Laura Altom - The Marine's Babies

“Whoa.” Emma curved her hand around his shoulder, telling herself the jolt of heat was imagined. “The girls are six months old, Jace. You’re getting ahead of yourself on the old worry tree. For now, let’s stick with introducing a few more solid foods and baby-proofing all of your cabinets and electrical outlets.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Baby-proofing. Good plan.”

“Jace…” her tone was soft. A verbal pillow on which to rest his turbulent emotions. “Trust me, down the line—weeks from now, maybe even months—you’ll never be able to imagine your life before Bea and Bronwyn entered it. Being a parent is…” In the living room’s dim light, her eyes shone. Was she on the verge of crying? “…the most wonderful thing you can imagine. Through these angels’ eyes, you’ll experience everything anew. Their first Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. And just think, with every year, every occasion will be new again because the girls will be at a fresh stage of life. There will be trick-or-treating and baking cookies for Santa. Holding out your arms to them when they run off the school bus ecstatic to see you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she turned to brush them away. “Anyway,” she added with a sniffle, “you have lots of good times ahead of you. I’m actually a little jealous.”

“In that case,” he said, sensing that for whatever reason, she needed him to lighten the moment, “how about I give you the honor of handling the good—and stinky—surprise I’m guessing Bea just left in her diaper.”

While changing Bea, Emma pondered how Jace had sensed she’d needed not only a joke, but a few moments of alone time to gather her composure. He hadn’t noticed her blubbering like a big baby herself, had he?

“How’s it going?” he asked, standing behind her, his size dwarfing her. “Need help?”

“I’m good,” she said, forcing a smile. Clearly, no matter what she’d told her mother about her current mental state, Emma was far from good. Dreaming about what her life might have been with Henry—his first words and steps, kindergarten and high-school graduations, along with all of the infinitely lovely steps in between—had been more than she could bear.

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