He’d wanted to name the baby, “George, Jr.” but Sarah whined it wouldn’t do. Not poetic enough. Not ear catching. What would the girls at work think? Looking back, he was certain she’d only agreed to have a baby because she wanted an excuse to stop working and stay at home. It was clear, once the mission was accomplished, she was ill-prepared and had as much motherly instincts as a harp seal. He’d watched one of those television documentaries on the creatures and experienced deja vu when he discovered the mothers abandon their defenseless babies vulnerable to predators, alone on the ice after only twelve days.
Now he knows what that must feel like. Hadn’t put two and two together back when she forgot Micah was playing on the sun porch and locked the door. Poor kid had nearly fainted of dehydration by the time she realized. From all accounts over the years, Micah could have been one of those poor little babies that baked to death in the back seat while his mother lollygagged at the mall. But for the strange ironic brew he’d come to accept where good things happened to bad people and bad people happened to good ones, Sarah would be seeking all manner of reporters and gullible ears to question “Why on Earth any legitimate legal system would put a poor mother behind bars for an innocent mistake that had taken her child from her bosom of love …” Her flair for drama and talent for overlooking reality was cemented in the fabric of his familiar. Try as George may, he can’t get the stain she leaves on his attitude to wash clean.