"Let me get that for you," he hurries ahead of her up the cottage steps and swings the door open standing a little within the doorframe to make room for her impossibly large belly.
"Good grief, Walt!" She exclaims, though with a warm smile, "I'm not made of spun glass, you know. Henry," she continues turning to the other man entering the cabin behind her, "can't you get him to ease up a little."
Henry shifts an awkward package against his hip to fit through the doorway, catching the door Walt has abandoned to chase behind his pregnant wife with his foot before it smacks him in the face. "If you have not been successful, Martha, it is perfectly foolish for me to try. I fear that until little Cady is safely into this world, you shall have no rest from Papa Walt's protection." He emphasizes the last word to make it perfectly clear Walt's protection is nothing to be envied, though both he and Martha are grinning at the soon-to-be father.
"Just a door," Walt says dismissively but with an averted gaze that suggests some remorse for overbearing concern.
"I tell you what though," Martha begins collapsing into the couch and rolling her head back onto the pillows to look up at the ceiling, "I wouldn't say no to a glass of water. This little lady has been making my mouth dry as dust. I spend half my day drinking water and still I'm thirsty."
"And half the night up using the restroom," Walt contributes coming back from the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water and a wry grin.
"Oh Walt," Martha swats his arm affectionately taking the water from his hands and gulping half of it in one sip.
"Slowly now," Walt says sitting beside her and moving to snatch the glass from his wife before she can bring the glass back to her lips, "You don't want to hurt the baby."
Martha looks at him incredulously as Henry intercedes with a sarcastic, "I am no doctor, but I do not believe hydration during pregnancy can have any ill effects, Walt."
Walt buries his head into his hands and gives a great huff of breath. "I know, I know," comes his muffled response. "I'm being an ass," he says to his wife raising his eyes to hers. "I'm just a nervous wreck. Our little girl, a part of me and a part of you, is growing inside of you. It's a miracle. If something were to go wrong…"
"No what ifs," Martha interrupts. "This baby is going to be fine, Walt. Better than fine. Believe me, nothing is going to go wrong."
Walt looks into her eyes, nodding slightly willing himself to believe her, then looks up to Henry for confirmation.
"Everything will be alright," Henry agrees.
The hot Wyoming sun shines mercilessly down upon his face and shoulders. The slow burning of his skin barely registers, but his thirst is oppressive. He opens his mouth slightly, really just dropping his jaw, to expose his cottony swollen tongue to the wind. "Dry as dust," he hears Martha's voice echo in his memory. The faint breeze that he draws through his chapped lips only serves to make him impossibly thirstier. Unbidden, his mind recalls a Styrofoam cup filled with ice chips that lay upon the table next to a hospital bed, where Cady lies broken and unconscious and anything but alright.