Page 66 of Brood
“Okay, good.” I fall to the side so I’m reclining on his shoulder.
“You need to eat something. You didn’t have lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.” My stomach is heavy and twisty, but it’s been that way for weeks. It’s not hunger.
“I don’t care. You’ve got to have something.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t go to the dining room. I’m too tired. But you go. You’ve worked so hard today. You must be starving.”
“I am. But you need to eat too. If I bring something to you here, will you promise to eat it?”
I don’t feel like eating at all, but I can’t bring myself to disappoint Will. I nod and reposition myself so that I’m curled on my side when he gets up.
He leans down to kiss my lips briefly. “I won’t be long. Don’t be too sound asleep because I’m going to wake you up. You need to eat something.”
I mumble out what I think is an “okay,” but I do fall asleep. It feels like no time at all passes before Will is gently shaking my shoulder.
With a groan, I force myself to a sitting position. I feel like resisting, but I promised him I’d eat. He brought soup and bread for both of us. I eat as much as I can and then give him the rest of mine, since he’s already finished his. When he sets the tray on the floor, he sits back down on the lounge and pulls me so my head is in his lap.
“You need to go shower and get some sleep,” I say, closing my eyes as he strokes my hair and face.
“I’m fine. And I already showered today.”
I can’t help but giggle, even though there’s no way to keep my eyes open. “You did?”
“Is that your way of telling me I stink?” His voice is dry. Warm. Known and soothing and precious.
“Maybe a little. But I don’t care right now. It smells like you.”
He chuckles.
“How’s Rosie?”
“She’s still sleeping. You’ve got some more time before you’ll need to feed her. Try to get some sleep.”
“Okay. Wake me up if she cries.”
“I will.”
“But then you need to go to bed.”
“It’s early. I don’t need to go to bed yet.”
* * *
I feed Rosie, and then an hour or so later, I feed Bun yet again. Will doesn’t go to bed. He stays with me, getting the babies and putting them back in their cribs afterward. I assume Vera stops by for her routine checks, but I must sleep through them because I’m not aware of her presence at all.
Just Will. And endlessly feeding Bun and Rosie.
I have absolutely no idea what time it is—what day it is, what world we’re living in—when the crying of an infant faintly breaks through the thick stupor of sleep.
It feels like I just closed my eyes.
“No,” I mumble. “Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” Will says softly. I feel his big hand on my face. “It’s Rosie.”
I try to open my eyes. Try to lift my head and then my body. I get less than an inch off the lounge before I fall back. I squeeze my eyes shut as my body shakes. “I can’t. Will, I can’t. Please help.”
