After the Silence

by Rula Sinara

  Ryan had muffled his cry with two slobbery fists in the mouth. There was no mistaking he was Ben’s son. The likeness was almost funny.

  “Hi there,” she cooed as she picked him up from the crib. She’d told Ben she didn’t have much experience with kids, but she had some. She’d picked up babies before. Ryan felt wet. Diaper changes were another thing, but she’d done plenty on dolls. And you didn’t make it through medical school and half an internship without enough experience and sense to handle something as fundamental to life as baby care. She laid Ryan on a padded changing table to the right of the crib and gave the shelf underneath it a quick scan for essentials. Wipes and a diaper. How hard could it be? He squealed his encouragement.

  “Shh, shh. Let’s get you cleaned up and leave your father sleeping.”

  She undid the tape strips and opened the diaper.

  “No! Oh! No, no, noooo!”

  A geyser shot up, barely missing her face. She jerked away while trying to blindly slap the diaper back over him, but he twisted and rolled his legs up, sending the stream right over his head. “Hold still!” She kept one hand on his chest to keep him on the table and grabbed a clean diaper with the other. She tried covering him, but he threw his legs back down, redirecting his spray at the wall and upholstered recliner in the corner of the room before his tank was finally emptied. “Oh, heaven.”

  Her pulse raced. She looked at the chair and then at Ryan. If that chair was the one Zoe had used for all her pregnancies…

  Ryan smiled.

  Hope wanted to cry. She felt Ben watching her even before the fresh-showered scent of men’s soap and shampoo reached her. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t dare turn around.

  His arm brushed hers as he reached around her to take over diaper duty.

  “You can go wash your hands. I’ll finish,” he said. She stepped away from the changing table.

  “I’ll pay to have the chair cleaned,” she said. “I’m so sorry. He just—”

  “Hey,” Ben said, looking at her over his shoulder. “Trust me. This isn’t the worst thing that can happen in life.”

  *

  BY THE END of Hope’s first full day in his house, Ben had surrendered to Nina’s help. And early this morning, he’d dropped Hope and the kids off at Nina and Eric’s, then doubled back to get some work done. Saturday made a good day for them to go shopping and for him to regroup.

  Hope had done well enough playing with the kids yesterday. He’d also managed to give her some out-of-reach storage space in the bedroom and bathroom—a high priority for him. Safety before comfort. He’d made it clear that Chad could spin danger out of anything, including her toiletry bag. But taking her shopping for cold-weather clothing staples was better left to another woman. And as much as Ben hated Nina telling him how to do things, he figured a bit of training from Nina would benefit Hope. It would also help Nina realize that Hope wasn’t a threat.

  Hope had been overly upset by the diaper incident and didn’t stop apologizing until Ben pulled out the spray he still had from when Zoe had bought puppy supplies.

  He’d discovered her plans to raise a service puppy while he was still in shock from her death. There was no way he could take that responsibility on at the time. Her friend Brie had taken on the puppy as her way of honoring Zoe, angry that he wasn’t keeping it. He was the only one with a right to be angry. The last time he’d dealt with Brie was when he’d had his friend Cooper pass a box of dog supplies on to her.

  The pee spray he’d discovered later in the cleaning closet. He found out early on that it worked just as well on neutralizing human baby pee.

  As for Hope, the incident had triggered a slew of confessions. Like blurting out that she couldn’t cook. Clearly she was used to having high expectations put on her—not unlike a marine—but who said he expected her to cook? Or did he? He had to admit that the coffee she made yesterday morning could have spurred hair growth on Ryan’s chest. Just having someone play with the kids a few hours helped, but shoot, he was starting to wonder who was helping out whom more.

  He reached for the sheet he’d printed out, then propped his phone with his shoulder.

  “I’m telling you, man. I’ve hashed out the numbers, but I need you in on this.”

  Cooper Reaves had joined the marines when Ben had, only he’d gotten a medal and medical discharge after a roadside bombing left him with shards of metal embedded in his left calf. He’d been lucky to get away alive.

