Life and Other Inconveniences(16)

“How are you today, Tess?”

“No!” she yelled, arching her back away from him.

“Easy, honey,” he said as she writhed in his arms and pierced his eardrums with her cries. “Daddy’s got you. Let’s change that diaper, okay?”

“I hate you,” she said. Unfortunately, she was quite advanced with language.

“Well, I love you,” he lied. A hundred and eighty-four minutes till he could drop her off at Ashley’s mom’s and go to work.

Dressing her was like wrestling a Tasmanian devil.

As Tess kicked, wriggled and flailed, he held her down as firmly as he could without breaking her. No changing table, as she could writhe off it, even with him right there. Live and learn. Now there was just a mat on the floor. As he pulled off her pajamas and pulled the tabs of her diaper, she reached down, grabbed the sodden diaper, and swung it, hitting him in the face. It exploded, little pee-soaked beads going everywhere—his hair, his nose, his mouth, the wall, the carpet, Tess’s hair and face.

“That’s not nice.” He gagged, wiping off her face with her shirt, then mopping his own. Jesus.

Tess saw his moment of weakness and, moving at the speed of sound, twisted away and ran.

“Tess! Come back! Get back here, honey!”

She answered in a war cry that made his blood run cold. Miller knelt there a minute, feeling a hundred years old. Even the air was heavy, pressing him down. Then, wearily, the sharp smell of urine thick in the air, he got up to follow.

The house was ominously silent. “Tess? Sweetie? Want some breakfast?”

She hadn’t gone outside (the house had a coded alarm system, thanks to past experience).

“Tess? Daddy’s going to have some waffles. Do you want a waffle?”

Nothing.

He looked in the kitchen cabinets, the pantry, the broom closet. No Tess. Living room, den, under the couch, behind the chair, behind the curtains.

Aha. A sound. A small sound, unlike Tess.

Where was the cat? Shit. Where was the cat?

It was insanity, having a pet when your child might be a sociopath. But Luigi predated Tess. Miller and Ashley had gone to the shelter after the adoption fell through—the seventeen-year-old birth mother changed her mind and wanted to keep the baby. Another memory, the two of them sitting in the car at the pet shelter, holding hands, Ashley crying, so beautiful even in her grief, Miller helpless. As if a cat would help.

But Ashley had chosen Luigi, who was essentially a limp bag of organs covered in long, silky fur. He was the mellowest cat in the world. He used to drape himself over Ashley’s legs and purr for hours. Even though she more than deserved it, Luigi had never scratched Tess. A study in self-control, old Luigi.

If the adoption had gone through, they wouldn’t have gotten a cat. Maybe a puppy for their son, that other baby.

If the adoption had gone through, maybe Miller and Ashley wouldn’t have had Tess. They would’ve devoted themselves completely to their son, their long-awaited child. They’d talked about names, hopefully, almost in a whisper, presciently afraid to believe their luck. Evan. Morgan. James would be the middle name, after Miller’s father, who had died the year before.

If that teenage twit hadn’t changed her mind an hour after giving birth, Tess wouldn’t have been born, and Ashley would be alive.

That son would be five now, about to start kindergarten.

Instead, Miller had a baby he really couldn’t take care of but had to keep just the same. It was shameful to admit how many times he’d wanted to put his child up for adoption.

“Tess? Honey? Daddy misses you.”

There was the sound again. Yep. Definitely a mew of despair. “Remember how we talked about being gentle with Luigi, honey?”

Still no answer. She wasn’t in the hall closet.

He opened the door to the half bath, and there was his naked daughter, smearing the cat with Desitin.

“Shit.”

“Shit,” Tess echoed. Then she smiled up at him, and there it was, that tiny flicker of hope that he could love her. Those little teeth, her pink cheeks and brown eyes, her snarl of curly hair that he could never brush out. “Kitty pretty now. You go away. I no want you, Daddy.”

The flicker was doused.

You’re so lucky, people said at the funeral. You’ll always have a piece of Ashley. At least the baby’s healthy. Her mother’s an angel now, watching over from heaven. She’d have wanted it this way.

Fuck that. Seriously.

A hundred and seventy-eight minutes till he could drop her at Judith’s.

Miller swooped down and took the cat away from Tess, getting a wail of rebellion from his daughter, a twist of fury in which she flung herself against the floor, clunking her head. Her rage cry changed to a pain cry, and grew in intensity.

“Sorry, pal,” Miller said to Luigi, tossing him in the cellar and locking the door. The cat’s misery would have to wait. At least he was safe. Miller kind of wanted to lock himself in the cellar, too.

He picked up Tess, who fought to get away, and felt her head. A lump was rising there. Back to the kitchen for a bag of peas, rendered useless when she tore the bag and they clicked and bounced on the floor. Since she was already furious, he carried her back to her room, dressed her against her will, hating that she was so strong and he had to grip her so hard. He tried to mop up her face, which was streaked with Desitin, tears, diaper bits and mucus, both dried and fresh. Then he put her in her car seat, which he always brought in the house, since he could buckle her in it. Brought her in the bathroom and wedged the seat in the linen closet so she couldn’t flip herself over.