'You decide on a name yet?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Amanda.'
'That's nice.'
'It's after Sarah's grandmother. It's Latin. It means worthy of being loved.'
'That's real nice,' Jacob said. 'I like it.'
I nodded again. 'You sure you won't come up?'
He shook his head. He stepped off the porch, but then he stopped. 'Hank,' he said. 'I wanted to...' He faded off, glanced toward the truck.
'What?'
'Can I borrow some money?'
I frowned, shifting the teddy bear back to my other arm. 'How much?'
He put his hands into his coat pockets, stared down at his boots. 'Hundred and fifty?'
'A hundred and fifty dollars?'
He nodded.
'Why do you need that much money, Jacob?'
'I got to pay my rent. I'll get my unemployment check next week, but I can't wait that long.'
'When would you pay me back?'
He shrugged. 'I was sort of hoping you could just take it out of my share of the money.'
'Are you even trying to find a job?'
He seemed surprised by the question. 'No.'
I tried unsuccessfully to keep my voice free from judgment. 'You're not even looking?'
'Why should I look for a job?' He lowered his voice into a whisper. 'Lou told me you agreed to split up the money.'
I stared down at his chest, considering this. I saw fairly clearly that I couldn't tell him I wasn't going to give them their shares until the summer -- he'd tell Lou, and I wasn't ready for that. But if I wanted to pretend otherwise, then I had no reason not to loan him the money. Behind him his truck rumbled and coughed in the driveway, spitting out clouds of bluish smoke. All up and down the street my neighbors' houses were absolutely quiet, as if abandoned, their windows blank. It was trash day, and plastic garbage cans lined the curb.
'Wait here,' I said. 'I've got to go upstairs and get my checkbook.'
SARAH unwrapped the teddy bear while I stood at my dresser and wrote out Jacob's check. The baby was sound asleep in her crib.
'It's used,' Sarah whispered, a note of disgust running through her voice.
I went over to look at the bear. There was nothing obviously wrong with it -- no stains or holes, no missing eyes or protruding hunks of stuffing -- but it had an undeniably rumpled look. It was old, used. It had dark brown fur, almost black, and a brass key inserted in its back.
Sarah wound the key. When she let it go, music came out of the bear's chest, a man's voice singing:
'It was his bear,' I said.
'Jacob's?'
'When he was little.'
The music continued, sounding flat and far away beneath the teddy bear's fur:
Sarah held the bear up in front of her, reappraising it. The music gradually slowed -- each note drawing itself out as if it would be the very last -- but it didn't stop.
'I guess it's sweet of him, isn't it?' she said. She sniffed at the bear.
I took the tissue paper and shoved it into the wastebasket beside the bed. 'I wonder where he's kept it all these years.'
'Is he coming up?'
'No,' I said, moving toward the door. 'He's in a rush.'
Sarah started to wind up the bear again. 'What's the check for?'
'Jacob,' I said, over my shoulder. I was stepping out into the hallway.
'He's borrowing money?'
I didn't answer her.
THE BABY started to cry as I made my way back up the stairs. She began softly -- something between a suppressed cough and a squawking sound like a bird might make -- but just as I entered the bedroom, she suddenly, as if at the twist of a knob, increased her volume to a full-blown wail.
I lifted her from the crib and carried her to the bed. She started to cry even harder when I picked her up, her whole body tensing beneath my hands, her face going a brilliant crimson, as if she were about to pop. I was still surprised by her weight; I hadn't thought a baby could be so heavy, and there was a peculiar denseness about her, too, as if she were full of water. Her head was huge and round; it seemed to take up half her body.
Sarah extended her arms toward me, lifting the baby from my hands, a pained expression on her face.
'Shhh,' she said. 'Amanda. Shhh.'
The teddy bear was sitting beside her, its back to the headboard, its little black paws reaching out, as if it also had wanted to comfort the crying infant. Sarah held Amanda in the crook of her arm and with her free hand unbuttoned her pajama top, exposing her left breast.
I turned away, walked back toward the crib, and looked out the window. I was still embarrassed by the sight of Sarah nursing Amanda. It gave me a creepy feeling, the thought of the baby sucking fluid out of her. It seemed unnatural, horrid; it made me think of leeches.
I gazed down at the front yard. It was empty: Jacob and his truck had disappeared. The day was still, beautiful, a postcard of winter. Sunlight shimmered off frozen surfaces; the trees laid thick, precise shadows across the snow. The gutters on the garage were swaybacked with icicles, and I made a mental note to knock them off the next time I went outside.
When my eyes strayed upward from the icicles, they discovered, on the very peak of the garage, the dark outline of a large black bird. My hand moved involuntarily toward my forehead.
'There's a crow on the garage roof,' I said.
Sarah didn't respond. I massaged the skin above my eyebrows. It was perfectly smooth; the bump had left no scar. The baby was making a cooing sound behind me while she nursed, steady and insistent.
After a minute or so Sarah called my name. 'Hank?' she said softly.
I watched the crow hop back and forth along the garage roof's snowy peak. 'Yes?'
'I thought up a plan while I was in the hospital.'
'A plan?'
'For making sure Lou doesn't tell.'
I turned to face her. My shadow, framed in the window's square of sunlight, fell gigantically across the bedroom floor, my head looking monstrous on my shoulders, like a pumpkin. Sarah was bent over Amanda, smiling in an exaggerated manner -- her eyebrows raised high on her forehead; her nostrils flared; her lips parted, showing
