The Bachelor and the Babies. HEATHER MACALLISTER

only socks, and damp socks at that, streaked by.

      “Daddy’s going to be back in a little while, sport,” Harrison tried to reassure him. “Hang in there.”

      “But what are you going to tell him when Daddy doesn’t come back? From the looks of this place, I’m guessing that they’re here for more than the afternoon.”

      “I don’t know,” he admitted.

      “Whatever you do, don’t lie to him.”

      Nodding, Harrison picked up a box of diapers.

      “Hey, Harry, those are baby-size. The toddler ones are in the purple bag.”

      Harrison squeezed the diapers in annoyance before exchanging them. “Please do not refer to me as Harry,” he said, adding, “Harry and Carrie sounds like a vaudeville team.”

      She flashed him a grin. “I like it.”

      “I don’t.”

      “Well, what do you want to be called?”

      “Harrison.”

      “No kidding? I thought that was a name your mother saddled you with.”

      Tamping down his annoyance, Harrison corralled his nephew and the correctly sized diapers. “It was her maiden name.”

      Carrie raised her eyebrows. “Gotcha.”

      There was nothing to “get.” Harrison liked his name just as it was.

      Conscious that Carrie was a witness to his first attempts at undressing and dressing a tiny, uncooperative human—all prior humans had been more than cooperative—it took longer than he would have liked to get Nathan taped into his diaper and snapped into clean overalls. After two futile attempts to put his shoes back on—when had Nathan’s feet turned to jelly?—Harrison decided to let the little boy run around barefoot.

      And run was the operative word. Until Jon returned with the outlet plugs, Nathan couldn’t be trusted to keep from electrocuting himself, so Harrison wasn’t making much progress in unpacking the suitcase.

      To Nathan, it was all very amusing to run squealing down the hall and watch Uncle Harrison lumber after him. Only Uncle Harrison was not amused.

      Carrie was. He could hear her laughing. Okay, fine. Let her deal with the electricity addict. Harrison was going to unpack.

      “Nathan, want to play a game?” he heard from the living room.

      “Game,” repeated Nathan.

      “It’s only for big boys.”

      “Game!”

      “Can you take this bundle to your uncle Harry?”

      Not Harry. Sure enough, Harrison heard Nathan’s voice, “Hawee?”

      “Yeah, you know, the tall grumpy dude in the bedroom?”

      Harrison heard plastic crackling and Nathan arrived, carrying diapers. “Hawee?”

      Knowing he was forever condemning himself to being called “Harry,” or a version of it, Harrison mustered a big, “Thank you, Nathan! You’re a big help. Let’s build a diaper house under the window.”

      Though Harrison sounded as if he were the host of a children’s television show, the little boy carefully set the diapers in the spot where Harrison pointed, then turned and grinned at his uncle.

      That grin made up for a lot of the hassle, Harrison admitted to himself. He knelt down. “You little rascal, you’ve got the Rothwell smile, don’t you?”

      Nathan giggled.

      “I know all about the Rothwell smile, so don’t you try using it on me.”

      Nathan grinned wider.

      “Rothwell smile?”

      Harrison and Nathan looked up.

      Carrie leaned in the doorway. “Oh, I see,” she said slowly. “Yes, you’ve got the same smile. In fact, you look a lot alike. Both of you with those big brown eyes and your hair is almost the same color of brown, with the same little flecks...” She stepped forward and squinted. “Oh, that’s cereal.”

      In spite of himself, Harrison laughed.

      Carrie had a wistful expression on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile, Harry.”

      Harrison stood and Nathan ran down the hall. “I suppose it’s pointless to ask you to call me Harrison?”

      She stared at him for several long moments, then straightened. “I’ll call you Harrison.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Hawee!” Continuing the game, Nathan was bringing another box of diapers to the room.

      Harrison and Carrie exchanged looks. “Good job, Nathan,” he said.

      - Carrie waggled her fingers. “Gotta go. Matt’s in the playpen, but he’s not going to be happy by himself for long.”

      Harrison walked her to the door. “Thanks,” he said, knowing the word was inadequate.

      “No problem. See you around.”

      They both nodded solemnly, knowing that when they next saw each other, it was likely to be on opposite sides of a hearing at the next White Oak Bayou Condominium board meeting.

      Harrison thought the afternoon and evening went well, especially after he discovered which channels broadcast “Sesame Street.” “Sesame Street” allowed him to install the safety latches without Nathan underfoot. Jon had wisely insisted in putting in the outlet plugs before he left.

      Harrison bathed both boys, diapered them, gave Matthew his nighttime bottle, read the book Good-night Moon and they were now asleep. Harrison wanted to join them, but decided to use the time to reclaim his living room and mop the kitchen floor.

      He was surprisingly tired after his efforts, but all in all had no doubt that he could cope with two young children. Cope? He was doing better than coping. He was a natural. If he wasn’t doing things in exactly the way his sister-in-law insisted, well tough. The boys were fine. In fact, he had several ideas to include in his domestic primer.

      One of the sidelines of Harrison’s business was designing products to go with his time management technique. Before he went to sleep, Harrison sat at his desk and sketched a piece of furniture, a sort of wall cabinet, with a place for all this baby equipment.

      “The Well-Organized Baby” he called that chapter . when he was finished outlining ideas for it.

      Though it was one-thirty in the morning, Harrison felt extremely accomplished and self-satisfied when he turned out the light in his bedroom.

      At three o’clock, he felt groggy and put upon. Matthew was crying.

      Groping his way into the living room, Harrison turned on a table lamp. “Hungry, Matthew?” He bent down and picked up the baby, then squinted at the schedule Jon had left. There was nothing about a middie-of-the-night feeding. Maybe the long afternoon nap had thrown Matthew off schedule.

      But Matthew didn’t want a bottle. Harrison changed him, but that didn’t help, either. In fact, since he had to go into the bedroom for diapers, he woke up Nathan. Fortunately Nathan was a trooper and immediately went back to sleep.

      Matthew did not.

      Though he hated to do so, Harrison called Jon at his hotel in Chicago.

      ‘“Lo?”

      Harrison didn’t have to identify himself. Matthew’s wails caught Jon’s attention.

      “Harrison is that you?” He sounded amazingly wide-awake. “What’s happened? Is Matthew all right?”

      “I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.”