Chapter 14 - Give Me My Son Right Now
The deputy didn't just say hand him over. He pulled one of the dining chairs out from the table and set it square in the warm light under the wall sconce.
"Sit," he said to the man. Not unkind. Just clear.
The man sat. His suit jacket had pulled loose at the shoulders from the last hour and his black shirt was damp at the collar. He kept his hands on his knees because he didn't know where else to put them. I was still standing by the sideboard with Nico against me, his head tucked into the curve of my neck, his breathing slow and wet against my apron strap.
"He's drowsy," I said quietly. "That's good. It'll make this easier."
The deputy looked at me. "We'll do it slow. No reach-and-grab. You talk her through it, then he talks it back. We protect that neck area the whole time."
That was the first scene — just the setup, but my hands were shaking again. Not from fear the way before. From knowing I had to let go right.
I shifted Nico a little higher so his weight settled into my left forearm. The light blue sleeve of his onesie had ridden up at the wrist and I smoothed it back down with my thumb. The wood paneling behind the man caught the light and made the room feel smaller, quieter than it had an hour ago when he was shouting that I'd kidnapped his baby.
"Okay," I said. "I'm going to turn so you're on my left. Don't stand up."
The man nodded. He didn't speak. His eyes stayed on Nico.
I took one step closer. The carpet muffled my shoes. Nico stirred at the movement and made a small sound in his throat, not quite a cry.
"Put your left arm out," I said. "Elbow bent. Like you're holding a football, but higher. Up near your chest."
He did it. His arm trembled a little. I could see him trying to keep it steady.
"Good," the deputy said from beside him. "Keep it there."
I moved in closer until my shoulder was almost touching the man's shoulder. I could feel his breathing. Fast, then he caught it and slowed it on purpose.
"Now your right hand," I said. "Open. You're going to support his head, not his back. Fingers wide under his skull. Don't touch the red spot. Stay below it."
"The mark's here," the deputy added, tapping his own neck to show the place. "Upper back, near the collar. Give it space."
The man lifted his right hand. For a second his fingers hovered too close to Nico's neck and I paused.
"Lower," I said. "Cup more. Yeah, like that."
He adjusted. His palm was big against Nico's head, but gentle. That surprised me. Earlier he'd been clutching. Now he was waiting.
"This is the transfer," I said, and my voice caught. I swallowed. "I'm going to slide him across my chest to you. Keep your left arm where it is. He'll land in the crook. Don't pull him to you. Let him come."
The deputy put a hand lightly on the back of the man's chair. "Slow counts. On three."
Nico chose that moment to wake up. Maybe it was the change in air, the smell of the man's cologne coming back. His little legs kicked once inside the onesie and his face scrunched red. He let out a sharp fuss, then another, louder.
"He's okay," I said quickly, before the man could flinch. "He does that. Just hold steady."
But the man stiffened. His left arm jerked up half an inch and his mouth opened.
"Stay seated," the deputy said, low. "Let her keep talking."
I bounced just slightly on my knees, the way I'd done before. "Hey. Hey, Nico. You're fine." I started the shush — soft, through my teeth, the same rhythm I'd used at the table. Shhh-shhh, shhh-shhh. "See? Same sound."
Nico's cry hitched. He turned his head toward my voice, his cheek rubbing my apron.
"Now," I said to the man. "You do it with me. Same pace. Don't worry if it sounds dumb."
The man stared at me, then at the baby. He tried. His first shhh came out rough, too much air. Nico fussed harder.
"Slower," I said. "Less breath. Like this — shhh... shhh..."
He tried again. Shhh... shhh... This time it lined up with mine. Two sets of sound, almost together.
Nico's shoulders dropped a fraction. His crying thinned into whimpers.
"That's it," the deputy said. "Keep that rhythm and we move."
I slid my right hand under Nico's bottom and eased his weight off my shoulder, pivoting him outward just enough that his head stayed supported by my left hand until the man's right palm took over. For three seconds we were both holding him — four hands, one small body in light blue cotton between us. I could feel the heat of the man's hand under mine.
"You're good," I whispered. "I've got his neck till you do. Slide your fingers in... there."
He did. His fingers spread wide and took the weight of Nico's skull. He didn't grab at the onesie. He didn't yank. He just held.
"One," the deputy counted. "Two... three."
I let go.
It was only six inches of movement, from my chest to the man's left arm, but my arms felt suddenly empty and cold. Nico landed in the crook of his father's elbow, head high on his chest, legs tucked. He let out one startled wail at the loss of my shoulder — loud in the paneled room — and the man's face tightened.
"Don't bounce him," I said. "Just sway. And keep the sound going."
The man stood? No — he stayed seated, like the deputy told him. He tucked his chin down to look at Nico and started swaying side to side in the chair, his dress shoes scraping softly on the carpet. Shhh... shhh... Still rough, but steady now.
Nico rooted once against the black shirt, fussed, then stilled. His tiny hand, still in the long blue sleeve, curled against the man's lapel.
The man's whole face changed. It wasn't dramatic. His eyebrows, which had been pulled high and tight all night, came down. The line around his mouth softened. He blinked fast and looked down at his son like he was afraid looking away would break it.
"There you go," the deputy said. "Support that neck. Elbow in."
"You're doing it," I said. I stepped back to give them room. My hands found the edge of the sideboard behind me and gripped it. "Keep his head above that mark. Don't let his chin drop."
The man nodded without looking up. He adjusted his left arm a half inch higher, cradling Nico closer to his shoulder. Nico sighed — that newborn sigh that sounds too big for his body — and went limp and warm against him, asleep again.
For a moment nobody in that wood-paneled room said anything. The sconce buzzed faintly. A plate clinked out in the main dining room through the closed door.
The man kept swaying, even though he didn't need to anymore. He kept shushing, quieter now.
May you like
He looked up at me then. Not the hard stare from the start of the night. Something tired and embarrassed and relieved all at once.
I didn't say you're welcome. I didn't say anything. I just let my hands drop to my sides.
