Sweet Baby

by Sharon Sala

  She was still standing in that position when Brett walked into the room. She saw his reflection first, then turned, unashamed of her nudity. She stood without moving, watching the changing expressions on his face, recognizing his surprise, then his admiration, accepting his need as her own. Then she hesitated, suddenly too intimidated to make the first move. It took her a few moments to remember. Brett didn’t judge.

  She held out her hand.

  He inhaled sharply, struck by a longing for this woman, yet afraid to move into an intimacy she wouldn’t be able to handle. His voice was low, almost hoarse with longing.

  “Tory… baby, what are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you. Will you make love to me?”

  “Willingly,” he said softly, and reached for the top button of his jeans.

  God, don’t let me mess this up.

  “Let me,” she said.

  She moved his hands aside, undoing the buttons, then slipping her fingers inside, cupping him, testing the firmness of his body, savoring the thrust of him against the palms of her hands. When he groaned, she smiled. It had been so long.

  He kicked off his jeans and then picked her up. There was a hesitancy in his voice as he brushed his mouth across the side of her cheek.

  “Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way.”

  She locked her arms around his neck and met his gaze straight on.

  “I don’t want to feel anything but you inside of me. I don’t want to think of anything but coming apart in your arms. I don’t want to hear anything but the sound of your breath against my face. Make love to me. Make me forget… forget everything but you.”

  Refusing Tory wasn’t a thing he could do. He lay her on the bed, then followed her down, bracing himself above her. Loving Tory was easy. Making love to her was a pleasure he couldn’t describe. But knowing how fragile her hold was on life and on trust made him scared. He looked at her and saw his world. But something inside of him knew that when she looked at herself, she saw someone that nobody wanted, nobody loved. It needed to be said now, before they became caught in the heat of the moment.

  “Victoria?”

  Her hand was on his arm, her gaze unwavering. “What?”

  “Do you know how much you are loved?”

  Something flickered in the backs of her eyes, like a shadow behind a half-drawn curtain.

  “Do you?”

  She shrugged, then looked away.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Brett rolled, pulling her into his arms and holding her so close he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.

  “I want you to listen to me, baby. And I want you to believe as you have never believed before.”

  He felt her sigh.

  She finally answered. “All right.”

  “Do you promise?” he insisted.

  “I promise.”

  “Victoria, do you know what I did the day I met you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I went home and called my brother and told him I’d met the woman I wanted to marry.”

  He felt her stiffen, but he kept talking, tired of playing games, tired of pretending things were all right when they weren’t.

  “I can’t explain it, but I knew, even then, how special you would be to me. I live to hear your laughter—to feel the touch of your hand on my face. I draw easier breaths just because you’re in the same room. I come undone in your arms, and I would willingly die for you—over and over again.”

  Tory started to cry. “I—”

  “Don’t talk, just listen,” he said softly. “I’m only saying things I should have told you years ago. I guess I thought you knew them. I was wrong.”

  He began to caress her back, rubbing a wide, gentle circle between her shoulder blades until he felt her beginning to relax.

  “Someday I want to stand in a church and watch you coming toward me down the aisle. I want to tell the world that you’re mine and I’m yours. I promise I will hold you and keep you safe from the things that scare you. I swear on my life that I will never forsake you. Do you believe me?”

  Blinded by tears, all she could do was nod.

  “And someday, when you’re ready, I would like to have a family.”

  She choked on a sob. “I know you would. I saw the way you were with your sister’s new baby. You’ll make a wonderful father. But I’m afraid. The only parents I remember were a series of strangers. What if I’m more of a monster than a mother?”

  Anger for what she’d endured ripped through him.

  “That’s bullshit, Tory! There’s not a mean bone in your body.”

  She put her hand on his face, making him focus on the seriousness of what she felt.

  “You don’t have to be mean to be a bad parent. Look at me now. Look at the way I treat you. I come and go with no regard for your feelings. I act as if I’m the only thing in this world that matters.” She looked away. “Frankly, I don’t know why you kept forgiving me. If the situation had been reversed, I wouldn’t have forgiven you.”

  Again his thoughts went back to a little girl nobody had wanted. He kissed the side of her cheek, then her tear-stained eyes, then her mouth, each time leaving a little bit more of himself behind.

  “Tory?”

  “What?”

  “You know what you said… about leaving without notice?”

  She nodded.

  “You know what I think? I don’t think you were leaving me—ever. I think you were just testing me. To see if I would still be there each time you came back.”

  She grew quiet, absorbing what he’d said, and somewhere within herself something settled. What if he was right? She drew a shuddering breath, then looked up. She didn’t give herself time to hesitate. There was only one thing left to say to him.

  “Yes.”

  Brett frowned. “Yes what, baby?”

  “Yes, I know how much I am loved. But…”

  He grinned. “But what?”

  “But I would a lot rather you showed me.”

  His grin slipped, replaced by a sudden need to be deep inside his lady.

  “Now?” he asked.

