Corinne was too distracted and anxious to work that afternoon. She ended up back at the mall, buying Enoch a few more neckties. When her cell phone rang, she assumed it was him—but it was Mercy.
“Hey, Corinne, I’m sorry to bother you … I know you have to work.”
“Don’t be silly—is everything okay?”
“Do you think you could come over and hold Ruth for a little while? I’m just…”
“I’ll come right now,” Corinne said.
“Are you sure you don’t have to work?”
“Nope. I’m on my way.”
Mercy came to the door, holding Ruth. They both looked like they’d been crying for an hour.
“Hey, Corinne.”
“Let me wash my hands,” Corinne said, kicking off her shoes.
Mercy followed her into the kitchen. “Thanks for doing this. It’s just … She keeps me up all night, nursing.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“The doctor says I’m supposed to sleep when she sleeps. But she only sleeps for an hour at a time. And sometimes I’m just dropping off when she wakes up again.”
Corinne took Ruth from her. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“If I could just sleep,” Mercy said.
“Go take a nap. I’ve got this.”
“I pumped a bottle for you. It’s on the table. If she cries…”
“I’ll walk with her,” Corinne said. “We’ll be fine.”
Ruth did cry a little bit. Corinne gave her the bottle and walked with her. They ended up in the rocking chair, Corinne murmuring nonsense for about an hour before the baby finally fell asleep.
Ruth woke up—in a better mood, fortunately—before Mercy did. At five o’clock, Corinne called Enoch. They were supposed to meet for dinner. Enoch was making posole in his crockpot. (He hadn’t called her to cancel, and she was trying not to worry about him calling to cancel.) “Hi,” she said softly when he answered.
“Hey,” he said, “are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m at Noah and Mercy’s, watching the baby. Mercy’s taking a nap.”
“Ohhh,” Enoch whispered. Christ, she loved him.
“I might be late for dinner.”
“It’ll keep; that’s the beauty of the crockpot.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I’m not going to stop now.”
Corinne laughed. Christ. “I’ll call when I leave,” she said.
“All right. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
When she put the phone down, she jumped. Mercy was standing in the archway at the edge of the room.
“Sorry,” Mercy said. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“Did you get some sleep?”
“Oh my goodness—as soon as my head the hit the pillow.” She sat on the couch. “I never used to take naps because they’d keep me up at night. But now I’m up at night anyway, so I guess I may as well.”
Corinne rocked Ruth. The baby’s eyes were jumping around. “She hears your voice,” Corinne said.
“She hears the milk truck.”
Ruth started to cry.
“Here, I’ll take her.” Mercy held out her arms. Corinne brought the baby over. Mercy lifted up her shirt. The baby waved her fists and swung her mouth around wildly. “Calm down,” Mercy said. “It’s right here.” Ruth latched on, and Mercy hugged her closer. “So much drama.”
Corinne smiled and sat down next to them. Ruth was wearing pink, footed pajamas. She kicked while she nursed. Corinne caught one of her tiny feet and rubbed it.
“Was that your boyfriend?” Mercy asked.
Corinne looked up at her.
Mercy looked shy. Hopeful. “On the phone.”
Corinne thought about lying. She thoroughly considered it. “Yeah.”
Mercy smiled. “Have you been seeing each other very long?”
“No,” Corinne said. “It’s pretty new.”
“But you like him, I can tell.”
“I like him a lot.”
“How’d you meet?”
“We … I knew him before I moved.”
“So, an old friend.”
“Yeah.”
“Noah and I were friends before we dated.”
Corinne didn’t know how that was possible. Noah and Mercy got in trouble for sneaking out when she was sixteen, and they got married the next year. Mercy’s parents had to sign something to give them permission.
“Tell me about him,” Mercy said.
Corinne smiled like, Are you sure?
And Mercy smiled like, Please, I’m stuck here all day with this baby, tell me some worldly gossip.
“Well,” Corinne said, “he’s very smart.”
“He’d have to be to date you.”
Corinne smiled sincerely. “And he’s funny. And he tries really hard to do the right thing.”
“That’s important,” Mercy said.
Corinne nodded.
“I won’t tell your mom.”
“Thanks.”
“But I don’t think she’d mind—she worries about you being alone.”
Did she? Did she really? Had she worried about it when Corinne was eighteen and completely on her own? Probably. That’s how fucked up it all was. Corinne’s mom had probably been miserable, and still totally sure she was doing the right thing.
“I could come over more often to help you with Ruth,” Corinne said. “Once a week. For the afternoon.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Oh my goodness, Corinne. Really? That would be a lifesaver.”
“So you’re going to go over there every Thursday?” Enoch was ladling out the soup.
“Yeah, so she can get a nap in before church. Mercy looks so wiped out. That baby is especially exhausting—you can already tell she’s gonna be a pill, just like her dad.”
He nodded. “Noah was a pill…”
“It took all my self-control not to tell Mercy horror stories about him. I was always stuck with that kid.”
“Eat at the table?”
“Yeah,” Corinne said. “You want water or milk?”
“Milk.” He carried their bowls to the table. “I wish I could go with you. I never get to hold babies.”
“I don’t believe that. There are always at babies at church.”
“No one ever hands them to grown men.” He sounded so disgruntled about it, Corinne laughed.
“If I ever have a baby, you can hold it.”
“Don’t make jokes about that,” he said. “I’m tender.”
Corinne came up behind him and hugged him. “I know.”