“Okay,” I said loudly, and Vera came in. She put her arm around me and guided me back out into the bar. When we shuffled to the front, I saw the baby Vera had found, sitting in a high chair. This baby was much older; she looked like a giant compared to Nell. “That’s not her,” I told Vera. “She’s way too big.” I had no idea how babies looked at various ages. This one looked like she was three times the size of Nell. “That baby is practically a kid.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” said Vera.

We both stood there staring at the young family. The mother at the table finally caught our eyes and raised her eyebrows as if to shoo us away. Vera pulled me toward the door. I turned back to look for Bailey. I saw a burly busboy, that same handsome bartender, and then there she was, coming out of the kitchen. Tall and blond, she carried three burger platters, one balanced in the crook of her elbow, as she strode confidently to one of the booths.

“That’s her,” I said.

“Who?” asked Vera.

“The waitress. Ow!” Pangs throbbed in my groin, and I felt a gush; my pad was soaked already, and something was running down my legs. My pants were definitely wet, and my thighs were sticking together.

“We need to get you to the doctor.”

“No, I need to talk to her.” I yanked myself away and moved toward the waitress. She had stopped at the wait station while the good-looking bartender sprayed soda into the glasses on her tray.

“Hey,” I said, getting her attention as I moved closer and finally grabbed the edge of the bar. “Excuse me, miss.”

“Can I help you?” she said, focused on the drinks.

“I was here yesterday,” I said.

“Okay . . .” She sounded unsure.

“With a baby. And Digger—er, Dennis Wilkins. You’re Bailey, right? You waited on us.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, I remember,” she said with a worried look. Maybe she noticed my wet pants, or maybe she wondered why I was leaning over. “Sorry, what can I, um?” she said, looking at Vera, who had joined us at the wait station.

The bartender had stopped pouring drinks and was watching us. “Is everything okay?” he said. He had a nice voice.

“You said you know Deena Wilkins?” I said. I was having trouble getting enough air to make my voice say the words. “For the huskies.”

“Sam, you’d better come out here,” the waitress said to the bartender, and he did.

“Can you give me Deena’s address?” I said, louder than I meant to. Another warm rush ran down my legs and I held on to my midsection.

“Um, I guess,” Bailey said, looking at Vera. “Is she okay?”