Penny raised an eyebrow. “Not negotiable? What happened to letting her make her own decisions?”
I couldn’t keep a tiny curve of amusement from my mouth. “Oh trust me. Naomi already made her own decision on that subject.” My gaze slid from Penny’s face to Naomi’s, which was a study in shock, disbelief, and wild hope.
“Well, Mr. Not Negotiable,” Penny was saying, “if she can’t afford the dorm, and her roommate doesn’t want her, and she doesn’t want to go home, where do you propose she decide to live?”
“With me.” Oh, I was opening a can of worms now and no mistake. I quashed the fluttering voice of panic in my head. “I have a house on the outskirts of town. Fully paid for, been in the family for years.”
“Where you would what? Live in sin?”
“That’s up to Naomi.” The panic got louder as I crossed the room and dropped to one knee beside Naomi’s bed. “Naomi, I-I don’t have a… ring…” My voice gave out. I swallowed, trying to reboot it.
Naomi half-tumbled to her knees before me, clutching at my hands.
“Damon, what are you doing?” she whispered frantically. “Are you really — you’re not really—”
“Yes, really.” My writhing nerves abruptly settled. Yes. Really. “I love you, Naomi.”
She gave a snort of disbelief, though an uncertain one. “Sure, like Mr. Darcy — against your will and against your character.”
“No.” I kept my voice low enough that only she could hear, and cupped her face with my hands. “I covanted you against my will and against my character. But I love you of my own free will, because you deserve it. And I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
“You — You’re saying that because your Lumi just almost died—”
“You just almost died, and I would have died with you. Marry me.” I kissed her, fighting hard to be gentle, she was still weak as a kitten…
Her return kiss nearly knocked me on my back on the floor, which I elected to take as a yes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Weights
NAOMI
Congratulations were not forthcoming, of course — except from Jonathan, who grinned like a loon. Dad’s stunned silence and Mom’s icy one were, in fact, better reactions than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t expect jubilation in the face of what looked very much like their daughter’s second act of matrimonial lunacy.
The word lunacy, I remembered, dated from a time when fits of madness were blamed on the moon. I glanced at the pale thumbnail gleaming through the window. A Cheshire-cat moon, which matched my mood rather nicely. I expected to be able to stand on my head any minute. Or float up into the sky. Curses on Ginger for making me sore and weak-kneed at a time when I wanted to jump on the bed and sing.
I had hoped to pack Mom and Dad off to a hotel tonight, but after Damon’s proposal — proposal! — there was zero chance of them leaving us alone together, even with Jonathan as chaperon. They slept now on a cot the nurses brought, looking cross and uncomfortable.
No matter. Their bad moods were mere gnats in the summer sunshine of my Best Day Ever. Don’t make me swat you, Mom.
“I suppose I made a big assumption,” Damon murmured, “about whether you want to live at the Orphanage.”
“Anywhere is better than with them.” I kept my voice so low, I could barely hear myself. It was not the sort of thing I could say to my Mommy and Daddy.
“It’s going to be crowded,” he said. “In fact, I don’t even have a bedroom.”
“We’ll make do.”
“Maybe I could ask Adonis and Audrey to double up with Dove and Darling…”
“Do you think they’re asleep?” I nodded toward my parents.
He cocked his head. “Their breathing sounds like it.”
“What about Jonathan?”
“Seems to be, yes.”
“We’d best not talk, then. Might wake them up.”
He frowned.
“Besides,” I continued, twining a hand in his hair, “can’t you think of better things to do right now than talk?”
Turns out he could. Fancy that.
I had to be fair to Tyler. When he kissed me, I had felt wanted, valued, maybe even loved. But Damon kissed me as if he had never wanted anything more in his life — and yet was afraid to touch me, as though he might burn us both to ashes.
There are worse fates.
