“You can put it in drive now.”
Noah’s hands are on the wheel, white-knuckled at ten and two, but his neck is twisted around awkwardly to observe us in the backseat. You know, just ‘checking’ on us for thefifthtime since he started the car.
“I’m going to,” he replies curtly.
I shake my head, amused and wanting nothing more than to smooth out that wrinkle that’s reappeared between his eyebrows.
“You know I find this protective daddy stuffsuperhot, but babe, I really want to go home.”
“Right.”
He faces forward but pauses again.
“Now, please,” I urge on a laugh. I can’t help it, he’s too cute with all this worrying. Not that it’s out of character or anything. And not that I can blame him, either. I’m anxious too. It’s taken us a good thirty minutes to get to this point, though, what with my slow movements through the winding hospital hallways; then for Noah to get the two of us both situated comfortably in the back seat and to reassure himself repeatedly that we’re both good and secure.
Nothing. He remains frozen in the driver’s seat.
“She’s gone a full hour without crying,” I warn. “At this rate, it’ll be time for her next feeding before we even get on the road.”
Still nothing.
I let out a loud sigh, but it’s nonetheless a good-humored one.
“Alright. You’re right.” Noah nods to himself. “Here we go.” And then finally–finally–he shifts the SUV into gear. We roll painfully slowly through the parking lot and I fight back a chuckle. There’s an extended pause before Noah can bring himself to make the left turn out onto the road. He checks the rearview mirror frequently, eyeing us in the backseat as we proceed at 10 miles below the speed limit down the street. A giggle does manage to escape me at this point; it’s high and bordering on hysterical. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m giddy with love for the two humans in this car with me. I’m also exasperatedly amused by Noah’s overprotectiveness yet completely understanding of it at the same time.
This isveryprecious cargo, after all.
The baby fusses a little as we near the turn-off for my street and I lean over her, taking her hand and making soothing noises. Thankfully she settles and I congratulate myself on how well I’m pulling off this mom thing so far. I take a moment to admire her–her eyes have fallen closed again and her paper-thin lids twitch as though she’s dreaming. I hope they’re sweet ones. Noah has bundled her up in an adorable little pink hat with teddy bear ears, but I know that underneath she has a full head of fine, dark curls. I’ve found myself unable to resist running my fingers through the silken strands, and if I thought it wouldn’t disturb her, I’d slip that hat off right now and do it again. Her fingers are so very tiny where they’re clutching my thumb, yet somehow, they’re also deliciously chubby. I marvel at her miniature fingernails. Perfect. She’s so perfect.
It’s a struggle to tear my eyes from her, but when I finally do manage to look up again, I’m surprised to find that Noah has completely bypassed Main Street and is now moving away from the town center.
“Where are we going?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat.
“Just want to make a quick stop somewhere,” he murmurs.
“Where could you possibly have to go right now?” I ask. “I really just want to get home, Noah.”
“Just trust me, this will be worth the detour.”
“I’m going to have to feed her again very soon,” I remind him.
“I know,” he reassures, flashing me a quick smile in the mirror.
I settle back against the seat again and huff out a frustrated breath which causes a twinge of pain in my abdomen.
“Are you alright?” Noah asks quickly, obviously having seen my flinch in the mirror.
I just nod, curiously watching the buildings pass by out the window. We leave the commercial area behind, driving by the marina and the large waterfront park where I can see that the ice has finally started to melt. There’s open water closest to the shore and it undulates against the sand in small, dark, cold-looking ripples. It’s always a sad time of year for people like Aidan’s mom, who loves to ice fish; or the die-hard snowmobile enthusiasts that flock to our town every winter; but I’m usually glad to see the end of the season and relieved when we’ve made it through another one without any reports of people going through the ice.
Eventually, we cross the bridge over the narrows–the small marshy area that connects the two lakes–keeping to the right and skirting the edge of Hedd Lake. We move into a quiet residential area where many of the year-round locals live, but none of our friends are on this side of the bridge, and anyway, we told them we’d let them know when we were ready for visitors. So where could Noah be taking us that’s so important he needs to do itnow?
I’m about to question him again when he makes another right into an all-too-familiar neighborhood. And then another ontothestreet–my favorite street.
“Noah?” I ask, completely baffled now.
He remains silent as the car slows … and we pull up to my dream home. I’m completely shocked when he turns into the driveway.
With spring finally on the horizon, the snow has only just started to melt, like the ice. Dead plants and yellowed grass peek through the shrinking banks that are piled to either side of the drive and out front of the house. It’s still as beautiful as ever, though, the hunter-green front door shiny and inviting.
