umbilical cord? Had his little heart stopped? When she was in the hospital, the reassuring beeping of the monitor was worth the constant discomfort. But once they’d disconnected the monitor, she was at the mercy of little Bump’s movement.
She shouldn’t have given him a name; it had been a mistake. She should have known better by now. But after twenty-nine weeks, she couldn’t call him it or the fetus any longer.
If he didn’t kick her for more than two hours, the trepidation became too intense. She’d lie on her side in bed, tears in her eyes, whispering to him, “Come on, Bump. One little kick for Mommy. Just one little kick.”
And he always listened, finally giving her the tiny kick she needed to calm down. He was already such a good boy.
He’d kicked fifteen minutes ago, so she was, like Patrick had begun to jokingly say, at kick-plus-fifteen. She felt calm, almost happy. She watched Patrick as he finished his cup of coffee before leaving. She knew he had to go; the congregation needed him, with Catherine gone and Albert in mourning. Their community was fracturing under the weight of the sadness and fear. The constant police persecution kept the congregation away from church, away from solace. They needed Patrick to help them recover.
She and Bump could spend a few hours without him. Besides, it wasn’t like she was alone in the house.
Still, she saw Patrick’s worried frown as their eyes met.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Maybe I should stay. Albert could . . .” The words faded. She could see the truth in his eyes. Albert couldn’t. She wasn’t sure Albert would ever heal enough to return to his duties in the church.
“Go,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be fine. I’ll rest in bed. And if anything is wrong, Daniel will help me.”
As if on cue, their guest stepped into the kitchen. Leonor’s heart squeezed again as she saw how thin he was. Poor man, the cancer was rapidly eating him from inside. Not to mention being hounded by the police like that. A surge of anger blazed through her, and Bump kicked, feeling his mother’s rage.
“Good morning,” he said blearily.
“How did you sleep?” Leonor asked. She’d heard him tossing and turning in his bed. He’d told her the pain became difficult to bear at night.
“Like a baby.” He flashed her a smile and winked. “Maybe not as well as little Bump.”
She grinned, marveling at Daniel’s good cheer. “He actually kicked me all night long.”
“He’ll be a feisty one,” Daniel said. “Like his mama.”
“I’ll come back to make lunch,” Patrick said. “I don’t want Leonor cooking.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel answered. “I can cook. I’ll make my special chicken à la Daniel.”
Patrick still didn’t seem at ease. “If anything is wrong, don’t drive her to the hospital. Get an ambulance.”
“Couldn’t drive even if I wanted to, my friend,” Daniel reminded him.
“Oh, right.”
“Go.” Leonor laughed. “We’ll be okay.”
Daniel left, giving them time in private. Patrick hugged her before going, holding her tight, as if he was afraid to let go. She pulled his palm to her belly just as Bump kicked again, and they smiled at each other. Then he left.
She gazed out the kitchen window, lost in thought, thinking of poor Catherine. She would never know the feeling of a growing life inside her. The sensation of those tiny kicks. The bond between a mother and her child.
Leonor wiped a tear from her cheek.
And to think the police believed Daniel could have done this. As if he could ever harm anyone, not to mention Catherine. The police didn’t know him, not like Leonor and Patrick did. They hadn’t seen him at the homeless shelter, talking to those men and women, giving them an encouraging smile along with a warm blanket for the winter. The police hadn’t heard him pray fervently at church. They weren’t there when he’d talked to her, shedding a tear, telling her about his violent childhood.
And they hadn’t been there last night, when Daniel had thanked her and Patrick for letting him lay low and told them he’d decided to turn himself in. He was worried that the stress could affect the pregnancy, and he didn’t want to risk that.
It was Leonor who’d managed to convince him to stay. They all knew if he turned himself in, he would probably never get the medical treatment he needed. The cancer would kill him. It would be a death sentence long before the acquitting trial.