her was beyond alarming. It was terrifying. He turned his head away, avoiding her lips. “Sorry, I’m the fifteen-second man it seems.”
He stood before she could say anything and walked out of the room just as Brandis, named for Jack’s oldest friend and brother-in-law, started wailing in earnest. Sara let the tears fall. She honestly wondered how she could get through the next twenty-four hour cycle, and then the next one, and the one after that. Her over-tired brain ached. Images, tasks and all the shit they were behind on at work shot through her consciousness. She wandered over to his desk, flicked through the book, slid it aside to look at his meticulously even, architectural handwriting on the yellow paper. A small bit of white stuck out from one side of the notebook. Frowning she pulled it out and stared at it until it registered that it was a phone number with an Oakland County area code, with a familiar name next to it—Heather.
Her face flamed. She shoved the paper back into the notebook when she heard him come back in the room with the squalling infant. The look on his face was blank, as if he were holding someone else’s child. He handed Brandis to her. The automatic, knee-jerk, natural thought that she couldn’t wait to call Blake, to get his take on Jack’s sudden recalcitrance made her gulp. Her tears dropped onto the baby’s face as she tried to get him to take the bottle Jack had handed over before dropping back into his chair, his face a mask of exhaustion.
But she was not going to start this shit again. No way. She took a vow to be with him the rest of her life, and she was not going to be the sort of wife her mother had been once. “Heather?” She nodded towards the stack on his desk. “Really?”
The baby felt so heavy in her arms. Her heart pounded up into her throat. He frowned, and then nodded. “Yeah, uh, that’s the woman who’s assistant to Zeller. You know, the pizza company, Tiger’s baseball guy. I met her um….shit I don’t even remember.” He sat, staring at the computer screen again.
Sara cleared her throat, embarrassed, relieved, letting the awkward silence encompass them.
“I’m not that guy anymore Sara. I thought you realized that.” His voice was flat, but she heard the anger in it. She kept her eyes on their son, smiling when his little fist flailed up and bopped her on the nose. His eyes were giant pools of wicked blue, exactly like his father’s. A shocking amount of hair graced his tiny head, every strand silky coal black. “You can’t suspect every God damn woman I talk to, every phone number that’s handed to me.”
“I don’t actually,” she whispered, still staring at their son as gas bubbles made him grin up at her.
The gaping hole in her life where her brother once lived had never seemed so huge. It echoed with the sound of his voice—she could hear him every day, even though he’d been dead for over a month. She’d managed to move on, or was trying. There was no other option really, with a needy, colicky infant, a demanding job, and her parents who were having a hell of a time coming to terms with Blake’s death. She talked to her mother daily and was getting worried about her breathiness, and the fact that her father said she’d lost a lot of weight.
All that, plus no matter how hard she tried to talk to him, to get his advice, to seek reassurance that she was holding together pretty well, her husband was either focused on Katie, or soccer, sometimes the baby, the house and its myriad projects, or work. But never on her.
“Shit,” she laid the sleeping infant in his bed, turned away from the light at the bottom of his office door to their bedroom where she fell back into an exhausted, fitful slumber for a few hours, only to be woken by the sound of the baby crying again. She groaned, crawled out of bed and heard Jack and Katie making breakfast. His voice was strong and full of humor. She smiled. Maybe she was imagining things after
He stood before she could say anything and walked out of the room just as Brandis, named for Jack’s oldest friend and brother-in-law, started wailing in earnest. Sara let the tears fall. She honestly wondered how she could get through the next twenty-four hour cycle, and then the next one, and the one after that. Her over-tired brain ached. Images, tasks and all the shit they were behind on at work shot through her consciousness. She wandered over to his desk, flicked through the book, slid it aside to look at his meticulously even, architectural handwriting on the yellow paper. A small bit of white stuck out from one side of the notebook. Frowning she pulled it out and stared at it until it registered that it was a phone number with an Oakland County area code, with a familiar name next to it—Heather.
Her face flamed. She shoved the paper back into the notebook when she heard him come back in the room with the squalling infant. The look on his face was blank, as if he were holding someone else’s child. He handed Brandis to her. The automatic, knee-jerk, natural thought that she couldn’t wait to call Blake, to get his take on Jack’s sudden recalcitrance made her gulp. Her tears dropped onto the baby’s face as she tried to get him to take the bottle Jack had handed over before dropping back into his chair, his face a mask of exhaustion.
But she was not going to start this shit again. No way. She took a vow to be with him the rest of her life, and she was not going to be the sort of wife her mother had been once. “Heather?” She nodded towards the stack on his desk. “Really?”
The baby felt so heavy in her arms. Her heart pounded up into her throat. He frowned, and then nodded. “Yeah, uh, that’s the woman who’s assistant to Zeller. You know, the pizza company, Tiger’s baseball guy. I met her um….shit I don’t even remember.” He sat, staring at the computer screen again.
Sara cleared her throat, embarrassed, relieved, letting the awkward silence encompass them.
“I’m not that guy anymore Sara. I thought you realized that.” His voice was flat, but she heard the anger in it. She kept her eyes on their son, smiling when his little fist flailed up and bopped her on the nose. His eyes were giant pools of wicked blue, exactly like his father’s. A shocking amount of hair graced his tiny head, every strand silky coal black. “You can’t suspect every God damn woman I talk to, every phone number that’s handed to me.”
“I don’t actually,” she whispered, still staring at their son as gas bubbles made him grin up at her.
The gaping hole in her life where her brother once lived had never seemed so huge. It echoed with the sound of his voice—she could hear him every day, even though he’d been dead for over a month. She’d managed to move on, or was trying. There was no other option really, with a needy, colicky infant, a demanding job, and her parents who were having a hell of a time coming to terms with Blake’s death. She talked to her mother daily and was getting worried about her breathiness, and the fact that her father said she’d lost a lot of weight.
All that, plus no matter how hard she tried to talk to him, to get his advice, to seek reassurance that she was holding together pretty well, her husband was either focused on Katie, or soccer, sometimes the baby, the house and its myriad projects, or work. But never on her.
“Shit,” she laid the sleeping infant in his bed, turned away from the light at the bottom of his office door to their bedroom where she fell back into an exhausted, fitful slumber for a few hours, only to be woken by the sound of the baby crying again. She groaned, crawled out of bed and heard Jack and Katie making breakfast. His voice was strong and full of humor. She smiled. Maybe she was imagining things after
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