“Yeah,” she says, focusing her attention on Dylan and wiping his face with the paper towel she’s holding. “It’s just been a long flight. And day, and well, it’s been a long everything for the last eight days.”
I nod and walk up the stairs to the entryway and grab my keys off the console table. "I'll be back with your bags in a second. The guest room is second door on the right. It has an ensuite. Make yourself at home."
“I remember,” Mallory replies. “Thanks.”
Right. I nod and head out the door and she heads upstairs. I grab both suitcases and head back toward the house. I'm moving on autopilot. I bring them inside and straight upstairs. Mallory is in the bathroom, the door slightly ajar and I hear Dylan making noises and splashing sounds but I don't go in. I leave the suitcases in the bedroom and go back downstairs where I clean up the mess he left on the table and then bring her other suitcase upstairs.
Then I head into my room and change out of my suit. I’m accomplishing tasks without thinking about what I’m actually doing. My head is still swimming with confusing, painful emotions.
“Oh. Oops!”
I turn to the door. I'm wearing nothing but sweatpants, having peeled out of everything, including my underwear, and not having managed to get a shirt on yet. I didn't close the door to my room because I never close the door to my room. I live alone. Or at least I did until twenty-five minutes ago.
“Mallory, you’ve seen me in less,” I remind her, which once again was a mistake judging by the dark look that suddenly blankets her delicate features.
“Can you please close your door while I’m here?” she requests calmly but also coolly.
“Yeah. Of course.” I clear my throat. “Where is he?”
“Crashed out in his sleeping pod,” she informs me and motions for me to come into the hall.
I grab a T-shirt out of my dresser throw it on and join her in the hall. The door is cracked to the guest room and I glance in and see what looks like a little mini tent. "These things are genius," Mallory informs me. "They have a built-in battery-operated camera with a microphone too so I can… we can keep an eye on him and hear him if he makes a noise. The app is on my phone but I can put it on yours too."
“Okay. Maybe, like, tomorrow?”
She nods. We stare at each other in the dimly lit hallway. “Okay. Well, I am going to go to sleep, if that’s fine,” she announces.
“Yeah. Whatever you want,” I say.
She stares at me another full second and then disappears into the guest room and I panic.
“Mallory!” I whisper her name as loudly as I dare. The door opens a crack and one of her hazel eyes is staring at me. “The sheets… need to be changed in there. I had some guests and… I forgot to change them. Let me grab a new set.”
I rush to the small closet in the hall with the extra sheets and grab a gray pinstriped set. I walk back over to the door which she’s opened a little more. Just enough to take the stack from me.
“I can put them on,” I volunteer.
"I've got it. See you in the morning," she says and shuts the door firmly. I hear the lock click and for some reason, it feels like an insult.
But I have bigger things to deal with. I’m afather. And, despite having hands-down the best dad in the world, I never took notes. I don’t know how to be a dad myself. And then it hits me, I’m going to have to tell my family. And that’s when I find myself kneeling in front of my toilet puking my guts out.
Chapter5
Mallory
I'm dreaming when Dylan's cries wake me up. It's more of a nightmare actually. I'm unable to get air in my lungs. My chest feels like it's caved in. My head is pounding and my shoulder is aching. Diana is making an awful gurgling sound beside me, but I can't turn my head to see her. She keeps pushing out the same words. "Dylan. Help. Dylan. Help. Mal. Help. Dylan. Promise."
That dream is not new and it's not, sadly, made up. But the part of the dream where, instead of a set of policemen rushing toward the car, there is one man. Tate. And he looks right at me through the cracked windshield and says, "Stay."
And then Dylan’s cry gets shrill and I bolt up from the tangled mess of sheets, sweaty and confused. “Coming Dyllie Bear.”
I shove the sheets off me and get him out of his sleeping pod. He is warm and still groggy and wraps his pudgy arms around my neck and nuzzles his face against mine. My heart hurts, and it’s hard to breathe but not from my lingering injuries or the terrors of my sleep. Because I’m going to have to leave this kid, and I love him so much.
I was there when he was born, holding Diana’s hand and motivating her to push. I cut his cord for her. I’ve been his one and only nanny, although Diana refused to call me that in front of him. She called me Auntie Mallory. My eyes get damp. I miss her so damn much. Dylan tugs on my hair. Snuggle time is over. He wants breakfast.
“Okay. I’ll get you some food,” I promise and lift him to sniff his diaper. “But first things first.”
As I lie him out on a towel and change his diaper, I hear a noise in the hall. Tate must be up. The heavy awkward feeling that filled me last night comes back full force. God, this is not at all how I'd hoped to see him again. I mean, to be honest, there were times when I hoped to never see him again, but I knew that would be impossible. Like it or not, I would end up back in Silver Bay eventually. My family isn't the most functional, or likable at times, but they're mine and I love them and the little town I grew up in. Unlike Diana, I didn't have any intention of living in England forever.
