Sleep Like a Baby (Aurora Teagarden #10)
Charlaine Harris
Chapter One
I was standing at the backyard fence, watching the Herman twins (a) play with their dog, and (b) water their flowers. It was early in the morning, the only time of day it was tolerable for me to go outside in July in Georgia, since I was approximately as big as a rhinoceros.
“Are you past your due date, Roe?” Peggy called, as she tossed a ball for Chaka for at least the twentieth time.
I sighed. “Yes, three days.” I’d put on my new cerise-framed glasses to cheer myself up. During my whole pregnancy, I hadn’t cared which pair I wore, because I’d been so absorbed in my changing body. I’d pretty much gotten over that by now.
Lena turned the hose off and came over. (I had learned to identify them by their hair. Lena parted hers on the right.) Both the sisters were in great shape. They took turns walking the dog and they played tennis. Peggy and Lena were very self-sufficient in the household-repair department, too. I found them admirable and daunting.
“I was early with my twins,” Lena said. “Three weeks. But they were fine.”
“Where do they live now?” I knew they weren’t local.
“Cindy lives in Maine, and Mindy is in Spartanburg.”
“Peggy has a son, right?” I thought I’d met him once.
“Kevin. He’s in Atlanta, but he’s a doctor and a dad, so he doesn’t have much spare time.”
I nodded. It seemed like all I had now was time, but I could imagine being busy. Instead of waiting. And waiting. For the baby who would not arrive. I watched Peggy give Chaka a series of commands, all of which Chaka obeyed promptly.
“What kind of dog is he?” I said. He was clearly something. I’d never seen a dog like him.
“Rhodesian ridgeback.” Lena smiled. “We got him from a rescue group. We couldn’t have spent the money to buy a puppy. But he’d been…”
Suddenly, I felt a gush of warmth. Oh my God, I thought, embarrassed beyond belief. I can’t control my bladder. This is the rock bottom.
“Well,” Lena said calmly, her gaze following my own horrified stare. “This is the end of your wait, I think. Your water just broke.”
*
For just one moment, I was the only adult in the room. In my arms was the most important person in the world, Sophie Abigail Crusoe, two hours old. She’s perfect, I thought, marveling. I’m the luckiest woman in the world. My daughter had just been presented to me as a swaddled bundle. I’d barely caught a glimpse of her as she emerged from her nine-months residence. Yielding to an irresistible urge, I unwrapped her just to make sure every part of her was present and in order. She was perfect. And she didn’t like being unwrapped. Sophie made her dissatisfaction known in no uncertain terms, and I hastily (and clumsily) re-swaddled her. I felt guilty. I’d made Sophie cry, for the first time.
My husband, Robin, stuck his head around the door and eased inside, as if he weren’t sure he was welcome. “How are you?” he asked me for the twentieth time. “How is she?”
Robin might be feeling a little guilty, too, because I hadn’t had the easiest labor. In our childbirth class I’d met a second-time mother who’d told me she didn’t know what all the big fuss was about. She’d felt like she had indigestion for an hour; then her baby had popped out.
About midway during the twelve hours it had taken me to bring Sophie into the world—twelve very long hours—if that woman had walked in my room, and I’d had a gun, I’d have shot her dead.
But it had all been worth it.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired. And she’s so great. All eight pounds.” I held her out to him, smiling. “And she has red hair.”
Red-haired Robin took Sophie as carefully as if she were an ancient Ming vase. He looked down at the tiny face, and my heart clenched at his expression. He was totally smitten. “Can I put in a moat around our house, and build a ten-foot wall?” he asked.
“I don’t think the neighbors would approve,” I said. “We’ll just have to do the best we can to keep harm away from her.” I tried to stifle a yawn, but I couldn’t. “Honey, I’m going to sleep,” I said. “You’re on watch.”
Even as a mother of two hours’ experience, I was sure one of us should be on duty at all times.
As I drifted into sleep, feeling I deserved it for a job well done, I counted all the people who already loved Sophie: my mother, her husband, Robin’s mother, Robin’s siblings, my half brother, Phillip … and I felt so blessed that Sophie had been born into this protective circle.
Though the moat and fence seemed a wise precaution.
Chapter Two
Two months later, I had put that notion out of my head and was even able to laugh about it. A little. We’d resumed our lives, but with a huge difference. The central core of our existence was Sophie: her needs, her wants, her well-being. Though we were on the old side to be first-time parents (I was thirty-seven, Robin was forty), I felt we were coping like champions. On the whole.
Robin would get up with Sophie at night, bring her to our bed, where I would nurse her. I’d dive back into sleep while he changed her diaper and put her back in the crib. I would get up early in the morning, and take care of Sophie until noon or two, when Robin would have finished work. Then he’d give me a break for a few hours. Sometimes I took a nap during that time, sometimes I did a household chore. Sometimes I just read.
Phillip, who lived with us, donated the odd hour or two snatched from his busy high school schedule, so I could go to the grocery without taking the huge bag of necessities that a baby required. A couple of times, my mother came over when Robin had to speak at a luncheon or a signing.
By trial and error, we were able to provide full-time baby coverage without extreme exhaustion … up until the time Robin had to leave for Bouchercon, the world mystery convention.
I came in the front door carrying a package of diapers. I’d taken Robin’s car. Our two-car garage was more like a one-and-three-quarters car garage, and it was so nerve-racking to park side by side that one of our vehicles was usually left in the driveway.
After depositing the diapers in Sophie’s room, returning to the car for the other bags, and checking again that the baby was still asleep, I joined Robin in our bedroom, right across the hall from Sophie’s. Robin was packing. He was so methodical and careful about the process that I enjoyed watching him. Also, I’d found something I wanted to show him.
“Look,” I said. I flourished the bouquet of yellow roses.
“Who sent you flowers?” he asked, looking up from folding his shirts.
“The card was blank.” I looked at it again, stuck on its plastic prong. No, I hadn’t missed anything. “I checked it twice.”
“What florist?” He stood back and looked down at the suitcase, frowning slightly. He was reviewing his mental list of the items he’d packed. I didn’t talk until he gave a decisive nod.