Page 46 of Bountiful
Midday naps in July, though. What can a baby expect? “Come here, sweetie,” Iwhispered.
She raised her arms but did not roll over. I leaned over the side and tugged her off the mattress, lifting her into my arms. “We have visitors,” I said quietly, moving her to the changing table. I swapped her diaper for a dry one and finger-combed her feathery hair. The color was coppery, brighter than her handsomefather’s.
The fact that he was sitting right in the living room made my stomach twist withuncertainty.
He’d better love you, baby girl, I thought, even though it terrified me to share her.Because you’re the best there is. My baby was dazed from her nap, but she was still the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, and surely the best thing I’d made of my life. She yawned, showing a line of tiny, perfect teeth, her soft arms stretching on thechangingpad.
I lifted her again, holding her against my chest. And I paused for a moment in the privacy of the tiny bedroom, praying that our lives weren’t about to get toocomplicated.
ChapterFourteen
Dave
Iatea mini muffin while I waited to see my daughter for the veryfirsttime.
This morning, while Bess had been refreshing her makeup, I’d actually Googled “fifteen-month-old,” because I had no clue what size child that was. The sites I’d found had taught me that at this age, they’re still babies. But some of them can walk or say one word atatime.
If there was a more clueless man in the world than I was, I hoped I’d nevermeethim.
So there I sat, listening to my sister make small talk with Benito while I tried not to panic. After a couple of long minutes Zara emerged from the little hallway to the back of the apartment. Against her chest, she held a small person with chubby arms. The baby’s cheek lay against Zara’s shoulder, so I couldn’t seeherface.
But thathair. Suddenly I was four years old again, watching my angry mother stomp around our little shitbox of a house with baby Bess wailing inherarms.
I fought off an honest-to-Godshudder.
Nobody seemed to notice my distress. They were all watching the baby. Zara sat down on the sofa beside her brother, her daughter settling into her lap. And Bess made a little gasp ofexcitement.
“There she is,” Zara’s brother said in a low voice. “Hi,princess.”
The baby turned slowly toward her uncle’s voice, and I saw her face for the first time. She had pink cheeks andsleepyeyes.
The room was silent as Zara adjusted Nicole on her lap. “That’s Bess,” she said, gesturing toward my sister. “AndDave.”
I swallowed hard, hoping nobody could sense my terror. But the baby didn’t even look in mydirection.
“And your crazy Uncle Benito, ofcourse.”
“Nicole!” He encouraged. “Say…UncleBen!”
“Baba-ba!” The baby said. Her soft little voice made chills rise up onmyarms.
“Almost!” Zara’s brother grinned. “You could try for justBen.I’m notpicky.”
He was making jokes, while I sat over here having an out-of-body experience. What was, after all, the proper reaction to meeting the child you never knew you had? I noticed how the width of her shoulders was about the same as the length of my hand. And that her elbows dimpled in a baby-likeway.
She was seriously cute. I wasn’t a heartless person. I was just way, way out of mydepthhere.
Benito reached for his niece, taking her onto his lap, and she leaned against his chest as if he were her own personalcushion.
Zara smiled, looking more relaxed, finally. As if watching her brother with her baby was the best thing in the world. And maybe it was. I never meant to throw a wrench into Zara’s life, but it comforted me a little bit to know she had her familyaroundher.
“Ben has been out of town for three months, and that’s a fifth of her life,” Zara was saying. “I’d been worried that Nicole wouldn’t remember him. But when she saw him this morning she ran over and gave him a look that basically said, ‘Where ya been, man? Let’sparty.’”
Benito put a hand on the baby’s back and patted it, as if it were the easiest thing in theworld.
“Oh, Zara,” my sister said, swallowing hard. “She’s sobeautiful.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself. I’d never doubted that Zara’s baby would be beautiful. But it sure wasn’t becauseofme.
