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  “How’s your bagel?” I ask.

  “It’s yummy,” she says.

  “Good,” I say. “Bug, do you know what it means when people are dating?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “What does that mean?”

  She puts her bagel down and purses her lips like she does when she’s thinking. “That’s when grown-ups like each other and they kiss each other.”

  I smile. “Yeah, that’s about right. How would it make you feel if I said that Daddy and Linnea are dating?”

  “Are you going to get married?” she asks.

  There’s a yes sitting right on the tip of my tongue. It should freak me the hell out that it would be so easy to say it. “I don’t know. People usually need a long time to decide something big like that.”

  “Is she still going to take care of me when you’re at work?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  She looks down at her half-eaten bagel and I can tell she’s wrestling with something. I stay quiet and give her time to think.

  “Did you love my mom?” she asks.

  Her question catches me completely off guard. She rarely asks about Melanie. I’ve always been open about her mom—shown her pictures, and talked about how much Melanie loved her. About a year ago, she wanted to know how her mom died, and I told her about the car accident. Since then, she hasn’t asked about her again.

  “Yes, Bug. I loved your mom very much.”

  “Do you still love a person when they’re dead?” she asks.

  “Yes, you do,” I say. “I still love your mom. I always will. Are you worried that if I love someone else, it will mean I don’t love your mom anymore?”

  “No,” she says.

  “Then what’s bothering you?” I ask.

  “Did you love my mom and me at the same time?” she asks.

  “Yes, of course I did. I loved you as soon as you were born. That didn’t change how I felt about your mom. It made me love her more because she gave me the best gift. She gave me you.”

  “Okay.”

  I brush a few tangles out of her hair. “Are you worried that if I love someone else, I won’t love you as much?”

  She nods without looking at me.

  “Oh, Bug.” I scoop her up out of her chair and into my lap. For a long moment, I just hold her. She wraps her arms around my neck and I rub slow circles across her back. “Nothing will ever change how much I love you. Nothing in the entire world.”

  I move her so she’s sitting and I can look at her face. “Listen, sweetheart. Love doesn’t have limits. It’s as big as we want it to be. Do you remember the Grinch movie, when his heart grows bigger?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Love is like that,” I say. “Before I met your mom, I loved my family. Loving your mom didn’t make me love them less, it just made my heart bigger. And when you were born it got so big, I wasn’t sure it was going to fit inside my ribs anymore.”

  She pokes my chest and giggles.

  “Loving someone new just makes your heart grow,” I say. “So if I love someone else—someone like Linnea—it just means I have more love in my heart. And you still made my heart the biggest.”

  “I think you should marry Linnea and then I can have her as my mom,” she says.

  I hug her again to give me a second for the lump in my throat to go down. This kid is killing me today. “Well, it’s too soon to think about that. Daddy and Linnea are… we’re special friends now. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Can I finish my bagel?”

  I kiss her forehead and scoot her back into her chair. “Yes, you can finish your bagel.”

  After we eat, we take a little walk. It’s chilly outside, but we have coats, and it’s not raining. Charlotte asks me questions, but they’re the usual for her—things like why does that bird have a blue head and what makes some clouds gray and other clouds white. No more questions about her mom, or love, or Linnea.

  I’m glad she doesn’t seem to mind the idea of Linnea and me dating. Her comment about marrying her leaves me with a poignant mix of relief and sadness. I like knowing that it would make Charlotte happy to have Linnea be a permanent part of her life. But it’s a reminder that she does indeed feel the loss of her mother.

  I’ve never wanted to be with a woman just to replace Melanie for Charlotte. I certainly don’t want to think of Linnea that way. If I do get married again, how Charlotte feels about her will of course be a consideration. But I’m not looking for a mom-substitute for my daughter. That kind of expectation wouldn’t be fair to her, or to me.

  But… would Linnea want that? I know she loves Charlotte. There’s no question about that. But loving your niece and the little girl you watch almost every day is one thing. Marrying her father and taking on the role of mother is a much bigger deal.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about this so soon. I took Linnea out for the first time a week ago. But I guess any single parent is going to view a relationship in terms of its future potential. We have to. We’ve kind of been there, done that. There’s not a lot of room for casual when there’s a child involved.

  It’s good that I talked to Bug, but I’m still torn about Linnea. I guess the answer is to give it time. Let things unfold. I can’t deny I’m falling in love with her. I just can’t get over the feeling that our lives are on different paths, and it’s inevitable that they’re going to diverge.

  19

  Caleb

  Recording a time of death is the worst part of my job.

  I was supposed to be off at six, but ten minutes before I left, I got paged. Patient was male, mid-fifties. After a four-car pile-up on I-5, he was brought in unresponsive with numerous contusions, lacerations, possible broken bones, and suspected internal bleeding.

  He was indeed bleeding. Profusely. One of the first things I have to do is determine the priority order of a person’s injuries. Broken limbs can wait. Bleeding takes precedence, as do spinal and head injuries. This guy seemed to have a little bit of everything, but the thing that was killing him was the shit-show in his abdominal cavity.

