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He stepped out of the bathroom and knelt by the side of the bed, peeling the cool washcloth from her forehead.
“How about a warm bath?” Smoothing the lank hair off her forehead, he struggled to maintain a steady tone. She wasn’t sleeping and had lost a pound when she went to her regular checkup with Dr. Kettner.
Her eyes were red, cheeks pale, mood listless.
“Later,” she murmured. “You have to work.”
“I took the day off.” He slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. “Pick out something comfortable while I run the water. We’ll have breakfast downtown, and then we’re going on a field trip.”
“Okay.”
Once she was up and moving, he went back to the bathroom and began filling the tub, careful that the water wasn’t too hot. It wouldn’t be a problem keeping Jules occupied today, but Skye wasn’t due until September 24. What was he going to do for thirty more days?
She stumbled over the threshold and reached out to steady herself against the wall. Without a word, he took both her hands and helped her step into the tub. She sank into the water and closed her eyes.
“This feels good,” she whispered. “What are we going to do today?”
A tiny piece of his heart broke off. She didn’t recall the conversation they’d just had. Steeling himself to be strong for her and their child, Ben hummed a lullaby while he shampooed and rinsed her hair, encouraged when she reached for the washrag.
“I want to make a video for our digital journal, and then we can have breakfast. I know you like Millikin’s Diner, but there’s a new pancake house near the university your mom recommended.” She rinsed off, reaching out for assistance to stand. “I’m a little unsteady on my feet. Have you noticed?”
The mood swings and shifts in cognitive functioning made it hard to keep up with what was happening at any given time. An hour ago, she’d been sobbing in bed, unable to remember the baby’s name. Ben pretended to change clothes in order to remain nearby without giving away that he was hovering.
In black leggings and a russet-colored tunic, she looked happy and healthy, except for the dark circles under her eyes. Although Jules’d lost a bit of weight, Dr. Kettner assured them the baby was getting bigger and was already head down. It was unlikely she’d delivery vaginally, but knowing Skye was thriving was exactly the encouragement they needed.
“Where do you want to do the video?” Ben asked.
“In the nursery.”
Ben had finished setting up everything in the baby’s room the previous weekend. In keeping with the farmhouse’s old-fashioned charm, the walls were a pale pink with cream trim and floral fabric accents. The crib and changing table were cottage white, and a large sage green carpet covered the polished wooden planks.
He set his phone up on a tripod, sat in the green leather rocking recliner that was a gift from August and Vickie, and pulled Jules onto his lap. She activated the recording and began speaking.
“You’ll be arriving soon, Skye, and your daddy and I can’t wait to meet you. We have everything ready to bring you home and make you the center of our lives. Your mommy is dealing with something really serious, but that didn’t distract me from enjoying every minute of carrying you inside my belly.
“As soon as you’re born, I have to have an operation to remove a tumor in my brain. Daddy’s going to take good care of you until I’m better. We have a really good doctor and he says I’ll get better, but just in case something happens and I don’t remember any of this, or you and Daddy, I want you to know I love you so, so much.”
Ben blinked, his throat too tight to speak. Jules sounded completely at peace with the possibility that her memory loss could be permanent. Dr. Navi said the chances were slim, but her courage in risking it all for their baby overwhelmed him.
Ending the video, she wound an arm around his neck and looked up into his eyes. “Pancakes or diner?”
“Whatever you want, babe.” If Jules was willing to sacrifice her memory for their daughter, he’d happily give up his Denver omelet.
* * *
“We’re makingwhat?”Jules giggled, giddy at the idea of commemorating her pregnancy with a sculpture.
“It’s a belly cast. Some people call it a belly mask. It’s a plaster mold of your beautiful baby bump.” Siglinde, the artist Ben had hired to guide them through the casting process, gestured to a display of belly casts on one wall of her studio. Many were painted, a few were raw plaster, and several were covered in mosaic tiles.
“This is amazing.” Jules rested her hands on top of her belly, admiring each piece. “They’re all so different.”
“Each pregnancy is unique. Those three,” Siglinde pointed to the top row, “are from the same woman. She carried differently each time.”
“This will be our only one.” She felt the comforting weight of Ben’s hand on her shoulder, a little surprised that she didn’t feel as sad as usual when she said that out loud.
“Let us honor this moment.” Siglinde nodded toward a curtain pulled back to reveal a studio of sorts. “Jules, you can undress and put on the robe behind that partition. Ben, I’m glad to see you wore your old clothes. This can get kinda messy.”
Before too long, Jules was settled in a towel-covered chair, her torso bare. Siglinde instructed Ben to apply a generous layer of petroleum jelly to her breasts and belly, a task he thoroughly enjoyed.
