With a Little T.L.C.

“I’ll be here.”

“Read and sign the back of this please,” she said, sliding the paper across her desk.

He picked it up and scanned the words. Liz knew it was an agreement to adhere to all hospital rules of safety and confidentiality. It also said a volunteer could be terminated from the program for any reason deemed sufficient by the Director of Volunteers. She didn’t suppose Essie Martinez would consider booting Joe Marchetti before he started because he was too good-looking.

“May I borrow your pen?” he asked.

Hoping she wasn’t making a big mistake, she handed him one and he signed the form. “So we’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning?” she asked.

“I’ll be here.”

She gathered a file from her desk and started for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?” he asked, preceding her out the door.

“Sort of. I moderate a new mothers’ support group on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.” She thought of something as she locked her office. “Sooner or later all the cuddlers are required to attend. I think it gives the program some continuity. Maybe you would like to join us now? Unless you have somewhere to go?”

“No, now is fine,” he said without hesitation.

Good, she thought, wondering if this would scare him off. It was never too early to separate the men from the boys, test his mettle. If he was going to chicken out, better sooner than later.

Joe sat in a gray plastic chair at a long table in the front of classroom 2 and watched Liz. Wearing navy slacks and a matching blazer with a bright yellow sweater underneath, she looked stylish and professional as she stood at the door greeting everyone. Women filed in, most of them carrying infants, all of them looking tired.

He studied Ms. Liz Anderson. She was a little thing, which had wounded his male pride when she’d yanked him out of Rosie’s room by his ear. But it was that moxie that had gotten his attention. She was attractive, but not one of those women who gave men whiplash when she walked down the street. Her hair, an ordinary shade of brown, was cut pixie short. Which suited her. Big hazel eyes dominated her small face. If he had to choose a word to describe her it would be cute.

The next one that popped into his mind was wary.

With him a few moments before, she’d been pleasant enough, but he’d bet all of his profit shares in Marchetti’s, Inc. that she didn’t want him in her cuddlers program. She expected him to welsh on his promise. His gut told him there was more to it than that. Which made him wonder why she’d asked him to sit in on the parent’s support group.

He noticed that her manner with the new mothers was warm and pleasant. Everyone got a hug. And when she looked at the babies, her face grew soft, with a glowing tenderness that made her beautiful. He wondered if she had children of her own. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—he’d made it a point to look. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was attached—or unattached.

“I guess we should start,” Liz said, walking to the front of the room.

Several new mothers holding their babies sat around the long table, blankets, diapers and bags placed haphazardly on chairs in between them. They watched Liz as she made her way to the lectern with the chalkboard behind it. Joe sat in the chair closest to her.

She met his gaze. “We have a guest tonight. Ladies, this is Joe Marchetti. He’s interested in joining the cuddlers program here at the hospital.”

He nodded to the women settling themselves. Some were discreetly nursing their infants. Some were standing, rocking from side to side. The lucky ones sat with sleeping babies in their arms. “Hi,” he said. He’d never understood the expression “fish out of water” better than he did at this moment.

Liz cleared her throat. “We’ll leave the door open. There are always stragglers. You all know that with a new baby there’s no guarantee of getting anywhere on time.”

He leaned over to her and whispered, “Would any of those stragglers happen to be fathers?”

“This is a new mothers’ support group.” Liz shrugged.

“Ah,” he answered. “I guess I just assumed some dads would come along.”

“Sometimes they do,” she said. “And they’re always welcome. But in most cases, women are the primary caretakers, and the one whose life is most impacted with the responsibility of caring for and feeding the infant. Which reminds me. Andie, how are you doing with nursing Valerie this week? Is it going any better?”

“I think so.” A dark-haired woman on the other side of the table spoke up. She had circles under her eyes, and a denim shirt that looked as if it had spent several weeks at the bottom of the ironing basket. “I called some of the people you suggested, Liz. I think Val has a shallow latch and as long as I make sure she’s secure, I’m not as sore.”

Joe concentrated on sitting still and looking impassive. All of this was the most natural thing in the world. His sister had nursed in front of him without embarrassment. There was no reason to be uncomfortable.

“Good.” Liz nodded at the woman with satisfaction. “Anyone have any questions, problems they’d like to bring up for discussion?”

A blonde raised her hand. She was discreetly nursing her baby with a light blanket thrown over her shoulder. “What is it, Barbara?” Liz asked.

