She's swimming aimlessly in a bathwater sea when she hears the baby crying, loud choking sobs that demand attention, getting louder and louder, drawing her to them. The sun-drenched ocean world around her disintegrates, leaving her in the dark, disoriented and confused. She opens her eyes and an uneasy heartbeat passes before she remembers where she is and to whom the arm across her middle belongs. She's still not used to being home.
"Christopher," J.R. mumbles now, his grip on her tightening as she tries to sit up. "Not John Ross. Go back to sleep, darlin'."
He's right of course; the difference is clear now that she's awake. But her child or not, the crying is getting louder, pulling at her heartstrings. Where are Bobby and Pam? Heavens, when John Ross cried as a baby, Pam was always in the nursery before she could even throw back the covers. They must both be out of earshot.
She shifts J.R.'s arm aside. "I'm just going to go check on him," she whispers, but he's already asleep again, snoring softly. She stands, pulling on her silk robe as she walks to the door.
Bobby and Pam's door stands open, the room empty, and Christopher is alone, sitting in his crib screaming when she opens his door to the nursery.
"Hello, little boy," she whispers, walking over to the crib. "Hello." The baby, quiet now and eyes wide in his tear-stained face, lifts his little arms to her. After a moment's hesitation she picks him up and carries him over to the rocking chair, settling him against her shoulder. Rubbing his back through his blue terry sleeper, she rocks gently to and fro as she so often had with John Ross when he was a baby. He's warm and solid and he smells so sweet, like milk and baby powder and love.
"Good boy," she murmurs in his ear, as he burrows his head into her neck. "Such a good little boy. Go back to sleep for Auntie."
Dear Lord, what will this child think of her when he's older? Will he hate her for not taking him in herself? It's for the best, she tells herself, and not for the first time. He'll be better off with Bobby and Pam and their loving marriage, no matter whose blood he is. Her relationship with J.R. is far too chaotic to take on another child, if he'd even agree to it, which of course he never would. And she's just not strong enough to do it on her own.
"Someday," she whispers, kissing his head, "If they decide to tell you the truth of where you came from, maybe you'll come to me with questions about your mama. And then I'll tell you how smart she was, and beautiful, and not afraid of anything. And I'll tell you she would have loved you so very much and she would've been happy that you ended up with such wonderful parents like Bobby and Pam. That's what I'll tell you."
It's partly true at least.
"And I hope," she continues, "You'll be able to forgive her for the things she's done. I hope you'll forgive me too."
Closing her eyes, she rests her head back against the chair and drifts back into her warm welcoming sea.
"I'm sorry if he woke you, Sue Ellen," Pam says from the door, startling her awake. "Bobby's out helping Ray with something, and I was downstairs fixing a snack. I guess I didn't hear him."
Her eyes open, the warmth and the water draining away until all that's left is a beautiful baby boy that has never and will never be hers.
"Oh," she says. "Yes, well, you need to be more responsible now that you're a mother, Pamela."
She stands, carefully walking over to the crib and placing the now sleeping baby back down, pausing to gently caress his soft baby cheek with one manicured finger. Blinking back the tears inexplicably leaking from her eyes, she turns around and leaves Christopher to his mother, out the door and back to her own life.