Someone is not happy, but I have no clue why. I cuddle her close and pat her back as I walk to my bedroom in search of my phone. I’ll call Mom. She’ll know what to do.
I pick up my phone but pause before dialing when I realize someone isn’t crying anymore. Awesome. Time for more sleep for Zane.
I return Adele to the crib, but the second I set her down, she starts crying again. Damnit. Why is this so hard?
I pick her back up and rock her in my arms. “Sweet baby girl, please go to sleep. I need sleep.”
She quiets down again and relief fills me. Maybe I’m not a terrible parent after all.
But when I lay her back down in her crib, she starts wailing again.
“What is it, baby girl? What do you want?”
Her response? She wails until I pick her up and rock her in my arms.
I’m not an idiot. I can figure this out. Or rather, Google will figure it out.
“Check for basic needs,” I read the result of my Google search. “Is the baby hungry? Nope. Does her diaper need changing? I don’t think so. Great. Now what?”
I continue to read. Try soothing techniques. Okay. What are soothing techniques? Rock, sway, or take the baby for a walk in a stroller.
“Do you want to go for a walk, baby girl?”
I glance around the room, which is now completely stuffed with baby stuff. Stuff I hope I can give back to my family once Adele returns to her mother. My stomach sours at the thought of not having Adele in my life, but I ignore it. I’m not cut out to be a dad.
“There!” I shout when I finally locate the stroller amongst the mess and Adele cries. I rock her until she quiets again.
“I need to lay you down for a second.”
Adele doesn’t approve of the idea. As evidenced by her wailing as if the world is coming to an end. It sure as hell feels as if the world is coming to an end with her screaming.
I get the stroller set up and place Adele in it. She continues to cry until we’re moving.
I hope she falls asleep while we’re walking. I’ll probably fall asleep while we’re walking.
I wander down the sidewalk and the wind hits me. Brr. It’s colder outside than I thought. Good thing I’m wearing a sweatshirt.
But Adele isn’t. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I whirl us around to return to the house. She begins howling with rage. It’s as if she knows where we’re going. The neighbors are going to think I’m torturing her.
I whip off my sweatshirt and wrap it around her. She snuggles into it and the screaming stops.
I continue our walk. I’m cold now since I’m only wearing a t-shirt but better I’m cold than a tiny defenseless baby.
I walk around the block. It’s quiet outside. I check my watch. It’s three a.m. No wonder it’s quiet. All the bars and restaurants closed an hour ago.
I whistle as I continue to stroll around Smuggler’s Rest. It’s the biggest of the three towns on the island, but it’s still a small town. In the winter months, when there are fewer tourists, it’s a quiet place to live.
Which is why I was headed out to South America this week. I don’t do well with quiet. Smuggler’s Hideaway is fine in the summer when it’s propped full with tourists – many of whom are single women searching for a good time – but in the winter, it can get boring. I don’t do boring.
Although I could imagine spending a winter between the sheets with a certain bartender. Sloane won’t give me the time of day, though. She thinks I’m a player. She isn’t exactly wrong.
But there’s nothing wrong with being a player. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I simply don’t make any promises.
My brow furrows when I notice a woman sleeping in her car. She has light brown hair similar to Sloane’s. Hold on. It is Sloane. Why is she sleeping in her car?
I knock on the window as gently as possible but her dog pops up and begins barking.
