Bea smiled to herself. Her mom and dad had been new parents once, too. Everyone had to start somewhere. She began to relax, but then her previous anxiety resurfaced. What if Grandma June did have familial Alzheimer’s disease? What if Bea carried the gene? What if she’d already passed it on to her child?

She needed to stop fixating on the possibilities. Fixation was another symptom of mental deterioration.

The next hour passed quickly. When Hunter had arrived, Amber said he’d just woken up from a nap. As lunchtime passed and his mother did not return, it became evident he needed another one of those. Bea texted Amber to ask when she would be back but got no response.

She held a yawning Hunter on her hip and looked around the house. “Where is he going to lie down?”

Dad was unperturbed. “We’ll move a couch cushion to the floor.”

“What if he rolls off?”

“Watch this.” He slid the couch so it was perpendicular to the wall and tucked a cushion into the ninety-degree angle formed on the floor. He stood a second cushion upright against the side of the makeshift bed opposite the couch and nodded.

“Set him so his feet are this way.” He pointed to the one open side. “And he’ll be fine.”

He’ll be fine. How many times could Dad say the word fine in one day?

“Are you sure?”

“He’s not going to roll feet first. Just make sure he’s asleep before you put him down so he doesn’t try to escape.”

“Okay.” Bea was skeptical and didn’t care if she sounded like it. “But can you at least put a blanket over the cushion or something? It’s covered in cat hair.”

“Well.” Dad raised an eyebrow. “That’s not my fault.”

Hunter’s eyes were almost closed. Bea moved him to her shoulder, and his body grew limp. She gave her dad a look, and he raised his hands and went to the linen closet to find something to lay on the cushion. By the time the makeshift bed was ready, Hunter was completely sacked out.

Bea stood over the cushion and looked down at the floor. It was so far away.

“How am I supposed to set him down without waking him up?” she whispered.

Dad gave her an amused look. “He’s sound asleep. He won’t even notice.”

She knelt in slow motion, eyeing the distance to the cushion and praying silently the baby would not wake up. She laid him next to the blanket she’d pulled from his diaper bag as carefully as she could, slowly moving her hands out from under him and inching away. He twitched and made a snorting sound, then pulled the blanket to his chest and started to snore.