𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭, cobain

seven.

I GAWKED AT Frances, who smiled serenely with mud caked on her legs up to her knees, soiling the dress Courtney insisted she wear. Her short, fine hair was tousled and unruly—starkly different from the state she was in when I dropped her off earlier that day. I glowered at her playdate's mother from the porch, wailing accusations with nothing but the angry look on my face.

The mother pulled either side of her cardigan tighter around her body, leaning against the doorframe. She was holding Frances, lifting her slightly and then down again to stabilize her grip. "The girls went playing around the neighborhood and Magnolia fell in a puddle, as clumsy as any baby would be."

"And you weren't watching them?" I sighed in exasperation, wondering how I would explain the sight of Frances to Courtney. "She's not even a year old, you can't just let her out of your sight."

"I had to follow up with my patients over the phone and file paperwork," the woman said defensively. "Being a doctor is no part-time job. The kid's fine."

I peered down at Frances, my worries easing whenever the baby grinned, her smile as sweet as candy. I softened my tensed face and ruffled her muddy hair. "We'll run you a bath when we get home, okay?" I affectionately ran my thumb over her chin, stretching my arms out to retrieve Frances from the woman. As soon as she settled in my grasp, she began to fuss, which I ignored. She had to get used to me sooner or later.

Little Margie, the four-year-old who Frances was there to play with, scampered past her mother. "Can I say goodbye to the baby? Please? Please?" she pleaded as if her mother would deny her innocent request.

"Go," her mother allowed, softly guiding her toward me. I crouched down with Frances in my arms so that Margie could reach her as she babbled goodbyes in toddler talk.

Margie's mother tucked her arms together, looking vacantly at me while we waited in silence. I jammed the hand that wasn't supporting Frances's bottom into the pockets of my coat. To put a halt to a staring contest that felt like forever, the mother cried out, "Maggy, it's time to go."

I bowed my head courteously to the woman before heading toward my cargo bicycle on the curb. Frances stopped whining and rested her forehead on my collarbones, fastening a grip around my shoulder with her tiny arms. Warmth unfurled in my heart, though I was quite concerned about how easily trusting the infant was to a rather strange woman taking her from her playdate. I extracted her from my chest and placed her in the cargo carrier on the back of my bicycle. It looked unsafe, and I realized that I hadn't exactly worked out the logistics of how to get a baby home on a bike.

"Okay," I whispered meekly as I straddled the bike seat. "I'll just drive super slow." I squinted my eyes and grimaced against the harsh wind that slapped my face while I slowly eased onto the pedals, the chirping of birds overhead accenting the air. The Cobain household wasn't far from Margie's; it was about a five-minute ride. I only prayed there were cautious drivers on the road wary of Frances. The road dwindled into the magnificent backdrop of a sky set ablaze by the fiery setting sun, lowering its mighty gaze beneath silky, warm hues of vibrant color.

"Look, Frances," I beamed. "Look at the pretty colors." The whistle from the summer breeze rang in my ears, my slow trail stretching the journey to fifteen minutes. At the entrance to the neighborhood, I squeezed the brake, steering the bicycle straight until the speed tapered off to a stop once we reached the house, halting behind Kurt's Volvo.

I carefully boosted Frances from the carrier. With her attached to my hip, I groped around in my pocket to find the house key Courtney had gifted me before I left. I sighed and turned the key into the door, wondering what animosity awaited me once I stepped inside.