He shook his head no.
"It's been a long day. Let's go to bed."
Thankfully, it wasn't awkward having Jake with us. We took turns getting ready for bed, and then I crawled into bed with Rob, cuddling him.
Jake came over to both of us, ruffled Rob's hair, and kissed my forehead, saying "Goodnight." And then he crawled into his own bed and turned out the light.
Sunday morning, I woke up early in the hotel room, squished into about six inches of bed, Rob curled up against me, pressed into my back. A vast expanse of bed lay undiscovered on his other side. I had forgotten how my kid took over the bed. One night of cramped sleep wasn't the end of the world, but I preferred to actually have space in bed. But when children are asleep, they are the most perfect angels and can do no wrong. His little nose was upturned and he made a soft, whiffling noise as he slept.
I felt kind of crappy, like there was too much air conditioning in the room. I hoped it was just allergies.
Glancing over at Jake, asleep in the other bed, my eyes widened. Damn. Now he looked fine.
When he was awake, he looked like the romance heroes that I wrote about-tall, dark, and chiseled. Asleep, he was all of those things, but there was a softness to him. His lips pursed when he breathed and his eyelids flickered slightly, his black hair sleep-messy. He was so tall, he reached the end of the bed. Resting on his front, his hands under the pillow, I admired his muscular shoulders. He'd worn modest clothes to bed, a dark blue t-shirt and striped pajama pants, and there was something both comforting and arousing about his presence.
Perhaps sensing me staring at him, he blinked and opened his eyes, the color startling in the morning light.
"Hey," he whispered, across the way from me, in his separate bed, just out of reach.
"Morning," I whispered back. And I realized that I could really, very easily, get used to waking up to Jake.
"You and Rob sleep okay?"
"Yeah, though he takes up as much room as a baby elephant."
He gave me a glorious, sleepy, morning smile. "Let's make it a good day for him."
We spent the rest of the morning visiting the Strip, going through the Titanic exhibit at the Luxor, and eating lunch where Rob wanted. Spoiled? Maybe. But he didn't get to leave the hotel room yesterday, so I wanted to give him what Carlos should have given him (if he'd had permission to take Rob out of state). Then we drove home to Santa Barbara.
I called Amelia first thing Monday morning and told her everything. Carlos's kidnapping, Jake's punch, all of it. She told me that she would subpoena the surveillance tape, take Carlos's deposition, and get a statement from me and Jake. She also said that because I had custody, she didn't see this as being something that needed to be brought to the court on an emergency basis, but that we could bring it up at the next hearing, which took a ridiculously long time to get before a judge. It would be months before I had to deal with Carlos in a courtroom. But she made me email her the whole story so that she had notes of everything that happened. It was the best we could do for now.
A few days later, it was three days before Christmas. Despite my planning, it had still snuck up on me. House? Decorated. Presents? Wrapped. Rob? Excited. Me? That slight cold that I'd hoped was allergies back in the hotel room had bloomed into full-blown illness. I woke up with a fever, chilled, sweating, and coughing. I felt horrible. Really, death sounded better. Well, not really, but I was very sick. Rob came in my bedroom, worried when mom didn't get out of bed, bringing me water and saltine crackers.
I needed to see a doctor. I didn't have time to be sick. It was Christmas! After going to Urgent Care, where they gave me a prescription and diagnosed me with a form of pneumonia-which I'd probably caught in Vegas-I filled it and went home to bed.
When Jake called me from work, as he often did, I must have sounded dreadful, because he said, "Lucy, honey, give me your mom's number, and I'll have her bring you over some soup."
Since Jake and I had gotten back together after the hearing, I'd continued to feed him dinner, although he had nevertheless been working a lot. He took the time to come over and see me, but still, he worked way beyond a nine to five schedule. Well beyond. That man needed to learn that he just did not have to do that anymore. But he'd taken to texting or calling me throughout his busy work day, which I loved. My man thought about me, he was taking the time for me, and he communicated with me.
