Baby of the Band

Six

"Rikki, where's Bobby? Bret saidja knew when we stopped by his place."

        Turning from closing and locking his front door, the drummer saw that Mishy was still standing while the others were already seated. She still held baby Zak against her breast, the lil guy snoozing happily as he snuggled with his mama during his nap. It was such a precious sight and kinda reminded him of how the pint-sized bassist was forever snuggling against him the same way, especially when he was ready for a nap or to go to bed for the Night.

        "Just sit down, Mishy," he told her. "Andja might wanna put Zak in his carrier or something–I don't wantcha dropping him."

        "Why would I drop my own son?" Mishy asked, brushing that bright red hair he couldn't stand over her shoulder. "I'd like to think I'ma better mother than that."

        "I wasn't trying to imply that you're a shitty mother," the drummer defended himself. "I just know you're gonna be pretty shocked, and you'd be likely to drop him as much as even Lynda would."

        "Michelle, just put the baby in his carrier," said middle-aged woman told her. "We're never gonna find out what happened to his father–my son–if Rikki's gonna insist on holding his Silence till ya do."

        Letting out a huff, the ginger moved to lay the infant back in his carrier, making sure he wasn't gonna wake before taking a seat.

        "I dunno how much Bret toldja–" Rikki started, only to be gently cut off.

        "Not a whole helluva lot, other than while CC really does need help, that's not the real reason why ya cut your tour shut." That was stated by Rob's older brother, Butch–who really was a ginger by Nature.

        "All right, saves me some Time, then," he said, nodding as he rewound the past few Days in his head.

        The small group waited as patiently as they possibly could.

        "We went to bed after our show in Mears, Michigan on July seventh like it was any other Night," the drummer started. "Bobby was a bit stoned from the painkillers I doled out sparingly since he'd broken his hand not even a week before then."

        "What?" Mishy asked, her eyes widening. "How the hell'd he break his hand?"

        "Slammed it in a car door," Rikki answered. "When it swelled up to twice its normal size and he couldn't move it, Howie and I forced him to go to the ER and have it checked out."

        "All right, so he broke his hand and got it treated," his brother said, making sure he was keeping up so far. "That apparently didn't stop ya from trying to tour."

        "Ya know how your brother is–stubborn to the very marrow of his bones," he chuckled. "He didn't care how bad it hurt–he wanted to keep going till his damn hand fell off, if that's what happened."

        "So, what really made ya kill the tour early?" This question was posed by his older sister, Patty.

        "Let's just say we woke up to something none of us were expecting, and–well, ya won't believe me till I show ya," the drummer answered.

        The group looked confused, but didn't have Time to question him as they heard Deanna yell from upstairs that she needed some help. Instantly reacting like any parent would, he told them he'd be right back and took off up the stairs two at a Time. She prolly needed help changing the pint-sized bassist's diaper, 'cuz he either wouldn't let her touch him at all, or he wouldn't hold still to get the fresh diaper on him.