Page 133 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I have a feeling he means on a battlefield. And that he’s being cavalier because he doesn’t want to upset me.

“Do they know when she’ll wake up?” I ask.

“No. It could be a few days yet. They’re letting her sleep as long as her body needs to.”

I sit down across from him with Livvy and her feeding supplies. “Would you like to feed Livvy, Mr. De Leon?” I ask.

He glances up from his coffee cup, surprise written across his face. Mr. De Leon almost never looks straight at you, even whenhe talks to you. He has startling, gray eyes, like a Husky. Today, they’re red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Yes, I would, Emily. Thank you.”

I push the feeding supplies across the table before walking around to give him the baby. He holds her correctly: at a 45-degree angle with the bottle horizontal, the milk just filling the nipple so she has to suck. I see he’s remembered the British nurse’s instructions.

“We’re doing paced feedings,” I explain to him. “She should be stopping to take a breath every three to five sucks. Less or more than that and we stop to give her a break.”

Mr. De Leon nods. He holds the bottle like he’d hold a cup of tea, with his pinkie-finger extended. Livvy grabs his finger and stares up at him as she sucks.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “Seriously doubt you remember me but it’s good to see you again.”

If she didn’t remember him at all, she’d probably be fussing, although Livvy’s very calm with strangers, possibly from spending the first month of her life in the hospital, being handled by lots of different nurses and doctors.

“Do you like babies, Mr. De Leon?” I ask.

He nods without looking away from the baby.

“Would you like some of your own some day?”

He chuckles. “Are you offering?”

“No, sir.”

“Sorry, I know that was rude. I’m not used to people asking me personal questions. Yes, I would like a baby or two of my own someday but not until after my father dies. He’s never getting his hands on my kids.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry for. How’s your mum? I know she’s in a home.”

I prop my head on my hand and watch Livvy feed. “She’s not doing so well. She has advanced dementia. She doesn’t remember anyone. She has delusions. But the home she’s in is very nice. They take good care of her.”

“My mum was institutionalized for three years before she died,” he says. “Sometimes, the best we can do for the people we love is let someone else take care of them.”

“Is it the best we can do for them?” I ask. “Because some days it feels like a cop-out.”

Mr. De Leon’s eyes flash to mine. “You’re a very good writer, Emily. I’ve read three of your books. Could you have cared for your mother and written your books, too?”

He’s read my books? Stunned, I shake my head.

“I couldn’t have done my job and cared for my mother, either. Just visiting her once a week left me a husk. The people who cared for my mother and are caring for yours have the skills and ability to do what we can’t. So, yes, it is the best we can do for them.”

I look down at the table and let his words sink in. They soothe a raw place in my heart that I wasn’t even aware of.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“You’re welcome. If you’d ever like to talk about what’s happening with your mum, I’m happy to listen. I understand what it’s like to watch someone you love lose themselves by inches.”

“I will. Sometimes I really struggle after I’ve visited her.”

“You can call me anytime. Your daddy has my number.”

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