There were three plastic car seats, a diaper bag, and a crumpled-up gas receipt with a message scrawled on the back.
The first thing I did was pick up the receipt because my mind simply could not comprehend what was happening. “I’m sorry, Noah. I can’t do this.” It was my brother’s handwriting.
That was it. No phone number, no address to track him down. He had lost his wife only less than two weeks ago and hadn’t even lasted that long as a single dad.
At the time, I was twenty-seven, single, and broke, renting this crappy apartment just above the shop with a futon that didn’t even open right. I only had like $300 in my back account.While I was struggling to understand what was going one, one of the babies made this hiccup sound and reminded me they were there.“Hey,” I said. “Hey, you.” I remember I was totally terrified.
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Right there and then, the town gossip, Mrs. Hunter poked her head out in her bathrobe. I was glad she was there to be honest, because she could see the babies and read that note before she could make up a bunch of stories of how I ended up with baby triplets.
“Noah, are you crazy? You can’t raise triplets by yourself! You don’t even know how to warm a bottle.”“I know,” I said.
She tried to convince me to call social services before she even offered to lend me a hand, and thinking of that night, I’m sort of glad I didn’t take her advice. And why I didn’t? Because just as I was about to, one of the babies grabbed my finger. She had no idea I was a broke man or that her father walked away from her and her sister. She just knew someone was there for her.
That’s when Mrs. Hunter told me the baby’s name was June.
