Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  He laughed. “I think they’re vegetarians actually, but sure, hippos love to eat squirrels.”

  Hannah attacked the squirrel with the hippo, until the squirrel was knocked off the bed. And so they continued. The monkey ate the hippo—no small job for a monkey—the tiger ate the monkey, and the crocodile ate the tiger. Each eaten animal landed on the floor until Mac said, “But the crocodile felt very, very full, and he let out a great big burp.” He placed a hand on his stomach, made a funny open-mouthed face and released a nice long fake burp. “And out popped the tiger.” Sneakily, he put his foot under the tiger and kicked, sending it flying up to Hannah’s bed.

  Hannah bounced up and down, laughing. “Do it again, Mac. Do it again!” And so each animal burped up the animal they’d eaten until all the stuffed animals were back in Hannah’s bed.

  Hannah hugged her animals, giggled, and burrowed into the covers. “That was a good story, Mac.”

  He pulled the blankets up to Hannah’s shoulders. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  Looking down at her sweet face, he felt a tug in his chest. What might it be like to tell stories to a child of his own someday? In his mind he pictured a child with his red-brown hair and freckles. And blue eyes. But that would never be. Mac’s future—his penance—did not include a family.

  * * *

  Emily lathered soap up and down her legs again, warm water from the shower falling softly on her back. The water pressure was low, thanks to the towels currently stuffed in the washing machine. She would wash them twice to be safe, just as she was washing herself a second time. With the weak spray, it took longer than usual to rinse off, and since this was her second round of rinsing, Emily guessed she’d been in the shower for over twenty minutes.

  Had Mac left yet? Was he waiting for her to get finished in the shower?

  She’d peeked in on him when she’d finished loading the washing machine and found him burping up stuffed animals onto Hannah’s bed while the little girl laughed herself silly. Hannah—generally shy with people outside of her family—was completely enthralled with Mac’s performance. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and Emily noticed that, for once, Mac seemed completely unguarded, his expression filled with mischief and the sheer joy of making Hannah laugh. Taking in the scene, Emily’s heart had melted faster than a popsicle on the fourth of July.

  Feeling shaky in her resolve not to become entangled with Mac, Emily had padded silently down the hall and back to the bathroom to wash away any left-behind germs from the toilet incident. She knew the water had probably been relatively clean—there’d been nothing in the toilet but her poor cell phone—but it gave her the heebie-jeebies anyway, and she’d felt strongly that a shower was in order.

  Rinsing away the last of the soapy suds, she heard a tentative knock on the bathroom door.

  “Yes?” She peeked around the shower curtain, making sure only her face was visible, and watched the door open a few inches.

  “Emily? We have a situation here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  In answer to her question, Henry wailed. Judging by the volume, Mac must have been holding him just outside the bathroom.

  “Henry’s awake,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I changed his diaper and followed the directions on the package to make a bottle of formula, but he won’t take it. And as you can hear, he’s pretty pissed.”

  Emily pulled the curtain more firmly in front of her. The heated flush of her skin, less from the hot water and more from the knowledge that nothing but a shower curtain and a partly open door stood between her naked body and Mac. She tried to focus on the problem at hand. “Um, well, that does sound like his hungry cry. Did you warm the bottle first?”

  There was a pause. Mac softly shushed the baby, and through the crack in the doorway, she saw his arm, coming in and out of view with each baby-calming sway of his body.

  “Yeah. I’ve tried it at room temperature and warmed. He doesn’t like either.”

  Emily sighed. “Well, he is a breastfed baby. Try holding him in a position similar to how he would nurse.”

  Another pause. All movement on the other side of the door ceased. Henry wailed again and at the same time Mac said, “I’m sorry, what?”

  Emily laughed. “Just do the best you can. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  Mac turned the living room lights off, hoping the darkness would calm Henry. He held the infant cradled in his left arm as he’d seen people do on TV and hoped his big limbs wouldn’t accidentally crush the baby.

