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Shirlene
After several long, intense days working with my speech therapist, I’m able to speak normally most of the time. Sometimes I have to search for a word, but I’m used to that from when I was an elderly woman. I’m also working on my writing, which is coming back more slowly.
At the end of the day, I normally collapse into bed and fall into a deep, satisfied rest, but tonight, a noise wakes me. I sit up in bed and listen to the baby monitor. There’s a rustling coming from it. I can’t swallow for fear Chase and Rain have found us and are taking Arlene. Without grabbing a bathrobe, I race across the hall to face whoever is in with my baby.
Cam stands, rocking Arlene in his arms.
I don’t care that I’m barely covered in the tank top I wore to bed. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes drink me in. He takes a breath. “She has a little fever.”
I rush closer and touch Arlene’s head. It’s warm. “Why didn’t you w... wake me?”
“You were sound asleep.” He sits down in the cricket chair.
“Why did you come up here?”
“I heard her crying.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t wake up.”
Cam’s eyes soften. “It’s okay. You’ve been working for hours to regain your full speech. Don’t worry about it.”
That’s the most civil thing he’s said to me since I told him I was Shirlene.
“Did you take her t... temperature?”
“Yes. It’s only ninety-nine.”
I sit on the bed and notice my cleavage is popping out over the rim of the tank and my new shapely legs are exposed in my sleeping shorts. “Excuse me a moment.” I dash over to toss on a bathrobe and hurry back. “Thank God her temperature isn’t high like the time we rushed her to the hospital.”
“It’s going to be fine. Try not to worry.”
I stand there awkwardly. I can’t get comfortable.
“Why don’t you go back to bed. I’m awake. She’s settling down. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
“I can’t fall back to sleep.” I notice the television Cam moved up here for Stan. They used to watch baseball games together. “I wonder if there’s anything on.” I hope the distraction will relax me.
“I’m enjoying the quiet.”
The lines of his well-defined muscles push through his T-shirt. Arlene is safe in his strong arms. He has one leg bent and resting across his other knee, like men do. Our eyes meet. He’s been watching me admire his masculine beauty. My stomach does a flip.
“Are you sure she’s all right?” I ask.
“Definitely. Go back to bed.”
I cross the distance between us to kiss Arlene’s head. I feel Cam’s breath on my shoulder. I turn to his face. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly.
Okay, that’s enough. I attempt a graceful exit, hoping he’s watching my—well, Aimee’s—round bottom through the bathrobe.
Of course, I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, worrying about the baby and wondering if Cameron’s cold heart has melted a bit. Hattie says hope is a slippery slope, but I can’t help but hope.