Father Found

She put both hands to the sides of the shower as sudden dizziness overtook her. It was almost as though the thrumming of the water had kept her upright, and now that it had stopped, her own rhythms seemed at odds with the universe. She felt as though she might fall at any moment.

She waited for the moment to pass. When it didn’t, she forgot all reluctance to be seen naked and shouted for Bram at the top of her lungs.

She heard the bathroom door open in an instant, then the shower door was yanked open and he stood there, a dish towel over his shoulder, his face grim with worry.

“What?” he asked urgently, reaching in for her.

She leaned heavily against him, her head still spinning. “Dizzy,” she said.

He pushed the bathroom door all the way open, yanked a bath towel off the rack and wrapped it around her. “Are you in pain?”

“No.”

“You didn’t fall?”

“No. But I was…afraid I would. That’s why I called you.” Leaning against him was a little like lying on a firm mattress. There was solid support against her weary body, and a sense of security that made her want to close her eyes and go to sleep.

“It’s like a sauna in here,” he said, rubbing her back through the towel to dry it. “You might have just gotten a little carried away now that the shower-head works. The heat built up in this little room and made you feel faint.”

“The shower,” she said slowly, enjoying the massage, “felt sooo good. My back was hurting.”

“Let’s get you dried off, and I’ll call the doctor.” Holding her with one arm, he reached for her robe with the other and put it on her shoulders. Perfunctorily he dried her breasts and belly with the wadded towel.

She didn’t know whether to admire or be offended by his clinical detachment when she was suddenly very much aware that she was large and grossly unattractive.

She drew a deep breath of the cool air coming in from outside the room and felt suddenly better. “I don’t think that’s necessary. You were probably right about…” She hesitated, the breath stuck in her throat as he swiped the towel down her thighs.

“About…the heat in here,” she finished haltingly as he tossed the towel aside and drew her robe together.

As he did so, the baby delivered a strong kick to her abdomen that Bram must have felt against the inside of his arm. He reached inside her robe to flatten his hand against the beach ball of her belly.

She drew in a small breath, aware of every fingertip in touch with her skin, of his intensity as he leaned slightly over her in concentration.

As though recognizing the touch, the baby delivered several more staccato kicks right against the palm of his hand.

“Wow,” he said simply, quietly.

His excitement surprised her. “Haven’t you felt the baby before?” she asked.

He ignored her a moment, apparently distracted as the baby kicked again. He straightened and helped her out into the living room and onto the sofa.

“It never fails to amaze me,” he said, putting a pillow under her head and lifting her feet onto the cushions. “I’ve watched you grow with the pregnancy, but to actually feel life in there boggles my mind. Still dizzy?”

He covered her with a blanket from his bed, then sat on the edge of the sofa and put a hand to her face.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “I’m much better. A little drowsy, maybe. I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“I noticed.” He disappeared for a moment, then returned with two towels. He placed one under her hair on the pillow, and the other he used to begin to dry it. “I can hear the springs in your bed at night, your trips to the bathroom or the kitchen. You’re very restless.”

She smiled wryly. “It’s tough to carry around all this weight and not know who you are.”

“You’re my wife,” he said, rubbing at her hair, “and the baby’s mother. Try to hold on to that until your memory comes back.”

“You told me we don’t know if the baby’s a boy or girl.”

“Right. We didn’t want to know.”

“What are we hoping for?”

He cast her a smiling glance as he continued to rub. “One or the other. We’re not particular.”

“Did we want a baby this soon?”

“It was a surprise,” he replied, “but we’re very happy about it.”

“I feel happy about it.” She patted her stomach. A little kick patted her in return. “I just feel sorry that I can’t remember learning that I was pregnant, that I can’t remember telling you, that I can’t remember being excited and shopping for things and…”

“You told me,” he said with a laugh, “by putting booties in my shoes.” When she looked puzzled, he explained. “I came out of the shower one morning, got dressed and sat on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes and found an obstruction in one of them. It was a yellow bootie trimmed with yellow ribbon. I’m a little thick,” he said with a self-deprecating roll of his eyes. “It wasn’t until I discovered another bootie in my second shoe that I realized what you were telling me.”

“What did we do then?” she whispered, desperately wishing she had that memory.

“We held each other and laughed and cried and I picked you up at school that night and took you out to dinner. We bought a baby names book on the way.”

“Have we chosen names?” She struggled to sit up, the weariness falling away.

He helped her and propped a few pillows behind her. “Ah, no. I think you jotted down a few names in the book, but we couldn’t come up with anything brilliant and you thought inspiration might strike when you got closer to delivery. But, nothing so far. You’re sure you’re all right?”

She nodded, then yawned. “I should get up and dry my hair.”

“Stay there, and I’ll brush it dry for you.” He stood to leave and she caught his wrist.

She felt his energy surge through her fingers. “It’ll take forever,” she said, both touched and alarmed that he’d offer to do that for her. How could she not remember a man who was so devoted to her, whose touch made her feel as though she swung from high-voltage wires?

Or was she right about this unsettling suspicion that all wasn’t right between them, and this was intended to convince her that everything was fine, either to speed her recovery or for purposes of his own?

Their gazes locked for an instant. She saw only attentive kindness in his—then the sudden awareness there that she was uncertain about him. She caught a glimpse of his disappointment before he went into her bedroom and returned with a brush.

“I’ve watched you do this a hundred times,” he said. “It’s a brush designed to be easy on wet hair. Close your eyes and think about baby names, and I’ll brush.”

HE WAS SURPRISED when she complied. He knew she didn’t entirely believe him, and he didn’t know how to reassure her convincingly. Maybe it was the hormonal riot caused by the pregnancy.

He ran the brush from her scalp, through the fiery length of hair that fell past her shoulder blades when she was standing. It shimmered in the firelight like the darkest part of the flame.

“What about Bailey for a girl?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He made a negative sound. “I hate those last-name first-names.”

“Something more ordinary? Like Margaret or Alice?”