THE DOORBELL RANG.
“Could you keep her steady?” Nina asked. “I have to get that. I’ll just be a minute.”
Deborah tentatively slid her hand around the small curve of the baby’s back, slippery with soap. Nina was bathing the child after a messy lunch, a lunch Deborah had watched with discreet fascination.
Deborah hadn’t meant to stay. She was just—well, it didn’t matter. Nina had invited her to stay for coffee, after she fed the baby. The baby—Millie, she must start calling her by name—made a game of it, moving her mouth away at just the right moment and then waving her hands gleefully as squash puree formed a wound-like streak across her cheek. What little she got into her mouth she giggled back out.
Apparently she did manage to eat something, because her system made room for it out the other end with infernal speed and a waft
