Part 2: A Baby in the Bag
Yet she grew tense whenever Jamie came near. She watched his hands and started taking things away from him: a bag, a plate, a glass.
“I’ll do it.”
Jamie noticed, though he never complained.
Claire had always expected him to do things properly, just like everyone else. I’d once seen that as a sign of respect.
But when she became pregnant, those expectations turned into fear.
Jamie, meanwhile, was thrilled.
He counted down the weeks out loud, bought tiny socks with his own earnings, and proudly told every customer at the garden center that he was about to become an uncle.
When Sophie was born, Jamie stood in the hospital doorway and held out his hands.
“Can I hold her?”
Claire instantly pulled Sophie tighter against her chest.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Claire…” I said. “He’s held babies before.”
“And if he squeezes too hard? Drops her? Gets excited and forgets she isn’t a doll? I’m not experimenting with my daughter.”
Jamie’s arms slowly fell.
“Okay.”
He slid his hands into his pockets.
I looked at my wife, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Things got worse after we brought Sophie home.
Jamie came by every Sunday, and Claire would greet him at the door with hand sanitizer.
“Hands.”
“I washed already.”
“Wash again. For Sophie.”
He always did.
One Sunday, he offered to help.
“I can feed her.”
Claire actually laughed at him.
“I already have one baby to watch. I’m not supervising you, too.”
Jamie’s face went blank.
“Okay,” he replied, then walked into the hallway to get his coat.
I pulled Claire into the kitchen.
“That was cruel. Don’t ever talk to him like that again.”
“I’m protecting my daughter.”
“From her uncle?”
She turned to face me.
“You weren’t the one he poured boiling water on.”
The kitchen went silent.
Boiling water. That was how she described it now.
It had been soup.
Years earlier, Jamie was carrying a pot to the table when Claire stepped right into his path. They collided, and the soup spilled over her arm and side.
She’d needed bandages for weeks afterward. Jamie apologized every single day.
“You said it was an accident,” I reminded her.
“It was. He didn’t mean to burn me. That’s the point.” She crossed her arms. “What happens when he doesn’t mean to drop Sophie?”
“You used to tell him his jokes were bad. You used to treat him like a person.”
“That was before I had a baby. He’s unpredictable, okay? He’s not safe around her.”
“You’re judging him for one accident from years ago.”
“You can pretend he’s capable of everything because he’s your brother. I have to be realistic. This time I’m not risking my own skin. I’m risking hers.”
I couldn’t find an answer, though I knew her reasoning was unfair.
Then a shadow fell across the kitchen floor.
Jamie stood in the doorway in his coat. I had no idea how much he’d overheard.
He said nothing.
Instead, he stepped into the hallway and tapped twice on the doorframe.
I knocked twice in response.
Claire stayed silent.
A moment later, the front door clicked shut.
We scheduled Sophie’s first family photo session that same month.
Jamie showed up in a blue shirt, the last one Mom ever bought him.
We started with pictures all together.
Then Claire spoke to the photographer.
“Can we get one with just the immediate family?”
Jamie blinked.
“I am immediate family.”
Claire sighed.
“Jamie, please. I just want one normal picture.”
He didn’t protest. He simply stepped aside and stood by the wall.
After that day, Jamie stopped asking to hold Sophie.
He kept visiting, talking to her from across the room and waving as if she were a neighbor.
But he never reached for her again.
And something else began to change.
Jamie started vanishing after his shifts. Since he finished work at noon, I usually called around lunchtime.
“I’ll pick you up. We’ll get food.”
“Can’t. I have class.”
“What class?”
“Just class. Tuesday and Thursday.”
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”
The next Sunday, Jamie set his bag on the hallway bench before going to wash his hands.
The zipper slid open.
Claire froze.
Inside, lying on top of his sweatshirt, was a plastic baby doll staring at the ceiling.
“Jamie. Why do you have a baby in your bag?”
He hurriedly zipped it shut.
“I have to give it back.”
“To who?”
“Someone.”
“Jamie…”
“It’s a surprise!”
Then he dashed into the bathroom.
Claire turned to me.
“Why is your twenty-nine-year-old brother secretly carrying around a baby doll?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
She left the room.
But I hadn’t been honest with her. The doll truly worried me, and I couldn’t tell how deeply being left out of the family photographs had affected Jamie.
Rain poured relentlessly that Saturday.
Jamie had joined us for dinner, and by nine that evening, the storm had grown worse.
I glanced out the window.
“You’re not taking the bus home in this.”
“I’m okay.”
“Guest room.”
Claire didn’t object, but her whole body went rigid.
At 2:13 a.m., a piercing scream burst from the baby monitor.
I was already climbing out of bed before I was fully awake.
Sophie had never screamed like that.
Claire grabbed my arm.
Then the screaming abruptly stopped.
We heard rustling.
Then a heavy thud.
