wanted to. Crying was the normal response. A good mother would feel. She wouldn’t seize up like a heartless rock. A rock couldn’t absorb bad—which, my therapist said, was why my body did this. When grief was too deep, the body shut it down. When I was strong enough, she said, tears would return.
And here I thought I was strong? Oh, I was. Just not in a way that might have kept Lily from harm. Nana could. Taking comfort that she was watching over my baby, I slid the box back under the bed and, alone once more, sat back against the wall in the dark.
Aloneness was what I deserved. Only it was worse now than it had been for a long, long time. Was the rock starting to crack?
Turning out the light, I climbed back into bed, pulled the covers to my chin, and just lay there. I thought to undress, but didn’t have the strength. I thought to remove my makeup, but didn’t have the strength.
Self-pity was a potent muffler, because it wasn’t until after the fact that I realized the knocking sound drifting up wasn’t heat in the pipes at all, but knuckles on my front door. Or not. When a key turned, I thought of Liam. If Liam was back this early, his date hadn’t gone as well as he wanted, which meant that he would be making noise, if only to make his needy presence known. Whoever was down there now did not.
Only one other person would know that a spare key was always stashed behind the wreath by the door. I heard the door close behind him, and pictured him standing in my living room, looking around, maybe unbuttoning his barn jacket or rubbing the back of his head as he tried to decide what to do.
What did I want him to do? I wasn’t sure.
No. I was sure. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to make me feel less alone, if only for a little while.
Barely breathing, I waited. I heard soft footfalls on the stairs, definitely Edward’s. No intruder would leave his boots at the door to keep from tracking in mud, but these footfalls came from socks. They paused at the top, then started quietly down the hall.
He opened my door and stood for a beat before whispering my name. Hushed as the sound was, I heard its question.
“Yes,” I answered, my own whisper a plea. Yes, I was awake. Yes, I wanted him here.
Approaching the bed, he was a dark silhouette, a ghosted shape in the ambience of that full moon. He hunkered down beside me. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. Then I held out a hand. The instant he took it, I felt relief. I wanted to ask why he had come, but didn’t dare. Coward that I was, I couldn’t risk not liking the answer.
“You’re freezing,” he said and, sitting on the side of the bed, began chafing my hand between his two. The warmth was heavenly. So was the strength of those bigger-than-my hands.
I tugged on those hands. “Lie with me—just a little?” When he made to crawl over and stretch out on top of the duvet, I opened the covers instead.
Butt and legs came first. “Turn over,” he whispered as the rest of him scooted in. He held me spooned then, knees behind mine, one arm around my middle, the other pillowing my neck, and his chin in my hair. It was comfortable. It was familiar. No matter that we were both fully dressed—perhaps because of it—this was heavenly.
I don’t know how long we lay there. I matched my breathing to his—used to do that all the time, and the rhythm returned, like we had never been apart. I covered his hands with my own, one at my waist, one at my neck. Twice, he drew free, once to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears, once to wrap his forearm across my upper chest in a spontaneous hug.
I might have been fine lying like that forever, if he hadn’t used his hand again, this time to move the hair away from my neck to allow for a nuzzling kiss. Suddenly I saw his words on the face of my phone. I do. Love you. I tried not to, but how do you stop something like that?
I needed to be loved. Didn’t matter whether I deserved it. Just then, I needed it more than air.