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He’d been so grateful for her—so grateful, because he’d had so much worry of his own. Enough to give him bad dreams, wake him up in a cold sweat thinking about what college and braces were going to cost and how many more times Patrick could drop the ball at work before Tony had to say something. What he would say.
The housing economy had gone from bad to worse to nightmarishly awful. His mother had died, and he’d hired somebody to do the accounts at the office, and in six months she’d created a ruinous mess—or revealed a ruinous mess that had already been there, Tony wasn’t sure. Depended on who you believed.
In the middle of all that, it was a relief to know he could count on Amber to cope. He’d thought they would both do this for a while, as long as they had to, and then he’d get her back again.
But he hadn’t gotten her back. Until last night, she’d been drifting farther away.
Now he felt like he could reach her, if he did the right things. Said the right things.
Only they had so little time.
The bedside clock said 7:15. She’d been in the shower for half an hour.
Tony opened the bathroom door and took a towel off the rack.
He stuck his head inside the tiled enclosure and put his arm under the spray. Still hot. Her skin was pink all over, her eyes closed.
He turned off the tap and took her hand.
“Come on out, bun.”
She came meekly, like a child.
Well, not the kind of children they had. Their kids either refused to come out or vaulted from the tub like demons, running naked through the house and getting water everywhere.
Amber stood still and watched, bemused, while he toweled off her hair. Then he dropped to his knees and dried her thighs, her calves, the tops of her feet. Behind her knees, and on to her hamstrings and thighs and butt.
“Turn around.”
She did, and he dried her back.
He thought of how happy Jacob would be when she walked in the door. How he would put his face right up against her stomach and breathe in the smell of his mother.
How Ant used to wind his fist around and around her hair when he nursed.
How for Clark, it had been her pinky fingers, and then her hands and her wrists.
They needed her in a way they had never needed him. Her body. Her being.
He needed her, too. Her breasts and her pussy and her smell and her mouth and her arms. Her eyes. Her hips. Pregnant or not, thirty pounds heavier or skinny as a rail, short hair or long.
They all wanted the same thing from her. Be here for me to talk to. Be here for me to grab and fill my hands with when I need you. Be here to feed me and listen to me and help me solve my problems. Make it possible for me to feel content.
It had to be fucking exhausting being the person whose presence put everyone else at ease. Janet had sounded weary and fed-up on the phone after one night of it.
Amber had been doing it for a decade.
He dried the back of her hair and kissed her, right where her shoulders met her neck. She twisted to look at him, and her face was so solemn.
He put the towel around her and went out and found her some clothes to wear. Underwear, bra, some shorts, and a T-shirt.
“What happened?” She dropped the towel and started to dress.
“How do you know something happened?”
“It’s in your eyes.”
“Your mom called. Jake’s got a fever.”