A long, slow while later, we pulled back to catch our breaths. Quietly. It really would not do to wake the parents. Earth was not ready. Damon rested his head against my shoulder, one arm flung across my waist, and quickly fell asleep. It didn’t look terribly comfortable for him, but it was terribly comfortable for me, so I decided he was a big boy and could change position himself if he wanted. I stroked his hair and waited to get sleepy myself.
We’re getting married.
If Liberty doesn’t kill me. I took a deep, shivering breath and locked that thought down hard. Damon would protect me. I had complete faith in both his intention and his ability. There was no point, therefore, in worrying.
There were a lot of other things to worry about, wheres and whens and whos and how-much-moneys and what-color-napkins. I was determined there would be nary a love bead in sight, this time. Soon enough — not soon enough — it would be no less than my wifely duty to, well. Ask Audrey and Adonis to double up with Dove and Darling, so that Damon and I could have a room to ourselves. And all that that implied.
I guess the baby will have to sleep in our room. My poor nameless waif, alone in his bare, medicinal baby-box. My happy-glow dimmed a bit. I want him here, where I can pet him and hold him and tell him Mommy’s here and everything’s fine. After seven months of swollen feet, stretch marks, constant hunger, bruised ribs, compressed lungs, and Bladder Bandit attacks, I actually missed having him right there under my skin, where I knew he was okay.
Audrey’s gift basket sat on the windowsill, a moonlit beacon of guilt. Your baby doesn’t even have a stuffed animal in his incubator.
I kissed Damon’s forehead — I was allowed to do that! We were engaged! — and slipped out of the bed. They’d taken out the IV, at least, so I didn’t have to drag a pole around. I grabbed the basket off the windowsill and set off for the NICU.
I expected it to be dark and quiet, possibly locked up for the night, but of course the babies needed round-the-clock care. A nurse met me at the door and helped me sanitize my hands and Audrey’s gifts.
Now that I was paying attention, I could see that hardly a baby in sight lacked a knitted thing of some sort, with a definite repetition of certain patterns and colors. Premature babies, Galatea had said, victims of natural disasters, and an orphanage in China. I spared a moment to feel proud of the family I was marrying into.
“Hey, little guy,” I murmured at the denizen of the incubator marked BABY BOY WINTERS. I set a stuffed frog, dinosaur, and teddy bear around the edges of his box. “Do you want to wake up and talk to Mama?”
At the sound of my voice, he opened his eyes and did a sort of slow, full-body wriggle.
“There, he knows you,” the nurse said. “Let me help you get his hat and booties on.”
She helped me figure out how to pick him up without disturbing the various lines and wires trailing from his tiny body. He seemed hardly heavier than Luna’s kittens, the ones who had given me nightmares about the revolting “miracle” of birth. I think I’m just as glad I was unconscious for your arrival, kiddo.
“I feel like I’m going to break him,” I said.
“Oh, you’re doing fine. Let me get you a chair.”
She got us settled and left us alone, the baby wrapped carefully in a little hospital blanket. He nestled his head against my chest and closed his eyes.
“My baby,” I said experimentally, “my son.” And burst into tears.
All my emotional chaos came pouring out. I was happy to have my baby. Sad to have him so sick. Damon wanted to marry me. Liberty wanted to kill me. My brother had someone else’s memories swirling in his
head. And I had a baby. A baby who would need to be fed and dressed and taught and hugged and scolded and hugged more. A baby so light and tiny that he seemed ready to float away any minute. For seven months I had ignored my child’s existence as much as I could. Now I scrambled for a way to make him more solid, more definite. Wasn’t there some ancient civilization that believed naming a baby anchored him to the world, made him real?
“Price, to begin with,” I murmured. “Your last name is Price. Tyler’s your father, whether I like it or not, and he’ll think you’re the best thing since John Deere. I can’t keep you from him. So Price it is.”
He opened his eyes a slit, flexed a foot, and went back to sleep.
Now the first name. It had to be a name heavy enough to anchor him to the living world, a solid, confident monolith of Identity. Something he could lean on, pull strength from, he needed strength…
I remembered what Grampa Charlie had told me, the day we buried Patton. “Animals die, and people die, and other things, too — friendships, dreams, houseplants, marriages. But love doesn’t die. Every love we’ve ever felt lives forever, because God is love and God lives forever.”
