Neither Brando nor I mentioned the fact that he could not see out of his swollen eye.
* * *
The sound of a baby wailing was getting louder, more insistent, as Brando and I walked toward the kitchen, where we found Charlotte holding Charles, bopping him up and down hard enough to make his cries go up and down.
“He will not stop crying!” she wailed to my mother. “Not even Gwen can keep him quiet!”
“Perhaps he’s hungry,” I suggested, sitting down to help Eunice, Carmen, and Apollonia, who all looked like they wanted to desperately shield their ears.
“Thank you, Queen Obvious of the land of twits,” Charlotte snapped. “As if we haven’t tried feeding him!”
“No problem, Queen Numpty of the land of evil-doers,” I said, taking a handful of breading and stuffing it between the rigid leaves.
Brando stiffened at the word. The same insult had been hurled at him earlier, but he was wise enough to keep quiet.
“He wants yoursenis,” Apollonia said, concentrating on cutting more garlic. “All men do. It brings them comfort.”
Charlotte stared down at her huge breasts for a moment, struck by the thought. She shivered and pushed Charles closer to her bosom, not to comfort him, but to cover them. “Eww,” she said.
Diego made a soft noise in his bassinet, and Carmen rocked him a little. He fell right back asleep.
“Diego loves the breast,” Carmen said conversationally.
“Don’t we all,” Brando muttered.
Charles went up an octave, apparently agreeing with Brando.
“Ah!” Charlotte said, wanting to scream and pull at her hair. It was something she did when she was little and didn’t get her way. But she actually did it back then. That, and she held her breath until she passed out.
“Is he supposed to be that color?” Brando said, looking closer at him. His lips were open in a wide, trembling arc, his eyes shut tight, all of the air being expelled turning his face hot red.
“I don’t know!” Charlotte almost wailed herself.
“Yes, sir, that is normal,” Gwen said, hovering around mother and baby, ready to take him if Charlotte handed him off.
“Give him to Scarlett,” Brando said.
I dropped my artichoke. I was thankful Charlotte didn’t drop Charles.
“What?” my sister and I said at the same time.
I had seen pictures of Charles, of course, but Charlotte never offered for me to hold him, or to even see his features up close, for that matter. I didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask. I could take Diego from Carmen or Dario and not feel an ounce of awkwardness. It was different with Charlotte.
“Yeah,” Brando said, nodding toward me. “She has a way with babies. If you want quiet, hand him over.”
I danced with them was what I did. It was the rhythm they seemed to like. But I couldn’t dance with Charlotte’s child. Not after the very thing stood between us. I could hurt her when I wanted, but never in that way.
“Fine!” Charlotte said, thrusting the wailing baby in my arms.
She must be close to the grave, or beyond it, I thought cynically, to have handed him over so easily. The outfit he had on was expensive too. He had breadcrumbs on it and in his dusting of blonde hair. My fingers instinctually rose to his head to cradle it. The closer he was to my ear, the louder he sounded. I stood with him, shushing him and keeping him close. “It’s all right, Charlie—”
“Charles!”
“Charlie.” I grinned. “It’s all right now. Hush.” I looked at Brando. “Press play on the radio. I have soothing music in.”
The piano started to tinkle over the stereo. The more I walked with him and shushed him, the quieter he became, making small, sweet baby noises. I wasn’t dancing, but I found a rhythm he seemed to like. My heart was settled. I didn’t have a care in the world. I wondered if he fed off of Charlotte’s tense energy. It was something she did unconsciously. It hovered around her like a bunch of banging pots.
I paid no mind to anyone else, going about the kitchen, keeping him close, giving Eunice direction on dinner, and occasionally cooing at him.
