The next few weeks pass in somewhat of a daze.  We finish the construction project at the college, my grandma was again watching Hallie while I was at work, and I have almost gotten Michael Cole out of my head.  I don't know why he affected me so much, the only thing I can come with is his simple offer of help.  He didn't even know me, and he managed to sound more sincere than any of the idiot doctors or social workers I've seen.  Damn, now I know why parents are so weird- when you don't do anything but work and take care of your kid, it decays your mind or something.

But I guess that's life and I just have to deal with it.  Starting right about now, because Hallie is starting to cry her eyes out.  I walk into her room.  "Hey, what's going on in here?"  She continues to sob, rubbing her face with her tiny hands.  I could see red marks where her hands were.  "Hey, cut that out..."  I grabbed her hands and held them in my own, and that's when I saw the red dots on her face.  And her arms.  And everywhere I could see.  Oh fuck.  Scooping Hallie out of her crib, I ran to the phone.  I dialed my grandma's number, waiting, waiting...and no answer.  Double fuck.  What now?  My baby has all these dots all over her and she's sobbing and my grandma picks NOW to go out.

And then, a slip of paper jammed under a half-full coffee cup catches my eye.   "If you need some help..."  Michael's words echo through my head, and for a moment, my pride stops me.  I don't need him, I can take care of this on my end.  Then, Hallie let out a shriek and started rubbing her face again.  Fuck pride, this is serious.

"Hello?"  Michael sounds relaxed when he answers the phone.

"Hey, this is Pete, the construction guy who left his kid with you.  You probably don't remember me, but..."

"No no, I remember you,"  Michael cuts me off.  "I have to say, I didn't expect you to call."

"Yeah, well I wasn't really planning on it, but something came up.  Look, Hallie woke up crying a few minutes ago and she's got all these red dots on her, and she keeps rubbing them..."

"Does it seem like she's trying to scratch them?"  Michael has slipped into clinical mode now.

I watch Hallie for a moment, bouncing her, trying to calm her.  "Yeah, yeah it does..." It finally clicks.  "She's got chicken pox, doesn't she?"

"I think so, if she's got a rash like that and she's itching it...has she been around anyone who's come down with it lately?"

I thought.  "Yeah, the kid downstairs...if it's chicken pox, she'll be ok, right?  I mean, all kids get it, they're all fine..."

I can hear Michael sigh and it sends my heart down into the pit of my stomach.  "How old is Hallie?"

"She's three months, why?"

He sighs again.  I really wish he'd stop doing that.  "If she's that young, there could be complications.  I'd suggest you take her into the hospital."

"Fuck."  As if this day could get worse.  "I can't take her into the hospital, my car's in the shop, it won't be back till tomorrow..."

There is a small pause, then Michael clears his throat and says "I can take you."

"Excuse me?"  No way did I hear him right.

"I'll drive you to the hospital.  Just tell me where to come get you from and I'll take you and Hallie."

"You've got to be kidding me.  You don't want to come to my part of the city."

Michael laughs a bit.  "Look, either say yes or no, because my room mate really needs the phone..."

So what can I do?  I give him the directions and try not to get too offended when he shows up on the street outside my apartment looking afraid for his life.  I just thank him and let him take a whimpering Hallie and me to the hospital.

Once we get into the hospital, there are forms to be filled out and about an hour in which to fill them out as we wait for a doctor.  I'm trying to keep Hallie still and quiet, and it's not working.  Then, Michael takes her from me and holds her on his lap,  cooing and bouncing her slightly.  Slowly, her sniffling stops and she's almost smiling at him.  His own mouth curls into a grin.  It lights up his eyes, making him look like the happiest person in the waiting room and if I'm noticing this, you know my mind ain't all there.

Finally, they call Hallie's name, and we go into a small curtained-off area.  Michael sets Hallie down on the table and a doctor begins examining her.  After some poking, prodding, temperature-taking, and things that I would have severely injured any other person for doing to my baby girl, he looks up at me.  "She definitely has chicken pox, and while we usually watch children this young very careful when they develop this disease, she seems like she should be fine and free of complications.  Just keep her from scratching the rash and try to keep the fever down and she'll get through this ok."