  She reached down and encircled him, feeling the power within herself as she felt him growing, and all because of her.

  “Yes, Brett. Now.”

  He rolled, pinning her beneath him on the bed. The thunder of his own heartbeat was hammering against his brain. Take it easy. Take it slow.

  But when she opened her legs and guided him inside, heeding his own advice was impossible. There was that instant of recognition, when he felt himself expanding within her, and the knowing of what was yet to come. And then he started to move, and every thought faded into obscurity. There was nothing that mattered but the woman in his arms.

  Tory didn’t know where she ended and Brett began, and for once in her life, she didn’t care. When he took her to the edge of insanity, trust kept her with him every step of the way. When her blood thundered through her veins and every muscle in her body began to tense, it was faith in him that gave her the strength to let go—to follow the starburst of pleasure that comes from the joy of making love to your man.

  And when it was over, she lay spent and shaking within his arms as a single thought kept repeating itself in her head.

  I didn’t know it could be like this.

  ***

  Brett came out of the shower to find Tory sitting cross-legged on the bed with the rag doll in her lap. He paused in the doorway, watching the intent expression on her face as she touched its hair, then its face, rubbing the faded blue fabric of its dress between her fingers, as if trying to absorb memories from touch alone.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Tory jumped, then looked up. A corner of her mouth turned up. “That I wish she could talk.”

  Brett tossed the towel he was holding into the room behind him, then pulled on his sweats before sitting down on the bed beside her. For a moment he just sat, watching the gentle
sweep of her fingers over the little doll’s face.

  “She’s about to lose an eye,” he said, pointing to a big blue button barely hanging by a thread.

  Tory nodded.

  “Want me to fix her?” he asked.

  She looked startled, unable to picture Brett Hooker with a needle and thread.

  “Who do you think fixes my things when you’re gone?” he asked.

  She flushed, then looked away.

  Brett cupped her face, forcing her to face him. “That wasn’t a dig, sweetheart. Besides, my mother made sure all her children were capable of taking care of themselves.”

  Tory pushed at the big blue button with the end of her finger, as if by pressure alone she could fix the ailing feature.

  “I’ll be careful with her,” Brett promised.

  Tory’s blush increased; she was embarrassed that her reticence to turn over something as inconsequential as an old rag doll had taken on such importance. But Brett wasn’t laughing at her, and she began to relax.

  “I know that,” she said, and handed him the doll as if it were made of fine glass.

  “Just let me get the stuff and we’ll be in business.”

  Pleased that she’d trusted him to help, he began digging through a dresser drawer. A few moments later he joined her back on the bed and picked up the doll, giving it a quick once-over before deciding where to start.

  Tory watched the careful manner in which Brett picked up the doll and knew that he understood. But when he thrust the needle into its face, she caught herself holding her breath, as if she needed to experience pain for a doll that was incapable of feeling it on its own.

  Get a grip, Victoria, or you’ll wind up back in the psych ward.

  And then Brett began to sew, and she caught herself focusing on his fingers. They were long and strong, the ends wide-tipped and well capable of gripping. She swallowed, remembering how they felt on her body when they made love. As she watched him working, so intent on the task at hand, a phrase popped into her mind.

  A man for all seasons.

  That was Brett. And then she added a line of her own.

  A man who makes promises and keeps them.

  Unaware of Tory’s concentration, Brett finished the job, then began to examine the doll, checking to see if there was any need for further repairs. Even though the doll was faded and dirty, it was evident to him that craftsmanship was the main reason it was still in one piece. The inside seams on the little dress had been finished to give them a clean edge. And although the yarn hair was tangled and fuzzy at the ends, it was still sewn tight to the doll’s fabric head. He caught Tory staring at him, then held the doll up with a smile.

  “Someone sure put a lot of time into making her.”

  Tory looked puzzled. “Do you think?”

  He tilted the doll and then pulled up the side of the dress.

  “I sure do, honey. Just look at the way the…”

  As the skirt tumbled over the doll’s head, a small, oblong label that had been stitched to the back of the doll was suddenly revealed. Brett paused, forgetting what he’d been about to say. He’d seen them before. Small fabric labels that crafters could sew inside their garments to personalize their project. But the significance of this one was deeper than most, because it was the first proof Tory would have that she’d once known her mother. He hesitated, remembering what the doctor had said about letting her remember things on her own. But she’d found this doll on her own and was bound to see it. He just didn’t want her to find it alone. He looked up at her, wishing he could hear what she was thinking.

  Tory waited for him to finish. When he didn’t, her curiosity got the best of her. She reached for the doll. To her surprise, Brett didn’t immediately relinquish it.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Tory, honey.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember who gave this to you?”

  “No.”

  “What do you remember about it?”

  She frowned. “Not much. Only that when I saw it, I knew it was mine.”

  “Look,” he said, and handed it to her, pointing to the label.

  The first line caught her by surprise.

  Made Especially for You with Love.

  When she read the last line on the label, an old longing swept over her that she couldn’t control.

  By Mother.

