seemed they did nothing but apologize to each other.
"It's hard to sleep in the same bed with you and not touch you," he said, still angry. "And it's really hard to touch you and see you cry."
"Oh." It came out as the breath rushed from her body. She remembered now. For the first time, she knew why he was sleeping somewhere else.
And it was her fault, too. There had been times when she went for days with no one breaking through the barriers she'd erected, but before Sam still tried. One night in particular, the last time, she remembered, it coming to her in a rush—Sam, the richness of his touch, the terrible need she had for him, and then it was like all the sadness she had inside her just burst through. He froze, and she'd told him not to stop, because she was so very lonely and she still needed him, even if it hurt. He'd held her in his arms while she cried, but he'd hardly touched her since that night.
"I remember," she admitted. "It's just... It's easier in a way, when you're hurting that much, to not feel anything at all. It hurts sometimes just to touch you. To be close to you."
Sam said nothing, just stood there.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Me, too."
And that appeared to be that. "Thank you for letting the children stay," she said.
"Sure."
"We can try to have a nice Christmas, can't we? We can..." Pretend, she thought. They'd gotten so good at pretending.
"We'll see that they have a nice Christmas. And then they're going. Don't forget that, Rachel."
"I won't."
He was going, too. If she thought her house had been lonely before, she couldn't imagine what it would be like then. No children. No Sam. No nothing.
Sam left, and Grace finished her bottle. Rachel burped the baby, then they just lay there in the warm, soft bed and dozed for a while longer, and Rachel had another dream. She dreamed her baby hadn't died. That it was nearly twelve years ago. She was eighteen again, and they were in Rachel's bedroom on a cold winter's morning close to Christmas, Rachel and her baby, with their whole lives ahead of them. Sam still loved her, and life still held all the promise she'd ever imagined. She was still so young, so hopeful, so sure that everything would work out just as it was supposed to.
Then she woke up and remembered it all once more. She lay there for a moment, almost feeling justified in feeling so bad. She remembered telling Miriam she felt like one of those punch-toys, with no bounce left in her, and Miriam saying, "Then you can lay there, Rachel. Are you ready to just lay there on the floor forever?"
Rachel sensed that she was at a crossroads—her last chance to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life. At the moment, it seemed certain that things were about to get worse, and there didn't seem to be anyone ready to pick her back up again. It was all up to her.
Surely she wasn't so weak that she couldn't save herself. Surely she wasn't ready to just lay here and wallow in her misery for the rest of her life.
Grace stretched and cooed and started to fuss once more.
"You're not going to let me fall apart, are you, sweetheart?"
Grace seemed to agree. She burst into a grin and tried to grab on to Rachel's cheek with one pudgy baby hand.
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're here," Rachel said.
After all, she didn't have time to fall apart. There'd be time enough to dwell on all the bad things later, if she simply couldn't help but do that. For now, she had things to do.
Get up, Rachel, she admonished herself. Move.
* * *
Rachel got up. She got Zach bathed and dressed, and Emma took care of herself. Then Rachel and Emma bathed Grace.
At Emma's suggestion, they put her in the deep sink in the kitchen. Rachel just about worried herself to death over something as simple as giving the baby a bath. There was the water temperature to consider—baby skin was so sensitive. The temperature in the room; she didn't want Grace to get cold. It was nearly impossible to hang on to a
"It's hard to sleep in the same bed with you and not touch you," he said, still angry. "And it's really hard to touch you and see you cry."
"Oh." It came out as the breath rushed from her body. She remembered now. For the first time, she knew why he was sleeping somewhere else.
And it was her fault, too. There had been times when she went for days with no one breaking through the barriers she'd erected, but before Sam still tried. One night in particular, the last time, she remembered, it coming to her in a rush—Sam, the richness of his touch, the terrible need she had for him, and then it was like all the sadness she had inside her just burst through. He froze, and she'd told him not to stop, because she was so very lonely and she still needed him, even if it hurt. He'd held her in his arms while she cried, but he'd hardly touched her since that night.
"I remember," she admitted. "It's just... It's easier in a way, when you're hurting that much, to not feel anything at all. It hurts sometimes just to touch you. To be close to you."
Sam said nothing, just stood there.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Me, too."
And that appeared to be that. "Thank you for letting the children stay," she said.
"Sure."
"We can try to have a nice Christmas, can't we? We can..." Pretend, she thought. They'd gotten so good at pretending.
"We'll see that they have a nice Christmas. And then they're going. Don't forget that, Rachel."
"I won't."
He was going, too. If she thought her house had been lonely before, she couldn't imagine what it would be like then. No children. No Sam. No nothing.
Sam left, and Grace finished her bottle. Rachel burped the baby, then they just lay there in the warm, soft bed and dozed for a while longer, and Rachel had another dream. She dreamed her baby hadn't died. That it was nearly twelve years ago. She was eighteen again, and they were in Rachel's bedroom on a cold winter's morning close to Christmas, Rachel and her baby, with their whole lives ahead of them. Sam still loved her, and life still held all the promise she'd ever imagined. She was still so young, so hopeful, so sure that everything would work out just as it was supposed to.
Then she woke up and remembered it all once more. She lay there for a moment, almost feeling justified in feeling so bad. She remembered telling Miriam she felt like one of those punch-toys, with no bounce left in her, and Miriam saying, "Then you can lay there, Rachel. Are you ready to just lay there on the floor forever?"
Rachel sensed that she was at a crossroads—her last chance to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life. At the moment, it seemed certain that things were about to get worse, and there didn't seem to be anyone ready to pick her back up again. It was all up to her.
Surely she wasn't so weak that she couldn't save herself. Surely she wasn't ready to just lay here and wallow in her misery for the rest of her life.
Grace stretched and cooed and started to fuss once more.
"You're not going to let me fall apart, are you, sweetheart?"
Grace seemed to agree. She burst into a grin and tried to grab on to Rachel's cheek with one pudgy baby hand.
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're here," Rachel said.
After all, she didn't have time to fall apart. There'd be time enough to dwell on all the bad things later, if she simply couldn't help but do that. For now, she had things to do.
Get up, Rachel, she admonished herself. Move.
* * *
Rachel got up. She got Zach bathed and dressed, and Emma took care of herself. Then Rachel and Emma bathed Grace.
At Emma's suggestion, they put her in the deep sink in the kitchen. Rachel just about worried herself to death over something as simple as giving the baby a bath. There was the water temperature to consider—baby skin was so sensitive. The temperature in the room; she didn't want Grace to get cold. It was nearly impossible to hang on to a
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