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We walk down a hallway with cream-colored carpet and dark gray walls. The moldings are thick, chunky, and slick—no ornate pattern. Uppers and lowers are both white, giving the hall a crisp clean feel. There are plants in the corners with pale silver leaves and light purple flowers. The marble pots are bigger than me. There are wall fixtures splashing light everywhere, spaced every few feet. Doorways lead off in different directions. This central hall has more of those fire doors. I can spot the line of metal against the wooden grain. I’m surprised Constance didn’t hide that. Maybe she couldn’t.
When Sean reaches the end of the hallway, he turns right, and we’re in a bright corridor of pale blues and silvers. The ceiling glows like it’s illuminated by firelight. It’s so soft and beautiful. Sean pads past floor to ceiling windows with damask drapes covered in silver leaves on a pewter backdrop. No fringe. Outside is a play area, shaded by towering trees, a splash pad with tiny fountains, and a colorful mat in case the babies fall. I tug on Sean’s shoulder and squeal with delight. “They have their own splash pad! How’d your mother even know what that was?”
“Do you like it?”
“I didn’t want to like any of this, but she made it the colors and styles I would have chosen. Everything is light and happy. Like the house in the Caribbean. The only thing missing is a pool with an aqua bottom.”
“It’s not missing.” Constance’s voice is firm and echoes down the corridor behind us. Sean turns, still holding me.
“This is beyond beautiful.”
She’s standing like a red stain on the carpet, hands folded in front of her. “Thank you. I’d hoped you could enjoy it when you visited with the children. I had no idea it would be so soon. Forgive me for not --” she exhales loudly through her nose as if the ability to apologize is impossible for her.
“There’s nothing to forgive. You gave us a safe haven when we needed one most. Last time it cost you everything you held dear. I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“Mother.”
“Sean.” She locks eyes with him for a moment and I think they might argue, but then she looks to me again. “You have two master suites, one downstairs and one up by the nursery.”
“There’s a nursery!” I’m beaming at her, but she isn’t smiling back.
She swats a hand at me, and I can see her inner old Italian woman wanting to lash out at me. “Of course there’s a nursery. Get some rest and you can see it later.”
Sean follows the directions Constance gave to the lower master, after assuring me she and my mother are staying with the babies. Sean whispers, “I’ll check, but I don’t think we need to worry about them when they’re little. No with her. Not with your mother. Two stronger women never existed.”
We enter a large room that is fifty shades of white. White linens, cream drapes, silvery mirrors, pearl surround on the fireplace. The limestone walls stretch to the ceiling behind the bed and are softened with long panels of creamy velvet. The bed is oversized, with a carved headboard that’s been whitewashed. A center panel of cream-colored leather is held in place by silver brads. The pillows look like little clouds and the bedspread is white, and feather filled. I can tell from here. The impulse to run and jump on it fills me, but I can barely move. My body aches so much. Sean sets me down and I sink into the blankets. He grabs a chenille throw that’s resting at the foot of the bed and covers me, before leaning down and kissing my forehead.
Sleep is pawing at me. Within two blinks of my head hitting the pillow, Sean’s voice fades and I’m asleep. The next few days pass in a blur of exhaustion, midnight feedings, and pain. Sleep pulls me under every chance I stop moving. I’ve never been so tired in my life. So I sleep. And sleep again. Eventually, a rhythm develops of babies, sleep, babies, rest, Sean cuddles, and then another catnap.
Chapter 6
My heart is racing and I don’t know why. I’ve been running, and my body is covered in sweat. When I glance down, I’m not pregnant. No, I had the babies. But I don’t remember this dress. It’s white, with pearls. My hands run down the bodice, feeling my slender form, something I barely remember when I see the stains of scarlet. The patches of blood. They mar the lace and I don’t realize I’m standing on the courthouse steps, being pulling upward, until I see Sean’s ashen face standing at the top. He spits on me.
He spits on me.
They spit on him for Amanda.
I blink, and try to press my hand to my head. The world blurs as I’m sucked down a dark hole. Suddenly I’m slammed in the face with light. Bright and warm.
A soft male voice in my ear, “Are you awake? Avery?”
Peeling my eyes open, I look at him. “Sean?”
