Then a picture of Julia making cupcakes with Nicole, who was so young she sat on the kitchen counter and her legs didn't reach the edge. She couldn't have been more than a year and a half old. Nicole was frowning with concentration as she wielded a huge spoon of dough, making a fine mess while Julia tried not to laugh.

And a photo of us hiking in Colorado, Julia holding the hand of six-year-old Nicole while I carried Eric on my shoulders, my shirt collar dark with sweat-or worse, if I remembered that day right. Eric must have been about two; he was still in diapers. I remember he thought it was fun to cover my eyes while I carried him on the trail.

The hiking photo had slipped inside its frame so it stood at an angle. I tapped the frame to try and straighten it, but it didn't move. I noticed that several of the other pictures were faded, or the emulsion was sticking to the glass. No one had bothered to take care of these pictures. The baby snuffled in my arms, rubbing her eyes with her fists. It was time for bed. I put the pictures back on the shelf. They were old images from another, happier time. From another life. They seemed to have nothing to do with me, anymore. Everything was different now. The world was different now.

I left the table set for dinner that night, a silent rebuke. Julia saw it when she got home around ten. "I'm sorry, hon."

"I know you were busy," I said.

"I was. Please forgive me?"

"I do," I said.

"You're the best." She blew me a kiss, from across the room. "I'm going to take a shower," she said. And she headed off down the hallway. I watched her go. On the way down the hall, she looked into the baby's room, and then darted in. A moment later, I heard her cooing and the baby gurgling. I got out of my chair, and walked down the hall after her.

In the darkened nursery, she was holding the baby up, nuzzling her nose.

I said, "Julia… you woke her up."

"No I didn't, she was awake. Weren't you, little honey-bunny? You were awake, weren't you, Poopsie-doopsie?"

The baby rubbed her eyes with tiny fists, and yawned. She certainly appeared to have been awakened.

Julia turned to me in the darkness. "I didn't. Really. I didn't wake her up. Why are you looking at me that way?"

"What way?"

"You know what way. That accusing way."

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

The baby started to whimper and then to cry. Julia touched her diaper. "I think she's wet," she said, and handed her to me as she walked out of the room. "You do it, Mr. Perfect." …

Now there was tension between us. After I changed the baby and put her back to bed, I heard Julia come out of the shower, banging a door. Whenever Julia started banging doors, it was a sign for me to come and mollify her. But I didn't feel like it tonight. I was annoyed she'd awakened the baby, and I was annoyed by her unreliability, saying she'd be home early and never calling to say she wouldn't. I was scared that she had become so unreliable because she was distracted by a new love. Or she just didn't care about her family anymore. I didn't know what to do about all this, but I didn't feel like smoothing the tension between us. I just let her bang the doors. She slammed her sliding closet-door so hard the wood cracked. She swore. That was another sign I was supposed to come running. I went back to the living room, and sat down. I picked up the book I was reading, and stared at the page. I tried to concentrate but of course I couldn't. I was angry and I listened to her bang around in the bedroom. If she kept it up, she'd wake Eric and then I would have to deal with her. I hoped it wouldn't go that far.

Eventually the noise stopped. She had probably gotten into bed. If so, she would soon be asleep. Julia could go to sleep when we were fighting. I never could; I stayed up, pacing and angry, trying to settle myself down.

When I finally came to bed, Julia was fast asleep. I slipped between the covers, and rolled over on my side, away from her.

It was one o'clock in the morning when the baby began to scream. I groped for the light, knocked over the alarm clock, which turned the clock radio on, blaring rock and roll. I swore, fumbled in the dark, finally got the bedside light on, turned the radio off. The baby was still screaming.

"What's the matter with her?" Julia said sleepily.

"I don't know." I got out of bed, shaking my head, trying to wake up. I went into the nursery and flicked on the light. The room seemed very bright, the clown wallpaper very yellow and burning. Out of nowhere, I thought: why doesn't she want yellow placemats when she painted the whole nursery yellow?

The baby was standing up in her crib, holding on to the rails and howling, her mouth wide open, her breath coming in jagged gasps. Tears were running down her cheeks. I held my arms out to her and she reached for me, and I comforted her. I thought it must be a nightmare. I comforted her, rocked her gently.

She continued to scream, unrelenting. Maybe something was hurting her, maybe something in her diaper. I checked her body. That was when I saw an angry red rash on her belly, extending in welts around to her back, and up toward her neck.

Julia came in. "Can't you stop it?" she said.

I said, "There's something wrong," and I showed her the rash.

"Has she got a fever?"

I touched Amanda's head. She was sweaty and hot, but that could be from the crying. The rest of her body felt cool. "I don't know. I don't think so."

I could see the rash on her thighs now. Was it on her thighs a moment before? I almost thought I was seeing it spread before my eyes. If it was possible, the baby screamed even louder. "Jesus," Julia said. "I'll call the doctor."

"Yeah, do." By now I had the baby on her back-she screamed more-and I was looking carefully at her entire body. The rash was spreading, there was no doubt about it. And she seemed to be in terrible pain, screaming bloody murder.

"I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry…" I said.

Definitely spreading.

Julia came back and said she left word for the doctor. I said, "I'm not going to wait. I'm taking her to the emergency room."

"Do you really think that's necessary?" she said.

I didn't answer her, I just went into the bedroom to put on my clothes.

Julia said, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, stay with the kids," I said.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she said. She wandered back to the bedroom. I reached for my car keys.

The baby continued to scream.

"I realize it's uncomfortable," the intern was saying. "But I don't think it's safe to sedate her." We were in a curtained cubicle in the emergency room. The intern was bent over my screaming daughter, looking in her ears with his instrument. By now Amanda's entire body was bright, angry red. She looked as if she had been parboiled.

I felt scared. I'd never heard of anything like this before, a baby turning bright red and screaming constantly. I didn't trust this intern, who seemed far too young to be competent. He couldn't be experienced; he didn't even look as if he shaved yet. I was jittery, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I was beginning to feel slightly crazy, because my daughter had never stopped screaming once in the last hour. It was wearing me down. The intern ignored it. I didn't know how he could.

"She has no fever," he said, making notes in a chart, "but in a child this age that doesn't mean anything. Under a year, they may not run fevers at all, even with severe infections."

"Is that what this is?" I said. "An infection?"

"I don't know. I'm presuming a virus because of that rash. But we should have the preliminary blood work back in-ah, good." A passing nurse handed him a slip of paper. "Uhh… hmmm…" He paused. "Well…"

"Well what?" I said, shifting my weight anxiously.