  “How many times do I have to tell you I can’t help? Not interested, Ben. There’s no reason you can’t go at it alone,” Cooper said.

  Ben heard the clink of glassware through the phone and wondered if his buddy was hitting the bottle again—at 0900 hours.

  “Why don’t I come over and show you what I think’ll work.” And check up on you.

  “Why don’t you not? You have enough going on. Take care of those kids. You want to start a security company, go for it. That’s not my future.”

  “Then, what is? Fishing from a rocking chair?”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad. Nice and peaceful. Maybe I’ll write a book. One of those war thrillers. Semiautobiographical. I’ll be set for life.” Clank.

  Ben squeezed his temples and sat back, tossing the paper on the table.

  “You’re a technical guru, Coop. A computer genius. I trust you. No way I’m going into business with someone I don’t know. I do the on-site consults. Camera placement, weaknesses, guards and all that. You take care of computer security and setup. Once it’s up and running, a lot of the work can be done from home.” Which was what he really wanted. A way to support his family, but also be able to be in command and control his schedule…and to be where he could keep an eye on everyone and make sure they were safe.

  “Ben, I said I’m sorry, but you’re on your own.”

  “What’s in the glass?”

  “What?” Incredulous laughter followed. “You think I’m slammed?” A few choice curses followed that. Not anything Ben wasn’t used to hearing in the past, but here he caught himself automatically scanning the room for mini-ears, even with the kids gone. “Orange juice, man. Freaking orange juice. But hey, a guy doesn’t agree with you, so he must be out-of-his-mind drunk. Right?”

  Ben pushed off the table and punched the wall as he headed out the back porch door for a breather.

  “No. I didn’t mean it like that. Ignore what I said. Okay? Just think about what I’m telling you. This could work for both of us. Just think about it,” Ben said.

  “Yeah. Listen, man. I gotta run.” Coop hung up.

  Ben stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jeans. Coop wasn’t being himself. Ben had dropped him off at a few of his therapy appointments, so he knew Coop was going, but he still wasn’t the guy he’d known all these years. Then again, he wasn’t, either. They’d all changed. Everything had changed.

  Golden leaves showered down with a sudden breeze, mingling on the ground with those of the already bare red maples. “Fall confetti,” Zoe used to call it.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually been in town to see it in person. She always took pictures of the kids in the yard, surrounded by pumpkins and leaf piles, and sent them to him. Now there were no pumpkins. No potted mums. His eyes burned, and he clenched his jaw, rolling every drop of emotion into anger. Fall confetti. The celebration of death.

  He took a deep breath of fresh air and wished he could deny the calm it infused him with. The crisp scent of cold laced with a distinct smoky warmth puffing from someone’s fireplace had been missing from those photos. A reminder that he hadn’t been here. No real memories. This had been her favorite time of year, and not once had he truly shared it with her.

  The morning sun faded under a canopy of blue-gray clouds.

  He stepped down off the wooden porch, grabbed Chad’s plastic tricycle by the handlebars and put it under the right side of the porch where all the yard toys were supposed to be, then went back inside. The change in the air t
ook about a second to register. That smell.

  He groaned. Ryan’s crib sheets. Those diapers, touted as able to withstand an attack from down under, had lost the battle this morning. Ben had walked in on the natural disaster of disasters. Avalanche. Flood. You name it. He had a battery backup alarm on the house sump pump in the basement. If only there were overflow alarms that could be connected to diapers—now, that was a security system idea that would make a killing. He’d managed to disinfect Ryan and get everyone out of the house earlier, but in his desperation for more coffee and a minute to focus on work, he’d forgotten there was still a cleanup waiting.

  His keys on the console urged him to defect.

  “Suck it up, marine,” he muttered, and headed for the baby’s room.

  *

  HOPE HOPPED OUT of Eric Harper’s car and opened the back door. Maddie was already helping Chad unlatch his car seat buckle. It took two tries for Hope to get Ryan’s backward-facing infant seat to detach from its base. Nina had shown her how to work it. She said that they kept the extra seats in their car because moving the seat base had become a pain early on, and Ben was afraid that they wouldn’t secure it in place correctly. She eased Ryan’s seat out of the car. These things were rather hard to carry and walk with at the same time.

