“Actually, I need to call a taxi,” I said.

“Thought so,” she said, flinging open the door. “I’ll see you out there.”

As soon as she left, I took out a maxi-pad and made a quick change. The bleeding came randomly but could have been triggered by my trek. My boobs were still hurting, so I locked the bathroom door. I needed to get the milk out, but I didn’t want Amanda barging in on me.

At the sink, I lifted my shirt and pulled up my bra, exposing the first breast. I grabbed it with both hands, like a double cheeseburger, squeezed, and pointed it down to the drain, until finally, the thin white line of milk streamed out from one of the ducts in the nipple. Sometimes a few ducts would shoot out at once and spray like a sprinkler or squirt me in the face. I wasn’t good at this yet. I took out the second breast and got to work.

When I’d put myself back together, I walked out and saw Amanda sitting at the little desk behind the counter.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. Suddenly thirsty again, I pulled a bottle of water out of the small refrigerated selection. “I’m taking this.”

“Okay.”

I noticed a prepackaged turkey sandwich. “This, too,” I said, opening the package and taking a bite.

“Fine.”

“So can I use your phone?” I pointed to the desk behind the counter.

“Sure.” Amanda got up from the chair and gestured for me to sit.

I dialed Digger’s apartment. His roommate answered and seemed surprised to hear from me. Digger wasn’t there. “I thought he was with you,” the roommate said, and I hung up.

“Do you have any phone books?” I asked Amanda.

She opened a drawer and pulled out both a White Pages and a Yellow Pages. I looked up Taxi. I looked up Blue Anchor Grill. I looked up Police. Who to call first? I dialed the police.

Amanda leaned in and clearly tried to eavesdrop, but I turned away so she’d get the hint that I wanted privacy. I cupped my hand over the receiver.

“Superior Police,” a woman answered.

“Hi, um,” I said, trying to keep my voice down. “I’m calling because . . .”

“Can you speak up, please?”

“My ex-boyfriend took my baby,” I said a bit louder.

“All right. Can I have your name and address, please?”

“Cally Scott, but I don’t live up here. I was just . . . staying up here with . . . my daughter.” I heard myself say those words, and I had to stop for a second.

“Yes?” she said.

I continued, “So, anyway, I was taking a nap, and when I woke up, my ex-boyfriend and the baby were gone.” I could hear the lady typing.

“Okay, when did this happen?” she asked.

“This afternoon. I’d say three o’clock? Maybe four.”