plaintive cries.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, sitting down again after seeing to Cory’s needs. “I thought he’d be feeling better today. But with that cough—well, he’s just not used to his body rebelling on him this way.”
“Don’t sweat it, Faith,” he said, as though she were the one who was talking through gritted teeth, as though she were the one with an allergy to small children.
“I should never have let you talk me out of getting an alternate therapist,” she said. “This can’t be helping you much, not when you’re so obviously tense about this situation.”
His laugh, deep and laced with cynicism, caught her by surprise. “Faith,” he leaned forward and stared straight into her eyes. “I’ve been tense since the moment you walked into my house. And so have you. You open your mouth and I back you up against a wall. I argue with you and you lean into my face. And when we touch—”
“Don’t,” she said suddenly, “I’ve explained that to you. It’s gratitude.”
“All right. Gratitude,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to discuss this any more than you do. I just want you to know that I’m taking it. All of it. That little boy in the next room—” Nathan lowered his voice. “This is his territory, his home. I’m the intruder, and I’m dealing with the situation.”
But at the next tiny little moan from Cory, Faith couldn’t help looking into Nathan’s eyes. She saw the too-deep breath he took, the way he swallowed convulsively.
“Mom?” Cory called.
She bit her lip and cast Nathan an apologetic glance.
He slid his hand on top of hers. “Go to him, Faith. He’s your son. You don’t owe anyone, least of all me, an apology for wanting to protect him. He’s sick and he needs his mother with him and his things about him—including his teddy bear.”
Faith nodded at the last words. She’d thought she’d managed to snatch the small, grubby bear up from the couch and hide it behind her back before Nathan had noticed. The little bear had kid smudged all over its worn-out fur. How foolish she’d been to think that Nathan wouldn’t have honed in on something like that with the speed of a heat-seeking missile.
“All right. I’ll try to stop feeling like a guilty parent,” she promised.
Nathan turned her hand over, palm up. He traced her lifeline with the pad of his thumb. “Then there’s no problem,” he said softly. “Go on, now. I’ll bet the fever is making him thirsty. Take your time. I’ll still be here.”
Slowly Faith withdrew her hand from his. She moved away, then turned back slowly. He was watching her. His eyes locked with her own.
Swallowing, she took one small step backward. “You must have been one hell of a wonderful father,” she whispered.
And whatever light had been in his deep green eyes died. The shutters were down. Nathan’s jaw tightened. “I was a terrible father.” His voice was cold and clipped. “A terrible husband, too. I was hardly around for Joanna and Amy at all. Furthermore, when that car broadsided us, I was at the wheel. If I’d been paying attention, if my mind had been on my wife and child’s safety the way it should have been, I might have avoided the accident. I could have gotten us out of the way, or at least whipped the wheel and turned the car, taking the brunt of the impact myself. I could have saved my wife and little girl. So no, don’t give me credit I never earned. Just get out of here and go to your son. Now.”
~ ~ ~
Nathan watched Faith slip from the room. He listened to her murmuring soothingly, calming the fretful little boy. His gaze followed her when she moved to the kitchen. He heard the slam of the refrigerator door, the rustle and clang of dishes. And beneath the cover of noise, he heard the small, anxious voice. “Mo-om?”
Another clatter followed, pans falling. The phone rang. A muffled “Oh no!” and then a long, low sigh from Faith. It was clear she couldn’t hear her
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, sitting down again after seeing to Cory’s needs. “I thought he’d be feeling better today. But with that cough—well, he’s just not used to his body rebelling on him this way.”
“Don’t sweat it, Faith,” he said, as though she were the one who was talking through gritted teeth, as though she were the one with an allergy to small children.
“I should never have let you talk me out of getting an alternate therapist,” she said. “This can’t be helping you much, not when you’re so obviously tense about this situation.”
His laugh, deep and laced with cynicism, caught her by surprise. “Faith,” he leaned forward and stared straight into her eyes. “I’ve been tense since the moment you walked into my house. And so have you. You open your mouth and I back you up against a wall. I argue with you and you lean into my face. And when we touch—”
“Don’t,” she said suddenly, “I’ve explained that to you. It’s gratitude.”
“All right. Gratitude,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to discuss this any more than you do. I just want you to know that I’m taking it. All of it. That little boy in the next room—” Nathan lowered his voice. “This is his territory, his home. I’m the intruder, and I’m dealing with the situation.”
But at the next tiny little moan from Cory, Faith couldn’t help looking into Nathan’s eyes. She saw the too-deep breath he took, the way he swallowed convulsively.
“Mom?” Cory called.
She bit her lip and cast Nathan an apologetic glance.
He slid his hand on top of hers. “Go to him, Faith. He’s your son. You don’t owe anyone, least of all me, an apology for wanting to protect him. He’s sick and he needs his mother with him and his things about him—including his teddy bear.”
Faith nodded at the last words. She’d thought she’d managed to snatch the small, grubby bear up from the couch and hide it behind her back before Nathan had noticed. The little bear had kid smudged all over its worn-out fur. How foolish she’d been to think that Nathan wouldn’t have honed in on something like that with the speed of a heat-seeking missile.
“All right. I’ll try to stop feeling like a guilty parent,” she promised.
Nathan turned her hand over, palm up. He traced her lifeline with the pad of his thumb. “Then there’s no problem,” he said softly. “Go on, now. I’ll bet the fever is making him thirsty. Take your time. I’ll still be here.”
Slowly Faith withdrew her hand from his. She moved away, then turned back slowly. He was watching her. His eyes locked with her own.
Swallowing, she took one small step backward. “You must have been one hell of a wonderful father,” she whispered.
And whatever light had been in his deep green eyes died. The shutters were down. Nathan’s jaw tightened. “I was a terrible father.” His voice was cold and clipped. “A terrible husband, too. I was hardly around for Joanna and Amy at all. Furthermore, when that car broadsided us, I was at the wheel. If I’d been paying attention, if my mind had been on my wife and child’s safety the way it should have been, I might have avoided the accident. I could have gotten us out of the way, or at least whipped the wheel and turned the car, taking the brunt of the impact myself. I could have saved my wife and little girl. So no, don’t give me credit I never earned. Just get out of here and go to your son. Now.”
~ ~ ~
Nathan watched Faith slip from the room. He listened to her murmuring soothingly, calming the fretful little boy. His gaze followed her when she moved to the kitchen. He heard the slam of the refrigerator door, the rustle and clang of dishes. And beneath the cover of noise, he heard the small, anxious voice. “Mo-om?”
Another clatter followed, pans falling. The phone rang. A muffled “Oh no!” and then a long, low sigh from Faith. It was clear she couldn’t hear her
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