Chapter 7 - My Name Is Clara
Light came first. Not bright, just a thin warm line behind my eyes.
I tried to lift my head and couldn't. My arms felt like they belonged to somebody else, heavy and far away. There was a ringing in my ears, then underneath it, a sound I knew even before I could name it. A thin cry, stopping and starting. My chest tightened.
"Noah," I whispered, or I thought I did. My mouth wouldn't move right.
A hand closed around mine. Warm. Rough at the knuckles. "Hey. Hey, I'm here."
I forced my eyes open. The ceiling was white, not the paneled wood I remembered. A lamp glowed low in the corner. And there he was, leaning close, his dark hair messed now, not slicked back. Daniel. His black shirt was wrinkled, the top buttons open, and I could see the edge of ink at his throat.
"Daniel?" My voice cracked.
"Yeah, baby. It's me." He didn't let go of my hand. His other arm was curled around a white bundle against his chest. "Look. He's right here."
He shifted so I could see. Noah's face was red and scrunched, his tiny fists working out of the swaddle. When I made a sound, he turned toward it. Daniel lifted him a little closer and the crying eased into hiccups.
I tried to sit up and the room tilted. A wave of nausea rolled through me and I dropped back against the pillows. The gown stuck to my back with sweat. My wrist itched and I felt the plastic band there, the hospital bracelet. I stared at it, confused.
"Where—" I couldn't finish.
"Guest bedroom," Daniel said quietly. "We moved you off the floor. Marissa made up the bed. You've been out for a while."
Floor. The word hit something. I remembered cold under my cheek. The smell of rug and milk. The chandelier too bright above the table. My stomach turned.
"I fell," I said.
"You collapsed," he said. "Beside the crib."
I closed my eyes. I tried to pull the minute before that forward, but there was only pieces. Standing. My legs shaking. A plate heavy in my hands. Someone's voice telling me not to sit down yet.
"Is he okay?" I asked, looking at Noah. "Did he eat? Is he—"
"He's okay," Daniel said. "He's mad because he's hungry and tired, like his mom." He tried to smile but his eyes were wet. He brushed my hair back from my forehead with the back of his fingers, careful like I might break. "Don't worry about anything else right now."
The door down the hall opened and closed. Voices, low. A woman's sharp tone I knew in my bones. My whole body went still.
"Is that—" I started.
Daniel glanced toward the bedroom door. It was shut. Locked, I realized. "She's not coming in here," he said. His voice went flat. "I told her no."
Evelyn said something I couldn't make out, then a man's murmur. Daniel didn't move from the side of the bed. His jaw tightened, but he kept his hand on mine, thumb moving slow back and forth.
"Don't let her take him," I said. It came out fast, panicked. I tightened my grip on Daniel's hand though I barely had strength. "Please. Don't—"
"I won't." He leaned in. "I swear, Clara. Nobody's taking him."
Tears slipped sideways into my hair. I couldn't wipe them. Noah made a soft whimper and I turned my head toward him without thinking. "Can I— can I hold him?"
Daniel hesitated. "You're still shaky. How about like this?" He eased onto the edge of the mattress and settled Noah lengthwise across my chest, supporting his head with his palm. The weight of him, so small and warm through the thin gray gown, made me sob once, out loud.
"Hi," I breathed. "Hi, baby. Mom's here. I'm here."
Noah rooted against me, mouth open. Instinct moved through the fog. I looked up at Daniel, embarrassed and desperate at once. "I think he—"
"Yeah," he said softly. He helped me shift the gown a little, holding Noah steady, not looking away from my face. "Take your time."
It hurt, and then it didn't. The room went quiet except for Noah's swallowing and my breathing. Daniel kept one hand on the baby's back the whole time, like he was afraid I'd drop him if I drifted off again.
The bedroom door creaked as someone knocked lightly, twice. I flinched.
"It's just Marissa," Daniel said quickly. He got up, still watching me, and cracked the door.
Marissa slipped in with a glass of water and a folded towel. Her brown hair was coming loose from its band, her apron crooked. When she saw me awake with Noah on my chest, her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh, thank God," she whispered. She came to the other side of the bed and set the water down. "Clara, honey, can you hear me okay?"
I nodded. My eyelids were getting heavy again.
"You need to drink a little when you can," she said. She glanced at Daniel. "He hasn't left. I told them upstairs you'd need quiet."
"Did I—" I stopped, swallowed. The memory of standing with plates flashed again, my arms burning. "I was supposed to finish serving dinner. She said— she said to keep going. I didn't want to put him down, but she—"
"Shh," Marissa said, but her eyes filled. "You don't have to explain that now."
"No, I—" I looked at Daniel. "I remember being afraid he'd cry and she'd get mad. I was trying to hold him and carry the plates. My legs— I don't remember falling. I just remember thinking don't drop him. Don't drop Noah."
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Daniel's face changed. He looked down at the baby, then back at me, and his throat worked. He bent and pressed his forehead lightly to the side of my head.
"You didn't drop him," he said, his voice low and rough. "You kept him safe. I got you both."
