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Show Motherlunge a novel 188 28. The Day In Small Parts As I've maintained, on the night Pavia left I thought I'd just be babysitting for the evening. But then I came home from the walk and found the note. And the scene where I stand in the doorway of the darkened room and gaze at X. in his crib for untold minutes-as if in a spell of measureless affection and personal resolve to bravery ultimately broken only by the impulse to pull the blanket up around his little quivering chin-didn't happen next. Nor did it develop that I called Jack that very moment, who sped over-nostrils flaring as if to better catch the scent of the argument he would later use in the pitched custody battle-to claim X. while the girl from Marketing sat in his car and looked up at the front of the house, the front steps of which featured me, holding General by his collar as if to prevent his attack. Also not occurring: Eli suddenly at the door, looking exhausted and chagrined, saying that he didn't want to be away from me at all any more, then reaching for me like a door marked PULL and me swinging forward easily. Instead I watched the end of Dances with Wolves on TV and, sedated, went to bed in my room. X. woke me up in the night, crying, as I have mentioned. After that I slept every night in Pavia's bed. X. breathed humidly next to me in the crib. When I woke up in the mornings, my nephew would often be sitting up and looking at me critically |