Right behind him, Molly almost stepped on his heel.
“You can’t warm a baby’s milk in there.”
“Why not?”
“The bottle might feel cool to the touch, but the milk could be too hot in spots and burn a baby’s mouth and throat.” With an efficiency he could only admire, she took the bottle to the sink and held it under the water. When she seemed satisfied with the temperature, Molly thrust the bottle at Brig. “Shake some on your inner wrist before you give it to her—to make sure.”
He sat down at the table, tried to nestle Laila into a good position, then watched her latch on to the nipple. He could hear the party noise swell from the living room, and the teenagers in the dining room were still giggling. When he glanced up, Molly was all but tapping her foot at his incompetence.
He knew she adored children, but how did she know about babies?
Brig guessed it was time to explain what he was doing with one. Or try to.
“This is Laila,” he began. “She’s two months old.” He smiled down at the baby’s intent expression as she drank, her dark eyes fixed on his face. He cleared his throat. “She isn’t mine, in case you’re wondering....” He trailed off, reluctant to call up the painful memories.
Molly waited for him to go on.
After a long moment Brig tried again. “I was on duty overseas. Hush-hush stuff, flying under the radar, the kind of thing we always do.” It was one reason he’d left Molly. He hadn’t wanted to worry about her worrying about him. At least, that was what he’d told himself then. “Long story short, Laila’s dad was one of my men, one of the team. Sean...fell in love there with a local woman.”
“And they had Laila,” Molly guessed.
Brig nodded, still gazing down at the baby. Her tiny hand closed around his little finger, and his heart melted, which happened about ten times a day.
“They had Laila,” he echoed, his tone husky. “Then, while she was still in the hospital with her mother after the birth, a bunch of insurgents hit the place. Boom. In the bombing, Laila’s mom died instantly.” He paused. “Her name was Zada. You know what that means?”
“No.”
“The lucky one. But that day she wasn’t so lucky...and Sean lived just long enough to make sure Laila was okay.”
Molly’s eyes had softened. “This must be hard to talk about. You don’t have to go on, Brig.”
Why was he surprised at her words? Molly had always been sensitive to other people. Once, she’d even been sensitive to him. Now he swallowed the pain that sometimes threatened to consume him. His anger over Sean and Zada was easier to feel and just as hard to forget.
“But I ask you, Molly—what kind of thing was that? A man goes to see his wife, his new daughter, the happiest kind of day for a young couple in love—a family for the first time—and he ends up dead. They do,” he added.
Molly seemed to be holding her breath. “What about the baby? How did Laila survive that ghastly explosion?”
“The nurses claimed they wanted to give Sean and Zada some time together. They took the baby back to the nursery at the other end of the building minutes before the device went off. She didn’t get a scratch, which is a miracle in itself. I spent the past two months entangled in red tape before I got permission to bring Laila to the States.”
Molly’s gaze brightened, as if a light had been turned on. “Your friend...asked you to keep her. If anything happened to him.”
Brig nodded again. “We all make wills,” he said, “before we deploy. Kind of a downer, wouldn’t you say? But necessary when you think about it. I’m officially Laila’s guardian now. Not the best choice of ‘parent’ for her in my opinion, but, yes, I promised Sean. Who would have guessed that he and Zada would both...that Laila...” How was Brig going to care for the little girl, though? She could stay with his folks when he was in the field, as they’d already agreed, but that arrangement would be temporary, and now he had to find them first.
Molly briefly touched his arm. “You’ve had a really bad time.”
“Not just me,” he said, wanting to change the subject before he totally fell apart. “I’m sorry about your husband. Mom told me.”
There was another long silence while Molly appeared to gather herself, and Brig wondered if she felt as uneasy talking about this as he had about Sean and Zada.
“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice husky. “Andrew was a great guy.”
And I wasn’t. She had a point, even unspoken. Brig couldn’t fault her for not wanting to dredge up her sorrow. But still he went on.
“I remember Andrew Darling from school,” Brig said, “but I didn’t know him very well. He was a couple of years ahead of me. Two, I think. He always seemed quiet, but he was friendly. A serious kind of guy.”
“He had this laugh, though,” she said. “It always surprised me—when he wasn’t the type for surprises. We were a lot alike, really, I guess. He was so steady, settled...”
Not like me.
The next words almost stuck in his throat. “Were you happy, Molly?”
He needed to hear her say yes, so he wouldn’t continue to feel guilty for leaving. Yet he dreaded hearing her say just that.
“We were,” she said at last, “but not nearly long enough. While we were together, yes, we were happy. Can we stop talking about this now?”
She fell silent, as if lost in her memories, and Brig knew again that the topic would have been better left alone. Like Sean and Zada. Still, this was his and Molly’s starting point. A crazy sort of catching up.
In the next second Brig stiffened. Warmth had spread through his sleeve. But not from the touch of Molly’s hand, which had dropped from his arm. He held out Laila and saw a widening stain on the fabric.
“She’s wet,” Molly noted with that little frown he remembered so well. “When was her diaper changed?”
Already feeling guilty, Brig checked his watch. “About five hours ago.”
“Five hours?”
“On the hard floor in the customs area at JFK while we waited for our bags. I never had time between planes to buy more diapers, and at Frankfurt we ran low. I’ve been rationing Laila’s changes.”
Molly’s soft eyes had turned steely, and her face appeared pale under the festive red heart stuck to her face.
Both he and the baby must look like dirty laundry, wrinkled and thrown together. Now they were both damp and not getting any drier. To Brig, that meant he was losing his grip on the situation—which had happened the first time Laila had screamed on the military cargo plane out of Bagram airfield near Kabul.
“Overseas,” he said, “a local woman took care of Laila while I took care of business. Guess I’m not doing so well now.”
Molly raised an eyebrow. Her expression challenged every one of his insecurities.
“You can use the spare room upstairs to change her.”
Brig could hear the doubt in her tone, and his male pride kicked in. Their brief rapport—if it had even been that—was over. And here he’d thought he and Molly were doing okay as long as they avoided any mention of his betrayal of her.
“You think I can’t change a diaper?” he asked icily.
That was pretty close to the truth.
Not waiting for her answer, he took Laila, the half-finished bottle, and stalked out of the room.