“How long will it take?” Darla asked.

“I’m not sure. How about I call you every hour and tell you what’s happening?”

‘No! You call me every half hour Joe, or I’ll get mad!"

The mother’s boyfriend made sure she didn’t get hold of the settlement and created a trust fund for Darla. He had 30 odd acres in a place called Bloody Basin and deeded it over to Darla, and he was satisfied after that and left.

Bloody Basin was a rural valley, way off the beaten path. Darla was its modern day Quasimodo, so I knew the baby wasn’t hers. I knew the rain barrel had a fine wire mesh to stop mosquitoes from breeding. She spent thousands of dollars to bug proof her trailer and screened-in deck. The screen saved the baby from drowning.

I raced down the dirt road towards the highway, were an ambulance would meet me. Who the child belonged too, or where he came from, I will never find out. But it’s going to take me months to explain to Darla what happened to her baby, one she’s been ready to have since she was nine.