I wondered if we could get past this and find each other again. When she got up, she fed Julianna, then brought her back to the living area, sitting with her.
“What is her normal schedule?” I asked.
“Mostly this. Eating, sleeping, pooping,” Tally replied dryly. “She’s a bit young for gymnastics or dance class.”
I laughed. “What else?”
“We walk a lot. I like her to have fresh air on nice days.”
“We’ll take her tomorrow. It’s supposed to be warmer.”
She looked confused. “You’ll be home?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
I held the baby as Tally made dinner. I held her again while we ate. Eating with a baby on your lap was a challenge as I discovered, but I managed, secretly wondering how Tally had done this all by herself. I watched her carefully, my worry growing. Her appetite was still off, although I could see she was trying.
“A few more bites,” I encouraged her. I indicated Julianna, who was asleep in my arms. “For her.”
I knew better than to snap at Tally or to ask her to eat for my sake. Maybe she would for Julianna’s.
She picked up her fork, lifting a piece of chicken to her mouth, chewing listlessly, her gaze focused over my shoulder toward the window. I studied her, wondering what she was thinking. Was she desperate to run? Did she want to talk? I couldn’t decide.
When I had gotten the call yesterday, my first emotion was disbelief. By the time I climbed into the helicopter, rage had kicked in. White-hot fury directed at Tally for running from me. Hiding so well I couldn’t locate her. Keeping our child—my child—away from me. When I stepped into the room, the rage lessened, and since then, I had vacillated between anger, worry, and confusion. Threats fell from my lips without thought, threats I wasn’t sure I could ever follow through on. Awe at the tiny being we had created nudged at my heart. Desire, still hot and strong for this woman, beat under my skin. Profound sadness at what I missed pulsed in the back of my mind. Worry that I was causing Tally stress was eating at me. Leo was right. One of the sites I’d visited while she was busy with Julianna said stress wasn’t good for a nursing mother, and it could affect the milk, which affected the baby. I didn’t want that to happen.
“Tally,” I said quietly.
She looked up, her eyes dull.
“We’ll work it out.”
“You mean you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her and too bad for me.”
“I mean we’ll work it out. Together.” I glanced down at the sleeping bundle in my arms. Warm. Safe. Vulnerable and fragile. Needing her mother because I knew there was no connection in the world like it. “I won’t hurt you or her.” I let those words sink in. “Please. Eat. She needs you.”
“I need her,” she half sobbed, her fear palpable.
I wanted my wife here. My child. But I didn’t want it at the expense of a future with Tally. A real future. That would never happen if she was terrified.
I leaned across the table, taking her hand. “You have her. You will always have her. We will figure this out.”
“Don’t—”
I cut her off. “I won’t. We will figure it out.” I offered her a smile.
I wasn’t sure she believed me, but she picked up her fork and began to eat. I was satisfied with that.
Later, she stood beside me, letting me bathe Julianna. By the time it was over, I was soaked, there was water everywhere, and I learned just how much my daughter loved the water. She kicked her legs, flailed her arms, and splashed everywhere. I held her while Tally washed her hair, not sure enough yet to try that. After, I bundled her, added cream, and changed her diaper fairly successfully. I left Tally to feed her, making sure she had water. I read more of the book, shaking my head at what I didn’t know.
I glanced at my watch, surprised to find over two hours had gone by. I went down the hall, peeking into the guest room. A light was on in the corner, and Tally was asleep on her bed, her hair spread around her like wildfire in the sun. Bright and shimmering. More beautiful than I even remembered. Julianna was in her crib, slumbering away, her lips moving and pursing in her sleep. I picked up the blanket from the chair and draped it over Tally, studying her. Even in sleep, I could feel her anxiety. Her hands were clutched tight, her brows drawn down in a frown. Her body looked tense as well. I hunched down, running my hand over her hair, remembering how much that used to relax her. Her hair was as soft as I recalled, and I stroked the curls in long, tender passes, remorse filling me at the pain I could feel inside her.