  She looked up at Brett, her eyes wide with unshed tears.

  “See, honey. I’m not the only one who ever loved you.”

  But she’d been hurt too many times, grown too callous to let herself care. She looked at the label once more and then tossed the doll aside, tension in every movement of her body as she got up from the bed. Her voice was shaking, her face flushed with anger.

  “If she was so wonderful—if she loved me—then why can’t I remember her?”

  “I don’t know,” Brett said, and reached for her, but she dodged his grasp and stalked out of the bedroom, leaving him alone with the little rag doll.

  Its legs were spraddled, and one arm was pinned beneath its body. But the mute, smiling face still stared up at him. He straightened it up and set it on her pillow.

  “Tory was right. I sure wish you could talk.” And then he followed her out of the room.

  ***

  The little girl stood in the middle of a room, staring at the dolls. They were everywhere, surrounding her, closing her in.

  Black dolls, brown dolls, white dolls, pink dolls. Dolls with long hair. Dolls with no hair. Dolls that cried. Dolls that stared. But no yellow-haired rag doll with a blue gingham dress and blue button eyes.

  “Sweet Baby! Where are you?”

  She ran from one wall to the other, searching through the inanimate little bodies, tossing first one and then another aside, searching for her own dolly. But the more she looked, the more the others seemed to multiply. No matter how many she tossed aside, there were still more waiting to be seen.

  She glanced nervously out the window. It was getting dark. She had to find Sweet Baby before night. Sweet Baby was afraid of the dark.

  She looked back at the dolls. Now they were all around her on the floor, stacking up in piles and closing in on the place where she stood. Her heart started to pound, and she wanted to cry. But she was a big girl, and big girls didn’t cry just because they lost their dollies.

  “Sweet Baby, oh, Sweet Baby, come out, come out wherever you are.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Please, Sweet Baby. I promise never to lose you again.”

  But the dolls kept crowding, piling around her feet. She turned, frightened and unable to run. The shadows that had been upon the floor were getting longer, and there was still no sign of Sweet Baby.

  Now the dollies were crowding her knees, piling up to her waist. She covered her face with her hands as the room went dark. When all she could feel were tiny plastic fingers poking into her flesh, she started to cry.

  Tory was running when she woke up. Momentarily disoriented by the layout of Brett’s new house, she stopped, then turned sharply. Brett caught her before she could speak.

  “Tory, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

  Her legs were shaking as he wrapped his arms around her. She relaxed, welcoming the feel of his arms around her, recentering her world around the sound of his voice.

  “I had another dream. I’m so sick of this I could scream.”

  He stroked her hair and then kissed her. “I know, honey. I wish I could help you, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “Neither do I,” she muttered, and then ran her hand up his cheek, smoothing his sleep-mussed hair and loving the worry she saw in his eyes. “I’m sorry about this. Did I wake you?”

  Pressing her cheek against his chest, he combed his fingers through her hair in a gentle, soothing motion.

  “No, baby. I was in the kitchen. I heard you running down the hall.” He grinned wryly. “I didn’t think I was going to catch you this time. You were really moving.
”

  “I want this to stop.”

  He frowned. The despair in her voice was impossible to miss.

  “I know you do, sweetheart.”

  “But that’s just it. You don’t know,” she muttered, and tried to pull away from his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “I’m not the bad guy here. Don’t run away from me, too.”

  She went limp. Brett was right. Why did she keep pushing away the only person who cared? She shook her head, disgusted with herself.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. All the way to Iowa I was so certain that if I could just talk to the tattooed man, I would remember something… something important.” She sighed. “And I need to remember.”

  At that moment Brett doubted the doctor’s wisdom of letting her remember on her own. He’d seen her file. He didn’t know everything, but he knew things about her that she didn’t know about herself. It didn’t seem fair. He was tired of seeing the panic in her eyes. He was tired of hearing her wake up screaming and crying. He glared out the window, past the defiant reflection of his face. This was bullshit! Doctors didn’t know everything.

  “Look, sweetheart, I have an idea. Maybe you can still talk to Hale.”

  She shook her head and looked away. “We can’t. He’s in prison, remember?”

  Brett cupped her face, making her look at him. “I know. But I think there’s something you’re forgetting.”

  “What?”

  “What I do for a living.”

  She stared as understanding slowly dawned. As an ex-cop and now an investigator for the D.A., he had access to a world of privileged information that would take a private citizen weeks to uncover.

  “Do you think they’ll let you? Search through the system, I mean.”

  When he spoke, the determination in his voice was impossible for her to ignore. “I’d like to see them try to stop me,” he said.

  For the first time in weeks, she felt hopeful. She threw her arms around his neck.

  “Brett Hooker, you know what?”

  He pulled her into the cradle of his hips, grinning as she snuggled. “What?” he muttered, trying to concentrate on what she was saying, rather than what she was doing.

  “I love you forever.”

  He stilled, and his grin faded. “Thank you, baby,” he said softly. “That should be just about long enough to last.”