Page 113 of Sure Shot
“My bad!” Bess says in the distance.
“Necesitamos un Zamboni,” I tell the small person in the highchair. I grab a paper towel and dampen it. Then I use it to wipe bits of pureed sweet potato off every surface of the room, starting with Roberto’s round little face.
“Oh boy,” Dave Beringer says, walking into my kitchen, his own seven-month-old son on his hip. “Looks like someone detonated a small anti-sweet-potato device in here.”
“That happened,” I say, pulling the baby out of the chair and detaching his bib.
“I can hold two at once,” Dave says. “You need a fresh shirt.”
“I’ll take a baby!” Zara says, popping into the kitchen. She snatches Roberto from me and starts kissing his chubby cheeks.
Is Bess still in the bedroom? It’s taking her a long time to get ready for the team Christmas Eve party. Atleastfifteen minutes. I guess I’m spoiled by her quick turnarounds. “Anyone need more coffee?” I ask our guests.
“I’ll take one,” Dave says. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Really? That hotel is pretty great. Did you try the croissants?”
“It’s not the hotel’s fault, and those croissants are killer,” he says. “But this guy has forgotten how to sleep through the night.” He pats his son on the butt.
“Ouch. Bess and I have been lucky, I guess.” Roberto has only been with us for about ten days, but he’s a good sleeper. “If only he liked sweet potatoes.” I’m still wearing this wreck of a shirt.
“How do you do it?” Zara asks me as I pour her husband a cup of coffee. She gazes into Roberto’s eyes.
“It takes a few days to learn their quirks,” I say. Roberto is foster baby number three.
“No,” Zara says, smoothing down Roberto’s curls. “How will you hand him back?” She looks up at me. “Isn’t it awful?”
Why yes, it is. But this is what we signed up for. “Roberto has a mom who loves him. That’s why it’s okay.” We’re doing a very special kind of foster care. We take in immigrant babies who are temporarily separated from their parents. In Roberto’s case, his mother was injured on her journey from South America. She required surgery in a facility that can’t accommodate infants.
So for a few weeks—we don’t know how long—he needs a temporary home. That’s us.
Our involvement was Bess’s idea. I’d been skeptical, but she’d wanted to help. And it’s so damn brave of her that I couldn’t say no. She impresses me every single day.
It turns out that taking care of these babies is easily the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done—rocking a child who misses his mother. Feeding him. Holding him as he falls asleep. It’s humbling.
Bess will cry a little on the day we have to hand him back to the social worker who will return him to his mother. But only because she wishes him the best. If they’re lucky, his mom will win her asylum case and stay in the US. If they’re less lucky, they’ll be deported to Venezuela.
Either way, they’ll be together. Roberto won’t remember this time when Bess and I stepped in to care for him for a few short weeks. But we’ll never forget it.
Dave takes the cup of coffee, and then holds it out of his red-headed son’s reach. “This party starts soon, right?”
“Yup. Let me change my shirt and see if Bess is ready.” I hold out my hands to Zara. “Shall I take him back?”
“Not a chance,” she says. “Let me make sure Nicole hasn’t spilled her milk all over your living room.” She carries Roberto out of the room.
“It doesn’t matter what Nicole spills,” I say as she leaves.
“You say that now,” Dave says. “But it’s hard to get the smell of sour milk out of some things. Like, for example, a Honda Pilot. It’s crazy the stunts these kids pull. But I hope…” He puts his hand on his baby son’s hair as the sentence trails off. “Someday I hope you get that chance. To take care of a baby who calls youdaddy. Because you guys deserve it. And the kid will be so lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” I say gruffly. “Our chance will come.”
And here’s one surprising thing about my marriage—Dave Beringer has been solid gold. It was nice of him and Zara to haul their growing family down to New York for the brief holiday break in my game schedule. Bess loves having her family around her. As a bonus, Dave gets to see all his old friends.
“Go change,” he says now. “So we can drink eggnog and play ping pong.”
“On it.” I leave the kitchen and head for the bedroom. “Bess? How goes it?” I ask when I find her in the bathroom.
Startled, she slams a drawer and then stands up, turning around quickly. “Fine! Great. Where’s the baby?”