He smirks, brushes a dark curl away from my face. He’s feeding our daughter. I sit up suddenly fearful. That stupid nightmare happens over and over. One baby is sitting there, the other is gone. And I’m covered in blood. Blamed. I’ve had the same dream for months now. It drifts away like a little balloon as soon as I wake, but this time it clings like pond scum because of the letter—because the threat is real.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake it off. Nightmares don’t matter if they don’t come true. I’ll make sure this never comes to pass. Smiling softly, I shake my head and bounce out of bed. Or try to. I’m still incredibly sore. My walk feels like a waddle despite my smaller body. “Nothing. Just having crazy dreams. Probably from hormone craziness. They’ll go away.”
Sean nods slowly, not quite believing me, but he doesn’t push. “My mother is going to name these babies if we don’t decide something soon.”
I laugh and take over the feeding. Cradling the baby in my arms, I watch her suckle the bottle. I pumped breastmilk for them. It was incredibly painful. I’ll do it for as long as I can, but the babies couldn’t latch on. My body wasn’t made for it. A lactation consultant was called in when neither child could gain suction. There’s a house doctor for me and a pediatrician for the babies. I just wanted a few moments alone. I went to sit on the bed and fell asleep. I was torn about bottles, but this allows everyone to enjoy feeding the babies and gives them breastmilk. It’s still hard because I pictured myself nursing and it just won’t happen. Although my tits will be perky much longer than the normal woman. Something about inverted nipples plus tight tendons and something else I didn’t really understand, made for a nursing nightmare. The specialist suggested this method. I admit, there’s something about seeing Sean with a baby in his arms and a bottle in his huge hands that’s incredibly alluring. No sex for six weeks. Set the thoughts aside. Tiredness and delirium are besties in my brain right now. Despite all the help. The only staff I refused was the nanny. That was a hard hell no. I’m raising my kids. Constance laughed and said to let her know when I changed my mind.
“Names? What do you like?” I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the space next to me. Sean sits down softly, careful not to jar me.
The corner of his mouth tips up. His face is unshaven, he’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a V-neck and is barefoot. His dark hair hangs forward. He’s let it get longer than it had been. Sean looks half-dressed. No, that’s not it. He’s unkempt. His face has two-day stubble, not that five o’clock shadow he wears intentionally, even at sunrise. He’s tired too. It’s nice to see we’re keeping pace. I settle back down onto the bed, rest the baby in my arm, and continue to feed her. Sean spoons behind me, his lips warm by my ear. “For the girl?”
“Yes.” There’s hesitation there. For a moment I think he’s going to ask me to name her Amanda.
I feel him speak against my neck as he snuggles against my back, hip to hip, foot to foot, head to head. “Genevieve. Or Adalinea.”
I make a little noise in the back of my throat. It’s not quite a laugh, but close to it. “So you like names from the year 1674 or was that 75?” His fingers are at my sides in an instant, tickling me softly.
“It was ‘79 smart mouth. Why, what do you like?”
I glance at our daughter’s face. “Beatrice. Or Madge.”
I’m quiet for a moment, whispering to baby Madge, but I can’t hold it in. I start giggling because he believes me and is actually considering it. “We can’t name our baby Madge!”
“Well, Margret isn’t out of the question. I’m just relieved you’re not completely overwhelmed by millennial names that sound more like colors or food.”
That makes me laugh so hard it hurts. “Like what! And since when am I a millennial? You old Gen-Xer?”
“Technically I’m not X. I remember having the internet as a child. I also remember not having it. We have our own classification and traits. But you, my sexy bride-to-be,” he breathes into my hair before kissing my neck, “are the next generation. We should have nothing in common.”
“Except the internet. This crazy castle your Mom built for us. And a couple of babies.” When the baby finishes the bottle and I pat her back, she dozes off. I snuggle her and Sean resumes his place behind me. He holds me like that until all three of us doze off on the bed.
Chapter 7
When I wake, it’s the middle of the night. Sean is asleep next to me and there’s no baby. For a horrible moment, I think I must be sitting on her. I root around the bed, half panicked, picking at the sheets until Sean mumbles that the babies are in the nursery.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I lean down and kiss his cheek. “I love you, Sean.”
He reaches out for me, offering for me to join him and fall back to sleep in his embrace. “Mmmm.” He’s not completely awake.