“Charlie,” I said to my son. “Your name is Charlie.”
.
“Please don’t wander off like that.” Damon’s voice, startling me out of my half-doze, came in just a shade under a snap, a study in the peculiar anger of the profoundly relieved.
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand, “I didn’t think — I guess I assumed a hospital was safe, but that was dumb, huh?”
“No harm done this time.” He half-crushed my hand, kissed my hair; relaxed with visible difficulty and reached over to tickle Charlie’s palm, watching the tiny fingers slowly close, a blooming flower in reverse. “How’s he doing?”
“Good.” I smiled, basking in the warmth Damon’s presence brought, like the car heater finally kicking in when you had almost forgotten your numb toes. “Charlie, this is Damon. He’s going to be your daddy. One of your daddies.”
“Charlie?” He cocked his head. “After your grampa?”
“Yes.” Of course he remembered Grampa Charlie; I’d thought about him often enough in the last three months. It wasn’t as odd as it should have been, having Damon remember. It just seemed to save time. “A family name. Mom will like it. Charlie Price, which Mom won’t like, but tough cookies.”
“What about a middle name?”
“Ugh, another one.” I yawned. “I’ll think about that later. Sleepy time now.”
“I’ll put the kiddo back in his box.” He carefully took Charlie from my arms, then paused before turning to the incubator, looking down at him.
“Daddy.” The word was barely a breath; I didn’t think he meant me to hear it. A wondering, uncertain smile floated across his face, and he brushed a finger down Charlie’s cheek.
“You’ll be fantastic,” I said. “You had a good role model, anyway.”
“That, I did.” He eased Charlie into the incubator. “Speaking of which, I should call them tomorrow. They have no idea what’s happening.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll call Carmen and Movie Barn, from which I have probably been fired, since I didn’t show up today or yesterday.” I yawned again. “Ugh. The very thought is a dark, crushing weight.”
“Well, some weights,” he scooped me up into his arms with a squeak, “are more worrisome than others.”
The nurse rolled her eyes. “You two get out of here before you knock something over.”
We meekly complied.
“I’m still trying to get used to the new you,” Damon murmured, shifting a hand to tickle my ribs as he carried me down the corridor.
“Eep! Stop that!” I kicked uselessly. “What new me?”
“You’re so small now.”
“Not that small,” I sighed. I was still dreadfully well-padded, and sort of loose and flappy, too. Ugh. “But I guess you’ve never seen me uninhabited before, even in my memories. Weird thought.”
“Not weird, just new.”
“Well, get used to it. I don’t plan to get pregnant again soon.”
He smiled ruefully. “It won’t be so easy, you know, with me.”
“One thing at a time, shall we?” I was quiet a minute, thinking, then asked, “Are you going to age?”
He shrugged.
“I hope you do,” I said. “You don’t mind that, do you? I don’t relish the idea of you being mistaken for my grandson someday.”
“Doesn’t sound fun to me, either,” he said. “So long as I’m allowed to age well. Distinguished streaks of gray, faint crow’s-feet, that sort of thing — no paunch or missing teeth.”
“Deal.” I tried to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head to meet my lips with his, which derailed conversation for a time. With my feet dangling in the air and my eyes closed, the world was effectively reduced to me and him. Excellent.
“Wedding tomorrow?” he murmured between kisses.
I laughed and shook my head. “June’s a good month for weddings.”
“So is March.”
“I’ve always liked the idea of a Christmas wedding.”
He muttered something about gift-wrap that made me blush, then sighed and set me on my feet.
“If we’re going to make it back to the room sometime tonight…”
“Gotcha,” I sighed, and settled for holding his hand as we walked. It felt so good, I fought the urge to pinch myself. What if I woke up?
What if I woke up and all this was gone?
