Page 22 of Love Notes & Lifelines
“I wanna go home.” Her broken little voice is the last straw. New tears stain my cheeks because I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I can’t fix this, and I can’t make it better.
So I hug her.
Daisie Dog jumps onto the sofa, earning a scowl. She’s not allowed on the furniture, but when Emmy flops a little arm around her neck, I allow it—for tonight.
“I’m trying, Emmy. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m trying.” My body sways in time with hers the same way Cally used to do for me when I scraped my knees or was frightened by a storm. These memories have made themselves known in recent days—Cally took care of me more than my parents did. I’m thankful the rocking motion soothes us both, and before long, her breathing evens out and she turns to dead weight in my arms.
I can’t imagine what’s going on in her head. We’re going to visit the pediatrician first thing in the morning. Maybe they’ll need therapy. They probably need therapy, at least Emmy—and maybe me too.
I hold her tiny hand in mine, thankful for the connection. Her wrist has little dimples in the skin where it meets her hand, and it’s softer than anything I’ve ever touched. I rub gentle circles on it for a long time. I need the comfort of the moment almost as much as she does, but eventually, I stand and carryher back to bed, then take up guard outside their doorway with Daisie Dog.
Just in case they need me.
Then I call Jane. My world is crumbling around me, and she’s one of two people who I think understands that. The other I can’t call in the middle of the night without having to report to HR.
“Single Dad Hotline, I’m your helper. How can I help you?” Her voice is drowsy with sleep, but she still remembers to answer the damn phone like a professional. Her words wash over me, soothing my jagged edges. I don’t understand the connection I have with her, but she puts me at ease. She feels…familiar.
“Jane?” I always ask, afraid one day it’ll be a different Jane.
“Yes.”
“Is it really necessary to answer like that?”
“I need this job, so I follow the rules.” Her voice sounds farther away now, and I strain to hear every syllable. “What’s the matter?”
The old grandfather clock in my entryway chimes three times. Three in the morning. What the hell am I doing waking her up?
“Uh, nothing really. I’m sitting outside the girls’ room in case they need me.”
There’s a long pause before I hear her voice again, and when I do, it’s muffled as though she’s placed her hand over the receiver. “You don’t have a baby monitor?”
“I do,” I admit. “But every little noise has me jumping out of bed. And there’s a lot of static that comes through those things. I’m probably getting more sleep sitting out here.”
“You have to sleep, Beck. You can’t take care of them if you’re not taking care of yourself.”
“Why do you need this job so badly?”
She sucks in a breath, reminding me that I’m crossing lines not meant for me.
“It pays well, and I have someone who depends on me.”
My stomach swirls with that admission. Who is she taking care of? A husband? A sick child? Why the fuck is it any of my business?
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Jane.”
“You’re sitting outside your little girls’ room in case they wake up and are afraid. You’re doing what every first-time parent does. The anxiety will ease with time, I promise.”
“How are you so sure of yourself?”
“Oh.” She laughs, and that niggle of familiarity hits me in the chest again. “Trust me, I’m not. My life is a hot mess and it’s one bill after the next.”
“Tell me?” I murmur.
“About my life?”
“Something. Anything that isn’t focused on my new parenting role that has my body in a life-or-death fight every waking second. Tell me why you’re so good at helping single dads.”
“Well.” She pauses and there’s a scratching sound on the speaker. “I was raised by a single mom. It’s basically the same thing except I had someone who knew how to do my hair. But.” At her silence, I lean forward, hoping I can pull her truth through the phone. “I’ve always wondered if I couldbea good mom.” It’s a whispered confession that throat-punches me with its sadness. So she’s not caring for a sick child. “Anyway, I’d always planned to work with children, they make me happy, but life had other plans for me, so this job keeps me connected to them.”
