“There’s something about the smell of babies, isn’t there?” I said.
A huge smile spread across his face as he nodded, stopping me in my tracks.
The faint lyrics to “I Want You to Want Me” streamed out of the speaker as Andrew sat there, a picture of complete contentment. Shit. My soul couldn’t take much more of this. My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest.
Had I any common sense, I would have simply braved the rain and left. Or, I would have told Andrew I felt a virus coming on or any number of things that would let me escape and get away from him and my attraction. At that point, an artificial excuse should have been so easy to produce. Instead, in a strategic attempt to keep the conversation away from me and my life, I settled into the chair and suggested we should get a little sleep.
“I’m not sure if I can sleep while I’m holding someone else’s baby. What if I drop her? Pete and Jackie would kill me.” Concern flared in Andrew’s eyes, and I laughed.
“Really? You have two kids. You’re afraid you’ll drop her?” I swallowed my laughter.
“Uh, yeah. I might look big and strong, but inside, I’m a tender lamb. I can’t stand hurting anyone.” He lifted a large hand to the top of Clara’s head and smoothed the fuzz she passed off as hair.
An afghan off the side of the couch would be enough to prop his arm, so I stuffed it under his elbow, making sure his arm was sturdy, then tossed a few large pillows on the ground in front of the sofa, in the event the sweet little bundle rolled.
“There,” I said, “that should do it. I doubt you’ll drop her.”
“I don’t know, Sadie. I should stay awake. Anyway, while she’s quiet, why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when I need you.”
“Are you sure?”
Andrew had given me a pathway out of the conversation, and there I was, not taking it. I held my breath.
“Yes.”
I released the air I was holding in. “Thanks. I’m not a deep sleeper though. I’ll hear you if you need something.”
“All right then. Sweet dreams, Sadie.”
. . . . .
Sleep claimed me, and the talk about family sent me back in time, to a younger Theo and me. The summer we met, I had just turned nineteen and had been spending my time babysitting and doing laundry for a local couple, putting money away for my second year of college. In the evenings, I’d sneak off to the outdoor sand volleyball court. Many of those hours were spent vying against the tall guy with the messy hair. He was loud—truly obnoxious at times—but he possessed a wicked serve I came to appreciate.
One sultry night I rode my bike to the courts, expecting a leisurely ride home after an invigorating game. But after the game, my bike’s tire was flat. The walk home would be long.
“Hey, looks like you have a flat there.” Messy Hair Guy had snuck up behind me. “I live right over the bridge, and I have a repair kit. Do you want help?”
Spatters of green threaded throughout his brown irises. He smelled of sweat and grass and spearmint, and the crooked smile he gave as he pulled his hand through his mussed hair tugged a little on my heart, surprising me.
“I guess help would be nice,” I admitted, hesitancy feathering my voice.
“The name is Theo. There, now you have my name. I promise, I’m not a madman.” His bright white teeth sparkled under the parking lot lights as he held out his hand.
I laughed as we connected. He’d read my mind. “I’m Sadie,” I said with a quick handshake. “And thanks.”
That evening, after removing the nail from my tire and repairing the tire’s rubber, we sat on the front porch of his rental home, ice water in hand, talking into the early hours of the morning.
He told me about his home life as a child, riddled with strife and worry, as his father battled severe depression. He spoke of the issue as one would talk about a black sheep cousin: someone who showed up from out of the blue and caused trouble, and when you’d gotten used to the behavior and hoped for a reprieve, came back with a vengeance. His mother was all alone, after the death of his father a few years before from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Theo had plans to work with computers but sometimes wished he had an interest in medicine. He wanted to find a better treatment for the illness that had wrecked his family.
“I’d like to make someone else’s life a little better than mine.” He sat that night with a far-off look on his face, condensation from the glass of water dripping over his fingers and his arm, hitting the wood floor of the porch with a soft plink. His face, lit in the reflective moonlight, transformed as a certain resolve snuck into his deep, hazel eyes. I’d only spent a few hours with him, but if anyone could shed a better light on severe depression, it would be Theo.
“But what about you?” Theo asked once he shook off his reverie. “And by the way, would you like more water? I’m sorry I don’t have anything else.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Water is perfect. Although if we stay up any later, we’ll need to have some coffee.” My watch read 3:43 a.m. Where had the time gone? “And what would you like to know?”
“Anything. What brought you here? To school, I mean. What do you want to do with your life? And how do you manage to make an underhand serve so demonic?”
I laughed out loud. “That serve is embarrassing. I never had the strength as a kid to