  I did everything in my power to save him. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. His injuries were too severe. He went into cardiac arrest and we weren’t able to revive him.

  The exhaustion I didn’t feel when I was in the OR hits me on the drive home. My limbs get heavy and my back aches. But more than that, I feel defeated. I go up against death all the time. I win some, I lose some.

  The weight of tonight’s loss is heavy.

  Most surgeons have the ability to detach themselves from the emotional side of their job. We have to. If we felt something for every patient we operated on, we’d go crazy. Some of us turn out like Weston. He can be cold and unemotional, and granted, it isn’t just because of his job. But he doesn’t have an on-off switch like I do. He is the way he is, at work and in the rest of his life. Being somewhat detached makes him a good surgeon.

  As for me, in the OR I’m almost robotic. I check my emotions at the door and keep a wall between myself and my patients. I see them as problems to be solved. It sounds bad to say I don’t see them as people, but in a way, I don’t. I can’t. If I think about the guy on the operating table and wonder if he has a wife and kids who will miss him if I screw up, I’d buckle under the pressure.

  When I leave the OR, I go back to being human again. Sometimes that transition is hard.

  Tonight, it’s hitting me like a truck. He’s not the first patient I’ve lost, and I’m not sure why his death is leaving me so hollowed out.

  I get home and feel a pang of guilt. I was supposed to be home for dinner, and now it’s past Charlotte’s bedtime. I’ve missed seeing her so often in the last few weeks. We’re down a surgeon and until we get someone in to replace her, I’m working a lot more than usual. I know it’s taking a toll on Charlotte. It’s taking a toll on all of us.

  Inside, I find Linnea on the couch and I’m surprised to see Charlotte curled up, asleep with her head in Lin
nea’s lap.

  “She wanted to wait for you,” Linnea whispers, running her fingers through Charlotte’s hair.

  I’m feeling open and raw after my night in the OR, and seeing this beautiful woman lovingly stroke my sleeping daughter’s hair undoes me. I sink down onto my knees in front of Linnea and gently cup her cheeks. She smiles as I lean in and kiss her mouth. The feel of her lips is like cool water on a burn.

  “Are you okay?” Linnea asks when I pull away.

  I tuck her hair behind her ear. “I am now.”

  “Do you want me to take her upstairs?” she asks.

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  I scoop Charlotte into my arms and cradle her like a baby. I can’t believe how big she’s getting. There was a time when I could hold her like this with one arm. Now her head rests in the crook of my elbow and her legs dangle over my other arm.

  She wakes up a little when I set her in bed. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, Bug. Sorry I missed dinner again.”

  “That’s okay.” She yawns and I pull the covers up to her chin. “Will you be home tomorrow?”

  “For a little while, yeah.”

  “Okay. Night-night, Daddy.”

  “Night-night, precious girl.” I kiss her forehead and make sure she’s all tucked in, then turn off her bedside lamp and close the door behind me.

  Downstairs, I find Linnea in the kitchen making tea.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks. “There’s leftovers from dinner.”

  I don’t answer. I grab her, slipping my arms around her waist, and bury my face in her neck.

  She hesitates for half a second, then wraps her arms around my shoulders. Her fingers slide through my hair as she gently massages the back of my head.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispers into my ear.

  I nod, but I don’t let go. I breathe her in while I hold her close. She smells faintly of vanilla. Her body feels so good against me and the tension in my back loosens at her touch.

  Eventually, I pull away. She insists on feeding me, and considering I can’t remember the last time I ate anything, that’s probably a good plan. She has me sit at the table while she heats up leftover chicken and rice, then sits next to me with a mug of tea while I eat.

  Food helps, as does the constant pressure of her hand on my leg. After I finish eating, I push the plate aside and pick up her hand, bringing it to my lips.

  “Thank you.” I kiss the backs of her fingers.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  I kiss her hand again. “I lost a patient tonight.”

  “Oh, Caleb,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last,” I say. “It’s part of my job. I can’t save everyone. But sometimes it gets to me.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Would you do something for me?” I ask.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Will you play for me?” I ask. “Maybe something quiet, so Bug doesn’t wake up.”

  “Why?”

  “I love your music,” I say. “And I don’t get to hear you play often enough.”

  Her lips part in a smile. “Okay.”

  I take her hand and we go into the front living room, where the only furniture is her piano. I sit on the bench and pull her into my lap. My arms thread around her waist and I lean my chin against her shoulder.

  She turns the volume down, then places her fingers lightly on the keys. I feel her take a deep breath, and she starts to play.

  The music begins soft and slow. Her long fingers stretch across the keys, her touch gentle. At first, the melody is simple. But soon it gains complexity and her body moves with the rhythm of her song.

  It’s mournful and haunting, and the longer she plays, the more I feel her lose herself in the music. I hold her gently, giving her space to move. The song is achingly beautiful, and her expert fingers caress the keys. I let my eyes close and the music surrounds me like a cloud.

