“Are you crazy? We need to call 911!” I said.
“I did,” he replied. “They’re coming.”
He pulled the baby closer, wrapping his leather jacket around both of them. Underneath, he only had a T-shirt.
He was shaking—but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m keeping him warm until they get here,” he said. “If I don’t, he won’t make it out here.”
Simple. Matter-of-fact. No drama.
I stepped closer and looked carefully.
The baby’s skin was pale and blotchy. His lips had a bluish tint. His tiny fists were clenched tight.
He let out a weak, fragile cry.
“You’re okay,” Jax murmured. “We’ve got you.”
I quickly pulled off my scarf and wrapped it around them, tucking it over the baby’s head and around Jax’s shoulders.
“Hey, little guy,” Jax murmured. “You’re okay. We’ve got you. Just hang on, alright? Stay with me.”
He gently traced slow circles on the baby’s back with his thumb.
My eyes stung.
“How long have you been out here?”
“Maybe five minutes? I think,” he said. “It felt longer.”
A wave of anger and sadness crashed over me at once.
“Did you see anyone?” I asked, scanning the dark edges of the park.
“No. Just him. On the bench. Wrapped in that,” he said.
The anger burned hotter.
Someone had left this baby here. On a night like this.
Sirens pierced the silence.
An ambulance and a patrol car pulled up, lights flashing across the snow.
Two EMTs jumped out with equipment and a thick thermal blanket. A police officer followed, his coat half-zipped.
“Over here!” I called, waving them down.
They hurried toward us.
One EMT dropped to his knees, already assessing the baby.
“Temperature’s low,” he muttered, lifting him carefully from Jax’s arms. “Let’s get him inside.”
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