One Night Before Christmas. Robyn Grady

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      She put the child on the changing table and stood there. Leo realized she didn’t know what to do next.

      Quietly, not making a fuss, he reached for the little pair of pajamas hanging from a hook on the wall nearby. The diapers were tucked into a cheerful yellow plastic basket at the boy’s feet. Easing Phoebe aside with nothing more than a nudge of his hip, he unfastened what seemed like a hundred snaps, top and bottom, and drew the cloth up over Teddy’s head. Teddy cooed, smiling trustingly as Leo stripped him naked. The baby’s skin was soft, his flailing arms and legs pudgy and strong.

      The diaper posed a momentary problem, but only until Leo’s brain clicked into gear and he saw how the assembly worked. Cleaning the little bottom with a baby wipe, he gave thanks that he was only dealing with a wet diaper, not a messy one.

      Phoebe hadn’t moved. Her hands were clenched on the decorative edge of the wooden table so hard that her knuckles were white.

      Leo closed up the diaper, checked it for structural integrity, and then held up the pajamas. He couldn’t really see much difference between these pj’s and the daytime outfits the kid wore, but apparently there was one. This piece of clothing was even more of a challenge, because the snaps ran from the throat all the way down one leg. It took him three tries to get it right.

      Through it all, Phoebe stood unaware. Or at least it seemed that way.

      Cradling the child in one arm, Leo used his free hand to steer Phoebe out of the room. “You’ll have to help me with the bottle,” he said softly, hoping she was hearing him.

      Her brief nod was a relief.

      Leo installed Phoebe in a kitchen chair. Squatting in front of her, he waited until her eyes met his. “Can you hold him?”

      She took the small, squirmy bundle and bowed her head, teardrops wetting the front of the sleeper. “I have a bottle ready,” she said, the words almost inaudible. “Put it in a bowl of hot water two or three times until the formula feels warm when you sprinkle it on your wrist.”

      He had seen her perform that task several times, so it was easy to follow the instructions. When the bottle was ready, he turned back to Phoebe. Her grip on Teddy was firm. The child was in no danger of being dropped. But Phoebe had ceased interacting with her nephew.

      Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to feed him, or do you want me to do it? I’m happy to.”

      Long seconds ticked by. Phoebe stood abruptly, handing him the baby. “You can. I’m going to my room.”

      He grabbed her wrist. “No. You’re not. Come sit with us on the sofa.”