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How could you leave and abandon me? I waited for you to calm down, and come back to apologize.
Some arrogance. He wasn’t the one who needed to apologize.
Tyler, where are you? Come back. We’ll make up and get married.
The tone had softened here. He could feel her insecurity
I’ll forgive and forget. We’ll have the best reconciliation you could ever imagine.
Ah, typical Beverly, tempting him with sex. It wouldn’t work anymore.
Tyler, call me at home. Come to me, please. I’m waiting for you.
Worried about her future, she’d started pleading.
I love you, Baby Boo. Come home, please. I love you.
It was all about love—or lack of it. Too bad she hadn’t said those words at City Hall instead of slapping him. Or even after the slap. If she had, he would’ve given in and kissed her. It was too late for that now. He pocketed the phone.
No longer affected by a scenario Bev had played too many times, Tyler glanced at his young charge. She was sucking on her fingers and dabbing them with a napkin.
“If you’re done, we’ll wash our hands and go see your mommy.” Too late he remembered he couldn’t take her to a men’s room.
“My hands are clean now.” She opened her hands and stared at her palms.
Clean and sticky. He asked a waitress for a glass of water, moistened a napkin and wiped Dalia’s mouth and hands, and then dried them. “Now we can go.”
She carried her teddy and walked by his side. When they reached the Recovery Room, they waited at the door for a nurse. Tyler waved to get her attention.
“Can we go in to see Sienna Perino?”
“Just for a minute.” She buzzed the door open.
Holding Dalia’s hand, he followed the nurse to Sienna’s bed. “When do you think she’ll wake up?”
“Not for at least two hours. They just brought her in. The surgery took longer than expected. The appendix had several lacerations. The doctor cleaned the area, and she’s on antibiotics.”
“I see. We’ll come back later.”
“No, I wanna stay with Mommy.” Dalia stated, her mouth set in a fierce pout. “I’m sleepy. I wanna sleep with Mommy.”
“You can’t, little doll.”
Her forehead scrunched into a furious scowl. “Why? Mommy sleeps with me when I’m sick. Mommy’s sick. I’ll sleep with her now.”
“You can’t. Mommy had surgery.”
How did one explain to a three-year old that she couldn’t stay with her sick mother?
“I want to sleep with Mommy.” Dalia cried, her sobs escalating into loud shrieks.
“Quiet,” the nurse admonished. “Take her out. We have two other patients recovering.”
“Please, please.” She banged on his side and leg. “Mommy has no one. Only me.”
“Calm down. Stop crying and let me think.”
She nodded, swallowed, and looked at him with watery eyes full of hope and trust. How could he resist such sweet candor?
