I yanked the gear into drive and sped the hell out of there. Someone honked, and I slammed on the brakes. A voice yelled, “Idiot! Learn to drive!” I swore at the asshole and laid on the horn.

“Stop it.” Deena turned around to see if the baby was okay. I looked in the rearview mirror. On cue, the baby started to fuss, then broke into a full cry.

“Goddammit!” I said. I was thinking Cally would have been able to make the kid be quiet.

But Deena sat staring straight ahead. The wailing continued, and Deena leaned her head back and closed her eyes, clearly willing herself to be calm. Or disappear. At a stoplight, I turned around. The baby’s mouth was open and red. No teeth, just gums. The thing was choking and screaming. It was driving me nuts.

“Do something,” I said.

“Do you have a pacifier back there?” said Deena, fishing around. “Pull over.”

“What, no,” I said, annoyed, but the crying was too much. I pulled over and lit up a cigarette.

Deena hopped into the back and got the kid to quiet down. “Okay, you can go.”

The rest of the drive was fine. When I turned down Deena’s driveway, the dogs ran to the fence. Like they always did. We decided we could leave the kid in there for a couple minutes while we went inside. I had to take a piss, and Deena only needed to grab a couple things. Wouldn’t take more than five.

As we walked past the dogs, we heard a car, so we stopped and turned around. “Who’s that?” she said.

A silver sedan made its way down the driveway.

“Hell if I know,” I said.

The car stopped in front of us. A white-haired man got out and then a dark-haired woman. “Is that your truck there?” asked the white-haired man.

“Yeah, so what?”

“So you’re Digger,” said the woman.

“Who wants to know?”

“Where’s the baby, huh?” she said, walking past me and over to the truck.

I pushed the lock button on my key fob. Click! When she tried to pull open the door, it was locked. “Don’t touch my truck, please.”

The woman pressed her forehead against the tinted window and cried, “Raymond, she’s there!”

“Can I help you with something?” said Deena, walking closer. “Or do I need to call the cops?”

“By all means, please. Call the police,” said the woman. “My name is Ruth Olson, and that baby in your truck is my daughter.”

“Oh, Olson,” I said to myself. Hal Olson, that was the sperm’s name.

“Yes, so I would appreciate it if you would unlock that door,” said Ruth.

“As I understand it,” said Deena, “you are not the mother of that child. Yet.”