HELPER12, Jack Blaine [reading in the dark .TXT] 📗

The woman furrows her brow at him.  “Whatever do you mean?”

After a moment of silence, she seems to understand.  “Ah.  Still, I’ll need some sort of help, certainly, darling.”  She sighs, but then her face lightens.  We’ll just hire her!”  She lifts her chin toward me, and then buries her nose in Jobee’s neck.

“She’s designated a Baby Helper, Ma’am, not a private Nanny.”  The Director sniffs.

“So?”  The woman doesn’t even look his way.  She looks up at Mr. Sloane.  “Take care of it, won’t you dear?”  She smiles, and then goes back to inhaling Jobee.

Mr. Sloane snorts.  He shakes his head indulgently, and takes the Director’s arm.  They walk away from the rest of us, speaking in low tones.

I have no idea what’s going on.

Chapter Three

 Jobee seems content enough, now that his head is being supported.  I want to snatch him back from Ms. Sloane, but I know I can't.  She's swaying, staring at his face blissfully.  Still, I keep a close eye on her.  There's something about her I don't trust.

Her son doesn't look any happier than I feel.  He's watching her, too, a sour look on his face.  She's oblivious to him, though, absorbed in her moment with Jobee.  While he's observing his mother, I take the opportunity to look him over.

He bears a striking resemblance to his father, though he’s better looking.  He’s got the easy air of someone who has never felt want, at least not for food or warmth or shelter.  He stands solid on his feet, and straight, none of the slouching that’s so popular with the boys I see around my section of the complex.  His dark hair is long, like the models in the fashion ads, and straight—no regulation skinner cut for him.  All Helpers have to keep their hair to one inch, no longer.  It’s free to get it trimmed at the shops, but it cuts down on fashion options, for certain.  He’s got blue eyes that make a startling contrast to his hair.  I wonder if he’s wearing lenses to make his eyes that particular shade.

Those blue eyes shine their full force on me, and I look away.  When I look back, he’s still staring and I feel my cheeks flush hot.  I know they’ve turned that infuriating shade of pink that they do when I’m embarrassed, because he smiles, a slow, maddeningly self-satisfied grin.  I busy myself with the chart I was updating before these people barged into my Ward.  When I’m done with that, the Director and Mr. Sloane are still huddled in the far corner, and Ms. Sloane is still hypnotized by Jobee’s gurgles and burps.  The boy is gone.

I look around but I don’t see him lurking anywhere.  I check on the other two babies; they are still sleeping peacefully.  Helper29 walks in, and stares wide-eyed at the Director.  It’s usually a bad thing to see a Director anywhere near the wards.   I motion her over.

“Who are they?”  She whispers, but she is so loud I’m sure the Director can hear every word.

“Shhh.”  I hush her and lead her to the furthest corner, away from the Director.  “I don’t know what’s up.  They came in and asked to see Jobee.”  I watch as the Director and Mr. Sloane talk in low voices.  Now that Helper29 is here, I’m going to have to leave.  My shift is over and there’s no reason for me to linger.  I realize I don’t want to leave while Ms. Sloane is still holding Jobee.  I walk back over to the table where I left the charts, and grab one.  “Let me update you,” I say, and Helper29 looks at me like I’ve grown antennae.  I do enjoy being with the babies, but usually by the time my shift is over I am ready to fly out the door—I just hand over the charts and consider the update done.

I ignore the look, and start to go over temperatures and feedings and all the other things there is no need to go over because I have charted them all.  I’m pointing out how many CCs of urine Jobee produced during my shift when Helper29 stiffens.  I look up.  The Director is approaching us.  He looks pleased with himself, but then he usually does.

“Helper29, the linens need replenishing here.”  The Director is looking right at the stack of clean crib sheets.   “Can you go to Supply and get some fresh ones please?”  He taps his foot while Helper29 stares, confused.  She is great with the babies, but she’s not the smartest.

“Go ahead,” I say.  “I’ll cover until you’re back.”

As soon as she is out of earshot, the Director turns to me.

“Helper12.”  He pauses, ensuring that he has my full attention before he continues.  “We have a . . . a situation.”  He narrows his eyes at me, assessing me.  “The Sloanes, there, are a wonderful, wonderful couple.  They’ve been blessed with one son.  They want, and can afford, another child.”  He lowers his voice even more, so that I can hardly hear him.

“Tragically, they are unable to conceive another child on their own.  So they’ve come to us, seeking help.”  He sounds like he’s selling something to me.

“Why don’t they go to one of the agencies?”  I don’t like where this is going.  There are government approved agencies for this kind of thing; the Sloanes should be going to one of them.

“Well.”  The Director doesn’t look pleased with me.  “That is really not your concern, Helper12.”  He scans my badge again, and takes a carrycom out of his pocket.  He keys something into it, and then slips it back into his pocket.

“Your concern,” he says, “should be the welfare of these babies.  And more so, the opportunity that has presented itself for that particular baby.”  He gestures toward Jobee, who is still in Ms. Sloane’s clutches.

I don’t want Jobee to go with these people, even though it would be a better life for him