  “Thank you for the ride, Eric,” she said. “If you wait until I take Ryan in, I can come back and get those.” Ben’s father-in-law had already pulled her three shopping bags out of the trunk. Maddie reached in and grabbed one particular bag. She opened it and handed Chad the coloring book he’d chosen, and then pulled out hers and a box of crayons. Maddie and Chad ran up the walkway together.

  “Nonsense,” Eric said, closing the trunk with one hand and waving her on. “After you.”

  The day had warmed slightly—at least the wind wasn’t as strong—but she hurried to get Ryan inside. Eric followed more slowly, favoring his right leg. He seemed otherwise fit, save for a slight paunch that wasn’t too noticeable with his height. He hadn’t gone shopping with her and Nina, but Nina had driven back to their house, wanting Hope and the kids to stay for dinner. Hope had thanked her profusely for a great day and all her help, but said that she really needed to get home.

  The word home had slipped from her. She hadn’t meant it in the literal sense, but she hadn’t missed Nina’s flinch. She’d quickly clarified that she wanted to get the kids home, and that, since they were already strapped in the car, it would be easier than another round of in and out. Eric had offered to drive and give Nina a break.

  Maddie had already rung the doorbell, and Ben stood to the side in jeans and bare feet as they ran in. He watched as she neared the door. At first she thought he was looking at his son, or beyond her to Eric, but when she glanced up a second time, his eyes were focused directly on her. His jaw twitched, and he turned his attention abruptly to Eric.

  “Hi,” Hope said as she passed Ben. He kept looking toward Eric.

  “Yeah, hi,” he said, practically under his breath. “Hey, Eric,” he called out. “How’s the knee doing?” Hope set Ryan’s carrier near the couch and returned to the door. Ben stepped out barefoot onto the stone, took the bags from Eric and shook his hand.

  “Well, you know how old war injuries can be. Good days and bad. I haven’t been cycling as much since…well, you know…and the weather’s gotten colder. Probably why it’s being a pain,” Eric said.

  “I hear ya. My shoulder acts up on occasion. You take care of yourself. Thanks for dropping off the kids.”

  Just the kids? If he didn’t want her here, all he needed to do was say so.

  “Thanks again for your help, Eric,” she said from behind Ben. “It was so nice to meet you.” Ben turned, and she took the bags he was holding.

  “You, too, Hope. Come around with the kids whenever you like.” Eric looked at her, then directly at Ben, before waving and walking back to his car. Hope set the bags by the hallway and went to see if Ryan was still sleeping in his seat. Maddie and Chad were both coloring at the coffee table.

  Ben had one hand still pressed against the front door and his back was turned to her. What was going on?

  “Is everything all right?” Hope asked, approaching him so the kids wouldn’t hear if something serious had happened. He turned and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

  “Everything is fine,” he said with a frown. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you back. I was planning to come and pick you guys up.”

  “Ah, yes. But we were already in the car and—”

  “Next time, if I’m around, I feel better with them in my car.”

  “Of course. Next time. It’s just that… It had been…” How did she explain without insulting anyone? “I thought it best to get the kids home before they became irritable.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up.

  “You’d had enough of someone, didn’t you?” Ben said, lowering his voice.

  Hope licked her lips. He knew. She dropped her chin and tried hard not to smile.

  “Maybe just a little,” she said, peering at him from under her lashes. “I know she means well, and she did teach me a lot.” She placed her hand over her heart. “But, bless her, I needed to breathe.”

  Ben chuckled. “She can smother.”

  “Yes, and some things she was pointing out were… Well, let’s just say my education counts for something.” Hope didn’t want to bash the woman. Not really. But venting a little felt good, and Ben wasn’t just anyone. He’d known Nina longer than she had.

  “I get taught the obvious by her all the time. Tests a man’s patience,” he said, shaking his head and folding his arms.

  “I’m sure she means well,” they said simultaneously, then laughed.

