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He dropped his head, and his eyes searched the floor. Killion knew this was where he was supposed to say something –– anything –– to make her feel better, but he didn’t know what. What he did know was that she was wrong. Dead wrong. She was incredible, and the babies loved her, and she was enough, more than actually. Then it struck him to tell her just that, the best way he could.
“They’re happy babies. When they see someone, they light up, and you can tell they know who they’re looking at. They know that person is important. They’re safe. And I think they know that person loves them, and they love right back,” Killion said, but sadness seemed to fill her expression, and he panicked. He was saying all the wrong things.
“Don’t be sad, Rainy. They may love their aunts, uncles, and even their rambunctious cousins, but you’re different.” He went on but the tears were now flowing more than before and he sensed a sob brewing and it made him anxious. He was still doing what he did best –– saying everything wrong.
“I, uh, mean to say, they look at you different like…” He paused, searching the room again as sweat began to bead at his brow. “Like they know you’re their whole world too. You’re… more special than the others. You’re the best part of their day, and when we leave, it’s their fussiest. I guess all of that to say, they know you’re their mama and they love you bigger than they could love anything else. So the amount of time you’ve had with them wasn’t as important as the quality of time you spent… with them.”
A real grin worked its way from ear to ear as Rainy swiped away the tears once more. “You really think so?”
“I do. They look at me different too. They know we’re different from everyone else in their life. I don’t know how, that small, but they do.” Killion was feeling more confident and grateful he was able to turn things around. “When they’re here with you, it’s like you fit an entire day with them into just a few hours. Of course, you’re tired when they leave. Remember, you’re also regaining your strength and healing still. And sore arms, well… as much as everyone has tried to make you comfortable here, there’s nothing like the rocking chair in their nursery and those special pillows for holding them and such. It’ll be easier at home.”
“Home,” she repeated, the word startling her. “Right.”
His choice of words wasn’t lost on him, and he repeated it to drive home the point in case it could bring her comfort and ease her nerves, even just a little bit.
“Yeah. Home. Tummy time is also important. We couldn’t do that here because the floors are not exactly… clean. They love tummy time, though.”
Her mood seemed lighter, and it made him feel something. Knowing he was able to ease whatever had been weighing on her felt like… something. And he liked it, even if he didn’t want to entirely because as much as he wanted to help her and please her… he wanted to keep his distance.
“You can rest with them and not have to worry about holding them so much –– unless you want to, of course. I guess I’m trying to say it will be easier and more comfortable for you. You’ll get used to the different cries that mean different things, and they’re on a really good schedule.”
“You have it all figured out, O’Reilly.” She giggled. “I love it. And I’m grateful for it. I don’t know if I’ve said thank you—”
“You have.” He interrupted, suddenly seeming uncomfortable with the direction she was taking their little talk. “No thanks needed. I’m their father. Just doing what a father should do.”
“I know that, but I am so grateful they have you, nonetheless, and that you’ve taken such good care of them. I feel a little guilty sometimes, and then I remember… they have you.” The serious moment was nearly too much for her as well, and she read his reaction clearly –– he didn’t want to hear it. Not from her. “Anyway. All your research, schedules, and all the things… you’re sort of our… champion, Killion.”
He looked at her quickly like she’d just struck him –– because she did, with her words. That feeling was threatening again. Something about what she was saying and how she was saying it made him feel things he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d made a deal with himself where she was concerned, and somehow, with a few words, she could break those boundaries and get to him. But he was quick to bounce back and check himself. He couldn’t hurt again if he didn’t let her hurt him, after all.
Killion hardened his expression, and he knew it was working when Rainy’s smile faded and her shoulders dropped. She read him correctly and got the message. As much as that should have pleased him, it actually pained him. The roller coaster he was on was driving him mad, and he didn’t see a stop in sight… he wanted off the wild ride of fluctuating feelings and emotions before they drove him mad because, more often than not, he didn’t understand them, or know how to dissect them, or worse… how to react to them.
“Hey, we about ready in here?” Wit asked, popping his head in Rainy’s room with Hen on his heels.
“We just need the last few things on the cart loaded in the rigs, and you can head out,” Killion said.
“I got it.” Hen volunteered, reaching for the rolling cart. “I’ll get it loaded up when we load Kat.”
“Is she ready for this?” Killion asked.
“More than,” Hen fired back with a crooked grin, turning his attention to Rainy, “Kat’s you decoy. Looks just like ya down to the brace on her leg and the…”
Rainy smiled at her brother, “Limp.”
Wit smacked the back of their brother’s head.
“It’s okay to say, Hen. I have a limp.” She shrugged. “I’m not ashamed of it. It’s not forever, just for now. And after months on my detail, I’d hope she nailed it by now.”
“Well, I don’t want to seem insensitive,” Hen replied. “I’m sorry, sis. And I know it’s temporary. You’re a damn fighter, girl. You’ll be racin’ us and whoopin’ our tails again soon, just like you used to. Fastest girl on the block.”
“Used to? Pretty sure I can still whoop both of y’all, brace, limp, and all,” Rainy teased, trying to lighten the mood.
After their enlisted father deployed and never came home, their heartbroken mother fell onto hard times and even harder habits. Those habits cost Wit, Hen, and Rainy their childhoods as they were always in fight or flight, trying to protect themselves and one another from the riffraff their mother’s habit drew in. Their mother didn’t intentionally harm them; it came with the territory, and Rainy seemed to take the brunt of it as a pretty young girl easily accessed by monsters who abused her when they could.
The siblings would ultimately be separated when they went into the system after their mother’s death, and only recently reacquainted after years of fighting to find each other. Years apart didn’t change the bond they possessed as evidenced by their playful banter and sibling rivalry. They were thick as thieves then, and more so now.
“I miss that,” she said.
“Well, we sure missed you too. Glad you’re comin’ home,” Hen offered.
