have dated,” she told him. And she listed four men in three years. He nodded as each name rolled off her tongue. She’d told him about every one of them. “There’s been no spark.” She could have left it there, but for some reason, didn’t.
“You know as well as I do, Bray. The magic is so great in the beginning, but there’s no guarantee it will last. Look at us. Tragedy happened. You changed, I changed, or we found different parts of ourselves that hadn’t had reason to present before.” She shook her head. “I just don’t trust the whole magic, in love thing. Besides, you said yourself many times that I changed even before tragedy hit. I loved motherhood more than I loved being a wife.”
His words, not hers, but she wasn’t sure they were wrong. She’d loved being his wife more than she could ever put into words. And yet, being a mother...it was like an empty cavern inside of her had suddenly been filled to the brim.
“The Bouncing Ball takes up twelve hours a day of your time.”
She was proud of her daycare. It had a waiting list now, since she’d made the news the previous summer when a couple come to her for help in finding their kidnapped child. She was even, at Braden’s suggestion, raising her rates for new clients. She’d put her foot down when it came to charging her current clients more.
“I spend my days taking care of children, Bray,” she said now. “And I have a fully trained and certified staff who also specialize in child development.”
Yes, she spent twelve hours a day at the center, doing what a mother does. Now, instead of just doing it for other people’s children, she’d be doing it for her own, as well. And then getting to spend the remaining twelve hours a day doing the same.
“There’ll be no more empty hours,” she said aloud.
Braden seemed to be searching for words, and for the first time in a while she hated what they’d become. Hated the friendship that kept so much inside, erecting an invisible and completely safe barrier between them.
“Tell me what you’re really thinking.” She blurted the words.
And, of course, their waitress chose right then to deliver their dinner.
* * *
She could hardly eat. But because he was devouring his steak, she forced herself to go through the motions.
Was she being way too insensitive here? Telling her ex-husband that she was having a baby when the loss of their own child was what had driven them apart?
Telling him she was having a baby when she knew he blamed himself for their loss?
“You wanted me to move on,” she said, putting down her fork when she couldn’t pretend to eat anymore. “More and more I can feel your tension, Bray. You need me to get a life.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He didn’t deny her accusation.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You feel responsible for my unhappiness, which means you can’t move forward until I do.”
Putting a forkful of meat in his mouth he chewed. His lack of response infuriated her. And yet, not as much as it might have done six months ago. Just because Braden didn’t respond didn’t mean he had no response.
“SIDS is not something you can predict,” she said. “And if we’d been home, Tucker still would have died.”
That’s what the doctors told her. And the counselors. She still didn’t totally believe it. If she’d been home, if Braden hadn’t pressured her to leave their son with a nanny so that he could have some one-on-one time with her and spend most of the night making love with her, she might have heard a change in his breathing on the baby monitor. Might have been able to get to him in time.
To do what, she didn’t know. At least she could have had a chance to breathe her own air into him.
To hold him.
Feeling herself sliding backward, she took a sip of wine. Four years of counseling, of recovery, and then she could so quickly be right back there.
“If you’d really believed we did nothing wrong by being gone that night,” he said, “you’d have been able to have sex with me in the months that followed.”
His softly spoken words hit her with a ferociousness she knew he hadn’t intended. She sat back, hands shaking, trying to get control of emotions that just didn’t die.
Her inability to want sex with him, even after the immediate blow of grief had worn off, had been a final nail in their marriage’s coffin.
Their lovemaking the night Tucker died had been incredible. She’d even admitted, sometime during it all, that Braden had been right to insist that they have that time alone together. She’d missed him so much. Had half forgotten how incredible he made her feel, how right it was to be locked body to body with him, riding the crazy crest together.
And afterward...
“I felt so guilty for being so into you that I’d actually forgotten about him, on and off, for those hours when we were together. I was having the orgasm of my life while he was dying.”
She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes and knew she’d gone too far.
She expected him to motion for the bill and almost reached for her purse.
“You aren’t supposed to think about your children in the middle of sex, Mal. Or be turned on when you’re thinking about them. It’s a God thing, I’m sure. A shut-off valve that’s embedded in us to keep the parent-child relationship sacred and on track.”
She stared at him. Had he just said that? Were they really having this conversation?
Now? After all this time?
“My current concerns don’t stem from anything to do with me,” he told her then, getting them back on topic.
She sat back, the threat of tears gone. “I’d like to hear them,” she told him honestly.
He cut a piece of steak, ate it. She broke off a piece of bread, played with it, making a pile of crumbs on her plate.
“I’m worried about you being alone and facing all of the things that could possibly go wrong.”
“You don’t think I’m strong enough to deal with life on my own?” That was a new one to her. She’d grown up in foster care, caring for foster children. She knew a hell of a lot about what could go wrong.
“I do. It’s just that when it comes to mothering, Mal, you’re so all in, and losing Tucker just about killed you. The idea of you having another baby... I figure it needs to happen for you, but are you sure you’re ready? And doing it alone. What if—”
She shook her head. “No what-ifs, Braden. Not unless you want me stuck with no life forever. There are always what-ifs. I’ve chosen to tackle them one by one as they come, if they come. As a part of living.”
He
