The Aftermath

Henry's footsteps were heavy as he walked across the front porch of the small white house. Lifting his hand, he knocked gently. Turning his back to the door, he waited by the edge of the porch, staring out towards the distant hills.

His eyes focused on the car parked in the drive. She was home.

He knocked on the door again. Not so gently this time. He leaned closer to the window set snugly in the door. Cupping his hand around his face, he strained to see through the sheer curtains.

He rapped sharply against the window. "Carrie! It's Henry!"

He tried the knob. It was locked. Pulling the key out from his coat pocket, he inserted it, pushing the door open.

"Carrie?" He stepped inside. From the back of the house, he could hear a baby's cry. Making his way towards the sound, he side stepped a broken wine glass, the shattered pieces scattered across the tile floor. "You were supposed to be at the house three hours ago," he called, moving quickly to the bedrooms.

The cry got louder.

Pushing open the door to the nursery, he saw Emily in her crib, her face red as she screeched her displeasure. "Hey now, sugar," he murmured, picking her up. The smell of her diaper hit him with the force of a punch. "You smell worse than your daddy after a three day fishing trip. Let's just check on your mama." Cradling the baby in the crook of his arm, he walked to the main bedroom.

The door was closed tight.

Pushing aside a feeling of dread, he knocked softly. "Carrie? I'm coming in." He opened the door.

Carrie lay in the middle of the bed in her underwear and an old T-shirt. Her bare legs curled to her chest as her eyes stared blindly at the far wall.

"Carrie?"

Carrie shifted, looking at him dully. Sighing, she rolled back on her side.

"Carrie," Henry said firmly, keeping the worry out of his voice, "Emily needs you."

Carrie didn't move.

Henry walked back to the nursery, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he lay the baby on her changing table. Quickly dialing, he looked at the neatly stacked diapers and pail of lotions.

"Frank? I need you to come up to Todd and Carrie's place." He stared at the row of snaps lining Emily's pajamas as his foreman replied that he was on his way. Hanging up the phone, he sighed as the baby screwed her face into a scream of anger.

"I know, darlin'. I know." Clumsily, he ripped the snaps apart and eased the baby out of her clothing. Her legs kicked uncontrollably as she squirmed and twisted. "Hold still, now," he told her firmly.

He pulled her diaper off. "Woah! How did a little thing like you do that?" He tossed it into the nearby trashcan. "Damn. Hold still." He struggled to hold her legs as he searched for wipes. Grabbing a handful, he gently dabbed. He pulled a clean diaper from the pile. Opening it, he studied the two sides.

He pulled the velcro tabs and then stared as they ripped off the diaper. Tossing it into the trash can, he tried again. Pulling the velcro apart gently, he eased it under the baby and fasted it. Picking her up, he walked to the living room.

"What happened here?" Frank asked as he walked into the house.

"Tornado, by the looks of it," Henry said wryly. The men stared at the torn pictures littering the floor.

"You think he told her then?"

"Yeah." The baby squirmed in Henry's arms. "Could you take Emily down to the house? I'll clean up here and get Carrie moving."

Frank eyed Emily, the deep wrinkles around his eyes settling into a frown. "Have you heard from Todd?"

"Can't get ahold of him."

"Think he did something stupid?"

"Probably." Henry handed Emily to Frank. The old man's gnarled fingers gently caressed the baby's soft cheek.

"I reckon she's hungry," Frank said.

The men stared at each other.

"I'll get some clothes for the mite, you get her mama up and moving."

Henry rubbed his face with one hand while Frank disappeared into the nursery. "Damn."

This piece of fiction was inspired by The Red Dress Club writing prompt "sloth". This was tough because, honestly, I'm still not completely sure what sloth is. What I know it's not is "lazy". I chose to show Carrie's apathy towards her crying baby. It's just a little bit of sloth, but it might work.

If you're confused about the story, check out Fictional Mandyland to catch up.

And, as always, concrit is welcome. Especially since I wrote it too late to send to my writing partner. Eeek!