Page 13 of High Frequency

Agitated, I get to my feet, shifting the baby to my shoulder as I start to pace the porch.

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“It never is, son. It never is.”

I stop at the railing and look out at a couple of the yearlings fooling around in the front pasture we just moved them to.

I’m still making excuses for my lack of action when it comes to Sloane, but none of that matters anymore. Not when I’m standing here holding the baby she had with another man.

The regret I feel now is too little and much too fucking late.

For a while, the only sound is the creaking of the rocking chair on the wooden boards of the porch. Then Thomas pipes up again.

“It’s not too late, Daniel. Never is, when it’s important enough.”

I open my mouth to point out the pink-clad, pint-sized, proverbial elephant in the room—currently with her little head resting against my shoulder—when I hear the sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway. It’s Sloane’s Jeep.

She doesn’t see me at first—I’m partly obscured by one of the massive beam posts—but her eyes find me as she comes up the stairs. She comes to an abrupt halt when she notices her daughter in my arms. Then a corner of her mouth tilts up in a soft smile.

“She’s asleep,” she points out.

I have to tuck my chin in to see Aspen’s little face. Her eyes are closed, dark lashes fanning on her pale cheeks.

“So she is,” I rumble, keeping my voice low in an attempt not to wake her.

“Hi, Thomas,” she says, peeking around me. “Is Ama around?”

“In the kitchen,” he responds.

“Would you mind hanging on to her for a few more minutes?” she asks me. “I’m gonna pop inside to check in with Ama and grab her things.”

“Sure.”

I watch her walk inside, and drop a cheek to the top of the baby’s head. She’s like a little oven, warm against my chest, and her fine hair tickles my beard. Behind me the old man starts chuckling again, but I choose to ignore him.

As promised, Sloane is back in a few minutes with a diaper bag and a car seat.

“Do you want her in there?”

“Would you mind? The less we juggle her the better the chance she stays sleeping.”

I wait for her to pull the straps aside before I lean forward and carefully place Aspen in her seat. Her face scrunches up a bit but she continues sleeping as Sloane straps her in.

“I’ve got it,” I tell her when she goes to pick up the car seat, and carry the seat down the steps to her Jeep.

Sloane opens the driver’s side back door and I lift the seat in, clicking it firmly into the base.

“Thanks.”

She throws me a faint smile as she carefully shuts the door.

“No problem.”

I have a million questions I’d like to ask her, but instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and take a step back as she gets behind the wheel.

She gives me a little wave before she drives off, and I head back up the steps to finish my beer.

The old man is still sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth, clearly not done with the commentary.

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