I flinch at the mention of my mother. How does she even know about them? Uriah? Rumors? I have to clench my teeth to keep myself from talking.
"My husband has plans for his son, and they don't involve marrying trailer trash. Do you understand?"
Straightening my spine, I lift my chin and fist my hands at my sides. "Yes, ma'am."
She drops the ring of swatches to the desk and rakes her cold eyes over me. "How convenient for you that your little boyfriend turned into a vegetable that night. And now you're free to fuck a Woodison, which I'm guessing is what you wanted all along." She sighs dramatically and gives me a cold smile. "Unfortunately for you, Woodison men have figured out what Mendez women are good for, and it ends in the bedroom."
"You can say anything you want about me," I say. My cheeks are hot. My skin burns as if my blood is actually simmering in my veins. "But you say one more thing about my mother, and you won't have to fire me, Gwen. I'll leave, and I'll make sure Uriah knows why he has to scramble to find a new nanny."
The color drains from her face, confirming my suspicions that her husband wouldn't approve of this conversation.
"Is that what you want?" I turn around and walk out of the room.
I didn't think we were friends, but I did think we were allies. And I know she didn't come from the kind of money Mr. Woodison has, but I didn't think her life was a model for how I could improve mine. I didn't respect her enough for that.
Arrow stops me in the hallway. "Is everything okay?"
"Why?" The monitor crackles, and then the sounds of Katie cooing come through. Saved by the baby.
He cocks his head to the side. "Mia, you look upset."
I shrug. "I'm fine. I have to go get Katie. It's time for her bottle." I grab a bottle from the kitchen and head to the nursery. I feel Arrow behind me the whole time, but I assume he's going to walk away the second I step into the nursery door, because he seems to want nothing to do with his baby sister.
But he surprises me. He follows me in, and when I stop to place the bottle into the electric warmer we keep by the changing table, he skirts around me and stands by the crib before I can.
"She's pretty, isn't she?" he says, looking down on her. She's on her back, eyes open, baby fists extended toward the farm animals on her mobile.
I stand beside him and feel some of the anger and hurt from Gwen's lecture wash away. "Yes, she is."
"I always wanted a kid sister," he says. "Sister, brother. I didn't care. I just hated being an only child. Mom had to have a hysterectomy after me, though." He lifts his eyes to mine. "That was her first fight with cancer."
"I'm sorry." I draw in a ragged breath because he's talking to me. He held me last night. He let me cry about Brogan and stayed in my bed when I told him I didn't want to be alone. But he hasn't said anything to me all morning, and I assumed we were going back to our old dynamic where we don't talk about anything.
He shakes his head. "It's okay. I just always imagined a kid sister who looked like my mom. Katie's beautiful but she doesn't- Obviously, she wouldn't look like my mom." He reaches into the crib and scoops her up, his big hands holding her from under her arms. Her eyes go big and she gurgles happy baby sounds.
"She likes you."
He cuddles her up against his chest. "Hmm."
"You really know how to hold a baby," I say. "You're a natural with her."
"She's not the first baby I've held, Mia." He shakes his head but keeps smiling as he gazes down at his baby sister. "Man, you play football, and so many of those idiots are having kids too early. They're a hotshot on the field so they think they're too good to wear a condom or something. I don't know. But I've gotten to hold a lot of babies." He lifts his head and aims that smile at me, and I feel something in my chest-as if his smile pulls down this barrier that's been protecting my heart.
I swallow. "Gwen thinks we're sleeping together."
His smile falls away, but he keeps his eyes locked on mine for a long minute. Am I supposed to know what he's thinking? Because I don't. I can't tell if he doesn't give a shit or if this information makes him angry. He doesn't speak to me enough yet for me to guess his thoughts.
He walks Katie over to the changing table and begins to change her diaper. "I'll talk to her."
"No, don't, Arrow. There's no point."
He nods, and again I wish I knew what he was thinking. He lets me in his bed, even comes to mine, touches me. Holds me.
I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm not the kind of girl who dreams of marrying her way to financial security. But when I wake up in the middle of the night and Arrow's arms are wrapped around me, I wish we were sleeping together. When my brain is still half asleep, my body wakes. I want him to roll me over and make me feel the way he did that night in the kitchen. I want his mouth and hands to chase my numbness away. I want him to use me to chase his away.
Then when my brain wakes, I remember Brogan and my guilt, and I'm so glad I didn't let my body decide. I'm so glad I didn't give in to that need to feel something, so glad I didn't give in. Even though there are nights when the fear of never feeling anything again is worse than the guilt and the grief.
"How convenient for you that your little boyfriend turned into a vegetable that night. And now you're free to fuck a Woodison, which I'm guessing is what you wanted all along."
I know she's only giving voice to what others will think. She's probably not the first to think it, and I hate that. It's not fair to Brogan or Arrow.
"It's going to be fine," I assure Arrow. "Don't worry about it."
"Do you think she's going to tell my dad?"
I draw in a sharp breath. Tell my dad. I imagine that wouldn't end well for him. "I don't know, Arrow. If you're worried about it, maybe you should talk to him. Let him know what she thinks and set the record straight if you need to. But don't do it for me."
He only fumbles a little as he changes Katie's diaper, but mostly I'm impressed that he knows which way to put it on and how to button the onesie. He's a natural.
He grabs the bottle from the warmer, puts his finger on the nipple, and shakes it as he takes a seat in the rocker.
"You don't have to do that," I tell him.
He cocks a brow. "Maybe I want to. I mean, she seems to like you, so I figure she can't be all that bad."
There it is. That tugging in my chest again. But this time it's worse.
After the accident, I felt my heart going into hibernation. After I buried my brother. After they told me Brogan would never be himself again. I could feel my heart wrapping itself up and retreating to the cave where it could hide safely. And I was glad when it did, because it meant I didn't have to breathe around the constant aching anymore. I was glad, but I had no idea how much it would hurt to feel it wake up.
When I pull up to the Barretts' home, I have to sit in the car for twenty minutes trying to catch my breath. How many times did I come here and wish I didn't have to go inside? How many chances did I have to tell him everything I was thinking, and I talked to him about the weather as if he were some stranger passing the time with me in the line at the DMV? I know that with Brogan's current health, I need to treat each visit as if it's the last I get. Because it might be. Suddenly, there's not enough time. I need more time. More quiet minutes to hold his hand. More long afternoons by his side in the sunroom. More opportunities to reiterate the apology that will never be enough.
When Mrs. Barrett sticks her head out the front door and waves to me, I decide my pity party is over, wipe my cheeks, and go inside.
She pulls me into a hug-a little longer and a little tighter than any hug before-and I return it in kind. "Say your goodbyes," she whispers in my ear. "You say your goodbyes today."
"I know." I don't want her to have to coddle me. She's going to bury her son soon, and she shouldn't be responsible for tending to my grief. "I will."
Pulling away, she shakes her head. "We're, um, making arrangements. Just trying to get things in order for the funeral. We'll have it in Blackhawk Valley, of course." The hope has drained from her eyes. The blue irises she shared with her son are empty. "He always talked about how beautiful your voice was, and I think he'd want to hear it when he says goodbye to us. We were hoping you'd sing."
I suck in a breath. It's not her job to comfort you. "I don't know."