“OH, MY GOD!” SHE WANTED to hold the little boy and comfort him, but his smell repulsed her. He started to hyperventilate. Here comes the howl. Sure enough, like Jayce at that age, he opened his lungs and bellowed, his cry ragged. The piercing yowl of a child in need rose in volume by the second.
“Hey, Sissie’s here.” Lizzie touched him on the shoulder, where he was mostly clean. His little body stiffened and his squall paused, but he continued to breathe hard, sucking air in and out, like a lawnmower trying to start. She pulled him into a hug. Despite his filth, she couldn’t bear his distress. She bounced him, humming the same song she’d sung to her mama. “Hush little baby…” His tense body began softening in her arms.
In the bathroom, Lizzie found what must have been the boy’s mother lying on the floor curled around the toilet. She backed out of the room turning the baby so he wouldn’t see her. His cry had returned to a gentle sobbing. She stole a glance at his face hoping that wouldn’t start him back up. No tears.
“You’re dehydrated.” The mother couldn’t have been dead long. How long could someone, especially a toddler, go without water?
She put on a happy face and said in a happy voice, “Let’s see if we can find some formula, huh?” He should be eating solid food, but fluids first. She returned to the kitchen and found cans of premixed formula—the expensive stuff. She opened the dishwasher and pulled out a bottle, nipples and rings in a little basket.
Her hands automatically put the bottle together while bouncing the baby. The little boy went quiet, and as soon as the bottle got near his face he pulled it into his mouth.
“There, there.” She stroked his arms and his back as he sucked. His tiny hands were balled up in fists pressed against the bottle. As he began to relax they opened and she saw something in his grasp. She teased his hand opened the rest of the way and found little pellets. Cat food. She smiled. At least he had enough protein.
“We need to get you cleaned up. Then we can get you some food for little boys.” She looked around but there was no sign of the cat whose food had probably saved the little boy’s life.
She walked down the hall, closing the bathroom door as she passed. Here was the baby’s room—all baby-blued, rainbowed and teddy-beared.
“Lizzie?!” Zach called her name somewhere outside.
She’d totally forgotten Zach. Lizzie crossed to the window and slid it back. “Zach?” she called gently to not scare the baby. “In here. I’ve found something you gotta see to believe.”
Opening windows was a good idea, she realized, as she breathed in the freshness from outside. She opened the rest of them.
“Damn, it stinks,” Zach said as he entered the baby’s room. “Holy shit.” He stopped short, staring in disbelief at the little boy Lizzie had laying on his back on the diaper changing table.
“Not very holy, but shit it is. You’re very observant.” It was dried and caked on. There were weeping sores in spots. She dabbed as gently as possible with a wipe. Lizzie had been Jason’s main caregiver when her mom went through rehab. She knew what to do.
Zach stood frozen like a deer in headlights. “What the hell do we do with a baby?”
“Take care of him. He needs a bath, but we need to get out of this stinking house first.” She slipped a clean diaper expertly under him, coated the red spots with some ointment and pulled it up.
Zach stared, his mouth opened and closed. “Where the Hell did the baby come from?”
She teased. “Having sex has consequences.”
“Very funny.”
She grinned, picking the baby up and wiggling her nose against his tiny one. The baby was fascinated, but still serious.
“You were always good with kids.”
Lizzie thought of Jayce and regretted making the joke.
“I’ll get him packed. You see if you can find out what his name is.” She shooed Zach out of the room before he could say anything else. She stuffed the diaper bag with a couple handfuls of diapers, then piled all the ointments and powders on top. She pulled a cute blue pair of pajamas out of the dresser and pulled them on him, zipping them up, her finger inside next to the skin. Nothing quite so butt-puckering as zipping a baby’s skin.