Anxiety romped through her. “Are you happy like this?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No! Why would you even think that?”
“Because if I say yes, you’ll ask me how can I possibly be happy when our baby boy died. If I say no, you’ll blame yourself.”
A familiar combination of anger tinged with resignation bubbled and spat. “Am I making you unhappy?”
His arms flew into the air. “I didn’t say that! All I’m saying is that one week you’re happy and hopeful and the next you’re desperately sad and upset again. It kills me every time shark week arrives and you’re gutted all over again. If the solution’s not getting pregnant, then let’s stop trying. The girls are enough.”
She hadn’t really meant it when she’d said she wanted to stop trying and she didn’t believe he wanted it either. “When you found out I was pregnant with Dom, you showed a side of yourself I’d never seen before. You went all macho-Italian on me, demanding we give him an Italian name. So don’t lie to me now. I know you want a son.”
His gaze fell to the floor and his shoulders slumped. Then the rest of him seemed to follow, folding in on himself as though he lacked the energy to hold himself upright. A long sigh rolled out of him. “Libs, all I want is for you to be happy again.”
It hurt that he’d said “you” rather than “us.”
Now, lying with Nick in a post-coital glow, she conceded that taking a break from trying to get pregnant had spun-off in positive ways. “Despite the busy summer, things have been better lately. With us, I mean.”
“Yeah.” He pulled her against him. “Things are good.”
Recently Libby had been working extremely hard at concentrating on their blessings instead of their great loss. Whenever she thought about that awful time, she felt the strong drag of despair and it took monumental energy to dig her heels in hard so she didn’t get pulled into the black morass. She’d taken the advice she gave to patients and was attempting to practice mindfulness—focusing on the moment instead of the past or the future. At first it had been hit and miss but lately, it was getting easier. Each night before she went to sleep, she journaled five things she was grateful for instead of railing against the one thing she’d been so cruelly denied. Among entries like, “I’m grateful for the crisp tang of a new season’s apple, the sight of a peloton of pelicans flying low across the lake, Mrs. Giannopoulos’s lemon cake,” she recognized the obvious themes. She was grateful for a kind, patient, understanding and loving husband. Two gorgeous daughters and a caring extended family. The gift of a dear friend who was both a confidante and a sounding board. She was also immensely grateful that she and Nick had jobs they not only loved but that provided them with an income to live a comfortable—and some would say enviable—life. Enviable in all ways but one. After all her hard work, it pained her that Nick had just reduced their current closeness to “good.”
“Just good?”
He shook his head indulgently at her need for affirmation. “Things are great. I love our Wednesday sails.” After Nick’s accusation of them no longer being spontaneous, Libby had arranged for her mother to mind the girls and she’d signed on to be part of Nick’s crew for the twilight races. It wasn’t exactly the definition of spontaneous, but it gave them couple time doing something they loved.
She pressed her finger onto his sternum. “You just enjoy bossing me around on the boat, captain.”
“Nah, I only boss Alice. It’s not my fault she looks so much like you.”
“Nice try, but we’re not identical.”
“You pretty much are. It’s impossible to tell when you’re both wearing white shorts and blue polos and you’ve got your backs to me.”
“Except I’ve got the cuter ass.”
“No contest.”
Rain continued to lash the windows and pound noisily on the roof. Nick kissed her hair before winding some blond strands around his finger, his face pensive. “Just promise me you won’t drop your bundle in a few weeks if you’re not pregnant.”
Libby instinctively tightened her pelvic floor and clamped her thighs together, knowing she couldn’t promise him that. It was taking all her self-control not to throw her legs up over her head, but she knew if she did that, they’d probably argue. Being here together, snuggled up, talking, teasing, laughing and loving was just too special to risk.
“Libs?” Nick queried firmly, seeking the answer he wanted.
Thankfully, her phone rang. Despite not being on call, she automatically picked it up. “It’s Jess.”
“Don’t answer it.”
But she’d already swiped. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’ve got a leak in my roof.”
Nick’s mouth closed around Libby’s breast, making her, “Oh!” come out as a high-pitched squeak. She gently pushed at his head but instead of deterring him, he moved his hand to caress her other nipple. Heat streaked through her and her belly clenched.
“Can you hear me?” Jess was yelling over the noise of the rain.
Nick was now pressing kisses between her breasts, trailing them downwards. Each flick of his tongue stole her concentration and she relaxed back into the pillows. “Hmm.”
“Libby!” Jess’s voice rose, urgent and commanding. “My bedroom ceiling’s bulging with water!”
She pulled away from Nick and sat up. “Oh, God. That’s awful.”
“I know!”
“You need to drain the water before the plaster falls in. Do you have a drill?”
“No! And I’ve called the volunteer emergency service but so have heaps of other people. They can’t tell me how long it will be before someone comes. By then filthy water and half my ceiling will be in my bed!”
“I’ll send Nick.”
Nick was sitting up now too, shaking his head and making an X with his arms.
“I can’t ask you to do that. It’s Valentine’s night.”
“You’re
