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Which was a good thing because Brayleigh was uncharacteristically fussy.
“I think she misses her mommy,” Minty murmured. Brayleigh cuddled against her chest, her fist in her mouth. “Maybe it’s teeth?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Could be. I know she’s got the bottom molars but not the top yet.” I smiled wryly. “We could be in for a rough night.”
Minty smoothed her palm over Brayleigh’s tiny back and murmured, “Doesn’t seem like such a rough deal at the moment. Do you have baby Tylenol we can give her?” She pressed her lips to Brayleigh’s forehead. “She’s the tiniest bit warm.”
I looked at her and I heard music.
She fed my soul the same way the music did. Witnessing her care and concern for Brayleigh compelled me to share my child, give my child, in a way I could never have fathomed six weeks ago.
Making a square with my fingers, I framed them.
She smiled.
“This, right here, is everything.”
She ducked her head as I pulled out my cell phone.
Was she camera-shy?
Was she uncomfortable hearing how I felt about her?
I took the shot, then zeroed in on the photo I really wanted, knowing whatever else she was, she was music.
Minty
Brayleigh fussed and mewled throughout the day. As soon as the Tylenol began to wear off, she shifted back and forth between us, unable to settle for very long until it kicked back in.
Eventually, she only wanted daddy.
Finally, I got his fascination with pictures. Lucky lay back on the couch, one knee cocked up, his tiny daughter sprawled across his chest, her fist curled into his shirt. He watched tv, one arm thrown back supporting his head, his other hand curled around her bottom, bracing her so she didn’t fall.
Her fussing didn’t phase him in the least, he simply rolled with her moods and her needs.
I took the picture.
His gaze swung away from the tv and noting my cell phone in my hand, he smiled. Only a hint of his dimples showing.
“You love me?” he murmured.
“I do.”
“I take pictures to remember how I felt at that moment. Why did you take this picture?”
“Because you’re beautiful. Because you don’t fight reality, you just roll with it. You don’t let things upset your balance. You simply adjust. I admire that.”
“There’s no point in fighting reality. Why waste your energy?”
“That’s kind of how I deal with OCD when it intrudes. Fighting it, moaning and complaining about it doesn’t change anything.” I considered something. “Does it require energy to resist fighting reality?”
“Sometimes.” He grinned. “Like when you stormed out of here thinking Hope and I were hiding something, I might have bitched and complained to Hope that you didn’t believe me.”
I laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“No sorry.” He shook his head. “My point is that my instinct was to fight and rail and argue with you that you were wrong, that Junie and Willa set me up to fail. But it was far more important to simply accept where you were at, accept the fact that Hope and I needed to make changes, and simply follow through. Hoping you would see me.”
For once, he was the one who looked away.
