Sunday was properly overcast to match his mood. Grant got up automatically to get ready for church when he remembered that Donna would be there. He went back to sleep.When he finally crawled out of bed for good it was almost eleven and he needed to pee. He was in the kitchen, remembering he’d neglected to purchase any cookware, when he heard the noise again, coming from his office.

He could see the cat lounging in a spot of sunlight in the living room, and no amount of coaxing was going to convince her to investigate with him, so he grabbed the fire extinguisher and advanced alone to see what kind of infestation he had.

There was a baby playing in his office.

He was positive it was a baby. Little body, little head, little pajamas with a little zipper and a little duck pattern. Babies weren’t normally translucent, nor did they typically allow one to see chairs through them, but Grant was still convinced this was in fact a baby.

So he felt a bit silly when he yelled and dropped the fire extinguisher and ran outside.

Every hair on his body stood up and out. He wondered if his hair would turn white, if he’d start screaming, if this was what being crazy looked like: ghost babies. The sane part of his head chided him, firstly because he was already clear on the fact that this was crazy and thus that proved he wasn’t crazy, and secondly because for God’s sake, it was a damned baby.

Grant felt his pockets and found his keys. This would all make a lot more sense on the other side of an enormous omelet and some good coffee.

At the IHOP, when he finally got a table, the waitress kept looking at him funny but since he was laughing at himself and a little manic still he guessed that was okay. If he was having a psychotic break there were worse ways that didn’t involve getting a nice look at the waitress’ cleavage as she brought him extra syrup.

Fed and caffeinated, Grant bought a set of cheap cookware and then drove home, having convinced himself he’d experienced a hunger-induced hallucination inspired by the last argument he’d had with Donna before the end.

“I thought we were going to talk about kids,” she said.

“We talked,” he said. “We’ve got our careers and you said yourself you didn’t want to be tied down to something.”

It had never been about the kids, or their careers, or her photos, or his writing, but always about the fact that they’d married too quickly and wanted different things.

He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and ignored the hammerbeat in his chest as he unlocked his front door. He went directly to his office.

As he’d suspected and secretly, fervently hoped, it was empty but for the chair and the desk. Feeling silly, he picked the fire extinguisher up and took it back to the kitchen where it belonged.

As he went past the living room, he saw the baby on the floor, trying to pet Mandy. Mandy nosed at the tiny hand.

Grant stumbled back, falling down hard.

The baby and the cat ignored him. Mandy rolled over, letting the baby pet her tummy. Grant clearly saw the pattern of her fur through the baby’s hand.

He crawled back into the kitchen and managed to dial home. It rang once before he remembered, and he hung up just as he heard the click of Donna answering. Then he called Peter.

“Can you come over right now?”

“Grant! Hey. No, sorry. My folks are coming over, and Carrie’d kill me if I left her alone with them.”

Message received: No one wanted to be around the loser.

“Please.”

Peter sighed. “Okay. But I can only stay an hour.”

Grant didn’t leave the kitchen. He sat at his new table and watched the baby crawl around in the sunlight with the cat. Both seemed completely content. Peter knocked on the door ten minutes later, and Grant let him in, dragging him straight into the living room.

“What … what do you think?” he asked Peter. The baby was on its back, watching its own hands.

“About what?”

“That!” The baby made a noise, blowing bubbles through its lips. Peter looked around curiously, then shrugged.

“I don’t know anything about cats. Is it sick?”

Grant felt his stomach tighten. “Do you see anything on the carpet beside the cat?”

Peter walked into the room. The heel of one shoe went through the baby, who giggled. “Grant … ”

“Go home,” he told Peter. “Never mind. I … Thought I saw something. Must’ve been the light.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, and he clapped him too heartily on the shoulder. “Things are bound to be weird right now. Just give yourself some time. I’ll come over next weekend and we’ll hang out.”

“See you,” said Grant, and watched as Peter drove away. He walked back into the living room to find the baby had climbed onto the couch and was curling up for a nap.

Grant placed his face in his hands and sobbed.