Chapter 3 #2
He would have to clean it, but he would get there when he could.
For the moment, all he needed was to figure out how to handle three squirming puddles of water who just wanted to be free to get into all kinds of mischief.
There had to be some system, some way to keep them …
he didn’t want to say, locked up, but, well, kind of … locked up.
“How did you get anything done, Talia? How did you do anything, sis?” he whispered. And the whisper in the back of his mind reared its head again. If he needed help, who could he get help from?
As his thoughts flashed in his mind, the decision was made. He knew exactly who he could get help from. With that, he pulled out his phone and sent an SOS text to the three people he knew he could count on.
With that done, he turned to the kitchen, grabbed a clean washcloth, and approached the babies, whose faces were smeared with baby food from one side to the other, including some in their noses and their hair.
From the looks of them, he wasn’t sure if any food had even been swallowed, but they appeared to be done with breakfast for the moment.
He wasn’t sure if they napped. He wasn’t sure of anything.
Honest to God, he needed to have ten minutes to just figure out what these babies needed. And how the hell would he do any investigation into Talia’s attack and Tim’s disappearance, when these babies needed all his attention right now?
He sat bleary-eyed in front of the triplets. He’d searched the house for name bracelets, finding nothing to ID them on any of them, not when he’d gotten them from the social worker. So, he wasn’t even sure who was who. And, for some reason, that really bothered him right now.
He was sure Talia would know, but that’s because they were her babies. At least he hoped so. God, he hoped he hadn’t messed this up to the point that these girls wouldn’t even be who they were anymore.
Then he shook his head and muttered, “No, no, no, no, no, that can’t be.
” That wasn’t his problem. But something inside him wouldn’t let that thought go.
How could he tell them apart? He was so worried that maybe, maybe this was his fault too.
He groaned. This was not how his life normally would go.
He was confident, self-assured, and knew exactly what to do at any given time. And here he was, second-guessing everything in life right now, and it wouldn’t change anytime soon.
When his phone rang, all the babies stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him. He answered the phone. The caller was Pamela, the social worker.
“So, how did your first night go?” she asked in a brisk tone.
“I survived,” he deadpanned. “So I get brownie points for that.”
After a moment of shocked surprise, she burst out laughing. “You’re quite right. You absolutely do.” Her tone was much warmer. With a sigh, she asked, “How bad was it?”
“One of the biggest challenges is, I can’t tell them apart,” he began. “So, I feel as if I’m screwing them up somehow because I don’t know who is who. Were ID bracelets or anything on them when you got them?”
“No,” she confirmed, her tone weary. “We had the same challenge. We do have the names on paper but no way to know which one is which.”
“Right. And what if we’ve messed them up for life?” he asked. “What if my sister can’t even tell them apart when she gets out of the hospital?”
Pamela explained in a gentle tone, “I don’t think it works that way. I have faith in your sister telling her daughters apart. I’m sure they each have quirks and personalities that a mother will know.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “What if she doesn’t make it through this?”
“Oh, no. Nope, no way,” she stated. “We’re not going there. I can understand how you’re feeling at this moment, but we will trust that she’ll pull through this just fine.”
“Right,” he whispered, as he gave his head a shake. This sure as hell wasn’t the conversation to have with this woman, not when her role was to judge whether he was competent to look after his family or not.
“You’re doing okay though?” she asked, but a note of hesitation filled her tone.
“I’m doing fine,” he said, trying to mask his nerves. “Outside of the fact that I don’t know what names to call them, I’m peachy. This is stupid, but I keep calling them all Lisa.”
A half snort, half shocked bubble of laughter came out. Pamela shared, “This better stay between you and me, but I did the same thing. When you don’t know what to call them, you have to call them … something. As long as it’s said with love, I think they’ll forgive you.”
“I hope so,” he admitted. “I guess at some point in time, we can always ask them to decide who they are.”
Her reply sounded almost scandalized at the thought. “I don’t think it’ll be that bad.”
“Good,” he muttered. “Anyway, we’re doing fine.”
“Remember, if you need help—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I do have a friend coming over to give me a hand.”
“Oh, good,” she noted. “That’s a relief.”
“You think I can’t handle it?” he asked, almost taking offense at that, yet knowing she already knew the answer.
“No, I think it’s a lot for anybody to handle, particularly if they’re not used to it,” she explained. “Nobody would blame you if you were struggling.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Anyway, I’ve got to get them out of the highchairs.”
