Page 34 of Primal God

“I made some dinner,” I blurt. “For later. Or for now, I guess. Would you like to eat with me?”

He stares at me, almost making me wish I could take back the words.

Finally, he says, “I have an early day tomorrow, Ms. Wolfe.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” I stand, grasping the envelope in my hands. “Thanks for this. I’ll get out of your hair.”

I hurry from the room, almost running into the doorframe in my haste.

And when I get to the kitchen, I find my appetite is gone.

“Oh well,” I mutter. “Guess I can unpack my car.”

At least it will give me something to do. Something other than thinking about how good Dr. Santos looked tonight.

Once everything is put away in my room, I lock my door and FaceTime Cecely.

“Hey,” she says. “How was today?”

“Good.”

I give her a rundown of the schedule Dr. Santos wants me to work and when I tell her how much I’m getting paid, her lips part.

“Holy crap!”

“That’s what I said.” I grin. “I’m taking you, Harvey, and Raquel on vacation when this is over.”

“And I’ll let you.” She tilts her phone, showing my baby fast asleep next to her. “We had a great day. We painted our nails and went shopping in Mommy’s closet.”

I snort even though my eyes are watering. “I miss her and it’s only the first day.”

“Girl, we’ve got this. We’ll figure out something where you can see her more than once a week.”

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are. Now, I’m getting off here so I can get my beauty sleep.”

She ends the video chat, and I set my phone aside.

She’s right. We can make this work.

8

Lilith

The kids and I settle into a routine over the next few weeks. Between Diego’s therapy, Clara’s ballet, and Isadora’s play dates, we’re often on the go. But my favorite moments are when we’re home, and they pile on me as I read them a bedtime story. It helps with the ache deep in my chest from where I miss Raquel. But Cecely has helped with that, too. She’s started bringing Raquel to the same place that Isadora has her play dates, so I get to see her twice a week, plus on my day off. Somehow, we’re making this work.

I haven’t seen Dr. Santos much, which is good and bad. Good, because I can try to pretend that he means nothing to me. Bad, because there’s a pull deep in my chest that has me wondering what he’s doing. The past few Saturdays, he’s left dressed in a black suit and didn’t come back until late. I have an inkling of where he’s going, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. I mean, it's not like he owes me an explanation.

Clara pulls me from my thoughts by saying, “Diego is coming!”

Tucking my phone in my bag, I stand just as Diego enters the lobby. He’s smiling, which means speech therapy went well. Some sessions are more difficult than others. That’s why I try to treat the children to a snack when we’re out. It makes the bad days feel better and the good days feel like a celebration.

His doctor motions for me and says, “A word, Nanny W.”

I follow her through the same door Diego had just came through, but we go to her office instead of the colorful room Diego usually goes.

I sit across from her and ask, “Is everything okay?”

---