Too tired to think or argue with him, I gave him my mom's number.
A few hours later, she appeared at my door with a tureen of homemade tortilla soup, the spicy, clear-your-sinuses chicken broth its own medicine. Homemade soup is a form of love. I managed some broth and went back to bed.
Jake came by that night, earlier than usual, and checked in on me. Even though I was practically comatose, I appreciated his concern. He stroked my forehead, brought me ice water, and straightened my bedsheets. Then I heard him talking with Rob in the living room for a long time, and I dozed before falling asleep.
By Christmas Eve, I could tell that the antibiotics were doing something. I felt vaguely human instead of like death.
We were set to go to my parents' house for tamales and a good Christmas Eve dinner. My sister Celia drove up from Los Angeles and Sara and Georgie were coming, too. My brother Gabriel couldn't make it.
Jake wasn't coming, even though he was invited, because he was going to visit his dad. But we were going to have Christmas together. I made it through the family dinner, barely, then wrapped up in a blanket and lay down on the guest bed at my parents' house. After a while, my dad drove Rob and me home.
Christmas morning, I felt like a human being. I was still sick, but now living and human. Jake knocked on the door early and made us coffee. He and Rob made muffins out of a mix and cut up some fruit for a salad. It was the best thing ever. While our celebration was tiny and subdued, it still felt special.
I curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee, wrapped in a blanket, and watched Rob open his presents. I gave Jake a card that said, Good for one weekend trip away, my treat. Careful of how to act around Rob, he reached over and ran his finger along my hand. "Thank you. We'll use this as soon as you feel better."
He stood up, went to the tree, and pulled out two identically wrapped packages. Handing them to me, he said, "These are for you from me and Rob."
Surprised, I slid my finger under the tape of the first one.
It was a framed drawing by Rob of me. Jake had clearly spent time with Rob helping him draw because the picture, although childish, captured me-my hair, face, clothes, expression. I was smiling in the picture and smiling in real life.
"Did you draw this, mijo?"
"Yeah, Mom."
"You did such a good job. I want to know when you did this, and I want to know all about it. First come here and let me kiss you."
"You sure you're not contagious?" Rob looked wary.
"The doctor says no."
"Mister Jake and I spent time drawing when he watched me and when you were sick. It's fun."
I shook my head. "It's more than fun, son. It's art. It's wonderful." And then I turned to Jake. "It's so wonderful I might cry."
He beamed. "Open the other one."
I opened another drawing of me, framed and matted identically, but this one was by Jake. In it I was looking over my shoulder back at him, my ass in a mini skirt, my feet in high heels, and my mojo all on display. It was totally me-at least me when I was healthy.
"I love it, guapo," I whispered. "Thank you. We'll put them up today."
Jake nodded, and Rob said, "We thought you might like a homemade present, Mom."
"Yes, mijo, I do." I didn't know how to express how much it meant to me that a man, not Rob's father, took the time not only to teach him how to do something but show that it mattered-by presenting his creativity in a way that gave it legitimacy. I was honored by the present, and I was honored to know him.
So instead of saying this, I leaned over and kissed Jake lightly, in front of my son. "Thanks. And Merry Christmas."
The next day, I felt even better and took Rob to Carlos's house. The order required a twenty-four hour visit from nine in the morning to the next day at nine. Obviously I wasn't happy to leave Rob with his dad after what had happened the last time, but there was nothing I could do about it. Watching Rob walk up the pathway to the front door, my heart dipped down low and stayed there, even after I saw him wave at me and the door close behind him.
I drove back home, cleaned up the detritus from the day before, and then decided to indulge in a spa day at home. I gave myself a facial and a pedicure, took a long bath, and a nap. This was a definition of heaven.
Earlier, I'd heard Jake do his usual routine of getting up, going for a run, getting ready, and going to the office, even though it was the day after Christmas. I shook my head. He still needed to learn that it was okay for him not to work crazy hours. Easy for me to say, though, progress on my book was going well, despite an interruption due to my illness.