“What did you give them for breakfast?”
“Something … in a jar.”
“Can you be more specific?” she asked.
“Sweet potatoes and some fruit,” he stated. “I’ve got to do some research to figure out what to feed them.”
“At the foster house where they were before you showed up, they were getting a little bit of soft food from the foster parents’ plates and some baby food from the store,” she shared. “Of course they didn’t eat very much, but the foster parents also gave them formula.”
“Of course. So I’ll go shopping.” Then he looked down at the three of them and winced. “How anybody goes shopping with the three of them, I don’t know.”
“Carefully, I suppose,” she quipped, her tone full of laughter. “You can’t afford to lose one.”
“Good God. That’s a thought to boggle the mind. Thank you for putting that in my head.” He heard voices in the background calling to her.
She sighed and said, “I’ve got to go.” And, with that, she ended the call.
He looked down at the three adorable baby faces staring up at him, and he smiled and told them, “It’s just us again, ladies.”
One of them—let’s call her Lisa—picked up her spoon and threw it at him.
“Yeah, I feel the same way sometimes,” he replied in a conversational tone.
“However, today will not be that kind of a day.” He washed three sets of hands, wiped down three highchairs, then washed three faces.
Now time for changing diapers, and he sensed that familiar smell already.
Yet the supplies were in the other room.
He sighed as he unstrapped each one and placed them in the playpen in the living room.
He retained the third one and smiled. “We’ll start with you first.”
He shook his head and muttered, “You guys are eating and pooping machines.” Yet, very quickly, he took care of the one, and then moved on to the next one and to the third.
Soon enough, he had dirty diapers removed and had put on fresh diapers.
He released them from the playpen, setting them free on the floor, hoping they would expel some energy.
And they were now trying to run away from him down the hallway, as he trailed behind, trying to keep them out of mischief.
No such luck. As soon as he would deter one from grabbing onto a cord plugged in an outlet with a hand she just had in her mouth, then her sister would pick up some foreign object off the floor—probably to be inserted in her nose or mouth—while the third one just tried to disappear.
Plus, these little wiggle worms would easily escape his hold on them to instantly find something else dangerous to do.
Groaning, he sat back down on the floor and looked at them and muttered, “Okay, we need to find a solution to this.” They just laughed at him and kept on moving forward, in their butt-scooching way. He dreaded when the triplets learned to crawl. Oh my God, he thought. How soon will they be walking?
He quickly followed the three very active triplets, trying to figure out what to do next to protect these girls.
Anderson had sent off a few emails last night, looking for his brother-in-law, but, so far, there had been absolutely no response, and that worried him because he didn’t know whether Tim was in trouble himself, was dead, or something else had gone on.
Anderson really needed answers, but that seemed a little out of reach right now.
Then came the dreaded smell again. He frowned and corralled all three girls into the downstairs bathroom, closed the door, put two into the dry bathtub, hoping that would keep them contained while he changed the diaper of the third.
Then, with one diaper done, he turned his attention to the other two, trying to do one at a time.
The last one wasn’t cooperating, was rolling and squirming and trying hard to get off the counter, which had no straps to hold her in place.
Anderson shook his head, frustrated. If more people were in charge of diaper changes, more inventions would be made to keep these slippery little eels in place to get the job done more efficiently.
He had no idea how anybody was supposed to do this and keep themselves clean as well.
Anderson had yet to figure it out because, each time, the minute he congratulated himself for getting one changed, hopefully doing a decent job, he moved onto the next one, and that ended up in a shit show—literally.
He was stunned and couldn’t believe how a little baby could poop so much and could spread it so far.
Groaning, he made his way through the day, and by four o’clock they all collapsed inside the playpen.
He knew that it wasn’t ideal to have them napping at this late-afternoon hour, but he was way too overwhelmed to worry about it and hoped that maybe they would sleep on into the night just through sheer exhaustion.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, he crashed onto the couch beside them and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t sure what woke him, but he went from startled to full-on alert.
He glanced at his watch. Just a bit after midnight.
Without even thinking, he was behind the front door, waiting for it to open.
Even as it creaked ever-so-slightly, he flung open the door, grabbed the man on the other side of it, pulled him inside, and dropped him to the floor.
Damned if his intruder didn’t roll away, jump up from the floor, and come up on the other side in a fighting stance. “Good God, Anderson.”
“Burton?”