the unwieldy box up the stairs. Putting the crib together took hours and every tool in the house, or it seemed so, anyway. When Emily came upstairs with Amanda Sue on her hip and a stack of linens tucked under one arm, she took one look at the as yet lopsided crib and the pieces still littering the floor and quipped, “Want me to call a rocket scientist?”
“Yeah, would you?” he retorted. “I’m thinking of exploring outer space.”
She laughed. “It’s not as daunting as it seems.”
“I know. I’ve almost got it. Won’t take a minute more.”
She dumped the linens on the dresser. “I was talking about parenthood.”
Unconvinced, he said nothing to that.
“I took the liberty of making us some dinner,” she said.
That was good news. “Great! I’ll be right down.”
She nodded. “I’ll start feeding the baby.”
He quickly finished up, put away the tools and carried them back downstairs. Emily had set the table in the kitchen. He’d had it made to match the planked fronts of the cabinets and countertops which were accented with black wrought iron.
“It isn’t much,” she said, “just sandwiches and salad.”
“Sounds good to me,” he assured her, eyeing his baby daughter. “What on earth has she got all over her?”
“Squished carrots and beef weiners,” Emily answered offhandedly.
A fat plastic spoon with a short, curved handle lay on one corner of the high chair tray. He was about to ask why Amanda Sue wasn’t using it when she picked it up, banged it loudly against the tray and threw it to the floor. Emily calmly picked it up and carried it to the sink, washing it while Amanda Sue dug into the food on her plate with both hands and crammed it into her mouth.
“Why is she doing that?” Logan asked, disgusted.
“Amanda Sue prefers to feed herself,” Emily explained mildly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “It’s typical behavior for children her age.”
He walked around the table and took his own place, eyeing his messy daughter warily. As he devoured his meal, he marveled as Emily ate her own dinner and still managed to get some of Amanda Sue’s inside her with the clean spoon, all without relinquishing the utensil to Amanda Sue’s stubborn grasp or getting covered in mush herself. Moreover, her sandwiches were tasty and the salad crisp. Best of all, though, was Emily’s iced tea.
“You’ll have to show me how you make your tea,” he said, sated and content.
She shook her head. “My mama wouldn’t like that. It’s a—”
“Ma-ma!” Amanda exclaimed, suddenly struggling to get out of her chair. “Mammma!”
“Secret,” Emily finished, grimacing sheepishly. “Sorry.” She worked with Amanda Sue for several minutes, offering her first the spoon and then the cup before the cries subsided. Logan sighed. How was he going to raise this little girl without her mother? There was so much he didn’t know or understand.
“Kitchen or baby?” Emily asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Do you want to clean up the kitchen or the baby?”
A no-brainer. He was clearing the table before Emily could get to her feet. She stripped the baby, wiped her face and hands with her filthy shirt and helped her out of the high chair, carrying her away. A few minutes later, Logan had loaded the dishwasher—a relatively new experience for him as he usually left his dishes in the sink for the housekeeper—stowed the leftover salad in the refrigerator and tackled Amanda Sue’s high chair with a roll of paper towels. When he was done, he wandered out into the living room and looked around him in dismay. Resigned, he started moving everything upstairs.
He made the last trip, then wandered down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open, and Emily’s patient murmur, overlaid with sounds of splashing and squeals of glee, was clearly audible. Logan leaned a hip against the frame, his hands sliding into his pants’ pockets and observed.
Emily knelt beside the tub, a towel draped across her upper body, for all the good it had done her; her skirt and sleeves were soaked. A naked Amanda Sue was strapped into an ingenuous plastic seat with suckers on the feet that fixed it to the bottom of the tub. Her wet hair plastered to her head, she was happily smacking the surface of the water with her hands and forearms, splashing walls, floor, herself and Emily.
“She really seems to like the water,” he commented.
“So long as you don’t wash her hair with it,” Emily replied wryly.
Amanda Sue squealed and splashed at the same time, filling her mouth with water. She gagged, spat, decided it was all in fun and laughed. Logan felt a moment of concern there, but followed Emily’s lead and remained calm. The kid really was having a ball, and he couldn’t help laughing at her antics. After a few minutes, Amanda Sue quit splashing long enough to rub her eyes.
“Time to get out, sweetheart,” Emily said, loosening the belt and sliding her hands under Amanda Sue’s arms. Amanda Sue immediately started to buck and kick, screaming in protest. Emily wrapped the towel draped across her shoulder around Amanda Sue’s wet body as she rose. Suddenly she thrust the wriggling child into Logan’s arms and turned back to drain the tub of what little water remained.
“Whoa!” He almost dropped her, as her slippery little body twisted and bucked with surprising strength. “Hold on! Calm down!” A little fist smacked him under the chin, and his teeth clamped down on his tongue. “Ow! You little hellion!” He literally juggled her, trying to get a decent hold on the slick little body. Amanda Sue laughed and tried to throw herself upward. The next instant she was squirming and pushing and straining toward the tub again. “Do you never give up?” he asked in exasperation.
“Here.” Emily thrust a tub toy into Amanda Sue’s hand. It went immediately to her mouth. “The tub is empty,” Emily said, as if Amanda Sue could understand every word. “It’s time for bed.”
Amanda Sue whimpered a moment and put on a great act of clearly feigned heartbreak.
“You little faker,” Logan said. “Where’d you learn this stuff?”
“It comes naturally,” Emily told him, chuckling.
He frowned as she slipped past him and down the hallway. Amanda Sue bit her tub toy and laid her head on his shoulder. Logan turned and followed Emily. “Are you saying she inherited this tendency toward theatrics from me?” he demanded.
Emily tossed him a look over her shoulder. “I’m saying that all children are natural actors. It’s part of learning to communicate.” She turned into Amanda Sue’s bedroom, and Logan followed with the baby.
“Oh.”
Emily took a piece of fabric from the dresser and shook it out, revealing a small, fitted sheet, which she began putting on the mattress in the crib. “Think you could towel-dry her hair?”
“Sure.” How hard could it
