He almost sounds incredulous. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Letting him go, I resist an urge to wring my hands together. “Why would I mind? Did something happen?”
“A lot.” His laugh is soft. “We have much to talk about, but we don’t have to rush things. Noah first.”
When he leaves me with a kiss on my forehead, I sink back against the pillows, studying the surroundings.
Unease spreads through me. I can’t shake off the feeling that I’m unwelcome here. The environment almost seems hostile. I can’t explain the sensation. It’s as if something I buried deep inside me is trying to claw its way back into my consciousness.
Or maybe it’s just paranoia. Maybe it’s tension due to the unsettling knowledge that I lost a part of my memory and I don’t know why. The fact that Dante doesn’t know how I sustained my injury either only makes me stress more.
My skin prickles at the notion that I don’t belong here, but before I can worry myself more about that, Dante returns with Noah.
I nearly cry with happiness and relief when Dante lifts my sweet little boy onto the bed.
“Mommy!” Noah goes onto his knees and throws his arms around me, hugging me with all his might. “Please don’t go back to sleep.”
“Careful.” Dante catches him around the waist. “Don’t pull out the drip.”
“It’s all right,” I say through my happy tears, rocking Noah as I hug him back. “I missed you, sweetheart.”
He pulls away with a pout. “I missed you too. Where did you go?”
Rattled, I look at Dante because I don’t have an answer for that question.
“Your mom was in an accident. She can’t remember how it happened, but the important thing is that she’s back.”
Dante’s honesty surprises me, but I appreciate it. I don’t want to confuse Noah with lies.
“You found her.” Noah regards Dante with awe. “Just like you promised.”
Dante smiles. “I told you I would.”
Holding Dante’s gaze, I mouth, “Thank you.” Not only for his honesty but also for effortlessly navigating this difficult conversation with Noah and making my confusion less frightening.
That strained look comes over his features again. There’s something he’s not telling me. My stomach contracts with nerves as the odd feeling that I don’t belong here grows stronger.
“Are you hungry?” Dante places a hand on my knee, cupping it through the comforter. “Can I get you anything?”
“Later.” I am hungry—starving actually—but I want to spend time with Noah first. “But thanks.”
Noah babbles non-stop, hardly pausing to breathe as he tells me about going to the park and painting with Jazz. My heart melts when he tells me he drew me pictures to make me feel better. I cherish every second, drinking in his sweet face and the smell of his toddler shampoo, which is familiar, as he chats like a runaway train.
“…and then Jazz tried to fold a paper boat but she couldn’t do it like you so Reino wanted to show her and she got upset because he took the paper out of her hands but I said she mustn’t be angry because you’ll show her.”
At the end of that long discourse, he drags in a loud breath.
Despite the concern and anxiety gnawing at my insides, I laugh. “I’ll show her tonight.”
“Your mom has to see the doctor first.”
Dante locks his hands around Noah’s middle and hoists him playfully into the air before putting him on his feet. “Isn’t it time for your snack?”
Noah squeals in delight at having been lifted so high.
“Go ask Emily to cut you an apple,” Dante says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Noah obeys without arguing. He loves apples—at least I remember that—but I think his compliance has more to do with wanting to please his father. They seem close, and the idea is painfully sweet.
