Free Waiting for Christopher by Louise Hawes Page B

doctor’s appointment for me this afternoon. It was obviously an oversight, and she should have scheduled it later, but I wonder if I might leave early today?” Afterward, Feena had heard her cackling like a banshee all the way down the hall, as she and her crew ducked out on afternoon classes.
    “Course,” she told the baby now, “you won’t be truly bad, less we get all that sand off. Come on with me.” She stood up, held out a hand to Christy, and headed for the CVS. Wordless, hopeless, Feena stood, too, and followed after them.
    Their first stop was the employees’ restroom. Raylene was endlessly patient, showing Christy how to pump a thin stream of shocking-pink soap from the dispenser and how to blow-dry his hands; Feena, though, was in an agony of suspense, praying Raylene wouldn’t insist on a change of diapers, ready to feign sickness, fall down in a faint, anything to prevent the discovery of Christy’s gender.
    She needn’t have worried. Standing by the dryer, flipping the baby’s hands like pancakes under the hot air, Raylene spotted the oversize clock on the wall. “I got to punch in,” she announced suddenly. “You finish up with her.”
    But she met them outside the door a few minutes later, led them to the glass beverage case. “There’s three kinds of milk—chocolate, strawberry, and just plain white. Course,” she added, “I wouldn’t take the white. That’s older, on account of no one much chooses it.”
    Christy wanted chocolate, and Raylene opened a straw for him and stuck it into the carton. “I really got to get to work now,” she told them. “Later.” She handed the baby back to Feena, waved as she headed toward the registers.
    “Say bye,” Feena instructed, suddenly finding her voice. “Say bye, Raylene.”
    Christy, bundled again in Feena’s arms, stretched from her to Raylene. “Bye, Ween,” he said, waving like a trouper.
    On the way out of the store, Feena checked the headlines in the pile of newspapers by the door. Nothing. It was only the second day, she reminded herself, hurrying outside. Off balance from Raylene’s goodwill, she tried to figure out why on earth the Dis Queen Herself had taken such an interest in them. She also tried to figure out their next move. School would be over soon, so they couldn’t hang around the library. Maybe the restaurant?
    But Christopher decided for her, lunging back toward the playground as soon as she set him down. And the minute she saw the slim, braided woman, Feena understood why. Angel, then Dale, looked up when they got closer. “Hey, Candace,” Dale said, friendly, warm. “You’re back.”
    “Not for long,” Feena assured her, standing rather than joining Dale on the bench. She pictured kids pouring out of school, heading to the library. “We … we have to get home.”
    Dale nodded toward the sandbox. “Better tell that little sister of yours.” Feena rushed after Christy, who was already halfway to Angel, who, in turn, was striding toward the sandbox.
    As they got to the box and Angel stepped in and hunkered down, Feena took Christy’s hand and tried to steer him away. But he pulled against her, like a dog on a leash, pointing toward Angel. “Want pay,” he told her. “Want pay.”
    “We’ll have to play later, Christy,” she said, trying to make it sound like an announcement, not a suggestion. “You’ve got to get your nap.” She looked at her watch; it was almost time for the eighth-period bell. They had to get out of there. “We can have a story, if you like.” She took out one of the big books and waved it like a truce flag. “Come on. Say goodbye to Angel.”
    Angel glanced up at the sound of his name, only mildly interested, as Christopher tugged them closer. “She can’t have it,” the older boy told Feena matter-of-factly. He shifted in the sand, his chunky legs uncovering a small sand pail. “It’s mine, and it’s still new.” He picked up the pail, ran it along the sand like a