling stops and optional yellow lights, which now seemed dangerously reckless.
    I slowed for my third yellow light and a brown SUV behind me honked. “Baby on board, asshole,” I muttered as I glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping he saw I was more angry and frustrated than he ever could be. “Baby Morgan, don’t cuss. It’s a bad habit. And stay away from the cigarettes. And men, until you’re thirty.”
    We reached the warehouse parking lot before noon. The sudden stillness of the car startled the baby awake and within seconds she drew in a deep breath and began to cry. I now knew two facts about Baby Morgan: She was quiet when I fed her and she liked driving in the car.
    Grace came out to meet us. Her face was stern, and her crossed arms unwelcoming, but to her credit she was there as promised. She peeked in the backseat at the crying baby and then stepped back as if she spotted a snake or a large spider.
    â€œYou actually brought the baby here.”
    I got out, slung my purse over my shoulder, and very quietly closed my front door. “I did.”
    â€œI wasn’t sure you would.”
    â€œThat makes two of us.” Aware of the rising heat, I opened the back door and reached for the baby seat. I fumbled around the base for therelease button that Ms. Willis pointed out. She’d removed the seat easily, without a bit of effort. And what looked so simple twenty minutes ago was now frustratingly complicated. I smoothed my hand over the base but couldn’t find the button. “Damn.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know how to get this car seat out.”
    â€œThere must be some kind of release button.”
    Baby Morgan cried louder and the midday heat beat on my back. Sweat trickled