  Their eyes met and things got quiet. He looked at her the same way he had when she was carrying Ryan to the door. Intense. Perplexed.

  “You look nice,” he said.

  Her cheeks warmed. She looked at the new boots and hooded down jacket she’d bought and put on before leaving the store.

  “Credit goes to Maddie,” she said loud enough for the kids to hear. She went to Maddie and put her hand on her shoulder. “Your daughter here has excellent taste. I couldn’t have shopped without her. She chose pink for the jacket. Right?” Hope asked. She was rewarded with a smile. Maddie looked proudly at her dad.

  “Great choice, Mads,” he said.

  Maddie held up her arm and turned her wrist to make the silver bangle Hope had given her in the car ripple with reflections.

  “Don’t forget what I told you about that,” Hope said, fingering the two left on her own wrist. “My grandmother used to tell me that these bracelets were magical and could brighten any day.”

  Maddie’s smile was so worth it. Hope had been about her age when her late grandmother had given her the bangles. It was her first grown-up gift, and she still remembered how special it had made her feel at the time. It felt right giving Maddie one.

  “That was nice of you, giving her that,” Ben said.

  “My pleasure,” she said, winking at Maddie. The girl surprised her by getting up and giving her a hug, then she ran back to coloring the jungle-themed pages she’d chosen when Hope had insisted on buying them something.

  When the kids hadn’t been paying attention today, Nina had told her that, before her silence, Maddie had always talked about working with animals like her aunt did in Kenya. Zoe had promised her that someday she’d get to visit her little cousin Pippa at Busara, Anna and Jack’s home, as well as the rescue camp for orphaned baby elephants. No wonder the stuffed monkey seemed to be her favorite toy.

  Ben went to the kitchen table and began putting away papers and a laptop. So they’d interrupted his work when they arrived. Maybe she should have stuck it out at Eric and Nina’s a little longer. She yawned. No way she would have lasted. She was exhausted. But, oh, was Simba right.

  Despite the plane, diaper-change incident and not being able to quite peg Nina, being here, as far away from everyone and e
verything that had defined her up until now, was so…so…liberating. Exhilarating. A fresh page or chapter, even if she’d eventually reach The End and return to real life.

  She’d just spent the day playing with kids, learning new things and shopping without that nagging voice in the back of her head warning her that someone might die on her watch or that she still hadn’t read the latest article on ortho surgery her parents had handed her or that she’d fail everyone who mattered. Here, she could let go of all of that. Here, her parents had no say. Had Simba simply been worried about her health, or had cutting the umbilical cord for her been his intention all along?

  She took off the jacket and slung it on the back of the armchair next to the couch, then sat down to unzip her new boots. She set them by the door and returned to unbuckle Ryan. He was still asleep, but if he didn’t wake up, he’d be awake all night. She picked him up and nuzzled his wispy hair. He smelled and felt incredible in an all-encompassing way.

  She’d never had the opportunity to hold a baby that closely. The few she’d handled were in medical settings. With patients, there were boundaries. A certain level of necessary detachment. This was different. So personal. She didn’t want to put him down. Was this what women meant when they said babies were contagious? Was this why many of the women in her medical school class had dropped out after the first year or two to have families? Babies—children—were so small, yet they had such a powerful pull.

  She looked at the pictures set on the built-in shelves that flanked the small fireplace. Most were of the children. Maddie looked a lot like her mother, and Chad was the spitting image of Ben, right down to the crew cut hair. There was one family photo, but Ryan wasn’t in it, and there was one close-up of Zoe. She looked really happy.

  Hope’s heart broke for her, being in a place where she couldn’t hold her children…and for Maddie and Chad no longer being able to cuddle with their mama, and Ryan because he’d have no memories of her, and for Ben. She bit her lower lip to stop her eyes and nose from stinging. She sat in the armchair and leaned back with Ryan against her chest and his head on her shoulder. His tiny fingers curled, and he clung to her sweater without waking. Chad held up a picture of a dinosaur colored in scribbles of at least fifteen different shades.