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They were supposed to be talking about Flint. And that...needy little child.
“Like I want a glass of wine and a jet to someplace far, far away.” She had to be honest. It was the only way to succeed on her personal survival mission. “I’ve got the jitters, my hands are sweaty on and off.”
She’d had hot and cold flashes, too, but didn’t mention them. They didn’t have anything to do with the infant. Although, come to think of it, both had happened in the presence of Flint Collins. During the first, though, they’d been in Bill Coniff’s office and she hadn’t known Flint was a new dad. She’d thought she had the flu, but no other symptoms had developed.
She was so busy convincing herself that the hot and cold flashes, something new in her panic world, had nothing to do with the baby, that she’d walked herself right into another mental trap. Were the flashes because of Flint? Because of how incredibly attractive he was? Like, Hollywood ad attractive?
Was she physically reacting to him? As in being inordinately turned on?
No. Tamara shook her head. Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when she realized Mallory hadn’t responded to her list of symptoms.
“I was hoping...”
She knew what Mallory would’ve been hoping. They’d had the discussion. Many times.
Now they’d had the experiment Mallory had begged for and Tamara had always point-blank refused.
She’d held a baby. It had been horrible.
“Absolutely not.” She made her point quite clear. “Never again.”
“Maybe because you were so convinced it was a bad thing...” Mallory, bless her heart, refused to give up.
Tamara had nothing more to say on the subject.
“It works, Tamara, I swear to you. If you’d just try. Give it a chance. I’m living proof, every single day. If you knew how much healthier I am... How much happier... How much stronger...”
She’d only met Mallory after the other woman’s infant son had died, yet Tamara knew her well enough now to be certain that Mallory had always had a core of strength.
“I get comfort from them—real, lasting comfort—knowing that little ones are on this earth, healthy and robust and happy and full of love.”
“I know you do.” And it wasn’t that Tamara didn’t want a world filled with healthy, robust, loving babies. She did. Very much. She just couldn’t have them in her world.
Because her heart knew the pain of four babies who hadn’t been healthy enough to make it into the world alive. She knew the pain of losing a baby that everyone had thought was healthy. It happened. Babies died. In the womb and out of it, too. She’d survived losing Ryan. Barely. She couldn’t afford the risk of another bout of that kind of pain and the residual depression.
“I’m not you,” she said now, aware that it wasn’t what Mallory wanted to hear.
Silence hung on the line again. But not as long this time.
“So tell me about this guy you referred. Flint Collins? You said I should spe
ak with you first...” Her voice trailed off in midsentence and then Mallory continued. “Or was that it? It was about how you felt when you held his baby?”
“No.” She’d had hot flashes both times she’d been with Flint. Not just because of his looks. He was confident, capable, successful—and had chosen to give up his business dream to care for a sister he hadn’t even known he had. He had a baby who desperately needed a mother. He’d be a great match for Mallory.
She shook her head. No, he had a girlfriend. And besides...
“I need your word that what I’m about to tell you stays between you and me. Period. No one else.”
“Of course. I assumed everything we told each other was that way. The two of us—our conversations are like an extension of being in session, right?”
The tone of voice... Tamara could picture the vulnerable look that would be shining from Mallory’s soft blue eyes.
“Right,” she said. “I just... This isn’t about us and I needed to make certain...”
“You and me, our friendship—we’re sacred,” Mallory said, her voice gaining strength.