  “Come on little buddy. I know you’re hungry. Why don’t you try this nice bottle?” Mac gently placed the nipple in Henry’s mouth—conveniently wide open while he cried—and Henry did his best to push it out, thrusting his tongue forward.

  Mac paced around the living room, trying without much success to soothe Henry. “All right, desperate times call for desperate measures, little man.” He placed the bottle under his arm so that the nipple stuck out between his bicep and chest and then cradled Henry like a mother would a nursing baby. “It’s a good thing you can’t talk yet, kid. Wouldn’t want the word to get out that I tried to feed you from a makeshift man-boob.”

  Henry’s head lolled about but his mouth opened and closed as if searching for something. Mac shifted his grip on the baby slightly, placing the bottle nipple right in front of the little guy’s mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief when Henry finally latched on.

  Once the baby’s eyes drifted closed, Mac relaxed enough to sit down on the sofa. He looked down at Henry, feeding hungrily in his sleep, and gently wiped the tears from the infant’s face with his thumb. He marveled at how small the baby’s hands were, the fingernails so tiny he practically needed a magnifying glass to see them. This tiny little being was completely helpless, and there was something strangely satisfying in being the one to feed and comfort him back to sleep.

  For the second time that night, Mac’s mind conjured a picture of himself with a wife and children. Which was odd to say the least. Long before he’d felt he didn’t deserve a family, he’d accepted that kids were not in his future. What the hell did he know about being a good dad? The only example of fatherhood he’d ever had was a perfect case study in how not to parent. Not exactly the legacy one wanted to pass on to a new generation.

  But for some reason, his no-family decision seemed like more of a loss than it ever had before.

  * * *

  Emily brushed her fingers through her damp hair, causing it to fall in artless waves, and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. She’d grabbed a navy sweater that made her blue eyes stand out and boot-cut jeans that flattered her curvy figure from the spare clothes she kept at Sean’s house. Good thing she stayed here all the time or she’d be stuck in the clothes ruined from her recent stint as an amateur plumber. She shouldn’t be worried about how she looked, because she had no interest in attracting the man waiting for her downstairs. But it pleased her deeply buried soft, feminine side to know she looked decent.

  Descending the stairs, she listened for Henry’s fussing, but heard nothing. In the living room, she found Mac, his head resting against the sofa, cradling Henry, both of them sound asleep.

  She moved closer to the slumbering pair and noticed the way Mac had propped the bottle between his body and his arm, placing the nipple right at…breast level. She clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her laughter. She’d never dreamed Mac would take her advice so literally, but evidently it had worked.

  With Mac sleeping, unable to catch her staring at him, she allowed herself a moment to really study him. Beneath his green long sleeved t-shirt, his sculpted chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his breathing. The green complemented his auburn hair and slightly freckled complexion. His lips, parted and relaxed while he slept, looked entirely too kissable. When she found herself imagining what it would be like to press her lips to his and wake him with a kiss, she decided her study had gone on long enough.

 
“Mac?” Gently, she nudged his shoulder. “Mac?” His head, still supported by the sofa back, turned toward her voice, and his eyebrows rose as if to say, yes, what is it? But his lids didn’t crack open in the slightest, and his face quickly resumed its peaceful sleeping expression.

  Emily frowned, noticing the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He’d probably worked a double shift recently. Or he hadn’t been sleeping well. Or both.

  “Mac, I’m going to take Henry upstairs, okay?” She slid one hand under Henry’s head and one under his bottom, but when she tried to lift him up, Mac’s hold tightened protectively around the baby. “It’s okay, Mac. I’ve got him. You can let go.”

  Mac mumbled in his sleep. He might have said, mmm but Emily swore he’d said Em.

  Her chest tightened. Big and strong as he obviously was, she felt inexplicably protective of the man in front of her.

