Chapter Ten – Love Grows Where Quentin and Amanda Go

One month later found them still living happily in their house. Jamison was four months, and growing every day. Now Amanda doesn't need Quentin to help her with the baby's bath; Jamison had grown so big that she could manage by herself. As Amanda was drying off her son in his blue fluffy towel, Quentin walked into the bathroom. "Amanda," he said, "How much longer are you gonna be with the baby?"

"Well, I don't know, honey," Amanda said, her eyes fixed on her husband, staring innocently, "Why? Do you need the bathroom?"

Quentin sighed. "No, I just wondered how long it could be before we could have the chance to talk, that's all."

"Oh," Amanda said, "Well, after Jamison's bath, he needs to be diapered, dressed, and fed."

"So, I guess you'll be a while."

"Yes," she said, turning her attention back to her child. As she dried his dark hair, Quentin turned around and left the bathroom.

Later that afternoon, Amanda came downstairs after taking a nap to find her husband devotedly applying his attention to his four-month-old son. Clearing her throat, she said, "If you want to talk, Quentin -."

Quentin looked up from Jamison, who was seated on his father's lap, smiling from ear to ear. "Oh, it's all right, honey – the talk can wait.

"Oh," she said, downcast, as she sat next to her family. Attempting a smile, she looked at Jamison. "What have you two been up to?"

"Oh, you know, playing games, telling secrets," Quentin said, smiling at his son.

"Hasn't he cried or made any fuss – you know, needed to be fed or diapered?" Amanda asked quizzically.

"Nope – he's a pretty good kid."

"He's perfect," she said, sweetly, solemnly as she took his chubby little hand in hers. Jamison's attention diverted his mother, and a silent yet strong connection passed between them. Suddenly, Jamison wanted to be held by Amanda, and made it known with little gestures that could easily be described as baby sign language. Touched, Amanda said, "Awww, does ittle baby Jamesey want to be with Mama? Huh? Yes, he does." She picked him up and sat him on her lap, where the baby smiled and tried to grab the earrings that brushed against her shoulders.

"You know," Quentin said, irritated, "Jamison and I were having a perfectly good father-son bonding session before you came down." Amanda stared at him incredulous. "And whose decision was it to call him 'Jamesey'?"

"If you want me to go, honey, I will," Amanda said stiffly, standing up with Jamison in her arms. "And if you must know, I've been calling him 'Jamesey' for weeks."

Amanda began to ascend the stairs when Quentin grabbed her by the arm. "Wait, I didn't mean to criticize you like that. You've been here with the baby all week while I worked, and I can understand that you're attached, but -."

"Attached!" Amanda said, finally upset. "Is that what you call it? The undying love that I feel and will continue to feel for my son is mere attachment? I love my child, Quentin!"

"I know, honey, I know, but it's Saturday," Quentin said, putting his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down.

"What does Saturday have to do with it?" Amanda said, confused. "Is that the day when love becomes attachment?"

"No," Quentin said, almost laughing, "It's the day that I finally get to spend with my son, without worrying about work or any other stressful things in my day. I need to spend time with my son, Amanda."

Quentin ended his speech seriously, his blue eyes bearing into her dark orbs. Hesitantly, Amanda handed him the baby. As Quentin smiled at his son, Jamison's face began to change; he began to cry. Quentin's smile altered, as he felt the bottom of his diaper: it was wet. He turned around to face his wife, smiling apologetically as he attempted to hand her the child. Amanda smirked and said, "Oh, no. You wanted father-son bonding? Well, my dear, you have it!"

Amanda was sitting up in bed, reading a new nonfiction book: The Sensuous Man by an author simply named "M". Amanda wondered how this book could possibly be the best-selling book of the year so far – it was basically a manual for men that she had found under Quentin's pillow. How could modern men read such trash, Amanda wondered. Throwing it aside, she made a mental note to throw it away before Quentin finds it missing.

Quentin emerged from the bathroom in his pajamas, smelling of toothpaste. He settled in his side of the bed, and stealthily reached under his pillow. Not finding his book in place, his movements became more frantic. "It's not there," Amanda said quietly.

Blushing, Quentin said, "What do you mean?"

"Your new book," she said quietly, picking it up from her nightstand. "I have it now."

He made a futile attempt to grab the book from her, but she placed it down out of his reach. "Amanda, give it back," Quentin said sternly.

"Why?" Amanda said. "Do you think we have – problems?"

"Well," Quentin said thoughtfully, "We're not as close as we were, and I thought it might have something to do with me."

"Who gave you this trash, anyway?" Amanda said heatedly.

"Professor Stokes. He lent it to me, so if you please." Quentin extended his hand.

Ignoring her husband, Amanda continued with the discussion. "You mean that friend of Barnabas and Julia? He had this laying around?"

"Think about it, Amanda. The man has no girlfriend. He needs something."

"Why did he think that you needed – something?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Well," he said hesitantly, "We haven't been – close – for a while now, and I thought I was doing something wrong."

"See, that's what's wrong with the modern man today," Amanda vented, "In 1897, no one talked about this openly, there were no books on it, everything was private and perfect." She leaned closer to him. "You aren't doing anything wrong, honey. You're perfect."

"Then why haven't we been together since our anniversary?"

"Because I'm here with the baby, you're at work, we both get tired," Amanda explained.

"I'm not tired," Quentin said softly.

"Neither am I," Amanda said, their eyes meeting as he turned off the lights.