"What did the doctor say?" Jim asked that evening over dinner.
"He couldn't find anything wrong with her," Blair explained. "He said it might be something like colic, but colic would have ended by now." He sighed. "He said it's something we may just have to ride out."
"Ride out?" Jim exclaimed loudly. "For how long? I can't take this much longer as it is."
"He didn't say." Blair's answer was softly spoken, his head bowed as he examined the contents of his plate.
"You've got to find a way to make it stop." The tone of Jim's voice was authoritarian, like the Army Captain he used to be.
"Why me, Jim?" Blair suddenly exploded. "Why is it always my problem? I'm not getting any sleep here, either. And if you think I don't work, just because I'm not going into the precinct or teaching at the university, you'd better think again. When Laurene isn't fussing, I try to get some sleep, because I'm the one who stays up with her all night. When I'm not sleeping, and not trying to quiet her down, or feed her, or bathe her, or play with her, I'm trying to keep the damn apartment clean or fixing your meals. If it isn't perfect, well, fuck you! I'm tired of taking all the blame." He pushed back his chair and stormed into the nursery, his only place of refuge in the otherwise open loft.
Jim sat, stunned by his partner's outburst. After a couple minutes to recover, he rose and walked to the nursery doors, hesitating before opening them. Blair sat in the rocker, nursing their daughter. It looked as though he may have been crying. His red-rimmed eyes and dark lashes were moist, and his breath hitched slightly as he inhaled.
"Blair," Jim began, then stopped when he was completely ignored. Walking into the room, he knelt beside the rocker. "Blair, please. I'm sorry. I know I've been an ass lately. I've had those long stake-outs, and I'm not getting enough sleep. . . ."
"I know that, Jim," Blair whispered. "All I need is for you to acknowledge that I work, too. You're not the only one suffering through this."
"I know, I know, Sweetheart. I'm sorry. Please forgive me?" Jim looked so distressed that Blair finally nodded.
"Why don't you go take a nap while Laurene's quiet?" Blair suggested, shifting the nursing infant to the other side and settling her in his arms.
Jim stood and leaned over the pair, placing a warm kiss on Blair's temple. "I love you."
Blair looked up with a tired smile. "Love you, too."
Jim left the two alone, and went to find some needed rest.
February, Second week:
Despite repeated reconciliations over the past week, Jim found himself more and more short-tempered. It was easier to stay away than to come home and face the mess and the noise. The doctor had found nothing wrong in the tests he'd run, concluding that Laurene suffered from some delayed form of colic.
This morning was no different from the past several. Laurene was screaming at the top of her lungs, with Blair trying desperately to calm her. Jim had come downstairs to find he once again had to fix his own breakfast and clean up after himself. As he stormed toward the door, grabbing his coat from the hooks next to it, he turned to nail Blair with one last comment. "See if you can't do something about this place today, okay? At least get the dishes done and pick up a little." Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the door behind him.
Blair sighed and sank onto the couch, fighting the migraine headache that Laurene's constant screaming had produced. Draping her over his shoulder, he began singing an old lullaby his mother used to sing when he was small. The squalling quieted to whimpers, and the baby finally fell asleep.
A knock at the door brought Blair's drooping eyelids up. He didn't have many visitors, nor did he want any. Pulling himself off the couch, he shuffled to the door, Laurene still cradled in his arms.
"Flo!" he exclaimed in surprise. He hadn't seen Mrs. McGinty since Jim had sent her to San Francisco to visit her son at Christmas. "Come in!" He gestured toward the living room, then stopped dead. "Um, maybe this isn't such a good time," he amended. "The place is a real mess."
"Oh, don't let that bother you, young man," she said, pushing her way inside. Letting her gaze fan around the room, she shook her head and clucked her tongue. "It has gotten away from you, hasn't it?"
Blair nodded wearily, and followed the old woman over to the couches.
"You look exhausted," she commented. "Here, let me take the little one." Without waiting for Blair's reply, she lifted the infant from his arms, settling herself on the love seat. "Now, tell me what's been going on."
Blair relayed the story of Laurene's increased fussiness since Christmas, of his and Jim's fights, and the exhaustion that kept him from keeping the loft picked up and neat. "All I really need is one, just one, good solid night's sleep." He sighed, running a hand through tousled hair.
Mrs. McGinty watched the slow, labored movements of the man across from her. "Do you have a supply of breast milk in the freezer?" she asked out of the blue.
"Yeah. There's three or four bottles, I think," Blair answered, sounding puzzled. "Why?"
The old woman dug a hand in the pocket of her flowered dress, producing a key which she handed to him. "Here, take this. It's the key to my apartment. I want you to go over there, stretch out on the sofa, and get some sleep. I'll watch Laurene, and see what I can do about the mess."
"Oh, Flo . . . no, I couldn't let you do that," Blair protested, while his hand wrapped tightly around the key, unwilling to give it back.
The old woman clucked and shook her head. "You trust me with the half-pint, don't you?"
"You know I do, Flo," Blair told her sincerely. "But she's been such a handful lately. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
"I've handled my share of colicky babies in the past, Son. This won't be any different. Now, away with you. Get some sleep. I'll come wake you before James gets home." She made shooing gestures with her free hand, cradling the baby in her other arm.
Blair rose and gratefully made his way out the door and over to the neighboring apartment. After letting himself in, he crossed to the comfortable-looking overstuffed sofa, decorated with pillows and an afghan across the back. Piling the pillows at one end, and pulling the afghan down, Blair settled on the cushions, asleep almost instantly.
In what seemed no time at all, a wrinkled hand was shaking his shoulder, and a soft voice talked him back to consciousness. "Time to get up, young man. Did you have a nice nap?"
Blair blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "What time is it?"
"Four-thirty. I thought you might like a little time for a shower and shave before James gets home," Mrs. McGinty said.
"Four-thirty?" Blair sat up, looking around for a clock. "I've been asleep seven hours?"
"And you don't have much time, my dear. Let's go, shall we?" She put a hand under Blair's elbow, helping him to his feet.
When they entered the apartment, Blair blinked in surprise. The room sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Flo had mopped and dusted, as well as picked up and organized. The mail now sat neatly in three piles: Jim's, Blair's and bills. The newspapers were stacked in a recycle bin where they could be taken out or read first, whichever the men desired. The dishes were washed and put away, and there was a pot of stew bubbling on the stove, made from leftovers their neighbor had scrounged from the refrigerator.
Best of all, the loft was quiet.
"Flo, you shouldn't have! I mean, this place was a dump." Blair just shook his head in amazement.
"Oh, I needed something to do in between tending your sweet baby." The old woman smiled.
"Sweet?" Blair's disbelief rang through that one word.
"Well, she cried, of course," Mrs. McGinty explained, "but once I got her quieted down, I figured I might as well make myself useful."
Blair just stood, shaking his head. Finally, Mrs. McGinty pushed him toward the bathroom. "Get cleaned up. You'll feel better."
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