Molly looks on in horror for a moment, then grabs something from the quilt bag. “Here, use this.”

It’s a piece of an old Christmas tree skirt from Dan’s and my first Christmas together. You can’t really tell it was ever a tree skirt; it just looks like a green tablecloth.

“Are you sure?” Eileen asks.

“No problem,” I tell her.

“Thanks.”

Molly’s expression is priceless as she watches Eileen dry the kid’s tears and wipe his nose, then clean his bottom. This is a better justification for birth control than any lecture from me, although it means a sad end for the old tree skirt. Eileen puts on a clean diaper, but the romper is soaked through. The baby starts wailing again.

“I don’t have a change of clothes for him.” Eileen looks like she’s about to lose it, too.

I glance at the quilt bag, hesitating only a moment. At the bottom is a pair of Oshkosh overalls in candy pink. “This will probably work. It was Molly’s when she was about his size. See if it fits.” I answer the question in her expression. “I brought along a bag of old fabric scraps to add to the quilt I’ve been working on.”

“Then I can’t take this.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ve got plenty. I have enough.”

She threads him into the overalls. The baby cries as she straps him into his car seat, the sobs punctuated with liquid coughs. Eileen gives him a plastic bottle of Gerber apple juice, but he flings it away. Molly is actively trying not to cringe; I can tell.

“Hush,” Eileen says. “Please. Sorry about him.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Is he running a fever?”

“A little, I think. I gave him some Tylenol drops right before you stopped.” She loads in the diaper bag and her purse, then locks her car, and we all take off.

Eventually, the storm of crying subsides as the monotony of the ride lulls the baby. The stretch of road that looked so innocent on the map is narrow and curving, with a posted speed limit of forty. It’s too late to change our minds now, though. We’re committed.

We learn that Eileen and her boyfriend went to Vegas together to get work. “My mother didn’t want me to leave, but there was nothing for me in Honeymoon, except maybe some crap job at a fast-food place. Vegas was our best bet, especially since I wanted to be a dancer. I was a dancer, until I got pregnant.”

“Onstage, in Vegas?” Molly turns to her in interest.

Eileen nods her head. “I was in the chorus line of a show at the Monte Carlo.”

“That’s so cool,” Molly says.

“It was. But…harder than you’d think, especially with a kid and a lousy boyfriend. My mother danced, too, but never professionally. She always wanted to work onstage and didn’t ever have the chance.”

“Then it’s great that you got the opportunity,” I tell her, trying to say something positive.