‘Yeah … Hers was as thick. But it wasn’t straight. It was curly.’
She nodded, but when she went to turn over again, Benji caught her hand in his. He linked their fingers beneath the blankets, and Sierra couldn’t pull away. She knew that she should, that it was irresponsible to let him think they could ever go back, but she needed him too much at that moment to turn away. So, she didn’t.
‘I have a picture if you ever want to see it.’
‘No.’ The denial was instant. Her heart slammed into her throat. Her hand jerked in Benji’s, but he only held her tighter.
‘Okay …’
‘I can’t. I—’
‘You don’t have to explain to me, Si. I know.’ He squeezed her hand once. ‘I know.’
And because he was the only person in her life who did, she said, ‘It hurts too much. If I don’t know all those little details, it’s something that happened to me. Tous. If I look at her face and her hands and her tiny feet, it’s something that happened toher, and I can’t …’
‘Okay.’ He didn’t fight her. Only gave her hand one last squeeze before he settled again.
But his acquiescence didn’t change the fact that now she knew that there was a picture of her daughter in the world. Even though she would probably never look at it, it was a strange type of relief to know that it existed, that there was something left to commemorate Baby Girl’s existence.
‘Do you remember the last time we came here? Before?’
Sierra smiled. ‘Of course.’ It had been the end of August, a few months before winter kicked in and the temperatures dropped too low to enjoy going for a dip in the lake. ‘I was so restless. And uncomfortable.’
Benji laughed low at that. ‘You were a yo-yo. One minute, so happy and excited. The next, crying because your feet were swollen, or you couldn’t tie your shoelaces.’
‘I don’t like depending on people!’ she said. ‘It’s hard, to go from stubbornly independent to having to call your man in from work because you can’t put your sneakers on …’ She trailed off as those words – ‘your man’ – settled between them.
Benji didn’t address her slip. He didn’t put her on the spot or push her. He just said, ‘That was a really good day.’
Sierra sighed. ‘The best.’
If she closed her eyes, she could take herself back there. She could feel the cool water lapping at her skin and the night settling around them. She remembered that little jump in her stomach when he’d wrapped her legs around his waist, her pregnant belly between them, and the memory was so strong that she felt the remnants of that need still.
And it hurt, to remember all those good days together. It tore her apart to know that she was the reason that everything had soured. Because Benji had done everything right. Everything. It was her who hadn’t been able to reciprocate his strength and kindness through the grief. Instead, she’d chosen bitterness and anger.
For a long time, as they lay side by side in the quiet night, Sierra struggled to let the words come. But knowing that they were necessary, Sierra, for the first time, said, ‘I’m sorry.’
He didn’t ask what she was sorry for, or say it was all right. He just said, ‘I know.’
They lay there for hours, not talking, just being alone together. And when Sierra’s body finally gave in to the exhausting day, and her eyes closed, Benji gently repositioned her and tucked her against him.
His big body curled around hers, keeping her warm and sheltering her dreams. And she didn’t fight him. She allowed herself to take the comfort he offered, a murmured, ‘Just for tonight,’ her only warning.
She slipped off into sleep with the speed of someone who’d survived a difficult day, but if she’d stayed awake just a few seconds longer, she would have heard Benji’s whispered reply: ‘Just for tonight – forever.’
Chapter 10
Hunt Ranch, Santa Barbara County – August, 2024
Of all the things Sierra had compromised on during her pregnancy, the advice from her prenatal group to buy slip-on shoes was not one of them. As a woman with a healthy respect for fashion, she’d rather go barefoot than buy a pair of Crocs, Birkenstocks, or any other slip-on shoe designed solely for comfort. It was her uncrossable line.
Still, she wasn’t a martyr. Instead of her cowgirl boots or her heels, both of which her swollen ankles had revolted against, she’d committed to sneakers, and up until today the white Nikes had been working with her corporate-chic style.
Now, she glared down at them accusingly, their tongues stretched up mockingly, their laces as loose as possible without popping out, and wondered how the hell she was going to tie them.
She’d sat on the bed and tried to do it normally, by leaning over her big belly – and hadn’t even been able to reach past her shins. She’d tried to lift one foot onto her other knee – with laughable results. In a desperate last attempt, she’d tried to lie on her bed and raise her foot up in front of her – and she’d almost peed herself.
Tears swam in her eyes as she seriously considered the benefits of Crocs. She didn’t care how comfortable they were, she hated everything about them. The foamy feel, the design, theholes. They were an assault on the senses, and the fact that she was even thinking about them made her feel legitimately lost and, worse, unlike herself.