“Penny for your thoughts,” Damon said.
I shrugged, smiling awkwardly.
Damon stopped walking. “What’s wrong? Hey.” He touched his forehead to mine. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
“Yeah, that’s… what’s worrying me.”
“What?”
“I know it’s stupid. I’m just worrying about whether Jewel’s right.”
“In the head?” he said dryly.
“About this wearing off in a few days. I mean I did almost die and I’m still actually in danger and that can really mess with a Shadow’s mind, or so I’ve been told.”
“Ah, that.” Damon lifted my hand to his lips. “No. She is, as usual, wrong.”
“You have done a rather sudden one-eighty.”
“True.” Instead of releasing my hand, he held it to his cheek, as if it were a casual thing we did all the time. “What proof would you like? Black knights, terrible tasks, fatal riddles?” And with a remarkably neutral voice, “Blood oaths?”
A blood oath. Like the one keeping Westley alive, at the expense of his happiness and probably, eventually, his sanity. “No. I don’t want you to stay because you have to.”
His face warmed, like the sun filling a window, and he kissed my palm. “That’s why I’m staying.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Visitors
NAOMI
Dr. and Mrs. DiNovi were at the hospital within minutes of Damon’s morning phone call, and came around the edge of the doorway like a sunrise, grinning so widely that even Helen’s dignity threatened to dissipate in the glow. They bent to hug me, shook Dad’s hand heartily, expressed regrets at having missed Jonathan and my mother — regret that would have been considerably less sincere had they ever met my mother — and dragged Damon off to show them the baby. Shortly thereafter, Dad went to see what had delayed Mom and Jonathan’s return from the cafeteria, and I had just enough time to get nervous about my solitary, unguarded state when Dove came.
She didn’t bother with the doorway, but used the shadow of Jonathan’s bed, and bowed to me in the Chinese fashion. Her face was clouded with worry, but she mustered a smile for me.
“I come to see you doing well,” she said. “Westley say your baby is well for so early.”
“Yes, he’s improving,” I said with relief.
“I so glad. You name him?”
“Charlie,” I said, and held up the birth certificate I was in the midst of filling ou
t.
“Ah, good name. Strong.” Her smile went wistful. “When I have baby, I want to give strong name. So I open name book, find name means ‘strong’. Valerie. Very pretty name.”
I blinked. “You have a baby?”
“Yes. She ten now. I… not see her in long time.”
“Why not?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I breach.”
“But… who takes care of her, then?”
“Her father.”
I remembered now, Dove’s Lumi was still alive. She had even spoken of him fondly. “Do they live in China?”
“No, Florida. Never been to China ‘til after I breach.”
“But… your accent…”
“Yes, my Lumi like. He half-Chinese; this how his mama talk.”
“How did you talk before you covanted?”
“Good English.” She shook her head. “Is frustrating, sometime, not saying clearly. But cannot be change.”
“I guess you didn’t look Chinese either.”
She shrugged. “Shadow child not look like anything. Look like my father now, so this not bother. My mother have blonde hair, pretty-pretty.” Another cloud of sadness passed over her face. “They die when I little. I go live with uncle. He a good man, but not know much about Shadow. And my Lumi, he not know either. So much misunderstanding.” For just a moment, she looked old. “My Valerie young to covant, but could happen. I worry. How much have Bo told her? How much do Bo know to tell her?”
“How did you breach?” I asked hesitantly.
Tears welled in Dove’s eyes. “We argue. Bo shake my shoulders — not to hurt, he just so frustrate, he not understand why I do things, not understand Shadow — he shout ‘why you act this way’ and shake me. I angry, hit to make him stop. Not even hit hard. But I angry enough to hit. That… all it takes.” She bit her lip hard, blinking. “I shade right away, so I not hurt Bo. I… hurt other people instead. Cannot stop. Try so hard to stop.” She looked down at her spread hands; it wasn’t hard to guess what she was seeing there. “How I can go home now? Killer. Destroyer. Kathair.”
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