“What is it?” I said in an impatient tone as I pulled open the door.
A blur of matted reddish-brown fur carrying a squeaky toy ran straight between my legs and flopped down in front of a couch, making himself right at home. Adam stood there looking anguished. Rattled. A little sheepish.
Because of me? Because of us?
I refused to be hopeful. I couldn’t bear the disappointment of being wrong.
He looked after the dog, who had now jumped on a couch and circled three times before settling in with his special toy.
“Sorry about bringing Arnold.”
“I love Arnold,” I said tartly. Sort of petulantly, as if the corollary wasBut I don’t love you.
I was happy to see him, but I suddenly realized…angry. But I couldn’t tell if it was legit anger or if it was because I was nearing the end of my rope. If Santa Claus stood at my door, smiling and ho-ho-hoing right now, I’d probably snarl. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I said, apologizing for my gruff greeting. But I didn’t offer to let him in. I wanted to hear what he was here for.
I refused to get my hopes up. I refused to feel the pull of attraction that always overtook me—just looking at his mussed hair, the concern on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. Icouldn’t help the warmth that started in my stomach and spread everywhere.
I wanted to throw myself in his arms and tell him how happy I was to see him. But where had he been? What was he thinking? How could he not want to be involved with this miraculous child? Withme?
Or was I out of my mind, thinking that anyone sane would ever want to sign up and ride along on this wild ride I’d created for myself?
He was a savior, but I didn’t need to be saved. I needed a friend.
And I wanted more. More than I was sure he could give.
“I want to help,” he said.
Oh, he was here to bail me out. Because he felt sorry. Probably Daria had called him on her way home, telling him how difficult things were.
I could barely hear him over the crying. “Thanks, but I’m fine,” I said stubbornly. I started to close the door, but he did a quick move and stuck his big foot in the way.
I turned into the room and began bouncing the baby. He walked right in and shut the door behind him.
“Hear me out.”
But the baby, maybe also picking up the strange vibes between us, was inconsolable. Daria told me before she left that she’d just fed her four ounces. Should I try more, even though that seemed like plenty? No amount of bouncing or patting on her back, singing, begging, or praying was making any headway. “We’re going to have to continue this some other time. Please go.”
I bit my lip because I was close to tears, but I didn’t want to show it. I wanted him to go, but I also wanted him to stay.
I was angry at him, but angrier at myself. How could I have success unless I set myself up for success? I should have hired Dylan a week ago instead of burning myself out.
“Does she need to be checked out?” Adam asked.
I shrugged. “It’s been happening all week at this time. Then, after about three hours, it ends, and she’s fine.”
“Classic colic.” He paused. “Please let me help.”
I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t need his help. But no words came out. The truth was, I could barely see straight. Every cry felt like a little knife cut.
Adam looked worried.
I think he should have been worried, because I was too. I was overwhelmed and close to tears. But I couldn’t ask him for help knowing he was just here to jump in and intervene like he’d done what seemed like so many times before.
He grabbed my arms, despite the wailing baby in them. His tone was gentle but insistent. “Ani, listen to me. I know you’re angry with me. But hand me the baby.”
Hand me the baby?I stared at him. He wanted the baby? I held my breath. Did that
mean he was here for…us?
