Page 23 of The Archer and his Rosebud

“Um, I don’t know. I’ve only seen her do it in her sleep.”

Willa’s detached tone pulls my attention from Clem to where she’s unloading her bags. Standing, I move to her side. “You okay?”

She grabs two packages of chicken and dips into the refrigerator. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I remain with my shoulder propped against the wall as she unloads the cold items without a word. When she turns her back on me, I push.

“Hey, I’ve got Nolan and Eli’s open house at school at six, but when I get back, why don’t you come over and we can finally watch Age of Vikings?”

She spares a distracted look over her shoulder as she stacks cans in the pantry. “I’m not feeling like company, Archer. Can we do it another time?”

“Sure.” I straighten from the wall, fixing the rolled cuffs of my dress shirt. I dressed like a businessman for tonight. I don’t know why. It’s not like I need to impress anyone, yet here I am in slacks and loafers, like a banker.

Clem’s coos turn into grunts, picking up strength the longer she’s left alone.

“Want me to get her out of her seat for you?” My body’s already moving toward the door where Willa left Clem.

“Nah, I’ll get her in a minute.” Willa sighs. “I want to finish unloading before I drop everything and feed her. Thanks for helping me get in the apartment, Archer.”

I’ve been dismissed.

* * *

Clem’s piercingcries wake me around one in the morning on Saturday. Not an unusual occurrence, but hearing them after I return from the bathroom is. Most nights Willa quiets her within moments. I check the clock—three minutes since she woke me. She could be trying to let her cry it out. I hated those tough love days of making the boys cry themselves to sleep as we trained them to sleep through the night.Ten minutes.Clementine’s eight weeks old. That seems young for sleeping through the night. Especially since she’s still breastfeeding a good bit.

Fifteen minutes.That’s it. I grab my phone and text Willa.

Archer: Everything okay? The howler monkey woke me. (which is fine, but I’m worried about y’all)

Eighteen minutes.

Archer: Willa?

Twenty.

I hit the call button and am pulling on athletic shorts before her voicemail picks up.

“Dammit.” I’m knocking on her door barefoot and shirtless before my second call connects. “Willa?” I whisper-shout, grateful the closest unit opposite us is vacant. “Willa, open the door!”

My finger’s hovering over the screen, ready to dial 9-1-1 if she doesn’t open within

Three…

I pound on her door.

Two…

Clem’s cries echo into the hallway.

One…

My thumb hits the nine as Willa’s lock clicks and the door swings open, a streak of skin flashing me as she takes off, and I rush into her dark apartment.

“Willa! What the—” Her retching hits as the bathroom door slams closed. Leaving her vomiting, I hurry into her bedroom and pluck a wailing Clementine from her bed.

“Oh, baby girl…shhh.” I carry her to Willa’s closet and hit the light switch. “Oh, darling.” My thumbs smooth across her forehead as I take in her beet-red face and swollen eyes. Her sleeping gown and puff of fuzzy blonde hair are damp with sweat and tears since she’s worked up a full tantrum.

Pulling the closet door wide to offer more light, I lay her on the edge of Willa’s bed, much to her displeasure, and strip her of her soiled gown. “I know, baby. I know. Let’s cool you off.”

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