  She took Henry away, walking on her tiptoes to keep the wood floor from squeaking. She didn’t want to wake Mac. He seemed to need the sleep. And she would make sure he got it.

  * * *

  Somewhere between dreams and reality, Mac floated. His brain beginning to wake, but his body several steps behind. Something warm and soft landed gently over him. A blanket? He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt weighted down. He burrowed deeper into the warm darkness enveloping him and prayed his dream would return.

  He breathed in her scent. A feminine shampoo that he would always associate with her. She touched his cheek. It was a brief touch, and when she pulled away, he reached up, and pressed her hand back against his face. He said her name, turned his face into her palm and kissed it.

  His hand covered hers and he slid it up, following the length of her arm, to her shoulder, then her neck. He was reclined on a bed or a sofa of some sort and she was too far away from him. With gentle pressure on the back of her neck, he pulled her to him, finding her lips with his in the darkness. Her balance upset, she fell half on top of him and he deepened the kiss. Her lips felt soft against his, and he couldn’t resist tasting her with a quick sweep of his tongue. So sweet.

  She moaned.

  His eyes opened, the dark dreamlike oblivion he’d inhabited falling away.

  He froze.

  His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looked into Emily’s wide eyes. Not frightened exactly…surprised.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay. You were sleeping.”

  Emily moved to the edge of the couch, giving Mac room to sit up. A faint glow from a light in the kitchen lit the living room. He remembered he’d turned the living room lights out when he was trying to get Henry—

  “Where’s Henry?”

  “I took him upstairs about an hour ago.”

  “I’ve been asleep for an hour?”

  Emily nodded. “I tried to wake you when I took Henry to bed, but you were out cold. You looked so tired, I decided to let you sleep.” She stood up, took the blanket from his lap, and folded it, not making eye contact with him. “A few minutes ago, you got restless. I thought maybe you were cold, so I covered you with the blanket.”

  It was sweet really. He couldn’t remember anyone looking after him like that. Not in a long time. Christ, how pathetic was he? Girl gives him a blanket and he practically turns into her loyal lapdog. “And then I attacked you in my sleep.”

  Emily’s head snapped up, her gaze locking with his. “No. It wasn’t like that at all.” She looked down again and concentrated on carefully smoothing the already folded blanket.

  What had she meant by that? If it wasn’t like that, did that mean she’d wanted him to kiss her? But the answer to that question was irrelevant. He should not be kissing Emily. Period.

  Because she would be habit forming. And he didn’t do long-term. It wouldn’t be fair to lead her on.

  Tension crackled between them, a static electricity that prickled his skin. He searched for something to say. “Listen, I…” but he had no idea how to finish that sentence.

  “Let’s just forget it ever happened,” she finished for him.

  He nodded.

  “I wanted to thank you for all of your help tonight,” Emily said quickly.

  “It was no trouble.”

  “No truly, you were a huge help.”

  He nodded again. “No problem.”

  The awkward silence stretched between them for a moment until the living room was suddenly awash with light—the headlights from Sean’s car pulling into the driveway.

  * * *

  “So, how did it go?” Julie’s singsong voice told Emily that she wasn’t asking how things had gone with Hannah, Jamie, and Henry. She wanted to know how it had gone with Mac.

  And Emily did not want to talk about that.

  “Well, aside from the little incident of Jamie flushing my cell phone down the toilet and flooding the bathroom, everything went fine. The kids ate well at dinner—”

  “Emily, you know that’s not what I meant.” She leaned over the kitchen island like a teen imparting gossip to a friend across the lunch table. “Sean sent Mac over here more than two hours ago for a quick check on the house. And he was still here when we came home. What the heck were you two up to?”

  Emily turned around to get a glass of water from the sink. Julie’s mommy talents included being an excellent face reader, and Emily did not want her face to be read at the moment.

  “Nothing. He stayed to help me with the kids.”