“My husband is concerned about bringing Tommy into bed with us,” Barbara started, with a quick loving glance at the child in her arms. “I explained that when he wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s easier if I can doze while he nurses. I get more sleep that way. But he, my husband,” she clarified, “is afraid that it’ll start a habit and the baby will go off to college before we get any privacy. If you know what I mean,” she finished.

Joe felt everyone in the room look at him, including Liz. They were waiting for a reaction. So, this was a test. He decided he could act one of two ways. Embarrassed at such intimate discussion, or treat it as the earthy part of life it was. The woman who’d initiated the question had done it of her own free will. She wasn’t put off by his presence. Why should he be uncomfortable?

“A child’s needs versus intimacy is a dilemma that a lot of couples face,” Liz said. “Since we have a guest of the male persuasion, and access to his point of view, what do you think about asking him? Mr. Marchetti, would you care to comment?”

He stood and cleared his throat. “I’ve never been married, but my parents have been together for going on thirty-six years. According to my mother, it’s important for a man and woman to work on their relationship. That’s the foundation of the family. If it’s weak, the first crisis will topple everything.”

“Good advice,” Liz said, a subtle note of surprise in her voice. “But when you add a demanding new baby to the dynamic, whose needs take precedence? How do you deal with that? What about taking the child into bed?”

Joe watched the majority of women nod questioningly. Now he knew that Liz was putting him on the spot, deliberately testing him. He couldn’t blame her. This was her “baby,” her territory, her sphere of expertise. And he was a fish out of water. However, he’d always been a good test-taker. And he didn’t turn his back on a challenge. He had something to prove to Nurse Ratchett. Thinking back, he tried to remember what Rosie had said when her daughter was an infant.

He cleared his throat. “At bedtime start the baby out in his or her own bed. If they wake up during the night and it doesn’t look good for getting them to sleep easily, then you have to make a decision about whether or not to take them in with you.”

A general murmur went up as the women commented to each other. Since they were nodding their heads and smiling, Joe figured he’d done good.

Another woman raised her hand. “Mr. Marchetti, I like bringing the baby in bed with us. I want to know that he’s all right and to strengthen the family bonds. My husband doesn’t mind. But lately he’s been wondering when, you know, he and I can…well, you know,” she finished with a shrug and shy smile.

Keep it light, he told himself. Don’t let on that you’d rather be shooting hoops or pumping iron. Anything but advising new mothers about “you know.” “I guess you’re referring to what my mother calls ‘the wild thing.”’ They all laughed, easing the mood. “When the baby goes to sleep and the two of you are alone opportunity knocks. Answer the door,” he said simply.

“What if you have other children?” someone asked.

“If you’re lucky enough to have grandparents to take over, ask them for help and go to the cabin in the mountains like my folks did. If you don’t have that support, try to find a routine that puts the kids in bed early so that you and your husband have time for each other.”

Just then, Barbara’s baby, who had finished eating, began to wail. She stood and rocked him from side to side. “It’s not easy to find a routine. Every time we do, the master,” she said glancing at the unhappy infant, “changes the rules.”

“Mind if I try?” he asked. After fielding the questions he just had, he figured he’d take his chances with the little guy.

“Are you kidding?” Barbara answered. “Be my guest.” She held out the child.

Joe walked over to her and took Tommy from her arms. It had been a while since his niece had been this small. At first he felt awkward, holding the warm body in the bend of his elbow. The little fella’s face scrunched into an unhappy look as he started to whimper. Uneasily, Joe raised the infant up onto his shoulder. No dice.

The cry increased in intensity. It was almost as if the child knew he was in unfamiliar arms. Joe didn’t know what else to do but rock those arms—already feeling the burn—back and forth. Nada. The cry escalated into a full-blown scream.

“Just talk amongst yourselves,” he said above the crying. “Tommy and I will take a stroll around the room. If that’s okay with you,” he said to the baby’s mother.

She nodded. “It’s you I’m worried about. He can keep this up for hours. How long can you hold out?”

“I’m tough,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

He started walking around the room. The baby’s ear-splitting wail slowed, but he still wouldn’t quiet. Joe stopped and instead of moving him from side to side, he commenced an up and down motion. Almost instantly the baby stopped crying. Every head in the room turned to look at him. When the quiet continued, jaws began to lower. Including Liz who stared at him as if he had two heads.