Page 44 of P.S. You're Intolerable

Oh, I’d be rushing. The longest I’d spent away from Joey was when we were both asleep and Raymond stole her on our handful of coffee dates. I also couldn’t imagine Elliot would know what to do if she started to cry. Granted, it was rare. She was generally a cheerful kind of gal unless she got hangry.

In my haste, I forgot I’d taken my shoes off while sitting on the blankets with Joey. I wasn’t a shoes-in-the-house kind of person. Inthishouse, though, I’d become one since all my floors were basically raw wood.

My bare foot came into contact with a sharp shard of wood, slicing through my skin like butter. The immediate pain took my breath away. It was the only reason I didn’t howl like a dying wolf.

“Shit, motherclucking clucker.” I hobbled down the hall to the bathroom and collapsed on the side of the tub to examine the damage.

Blood seeped from the sole of my foot, and I could have wept. This was adding insult to injury. Too much on top of the mountains I was buried under. Why hadn’t I taken the time to put on my flip-flops?

I cleaned my foot with a washcloth. It hadn’t stopped bleeding, but I didn’t think I’d need stitches. A pile of bandages would do.

I opened the medicine cabinet, managing to only find a small one meant for a paper cut—not a stabbing.

“Why?” I hit the hollow box against my forehead and groaned. “Why, why, why?”

What kind of mother didn’t have Band-Aids? Not that Joey would ever get hurt, but I should have been prepared for everything. I was useless. Poor thing had been born to a mom who couldn’t even patch herself up. Hell, I couldn’t even provide my baby with real floors.

If it weren’t for Joey, I would have curled up on the floor and given up for a while. God, that sounded enticing. Getting up from the side of the tub seemed much too big right now, but I had to. My boss was downstairs, expecting me to be a functioning human being even though I was hanging on by a fraying thread.

Sucking it up, I slapped on the tiny bandage, then wrapped my foot in toilet paper and carefully slipped on a sock to keep it all in place.

My first step made me hiss with pain, but I kept going. If I stopped, I might not have been able to convince myself to start again. The very last thing I needed was Elliot discovering me slumped in my hallway, bleeding out from a flesh wound.

It took me a considerable amount of time, but finally, my brain came back online. The schematics were in my workbag. I’d taken them home the night before I’d gone into labor and had completely forgotten about them. It made sense they would be there, which was why I’d checked every other place first.

I hobbled downstairs slowly, crossing my fingers the makeshift bandage would stay in place. The sounds of the music from Joey’s play mat drifted up from the living room, but it was otherwise silent.

A kernel of panic took root in my chest. Joey might not have cried a lot, but she made noises. Where were her noises?

I hurried into the living room, and the kernel grew until it filled my sternum. They weren’t there. The play mat was empty.

“Elliot?” I called. “Where are you?”

Only a second or two passed, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, Elliot appeared in the kitchen doorway, Joey in his arms.

“We’re here,” he answered.

My heart was still lodged firmly in my throat. “You’re holding her.”

He had my daughter against his chest, facing outward, his hand on her belly to keep her stable. She seemed content, her head resting against him, his suit sleeve clenched in her fist.

Somehow, this was different than when Raymond held her. Ray loved Joey, and they were buddies. It made me smile to see them together.

But this…I wasn’t smiling. Despite myself, my thighs pressed together, and heat flooded my core.

What is this?

“She seemed bored, so I took her out back to see the birds.” He patted her round middle. “If I measure her enjoyment by the amount of drool that dripped on my arm, she liked it very much.”

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. This was all so surreal. “My daughter drooled on you?”

“She did.”

“You don’t seem mad.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not a monster, Catherine. I knew the risks of holding a baby and picked her up anyway.” He jiggled her softly, and she settled even more in his arms.

I didn’t know how to handle this man holding my daughter so delicately—or my body’s immediate reaction. I walked toward them, intent on taking her back, giving him the schematics, and hustling him out of there so I could regain a semblance of equilibrium.

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