Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,33

I know how often Crystal works just to make ends meet, but I’m confident Savi will make fast friends once school starts. At my house, I refold my cane on the porch steps, fish the key from my bag, and stick it in the lock. Jess helps roll the stroller to the door.

“Still got those pills I gave you?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“You’re going to take two and get some rest. That’s an order. Give him a bottle if you need to. Actually, do you want me to take him for the afternoon?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. You’re right. I just need to rest.”

Jess rummages in my diaper bag and opens my hand. The two pills land. She fishes another water bottle from her diaper bag. “Here. Take them now.”

“I can’t take medication. What if Jackson needs me?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

The fatigue washes through me. I hesitate, then toss them back. I need sleep. My head throbs and I finger the cut. “Is it okay to go to sleep after I just fell?”

“Oh shit.” She hesitates. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“Technically I hit my cheek, not my head.”

Jess’s voice sounds strangled. “Is there a difference?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Rebecca.”

“Seriously, I’m fine.” I unlock the door. My knees involuntarily buckle.

“Okay, that’s it. You, upstairs now. I’ll feed Jackson and put him down.”

I think about protesting, but I’m too tired. I point weakly toward the kitchen. “There are a few bottles of milk in the fridge.”

“Got it.” She adjusts Baxter and wheels the stroller into the kitchen. “Nighty night!”

“Night,” I mumble. The word is thick on my tongue, all of my senses turning gluey. My eyes are gritty. My hand grips the banister as I drag myself up the stairs. I practically crawl to my room and climb under the crisp, cool sheets.

I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.

13

BEC

I wake to pressure on my shoulder. Jess’s voice gently urges me awake. I come to, peel my eyelids apart, and find my voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?” I claw my way to sitting. My head pounds and my mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with sand.

“Drink this. It’s seven.”

“Seven?”

“You needed the rest.”

“I slept all afternoon?” My cheek throbs, and I lightly touch it. “How’s Jackson?”

Jess shifts. “A bit fussy.”

Worry pricks through my drugged haze. “Where is he?”

“Already fed him and put him down.”

I collapse back against the pillow and massage my temples. “Thank you for staying.” My world spins, and I suck down the glass of water Jess thrusts into my palm.

“What are friends for, right?” She takes the empty glass.

“Not this.” I pile my hair in a ponytail and heave myself out of bed. I stand for a moment and let a fresh wave of dizziness pass before escorting her to the bedroom door. “Sorry to take up your entire day babysitting. Both of us,” I add, embarrassed. “Has Baxter been okay?”

“He’s fine. And seriously, it’s no big deal. I got some much-needed Netflix binging out of the way.” She adjusts Baxter and kisses me on the cheek. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” I pat the top of Baxter’s head and wait until the front door has closed to walk down the hall toward the nursery. I press my ear against the door, but all is silent. I resist the urge to sneak Jackson a kiss, but I don’t want to wake him, especially if he’s been fussy. Downstairs, I ransack the fridge. I make myself a quick dinner and check my phone before browsing Netflix myself. I listen to my options, wanting something mindless and easy to consume.

I rest my head against the couch cushion. Today was a major wake-up call. How can I be expected to take care of an infant if I can’t even take care of myself? I continue the plan I concocted earlier: sleep, therapy, healthy food, a possible nanny, and absolutely no thoughts of ex-boyfriends.

Suddenly, a cry from the nursery cracks the complex web of my inner dialogue. My body charges to attention. My breath stalls. Silence follows, but that cry sears into my memory. I press mute on the television and wait.

Again, the cry smacks me between the ears. I wade through the murky darkness. The wood groans under my socks as I climb the stairs.

At the end of the hall, I nudge open the nursery door. The blueprint pulses in my head: dresser, crib, rocking chair, changing table. The baby cries again, a raspy, dry thing. It