Page 37 of Penalty Shot

When we’re upstairs, he whispers, “I had no idea Lily has a baby.”

“Naomi is her sister. That’s why she has to stay in town.” That’s the shortened version.

The full story is more complicated. Their mother has been suffering from postpartum depression since Naomi was born seven months ago. She recently changed medication, so the last few weeks have been an even more difficult adjustment for everyone.

“How old is Lily?”

“Twenty-nine. Her mom had her when she was eighteen. That wasn’t easy, but can you imagine having a second baby at forty-seven years old?”

“My mom had me at forty-one. I’m a dozen years younger than Jim, my oldest brother,” he says and keeps walking. That’s all he offers. Before I can ask him to elaborate, the urgent cry of a small creature shuts down our conversation.

Randall and I enter the darkened guest bedroom. The playpen is at the foot of the bed, and I see Naomi’s limbs squirmingwhile she hollers for attention. That girl should be recorded for a soundtrack of a horror movie. I’m rather proud of her lungs, to be honest.

“Nay-Nay, Auntie Elise is here.” It’s as if my voice is a switch—she stops wailing immediately.

The playpen is on the floor, so I have to bend down and reach out to lift the precious bundle. Once in my arms, Naomi’s marshmallow cheeks are irresistible. Inhaling, I get a whiff of linen and something sweet and fruity.

“Babies smell so good! Here, take a hit,” I tell Randall, holding the baby between us.

“I’ve never held a baby before.”

“Just smell her.”

He looks at the pink bundle suspiciously. Meanwhile, Naomi’s saucer-shaped eyes and blinking lashes could belong to a cartoon, they take up so much of her face.

Leaning in cautiously, Randall mutters, “She smells like old milk.”

“She does not!” I protest, pulling the baby to my chest. “That, sir, is the precious aroma of innocence.”

I meant to be playful, but thesirsticks in my dirty mind. The image of Randall looking down at me and demanding my pleasure hits me. I’m suddenly very conscious of being in a darkened bedroom with a man who seemed to know, instinctively, what my body needed.

He’s standing close, eyes suddenly afire like they’re lit up from inside.

“Innocence smells like sour milk?” he asks with a raised brow while he rocks on his heels, thankfully oblivious to my thoughts.

I stage-whisper in Naomi’s ear. “Don’t listen to him, Nay-Nay. Randall doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Lifting Naomi by her armpits, I bring her butt to my nose.

“Do you think she pooed or farted?” I ask, lifting the diapered tush up to Randall.

“I’m not sticking around to find out.” He steps back, but I don’t miss the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I’ll change her diaper, just to be sure. Go ahead downstairs,” I instruct with a tilt of my head.

Spreading a clean blanket at the corner of the bed, I change Naomi’s diaper, cooing at her the whole time. “You’re already scaring big hockey players, aren’t you? That’s my girl. Where’s my smile, Nay-Nay? There it is! There it is!” Her gurgling laugh in response to my nonsense is addictive.

I’m surprised to find that Randall remains standing by the doorway, watching the whole time.

“Wanna bring her downstairs? She’s all clean.”

“I’ve never held a baby. She’s so…tiny.”

“I’ll show you how to hold her. Trust me, babies are not as fragile as they seem.”

He’s shaking his head when Naomi reaches out to clumsily whack Randall’s chest.

“I think she wants you to try.” Cartoonishly round eyes are trained on him, curious and sweet.

“OK, I’ll hold her for a bit. I’m not going down the stairs with a baby though.” His tone is apprehensive.