“What about the men’s room?”

“They removed the table last week. Maintenance issue.”

“So, the family room is closed, and the men’s room has no changing table?”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

Ivy screamed so hard her tiny hands shook.

The guard pointed down the hall. “There’s another family restroom in the East Wing. By the Crocs store.”

“How far?”

“15 minutes. Maybe 20 with the crowd.”

They were three weeks old. They could not wait twenty minutes because a mall had planned badly.

A woman passing by said the women’s restroom had a changing table, then went rigid when I looked toward the door.

“You can’t go in there. You’re a man.”

“I know. But the men’s room has nothing, and the family room is closed.”

“That’s not my problem,” she said, and walked away.

I stood there with two crying babies, the diaper bag digging into my shoulder, and Claire’s voice echoing in my head.