But it didn’t stop there. In the same soft voice, closer, right next to her on the couch, Flint asked her to talk about the first labor pain she’d felt. What she was doing. What she was thinking.
One second at a time, through the little things, the thoughts she could remember, she went through that horrific afternoon with him, including every moment she remembered in the hospital, talking about the sounds, the voices she heard, other people’s conversations.
A conversation about babies who’d been born at her gestational time period surviving and eventually thriving.
She took him with her through the pain of the birth, the silence when she’d expected to hear a baby’s cry. The look on the doctor’s face. On Steve’s face. She’d known. They hadn’t had to tell her, she’d known. Her precious baby boy hadn’t survived the birth. Tears streamed down her face as she felt the hysteria building inside her. Steve told the doctor to give her something and—
Just before the darkness came... “Stop.” Flint’s voice was still soft. The command was not to be denied. She lay there, eyes closed, and waited.
“Do you want to hold him, Tamara? Just once? To say goodbye?” His voice. She started to sob. To sit up. To lash out and—
Gentle hands against her face. “Keep your eyes closed, Tamara. Stay with me. Trust me. It’s okay to cry, sweetie. Just tell me if you want to hold him.”
She was back in that hospital room, right before the darkness.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want to hold my baby.”
“Here.” Flint’s arm slid behind her back, supporting her weight as he lifted her, straightening her a little. Something touched her chest and she reached up automatically, cradling it.
The weight was slight. He was only four pounds.
“He’s in a blanket, Tamara, wrapped up and warm. He looks so peaceful. Don’t be afraid to hold him tight. You can’t hurt him.”
Of their own volition, her arms closed around that bundle. She didn’t think to question, to wonder what it was. She just held on for all she was worth. Crushing it to her. Aware that it had more give when she squeezed than a human body would, but she was holding him. Eyes closed, lying there against Flint, she was holding her baby boy.
She cried. Hard. And Flint held her. She lay there until Diamond’s cries broke the spell. And then, when Flint didn’t move, she opened her eyes, told him she was okay and urged him to go care for the baby.
He didn’t bring Diamond in to her. She’d thought he might, but knew he’d made the right choice.
She was still sitting there, holding what she now knew was a teddy bear, weighted and stuffed with a gel-like pillow pad.
Her trials weren’t over. She was well aware of that, and Flint was, too. His gift to her hadn’t been a cure, hadn’t been meant as one. Flint was too much of a realist for that. And it was clear he’d done a lot of reading she hadn’t known about. Studying her situation. Giving her the gift she needed most of all. He’d given her what no one else had even tried. A chance to hold her own baby boy.
Mostly, Flint had just sat with her in her pain. Taking some of the weight of it from her.
* * *
Flint grilled the steaks. He picked at his dinner just like Tamara did. And when she said something about maybe heading home, he asked her to spend the night.
Not to have sex. Just to lie in his arms and sleep.
Diamond was old enough to spend a night in her nursery. He’d keep the monitor beside him.
He’d had it all worked out and was still surprised when she agreed.
Leaving a T-shirt and boxer shorts on the end of his bed, with a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush—compliments of the dentist—on top, he told her he’d get the baby fed and down and would be back.
“Just get in whatever side you’d like,” he said, growing hard as he pictured her in his bed, and yet, not achingly so. Some things were more important than sex. “The remote is on the stand there. Find whatever you’d like to watch.”
By the time he got back, she was asleep.
* * *
Tamara woke with something warm against her back. She couldn’t figure it out at first and then memory came crashing back.
Flint. He was spooning her. In his bed.
She had no idea what time it was, but felt like she’d been sleeping for days. Deeply. It was still dark outside.