  She sways, her graceful movements subtle. The song’s intensity builds and even with the volume turned low, I feel its power. It stirs my emotions, making me feel a swirl of sadness and longing. And peace. Like the high note that carries above the darker melody, a sense of peace and tranquility steals over me.

  The song ends and she pauses with her hands still resting on the keys.

  “That was beautiful,” I say softly into her ear.

  “Thank you.” She reaches up and rests her palm against my cheek. “Do you feel a little better?”

  I breathe in the warm vanilla scent of her hair again. I’m calm and relaxed, the painful knots of tension in my back easing. But I’m so fucking exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I had a good stretch of sleep. “Yeah, I do. Now I’m just tired.”

  “You should get some rest,” she says.

  “Will you sleep with me tonight?” I ask, still speaking quietly into her ear. “Just… sleep. I’m so tired.”

  She nods. “Of course I will.”

  We go upstairs and she ducks into her bedroom to change into a tank top. She crawls into my bed and I pull her against me, resting my hand on her belly. My exhausted body has reached its limit; I’m already falling asleep. The warmth of her body and the feel of her soft breathing unravels the last of the strain I was carrying.

  Somehow, Linnea’s softness—her gentle care—soothes me in a way nothing else can. With her in my arms, I drift into a deep sleep, my mind free of the stress of failure. Free of the weight of all the responsibility I carry.

  20

  Linnea

  Caleb’s lips whispering against my back wake me. I’m still snuggled up against him, his arm draped over me. No light comes in through the cracks in the blinds; it must be the middle of the night.

  His hand slides beneath my tank top and over my breast. My eyes are heavy, but his touch has me instantly aroused. My nipples tingle and I arch my back, feeling his thick erection pressing into my ass.

  “Sorry, beautiful,” he whispers, then kisses the back of my neck. “I should let you sleep, but you feel so good.”

  I am sleepy, but my body is coming alive. I shift my hips, rubbing against his cock. The heat building inside me is too much to deny.

  Without thinking about what I’m doing, I reach behind me and wrap my hand around his hard length. “Maybe you should fuck me first.”

  He groans and I feel tension ripple through his body. “Jesus, Linnea. Say that again.”

  The combination of desire and half-sleep leaves me feeling uninhibited. I stroke his cock. “You should fuck me first.”

  With a throaty growl, he tosses the covers aside and pushes me onto my back. His hands are rough as he yanks my panties down my legs and pulls my tank top over my head. He holds himself over me, his muscular torso flexing, and leans down to graze his teeth along my neck.

  “How about I taste your pussy first,” he says, his voice low in my ear.

  I gasp, but he’s already kissing his way down my tummy. He works his way past my hips, his mouth leaving a trail of heat on my skin. For a second, I’m about to say something—I’ve never done this before—but he pushes my legs open and clamps his mouth down on me.

  A few strokes of his tongue and I’m clutching the sheets, unable to think. I’ve never felt anything like it. He brings me to the brink of climax so fast, it takes my breath away. I ride the peak while he does magical things with his tongue. It slides up and down, caressing my tender bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm. He gently sucks my clit, groaning into me like he’s enjoying this too.

  I’m panting, my hips moving of their own accord. I whimper and moan, trying not to make too much noise. But I’m losing control. He sucks harder and runs one hand up my body to palm my breast. I almost cry out at the heady combination of his mouth on my pussy and the pressure of his hand on my sensitive nipple.

  My body is totally in his control. He keeps me on the edge until I’m begging for release.

  “Please,
Caleb. Oh my god.”

  “Come for me, beautiful.”

  He releases my breast and slides two fingers inside me while his tongue works my clit. My eyes roll back—I have the fleeting thought that maybe people can die from too much pleasure—before the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had makes me stop breathing.

  Wave after wave of hot tension rolls through me. My muscles clench around his fingers, my back arches, and my mouth drops open. My entire body lights up, like sparks of electricity are racing through my veins.

  The pulses subside and I’m left breathing hard, my mind blank, my body quivering.

  “What did you just do to me?”

  Caleb crawls on top of me and wraps his hand around the back of my neck. “God, I love driving you crazy. Because you make me fucking insane, do you know that?”

  “How do you want me?” I ask, my voice soft and breathy.

  “How do I want what?” he growls.

  I lift my head and lick my taste off his lips, earning another deep, throaty growl. “How do you want to fuck me?”

  He kisses me hard, his hand tightening on the back of my neck, his tongue aggressive. I tilt my hips, trying to take him inside me, but he doesn’t thrust in.

  “Come here.” He flips us around so he’s lying on his back, his cock pointing toward his gorgeous abs. I straddle his upper thighs and despite the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave me, I already want more. I want his thickness inside me, stretching me, filling me. And I want it now.

  He reaches over and grabs a condom out of his nightstand. This time I take it and roll it on for him. He watches, biting his lower lip, his brow furrowed.