I close my eyes for a moment in a gesture of relief.  "Ok.  Thank you."

We walk back to Michael's car, and once there, drive back to my apartment.  When we get there, we sit in silence until I work up all my courage and ask "You want to come inside for some coffee or something?"

"Yeah, sure, I'd like that."  He smiles at me, not a full grin like the one at the hospital, but a small smile, like he's as uncomfortable as I am.

So, we walk through the doors, up the stairs, and into the tiny rooms I call home.  I lay Hallie back into her crib and, kissing her forehead, tuck her in.  Then I return to my living room, where Michael sits stiffly.

I sigh, sitting down at the other end of the couch.  "Look, thanks for helping me out today.  That was..."

"Kinda scary?"  Michael suggests.

I intend to deny it but I find myself nodding.  "Yeah.  Kinda scary."

He smiles sympathetically.  "That's understandable.  If my child got sick and I didn't know what was going on..."

"Do you have any?"  He gives me a look of confusion.  "Kids, I mean."

He shakes his head.  "No, I was speaking hypothetically."  I see him sort of wince.  "I'm not sure I ever will have children."

"Women trouble?"  Hey, there's a topic I know something about.

He smiles almost sarcastically.  "That's one way of putting it."  He stands.  "I should really be going, I don't mean to impose..."

I get up, blocking his way.  "Whoa, wait just a second.  I haven't even made you coffee yet."  I see a bit of anxiety in his eyes and my energy fades.  "Unless, like, you gotta be somewhere or you don't wanna be here anymore or something like that."

He sits back down.  "No, I just don't want to be a bother..."

I roll my eyes.  "You aren't, ok?"  I peek into the kitchen and see that the coffee is ready.  "Hey, we got coffee.  You want milk or sugar or anything like that?"

He shakes his head.  "No, black's fine."

I pour the coffee, then bring the two cups over to the couch.  I sit back down next to him, handing him his cup.  "So, do you like, go to school at the college, or just work in the day-care?"

"I'm a teaching student there.  Actually, I work in the day-care for one of my classes."

"Oh."  And the conversation grinds to a halt.  I should have probably let him go home, he'd probably be a lot happier there, we wouldn't have to worry about trying to make small talk.  This really sucks.

"So, do you live here by yourself?"  Michael finally breaks the silence, thank God.

"Just me and Hallie right now.  My brother was living here for awhile, but he moved in with his girlfriend last month.  No telling if he'll be back any time soon."

Michael smiles.  "That sounds nice.  I have a room mate.  I wish he'd get a girlfriend and move out."

"Or you could."  I don't even know why I just said that.

There's that sarcastic smile again.  "That doesn't seem very likely, I'm sorry to say."

I try to make up for obviously saying the wrong thing.  "Oh, come on, women go nuts for guys who like kids.  They aren't crazy about guys with kids, but that's my problem, not yours.  You should be set."

He looks like he's trying to cheer up.  "Look, can we change the topic?"

I shrug.  "Sure.  Sorry I brought it up."

He slumps farther into the couch.  "I didn't mean to snap at you.  It's just..."

He's cut off by a sob from the bedroom.  We both immediately jump off the couch and run to Hallie's crib, where she's crying and trying to scratch at her arms.  Michael reaches over and takes one of her small hands in his own.  "You have to keep her from scratching at the rash," he tells me.

Well no shit, Sherlock.  "How am I supposed to do that?  I can't watch her 24 hours a day..."

He picks Hallie up, rocking her, trying to calm her down.  "I need a pair of her socks."

I find a pair, and he takes them from me and puts one sock on each of her hands.  "There.  She can't scratch anymore."

I'm stunned.  "How...how did you know to do that?"

He tilts his head.  "I don't really know.  I must have read it somewhere..."

I have to smile.  "I guess you're just a natural.  You sure you ain't a chick, with maternal instincts and that shit?"

Just like that, a chill goes over the room for the third time in the past hour.  Michael murmurs something and runs out of the room.