My baby was burning up. He sagged in limply in my arms, twenty pounds of feverish deadweight. "He was whimpering in his sleep," Maisie explained, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she swayed from side to side, mimicking me. "That's why I went and checked on him and I could feel how hot he was before I even put a hand on him."
"Did you take his temperature?" I asked, then waved my hand. "Never mind, he hates it anyway, only lets my mom stick that thing up his butt." I winced. "How about ibuprofen?"
Maisie gave a small, helpless shrug. "I called you first."
"Right," I sighed, shifting him in my arms. "Because I'm his mom." And I should have been home with him. He should have been sleeping in his own bed, but instead, I dumped him with a sitter so I could run off and fuck a complete stranger behind a casino. What the hell was wrong with me?
Grimly I shifted Malcolm's burning bulk in my arms. "Thanks," I whispered to her. "I can uh, let me just get my purse."
Out of nowhere, Jameson stepped into the doorway. "You can take him to the car," he said smoothly, in this commanding voice that made Maisie stand up straighter. "Here," he said, opening his wallet. "Thank you so much for taking such good care of him."
Maisie looked like she was about to faint and quickly tucked the folded bills into her bra strap. But not before I caught a glimpse and turned to glare at Jameson. "Really?" I hissed.
"Take Malcolm to the car," he repeated.
Swearing softly under my breath, I decided it was more important to get Malcolm home than it was to stand there and demand who he thought he was paying my sitter and why on earth he'd just handed her five hundred dollar bills.
"Shit," I hissed as I stood on Maisie's porch and looked at Jameson's sleek luxury car. "You don't have a car seat."
Jameson looked blank for a moment before turning and looking at the car in consternation. "You're right," he sighed. "I'm going to have to get one."
I looked at him sharply. "Why on earth would you get one?" I spat. "You don't have a kid. And you can afford to just hand over five hundred dollars like it's nothing. You don't have anything to worry about."
It was the second time I'd flung that accusation at him and for what reason I had no idea. I didn't know that for sure but I couldn't seem to stop saying it.
"How close are we?" Jameson asked, ignoring my outburst. "To your place?"
"Not far."
He nodded. "You can sit in the back," he said, striding purposefully towards the car as if that solved everything.
I stood there on the porch. He looked back up at me, confused and I shook my head. I was holding Malcolm so tightly that he squirmed and pushed against my chest and my jaw was so tight that it was hard to speak. "It's not safe," I protested through gritted teeth. "Plus if the cops catch us, they could take Malcolm away," I clutched my whimpering child closer to my chest and pressed my face to his feverish cheek.
"Then we walk," Jameson said lightly.
I looked up at him again wondering why the hell he was still here. We'd fucked, had the one night stand we both were after. He should be long gone by now. "I can't carry him that far," I sighed. "He's too heavy now."
"Could I?" Jameson asked, reaching out his hands.
I hesitated, holding Malcolm tightly to my chest, and looking at Jameson balefully. A strange defensive protectiveness was banging around in my chest. Like I thought that at any moment he might run off and steal my child.
At that moment, Malcolm moaned sleepily, and then let out a shuddering sigh that tore my heart in two. "Fine," said, handing him over. "We need to get him home."
Jameson carefully bundled Malcolm into his arms, cradling his little head, and tucking his legs up against his chest. For a moment I stood there, dumbfounded at the site of this massive man with my tiny child in his arms, struggling with a strange tightness in my chest.
Then Jameson looked up at me still standing on the porch, those kind crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. "Show me the way," he said. "I've got him.
I swallowed hard and stepped forward in the direction of my house. The streets were dark except for the occasional pool of yellow lit by a streetlight and the silence was heavy enough that I could make out the far off whisper of the Falls as they trickled low on the rocks, diminished by the long summer. Malcolm muttered something and I pressed my hand to his cheek. "Mama's here," I whispered, touching his forehead and squeezing his hand before kissing his open palm. "I'm right here baby."
He snuffled and burrowed his head into Jameson's chest. This man, the one who had been deep inside of me not a half hour ago, uttering a stream of filthy, profane promises, was now silent. His touch, which a half an hour ago had been rough and possessive was now as gentle as anything as he cradled my son in his arms. An emotion I didn't quite have a name for welled up inside of me, making my throat tighten and I turned to the side and coughed before swallowing it back down again.
"Turn here," I told him, pointing to the turn off Main Street that led to the block that ran parallel to it. My block. "Are you getting tired? Need me to take him?"
"I've got him," Jameson repeated.
"My mother will be asleep," I told him.
"Your mother lives with you?"
"Actually it's more of the other way around," I said tightly, feeling ashamed.
"That's cool you have your family all under one roof," he said.
"Ha, you don't have to humor me, I know I need my own place."
"I wasn't humoring you," he said a little more sharply than I expected. "I really do think it's cool." He walked a few moments before adding, "I wish my family was together like that."
"Where is your family?" I heard myself asking.
He shrugged. "Dad is stationed in Europe."
"Military?"
He nodded. "Army. He keeps saying he's going to retire but I don't think he ever will."
"Is your mom with him?"
He shook his head. "They split when I was a teenager. Last I knew my Mom and her latest boyfriend were in the desert somewhere. She surfaces around Christmas but that's the extent of it."
I turned and stared straight ahead. For all that I complained about needing space, I couldn't imagine only seeing my mother once a year. She was so wrapped up in my life, as familiar as my own reflection. I didn't know what to say so I said nothing and instead I pointed. "That's us."
I unlatched the low gate and Jameson stepped into our tiny front yard, practically taking up the whole thing. I fumbled in my purse and found my keys, then unlocked the three deadbolts my mother insisted on locking each night.
"Here let me take him," I said, turning once we were in the living room. Jameson handed him over immediately and I smoothed my hand over my son's forehead.
"Do you want me to get a wet cloth?" he asked.
"Can you get the ibuprofen?" I asked, pointing. "It's in the bathroom there, medicine cabinet, top right."
He nodded and disappeared, reemerging with the little syringe I kept next to the bottle. "Here."
"Is that the right dosage?" I asked.
He gave me a withering glance. "I know how to read a medicine bottle, Charlie."
I winced and then nodded. "Okay.
Malcolm's little lips closed around the syringe and he suckled greedily in his sleep, a sight that made my breasts twinge with the memory of nursing him. "There, baby," I told him, swaying from side to side. "You're going to be okay now." I turned to Jameson. "You can go now."
The corner of his lip lifted a little. "You want me to?"
"I mean, I'm just going to be sitting up with him."
"So I'll sit with you," he said, plopping down on our couch. "Come here," he said, patting the cushion next to him.
"You don't need to..."
"But I want to, so..."
That same strange emotion tightened my chest, denying me the ability to speak so I just nodded mutely and carefully settled in next to him.
Malcolm took a deep hitching breath and suddenly got heavier in my arms. "I think the ibuprofen is kicking in," I whispered. "That's the noise he makes when he falls asleep."
"You should sleep too," Jameson said.
"How?"
"Rest your head." He gently pressed my head back until I was leaning into his arm. "There, see? Comfy?"
"What about you?"
"Oh, I'm golden."
I leaned back further. His arm was strangely comfortable. I bit back a yawn. "I used to sit up like this when he was a baby and I would wake up with the most ungodly stiff neck," I said. "My head would flop back and there'd be nothing there to hold it."
He leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss against my cheek. "Not tonight," he whispered.