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“Could you pass me a jumper from the second drawer?”
She nods and enters the space-themed nursery and steps over to the white wooden dresser. Above it is a mural Dwayde painted with bright colored planets and monkeys in rocket ships. She pulls open the drawer and brushes her fingers over the tiny outfits before selecting a navy striped one-piece and walking it to the change table.
She watches me pin on a clean cloth diaper, but doesn’t look directly at Mason. “You’re good at that.”
“I’ve had lots of practice with three kids. Even when I played for Miami, I got back here often.”
“What were they like?” Dee asks as she’s been doing all weekend, peppering me with questions to fill in the gaps of what she’s missed.
“Justin was stubborn as a toddler.”
“Sounds like Gabi,” she replies.
“Yeah. He wanted to do everything himself. Would get mad if you tried to help. Still does. While Dani is more like Maria, a chatterbox as I’m sure you can tell. She babbled nonstop before she could even talk, and said her first word when she was less than a year old. She never stops. Mason, here, reminds me of Victor and Papa T. He has a great set of lungs when he’s pissed off, but otherwise he’s pretty chill.”
She lets her eyes wander over him. Her expression carries a note of longing.
I finish dressing Mason and take a chance hoping it might…hell, I don’t know, be cathartic. “Want to hold him?”
She gnaws her bottom lip. “He might cry with me.”
“I doubt it. He likes being held.”
“Okay.” She rubs her palms down her sweater then stretches out her arms to receive him. Handling Mason far more carefully than I do, she lays him in the crook of her arms, supporting his head with one hand as she lowers herself onto the glider.
I watch Dee, mesmerized—so maternal, so at home with a baby. She coos to him and lifts his small palm to measure it against hers. When he wraps his fist around her forefinger, her laugh of pure delight punches straight to my gut.
She studies his toes and leans in to kiss the crown of wispy dark hair. He releases her finger and extends a bunched hand toward her face. She nibbles at it, laughing again when his mouth opens on a toothless gurgle.
Dee glances up at me through the shine of her unshed tears and I fall impossibly more in love with her.
Somehow Dee keeps it together, helping Maria feed Mason homemade baby mush, assuring everyone that she’s fine, discussing what she can about the custody case when Dwayde is out of earshot; gentlyrebuffing any false hope that the Franklins’ week of silence could mean they are backing off.
She distributes the gifts she’d brought and receives hugs of thanks from everyone and a heartfelt smile from Dwayde when he unwraps his new art set. She colors with Dani and Justin and compares college options with Gabi.
Mama T and Victor comment to me on how strong and brave she is. What they don’t see is how hard she’s working to maintain that brave front.
After another hour, I make our excuses to leave. The drive back to Brockville is tensely silent. Dee leans against the window with her eyes closed. I doubt she’s sleeping, rather lost in her thoughts and seeming to want to be alone with them.
Once we arrive at her house, she dumps her tote bag and keys on the hall table and heads straight to the bathroom. When she emerges, face scrubbed and in her robe, unable to bear the silent distance anymore, I reach for her.
Only then does she let the tears go.
We slide down to the bedroom floor and I gather Dee onto my lap, tuck her head beneath my chin, and rock her against me. Sobs hammer through her body, pounding their way up her chest and into her throat. She clutches my neck and wets the front of my shirt with heavy, mournful tears.
They rip me to shreds. No matter how much I want to fix it and protect her from the pain, I’m powerless to do either. I just hold her and wordlessly share her grief.
When she’s cried herself out, she lays exhausted in my arms, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You needed that.”
“It doesn’t do any good.”
“Sure it does. Better than keeping it bottled inside.”
“I’m used to bottling.”
“Does that help?”
