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through, two left feet and all, until she and I were right. And part of doing things right was finding her somewhere to stay during the day, even if the only thing I wanted to do at that point was find myself the closest DSW and go hog wild on cute new shoes. The way I was feeling, I’d have maxed out both cards.
    It was late when I schlepped Alice and my own tired body up the stairs to my apartment. I felt like Jack crawling higher and higher up the beanstalk, hoping for redemption, only to find that reality at the top wasn’t any better than it had been way down below. I still had nowhere for Alice to go once I had to go back to class, and there was No. Way.
    In. Hell . I was sending her back to that first dreadful place, no matter what I didn’t manage to find. She’d be diseased before the week was out.
    Tomorrow , I told myself. It can all be solved tomorrow.
    [21]

    Piper Vaughn & M.J. O’Shea

    I fed and changed Alice and put her in her little bassinet, where she’d sleep soundly for the next hour or so at most. By the time all that was done, I had the energy for three bites of a blueberry bagel before I stripped, dragged on my sleep bottoms, and did a full on “timber” fall onto my bed. Before I even had the chance to roll over, I was out like Lance Bass. Probably snoring too.
    So attractive.
    The next day was as big a mess as the first one had been. And the one after. And the one after that. I was beginning to panic. I hated most of the daycares on sight, maybe even more than the cesspool of Wee Care, and true to form the only one that was reasonably priced (and not Alexander Fleming’s playground) told me they were at capacity until spring graduation. Graduation? The woman at the desk must have seen the confused look on my face, because she explained that graduation was when the current crop of kindergartners went to first grade and no longer needed daycare services. I snorted at the thought of having a graduation service for snot-nosed carpet monkeys, but then, with as gracious a smile as I could manage, I gathered up my baby and left.
    When I got home, I sat on my couch and tried to think of everyone I knew. There was Dusty, of course, but he was with me all day at school, so that was out. Then there was Devon, my fellow bartender. He’d told me more than once he spent most of his day at the gym. From his continual string bean appearance, I guessed he spent more time watching the talent than doing any heavy lifting himself. I doubted whatever measly amount I could pay him would ever be enough for him to give up the happy hunting grounds on a daily basis. I had some neighbors I was pretty friendly with. George across the hall was a nice enough guy, but he worked crazier hours than I did. Next door to him was Lydia, and she might have been perfect for the job, if only Alice were a cat. (I swear there’s one like her in every building.) And then there was Gatorade guy—so called because of the crates of the noxious stuff he had delivered on a monthly basis, along with flats of ramen noodles, sugar cereal, and can after can of that pasta that was nearly fluorescent in its redness. The thought of all that sodium and high-fructose corn syrup alone was enough to make me shudder. I
    [22]

    one small thing

    didn’t know anything about him beyond what our landlord, Rick, had said, which was that he was a writer and a “pretty genuine guy,” and he’d seen him helping old lady Miller lug her groceries upstairs once.
    He kept to himself to the extreme. I hadn’t been home when he moved in, and because I was gone a lot, I’d never even seen him. Not once in the nearly six months he’d been there.
    He could be the craziest of crazies… a reclusive “quiet type” who kept body parts in his freezer. Or he could just be a nice guy who might like some extra money for having a sweet sleeping baby around while he typed away at his books. I mean, he couldn’t be all that bad, could he? Axe murderers didn’t