“Can I help you find something?” I ask them, getting to my feet.
Paul holds the kid out to me, his feet flailing. “Hold this for a second,” he says. I take him and settle him on my hip. He jams his fingers into his mouth, and then he reaches up and jams them into my mouth. Yuck.
“Does it have a name?” I ask around the kid’s fingers.
“That one is Matty,” Pete says. He holds the other one out. “Hold this one for a sec, too.” He settles the little girl on my hip. “Behave, Hoppy,” he says with a shake of his finger. He follows Paul and the three little girls to the other aisle.
This one doesn’t like me nearly as much as the other one does and her eyes fill with tears. “Um, guys,” I call. But they have gone around the corner. Crap. I have no idea what to do with babies. “Hey,” I call.
“Hey,” the little girl echoes, and she grins.
“Oh, you can talk,” I say and she jumps in my arms, flopping her hands around. She’s wearing a bathing suit and a little sun hat, and they must have just put sunscreen on her because she smells like coconuts and she’s a little slippery. Particularly when she does that jumping thing she’s doing.
Matty still has his fingers jammed in my mouth, and I realize he tastes a little like peanut butter. And jelly? Yep. Definitely jelly. I guess it could be worse.
Paul comes around the corner with a bucket and holds it up. “Blue okay, Hop?” he asks.
She swings her arms a little harder and he puts the handle of the plastic bucket in her fingers. She immediately flops again and hits me over the head with it. Paul laughs and walks back around the corner. He comes back with a yellow one. I run around to the other aisle before he can give it to Matty. One kid beating me over the head is bad enough.
When I round the corner, I run into Carrie.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. But she immediately breaks out with a laugh.
“I’m dying here,” I say.
“You want some help?”
“Please.”
She stops in front of Hoppy and claps her hands and makes a silly face. Hoppy jumps and that damn bucket beans me in the eye. But she goes to Carrie without any complaints. Thank God.
“That’s a big bucket,” Carrie says, talking in baby talk. I rub my eye. It’s a huge bucket. She pries the bucket out of the kid’s hand and replaces it with a soft, squishy ball she took off a nearby shelf. Hoppy immediately stuffs it in her mouth. “They have to taste it before they can play with it, I guess,” Carrie tells me.
I point to mine. “This one tastes like peanut butter and jelly.”
Carrie shrugs. “Could be worse.” She laughs.
“True.” I heave a sigh. Around fingers.
“You left before I could say goodbye today,” she says quietly.
I bounce Matty on my hip, because he’s starting to squirm. “Oh, yeah. Your dad threw me out.”
“He did not,” she protests.
I nod. “He did.”
Her brows form a vee. “Why did he do that?”
“Um, well…” It’s terribly inappropriate to tell her that guys wake up with morning wood and that dads don’t like it much. So I just say, “He didn’t like me sleeping over.” I shrug. “Can’t say I blame him.”
“I liked having you there,” she says quietly. Her face goes red and I can see the pulse at the base of her neck jumping.
“Can I come see you tonight?” I ask. “If your parents don’t mind.”
She nods. “I’d like that.”
I look at my watch. “I have to lifeguard from two until eight.”
“Okay,” she says.
Paul and Pete come back around the corner. “Oh, hey, Carrie,” Paul says. He takes the baby Carrie has, but he leaves me with mine. “You’re good with her. You ever do any babysitting?”
She nods. “Sometimes.”
“Well, let us know if you’re interested. We could use some help.”
She nods again and smiles. “Okay.”
Paul narrows his eyes at me. “Nick, you ever do any babysitting?”
I nod, too. I do just about anything that will earn money. “Sometimes.”
“Good,” he says with a nod. “It might take both of you to keep all of them in line.”
“How many are there?” Carrie asks.
“Lots,” Pete says drolly. “Sometimes I can’t count them all.”
Carrie laughs. “Let us know if you need help.”
“Will do,” Paul says. Pete takes Matty from me. Then Matty lets out the loudest fart I ever heard, and Pete groans.
“I swear to God that wasn’t me,” Pete says, holding up one hand like he’s testifying.
“I can’t believe you’re blaming a fart like that on a helpless baby,” Paul says, but he’s laughing too, and I suddenly can’t keep from doing it myself.
“You’re changing it,” Pete warns as they go out the door. The girls follow them, with their buckets, shovels, and other beach toys in their hands.
“Do you need help finding something?” I ask Carrie. I really just want an excuse to talk to her a little longer.
“Flowers,” she says. “I want to get my mom some flowers.”
“What’s her favorite?”
“I don’t know.” She bites her thumbnail. “She likes roses.”