A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on. —Carl Sandburg
Would you like to hold your new sister, Nicholas? Her name is Jane. You must be extra careful with her. More careful than with anything else in this entire world. Can you do that?
Nick walked. Away from the woman. Away from the cart. Around the corner and toward the front of the store. One foot, steadily, in front of the other. He cradled the sleeping baby in his arms.
Hold your arms like Mommy. That’s right. Here you go. Make sure to support her head. Her neck isn’t strong. She needs our help. She needs your help.
He listened for the mother’s shout. A panicked scream. None came. He walked past an end cap that had ice cream cones, caramel sauce, and candied sprinkles. On the display was a cartoonish boy with round cheeks and a toothy grin. The boy fixed a soulless gaze on Nick as he passed.
Canned fruits and vegetables to his right. Women’s clothing to his left. Customers on both sides, picking through merchandise, deciding what to buy, and dropping things in their shopping carts.
All of them oblivious to the evil taking place just feet from where they shopped.
She’s like a baby bird. If you squeeze, she’ll break. Did you know that you’re the only older brother she’ll ever have? She’s counting on you to protect her. Can you do that?
Past the bread. Into the produce section and out again. Past the rows of shopping carts and vending machines. No greeter in sight. Through the first set of doors and then the second. Into sunlight that exposed him for what he was.
I know you can do it. I can see it already. You’re a good big brother. You’re such a good big boy.
Nick walked to his vehicle, opened the driver's side door, and got in. He placed the baby in the passenger seat, started the car, and drove.