“And you will get one,” his father promised. “Come along, big boy, and you can help your dear ol’ dad and Uncle Sam with the cooking.”

“I’ll start setting the table out on the deck,” Betty said.

“Is there anything I can do?” Marjorie volunteered, quickly rising to her feet. “I brought some chips and dip, and some potato salad and sliced pickles.” Sam caught her eye and revealed his surprise. “Deli made,” she whispered, and he grinned back.

“Why don’t you unpack those while I set the picnic table?” Betty suggested.

The others left to take care of things, and Marjorie found herself alone in the kitchen. She went over to the wicker basket and lifted the top. The potato salad was nestled between the pickle jar and the dip. As she was drawing it out, she heard a faint cry coming from the back of the house. She paused, then remembered Betty mentioning that the baby was napping. Marjorie went to the cabinet and proceeded to take out a couple bowls and fill them with the potato salad and dip. To her chagrin, the infant’s crying grew louder.

A quick check outside told her that Kevin had managed to distract his mother from the job of setting the table. The two of them were down on the beach. Betty was bent over, examining something Kevin was pointing to in the sand. The men were across the yard, busy chatting while Bernie stuck T-bone steaks onto the hot grill.

Before Marjorie could call out to anyone, the baby’s cry split the air.

Alarmed, she ran into the back bedroom. The infant’s cries died to a soft gurgle once she arrived.

“Hi.” she said stiffly, standing a good three feet from the crib. “Your mother’s on the beach. Would you like me to do something before she gets here?”

The baby’s fists flailed in the air.

“Don’t cry, okay? I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”

The infant whimpered softly, and that alone was enough to cause Marjorie to take two steps in retreat. Once four-month-old Shelley realized she was losing her audience, she let go with another loud, earnest cry. She paused then, and inserted her fist into her mouth, sucking on it greedily.

“Oh, I get it,” Marjorie murmured, retracing her steps. “You’re hungry.” She dropped her gaze to her own full breasts. “Sorry, I can’t help you in that department.” She smiled at her own joke.

The baby gurgled again, seemingly amused by Marjorie’s attempt at humor.

“I suppose you’ve got a wet diaper, as well.”

Shelley made a chuckling sound that cut straight through Marjorie’s heart. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help in that area, either. You see, babies and I don’t get along.”