Free All She Ever Wanted by Rosalind Noonan Page B

his rap.
    This particular Saturday morning, it was the coconut song.
    â€œPut a little burp in the coconut, then you’ll feel better,” he sang as he flipped her little body to burp her on his knee. He’d seen the position in one of Chelsea’s baby books and Annie seemed to dig it.
    A belch popped out, and he turned her upright in his arms. “That was a good one, Lady Baldy. Care for some more elixir of life?” He turned on the British accent as he offered her the bottle once again.
    She started sucking again, less enthusiastically but that was okay, since she was almost done. This time he sang “Born to Run,” singing to fill in the guitar licks. Thank God Annie-bananee was a good eater. With everything that was going on with Chelsea, he didn’t know how he’d manage a picky baby.
    And to Chelsea’s credit, she had stayed on top of the feeding thing. Even though she was exhausted she had kept breast-feeding because she knew it was healthier for Annie and cheaper for them. She pumped milk a few times during the day so that he could do the nighttime feedings by bottle. And weekend feedings like this.
    Yeah, Chelsea was trying, but after a week on the medication, he didn’t see any signs that she was getting better. Granted, she hadn’t had another crisis in the car, but she still wasn’t the old Chelsea. She was listless and teary and lacking in energy. And with the Boston convention starting Monday, he worried about leaving Annabee alone with her.
    The crisis in the car still worried him. In the past, Chelsea’s freak-outs had involved harmless fantasies, like imagining Annie flying into the wall or thinking how her little body would fit into the oven. Sick ideas, yeah, but she had never thought to act on any of those visions.
    Until last week in the car.
    And the car—that was like a soaring rocket. A serious threat to his wife and daughter.
    Annie had dozed off. He took the bottle away, and her lips still smacked at the air. Her eyes were closed, but her pale brows lifted in a hopeful expression, and then relaxed as she settled into a deeper sleep. Nothing else in his day gave him the same contentment as taking care of her. But now he felt like he was letting her down, going off to Boston and leaving her alone with Chelsea. And Chelsea didn’t seem to trust herself. Last night she had begged him to bag out of the convention.
    He had half a mind to call his boss and cancel the trip, but in the long run it would hurt his commissions and his chance for promotion. Boston was the plum conference. If he bowed out, he’d be cutting into his income. His family’s income.
    But he couldn’t take the chance of Chelsea having another crisis . . . the chance of either his wife or baby being injured or worse.
    He wasn’t sure what to do.
    With Annie napping in her bucket seat on the kitchen counter, he started making breakfast. Most meal preps started with a search for the kitchen knives from wherever Chelsea had hidden them. Today he checked the cabinet where they kept the pots, the high cabinet over the fridge, and the coat closet, where he located the butcher block of knives in the back with a scarf wrapped around the handles. The knife hunt was always a pain in the neck, but he indulged her on it.
    He chopped chives and ham to put in the scrambled eggs, and took bagels out of the freezer. His boss, Mark, wouldn’t be too happy if he ducked out at the last minute. Shit. Well, it was worth a phone call to Mark’s cell today, just to see how hard it would be to send someone else. He glanced at the clock and realized the call could wait. Nobody liked to do business before eight on a Saturday morning.
    If he had to go, he needed some plan to keep Annie and Chelsea safe. Maybe Chelsea would agree not to drive the car while he was gone. He could hide the keys to her Subaru.
    Yeah, but what if there was an emergency? His wife was a grown woman; he