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This is the third time. I swear her cries are getting louder and I’m running out of patience. And energy.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I’m in such a panic that when I hear a knock on the door, I jump.
“Triss?”
I draw a deep breath. It’s just Antonio.
“Do you need help?” he asks.
I want to say no. He’s done more than enough for me. He rescued me when I collapsed. He protected me from the cops. He took me into his home. He asked Sally to buy everything Lara needed. He even gave me clothes and food. I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness and cause him any more trouble.
Still, I can’t refuse help, not when I don’t know what else to do.
“Yes,” I answer. “Please.”
Antonio comes in wearing a sleeveless grey shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajamas. For a moment, I get distracted from my current situation as my gaze rests on his bare, sculpted arms and firm chest muscles outlined beneath thin cotton. I knew he was fit. I just didn’t notice how ripped his upper body was until now, almost like one of Jim’s thug friends, except with Antonio there’s nothing intimidating about his build. Just plain impressive.
I snap out of my thoughts as he stands next to me. He takes Lara from my arms. She stops crying for just a second as she stares at him and then starts again.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” I confess. “I’ve tried everything.”
Except massaging Lara’s tummy, which is what Antonio is doing right now. He sits down on the edge of the bed and lets her lie down on his lap. Then he lifts her shirt and rubs her belly. She stops crying.
He continues doing that for a few minutes while I stand and watch, astounded by his composure and skill, both of which I now realize I sorely lack. His hand is large, yet it moves with such gentleness and precision against her tiny body. His chiseled features are softened as he gazes at Lara tenderly while making soft, assuring sounds. No baby talk. Just words spoken calmly in that voice of his that seems to have the depth of a well of cool water in the middle of the desert. Soothing. Mesmerizing. You can’t help but want to throw yourself in.
I’m not the only one falling under Antonio’s spell. So is Lara. Her eyelids begin to droop. Her small fists, which were clenched in frustration earlier, relax. Her breathing settles into a quiet, even rhythm.
Antonio stops rubbing her tummy and puts her down on the bed. She stirs for a bit and I worry that the spell might break and we’ll be back to square one, but after he grabs her woolen blanket and wraps it around her like a cocoon, she goes still. Antonio lifts her over his shoulder and begins patting and rubbing her back. A few moments later, I hear a loud burp.
My eyebrows arch. That was Lara? I didn’t even know babies burp, let alone so loudly. How can such a brassy sound come from such a small body? Yet it did, and now Lara is quiet. So she was fussy because of gas pains? How did Antonio know that?
He pats Lara’s back a while longer, then carefully puts her inside her bassinet. I hold my breath as he does it, afraid that Lara will wake up and start crying again like she did earlier, but she doesn’t. This time, the air remains silent. Lara doesn’t stir.
I let go of the breath I’ve been holding. Thank goodness.
“Are you okay?” Antonio asks as he turns to face me.
I nod. “Thank you.”
Then I see the stain on his shirt. My eyes grow wide.
“Your shoulder.”
I grab a few sheets of tissue from the box on the nightstand and start to wipe his shirt. He gets them from me and continues the task.
“It’s fine.”
I scratch the back of my head as my chin drops. “You must think I’m such a lousy mother.”
“No.” Antonio places a hand on my arm. “And you shouldn’t think so either, Triss. You are doing your best.”
I shake my head. “Which wasn’t enough.”
To my surprise, he grabs my wrist. I look into his eyes.
“You are enough,” he tells me, his gaze so piercing and the conviction in his voice so clear I almost believe him.
Almost.
I free my hand from his grasp and tuck it inside my elbow as I turn away. My gaze goes into the darkness past the window.
“Are you always this kind to people you’ve never met before?” I ask him.
“Should I only be kind to people I know?”
I look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “I didn’t mean…”
“Maybe.” He shrugs as he answers my question. “I hope so. I hate to think I’ve been mean to anyone.”
