Gia smiled as she glanced through the peephole. Jack. Just the tonic she needed.
She pulled open the door. “Howdy, stranger.”
He grinned. “Hey, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“I know.” She pulled him inside and threw her arms around him. “But it seems like a week.”
As they hugged she felt some of the day-long tension uncoil within her. It had been a long, long morning and she was only partway through the afternoon. She’d intended to work on her latest painting today—a new angle on her Fifty-ninth Street Bridge series—but had found herself too weak to stand at the easel for any length of time. Still feeling that blood loss, she guessed.
But even if her energy had been at its usual high level, she doubted she could have done much. She felt too down in the dumps to paint, and not just because of the blood loss.
She’d almost lost the baby. Dr. Eagleton had reassured her that everything was fine, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen again. She’d miscarried her first pregnancy, the one before Vieky. Who said this one wouldn’t wind up the same way?
This baby may not have been planned but he was here—she didn’t know that he was a “he” but couldn’t help thinking of him that way—and she couldn’t wait for the day she could hold him in her arms and look into his little face. She’d felt his first quickening two weeks ago and he’d been kicking up a storm ever since. Especially so since the bleeding, which was wonderfully reassuring.
But still she couldn’t help feeling that a sword was hanging over her.
“How’re you doing?” Jack said.
“Fine. Great.”
Truth be told, she was feeling a little dizzy, but she wouldn’t tell jack that. He’d be all over her, hiring a housekeeper, insisting she stay in bed…. She didn’t want to deal with that.
“You look like a ghost.”
“It’s going to take me a while to build up my blood count. Dr. Eagleton’s got me on extra iron.” Which wasn’t sitting too well with her intestines.
Concern was writ large on Jack’s face. “Why don’t we sit down?”
I thought you’d never ask.
“Sure. If you want.”
They moved to the cozy living room, decorated in old English aunt style because the townhouse was still listed in the name of Vicky’s aunts Grace and Nellie. Those two dear old souls were no longer among the living, but no one but she and Jack knew that.
“Thanks for taking care of Vicky,” she said as she sat down.
“First of all, you never have to thank me for doing anything for Vicky. Anything.”
“I know. I just—”
“And second, she look care of me. She’s one amazing kid.”
“That she is.”
They snuggled together on the couch, but she sensed the tension in him.
“You’ve got to go, don’t you.”
He nodded. “Regrettably, yeah. Gotta see a man about a disk.”
She hugged him closer. “Okay, but be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“No you’re not. That’s why I worry.”
And she did. Always.