Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(89)

Why yes, it is. But this is what we signed up for. “Roberto has a mom who loves him. That’s why it’s okay.” We’re doing a very special kind of foster care. We take in immigrant babies who are temporarily separated from their parents. In Roberto’s case, his mother was injured on her journey from South America. She required surgery in a facility that can’t accommodate infants.

So for a few weeks—we don’t know how long—he needs a temporary home. That’s us.

Our involvement was Bess’s idea. I’d been skeptical, but she’d wanted to help. And it’s so damn brave of her that I couldn’t say no. She impresses me every single day.

It turns out that taking care of these babies is easily the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done—rocking a child who misses his mother. Feeding him. Holding him as he falls asleep. It’s humbling.

Bess will cry a little on the day we have to hand him back to the social worker who will return him to his mother. But only because she wishes him the best. If they’re lucky, his mom will win her asylum case and stay in the US. If they’re less lucky, they’ll be deported to Venezuela.

Either way, they’ll be together. Roberto won’t remember this time when Bess and I stepped in to care for him for a few short weeks. But we’ll never forget it.

Dave takes the cup of coffee, and then holds it out of his red-headed son’s reach. “This party starts soon, right?”

“Yup. Let me change my shirt and see if Bess is ready.” I hold out my hands to Zara. “Shall I take him back?”

“Not a chance,” she says. “Let me make sure Nicole hasn’t spilled her milk all over your living room.” She carries Roberto out of the room.

“It doesn’t matter what Nicole spills,” I say as she leaves.

“You say that now,” Dave says. “But it’s hard to get the smell of sour milk out of some things. Like, for example, a Honda Pilot. It’s crazy the stunts these kids pull. But I hope…” He puts his hand on his baby son’s hair as the sentence trails off. “Someday I hope you get that chance. To take care of a baby who calls you daddy. Because you guys deserve it. And the kid will be so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” I say gruffly. “Our chance will come.”

And here’s one surprising thing about my marriage—Dave Beringer has been solid gold. It was nice of him and Zara to haul their growing family down to New York for the brief holiday break in my game schedule. Bess loves having her family around her. As a bonus, Dave gets to see all his old friends.

“Go change,” he says now. “So we can drink eggnog and play ping pong.”

“On it.” I leave the kitchen and head for the bedroom. “Bess? How goes it?” I ask when I find her in the bathroom.

Startled, she slams a drawer and then stands up, turning around quickly. “Fine! Great. Where’s the baby?”

“Zara is making goo-goo eyes at him in the living room.” I study Bess for a second. She looks a little pale and also vaguely guilty.

“Ready to go?” she asks, tucking fidgety hands into her back pockets.

“Almost,” I say slowly. “Give me a minute to wash the sweet potatoes off my face. A Roberto no le gustan.”

“Sorry.” Bess winks. “You look sexy like that, though.”

“You liar.”

She stops on her way out of the bathroom, her hand on my arm, her clear blue eyes smiling up at me. “It’s the truth, though. It would take a hell of a lot more than some baby food to dull your shine.”

After she leaves, I catch myself grinning at my reflection. She kills me. I’m so lucky to have had this second chance with her. I’m glad I wasn’t too stupid to take it.

I shuck off my T-shirt and toss it into the hamper. Then I grab a clean button-down from our closet and wander back into the bathroom to comb my hair. Our commute to this party will be easy enough—an elevator ride up to the penthouse level of our building. And since we all chipped in to cater the party, we don’t even have to bring a dish.

My team is having a hell of a season so far. But everyone’s so busy. We need this three-day break.

One of Bess’s bathroom drawers is slightly ajar. It’s the one she’d slammed. I nudge it with my knee, but it won’t close. Something is stuck. I open it, finding the culprit immediately. It’s a vitamin bottle that’s standing upright instead of lying down. Just as I’m tucking it back into place, I catch the label. Folic acid.

Goosebumps rise on my arms. As far as I know, there’s only one use for folic acid. It’s something pregnant women take. My ex took it for years, just in case.

I actually have chills right now.

But, hang on. When I freaked out at Bess last fall, she took some steps toward considering a solo pregnancy. Buying a bottle of folic acid would have been one of them. This bottle is probably just old.

And then there are the condoms that we use. Bess pulls them out at certain times of the month, and I go along with it. She said we shouldn’t waste time thinking about conception. And it works. I never think about it.

Until right this second.

Alone in the bathroom, I let out a strangled laugh. It’s Christmas Eve, her family is here, and we’re on the way to a party. I obviously have to keep on not thinking about this.