  “Really?” Emily didn’t need to be facing Julie to know that her eyebrows had just gone up a notch. “He helped you with the three children, all sleeping soundly in their beds?”

  Emily finished drinking her water and turned the faucet on for a refill. “Yes, he’s the reason they’re all sleeping soundly in their beds.”

  “I see.”

  Ever the considerate guest, Emily finished her second drink and began to wash out her glass with a soapy sponge. This could take a while. And the longer it took, the longer she could avoid Mom Eyes over there.

  “And is there a reason why you can’t look me in the eye while we talk about this?”

  Emily didn’t know why she even bothered evading Julie. The woman was more tenacious than a tort lawyer. She put the glass in the drainer, grabbed a towel to dry her hands, and turned to face her perceptive sister-in-law.

  “We kissed.”

  “What!” Julie’s inner teenager made another appearance.

  “It was an accident really. He fell asleep on the couch, and when I went to cover him with a blanket—he was in this half-asleep state—he pulled me in and kissed me.” If heat was any indication, then her face was red all the way up to her hairline. “He didn’t even know what he was doing.”

  “And how did his kiss compare to Ted’s?”

  Emily thought of the tender way he’d kissed her palm before tugging her down on top of him. Even now, her heart was in danger of beating an escape hole out of her chest.

  She leaned over the kitchen island, covered her face with her hands, and told the truth. “It didn’t compare.”

  With that honest admission, a dam broke and Emily was helpless to hold back the words. “It was amazing. He was amazing. He doesn’t seem to have any experience with kids and yet he’s so good with them. And he has this great sense of humor. And he was lying on your couch just looking all big and manly. And I’m starting to forget why it is I don’t want to get involved with him.” She removed her hands from her face and sent Julie a pleading look. “And I just really need you to remind me that I don’t need a guy like Mac in my life right now.”

  Julie’s expression was less than sympathetic. “What? You don’t need an amazing kisser, who’s good with children, has a great sense of humor, and looks good lying on a sofa to boot?”

  “No. I meant I don’t need a man who my brother believes should be in therapy, who has a dangerous job—and oh, did I mention that job is made ten times more dangerous by the fact that he won’t draw his gun when necessary?”

  “Look
.” Julie’s defensive tone surprised Emily. “You know as well as I do that Mac is not terminally messed up—”

  “I never said he was.”

  Julie held up her hand. “Let me finish. He hasn’t been himself this past year, that’s true. But he’s going to come out of it on his own. And do you know how I know that?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “Because when I’ve seen him with you, he’s been more himself than he’s been since the shooting. I’ve seen him smile and laugh—genuinely laugh—in a way that I haven’t seen in a long time.” Julie tilted her head, reminding Emily of her own mother, who frequently doled out unwanted, but always much needed advice. “You want me to say that he’s no good for you, and I just can’t do that. And I’ll tell you something else.” She pointed her finger at Emily. “I think you’re trying to choreograph your life. You’re choosing the simplest steps in the hopes that you won’t stumble, but in the meantime, you’re missing out on the exhilaration of dancing the difficult steps—and getting them right.”

  “Is this one of your life according to Dirty Dancing lectures?”

  Julie smiled. “You’re darn right, it is. Everything you need to know about life, you can learn from Dirty Dancing. Just think—that lift Baby and Johnny did at the end of the movie wouldn’t have been half as satisfying if she hadn’t fallen on her face the first fifty times.”

  Emily smiled, but inside, her chest ached. Julie was right. She was trying to keep her life as simple and complication free as possible. And she wasn’t convinced there was anything wrong with that—because she knew there were some falls from which you could never fully recover.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ridiculous. Pathetic. A little bit mental. That Mac returned every day to the same Starbucks where he’d first met Emily was ridiculous. That he immediately scanned the store hoping to catch a glimpse of her smiling blue eyes was pathetic. That his whole body drooped under the weight of disappointment each time she wasn’t there was…well, a little bit mental. And yet, here he stood.