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Chapter Thirteen:

I woke up in mid-afternoon and went downstairs to the sounds of Wes' videos on. But he wasn't watching them… not really. Gil's mother was reading a romance novel in the arm chair, assuming the little boy was occupied. She wasn't being neglectful; she probably just wanted a minute to herself. I felt guilty that I'd let her take care of him all day. I did still get tired, but if she could nap when he did, so could I. I resolved myself to being more present, even if it meant I had less time to research who Debbie was. After all, half of the reason I was risking all of this was Wes.

I sat on the couch beside him, but he didn't move. Didn't glance at me, didn't shift his weight, didn't blink. "Wes, hon… Are you okay?"

He frowned and climbed into my lap, tucking his face between my neck and shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him, thoroughly concerned. I wondered if Gil had made an appointment for him yet. We'd only discussed it this morning, but now that the idea was in my head, it felt like it not only made sense, but was entirely necessary. Urgent, really.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. In theory, Gil would be home in about an hour and a half. In truth, it would probably be several hours. He'd been working long, long hours on the serial case. …Maybe, after he went to bed, I could look through the file. Just to see if I noticed something he didn't. It wasn't likely, but fresh eyes… a fresh perspective…

I could help, and then he would be home more.

But then… if he caught me, what would my excuse be? He would be so angry, that much I knew. …It wasn't really worth the risk.

Still, I glanced through his magazines, making note of the articles within them, so I would know what I could say I understood and have an explanation as to why. I had done some thinking since lunch time, and I came to the conclusion that of course he wouldn't accept my words easily. Of course not, considering who he believed I was… and I could handle that. It should be expected.

What I needed to do was prove that the plane crash had changed me. Not just tell him, show him.

Which meant that I would have to treat him like the beloved husband I saw him as, and be patient when I wasn't treated like the beloved wife I wanted to be…

He came home late, past 8:00, and his mother immediately jumped to her feat, hugged and kissed his cheek like he was still a child, and bustled off to the kitchen to pull her meatloaf out of the oven. I found myself wondering if I would do that to Wes, when he was a man. I wondered if I'd still be around, when Wes was a man.

When she left, he turned his gaze on me, sitting on the couch, Wesley still clinging to me, wide awake but silent, another of his magazines spread on the coffee table before me. The corner of his mouth turned up, in resignation more than happiness, and he nodded to me, looking like he was going to head into the kitchen after his mother.

"Gil." He turned to me, surprised, a look of apprehension on his face. Probably thinking, as I was, of the fight we'd had earlier in the day. But I didn't want to fight. "I, uh… I was just wondering if you'd… gotten the number for the psychologist. For Wes."

"Oh." He sighed, coming over and sitting on the couch beside me and pulling the boy from me. Wes curled up to him the way he'd been to me. I frowned. "Yeah, I… I called and left a message asking for it. I missed him earlier today, but I have a voice mail. He might have left it in there. I'll check it after dinner and give him a call."

I nodded, slowly. "Are, um… How are we… going to do this?" He narrowed his eyes. I cleared my throat, knowing that the scratchiness I heard in my voice was unrelated. "Well, you… you've been working twelve, thirteen hour days. Did you want me to take him alone or…?"

He shook his head, slowly. "I guess I hadn't… thought about it. No, I… I'll make it a point to be there. I… Should I meet the two of you there or… Do you think you're up to driving yet?"

I swallowed, having planned this answer out ahead of time. "I, uh… I get… confused, sometimes."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked concerned. "Confused?"

I tilted my head, one shoulder shrugging slightly. "Before I left the hospital, my doctor told me it was… to be expected, for a while. It's… most of the time I'm fine. Just… occasionally I feel… disoriented or… or the sequence of events is… hard. You'll say something and I'll feel like… I don't know, like it's… off. He said that, with time, it should go away on its own… it's an after effect of the trauma."

He looked thoughtful, but I wasn't afraid. He could research it if he wanted, my doctor had told me that very thing. Eventually, he nodded. "…Okay, then… I'll swing by and pick you two up whenever we get it scheduled."

He rubbed Wes' back softly while I nodded, grateful I wouldn't be attempting to navigate the streets of Las Vegas off memorized internet directions. Then it occurred to me… "You know, I… I don't have anything. My purse, my driver's license, anything… maybe, if… if you could manage a day off, you could help me. Take me around to get everything replaced…"

I tried to keep the vulnerability out of my voice, but I clearly failed, because his expression softened. "Once we wrap up the serial case, Debbie, I promise I'll take a day off and we'll get you everything you need. Okay?"

I nodded—even when he believed I had been so terrible to him, he was still so kind. I could not believe what an amazing man he was. "Thank you."

He nodded and, after a brief pause, seemed to get uncomfortable and stood, keeping Wes tight to his body and tilted his head to the kitchen. I nodded, and he went before me, leaving me to follow in his wake.

I wanted to offer to help—I wanted to simply help more period, now that my strength was up—but she was done with everything and… neither of them seemed to expect me to help with anything. They didn't even ask. I wasn't sure if that was because of my injuries or if Debbie had simply been that lazy. So I sat down at the small table in the kitchen that was always used as opposed to the big dining table in the dining room. I wasn't sure why we used the room as a dining room if, in fact, we didn't use it.

Gil slid Wesley into a booster seat secured to one of the chairs at the end of the table and sat himself across from me, an open chair for his mother at his right and my left. I smiled at the boy but he didn't respond, looking down at the table and the sippy cup waiting for him there. After a minute, he lifted it to drink his milk and I sighed, glancing at the table where all the food was resting.

The meatloaf had been set down between his mother and me. I took the pan, lifting out a piece that had already been cut and passed it to Gil, who had a strange look on his face. I raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. I was confused, and simply turned to the other items on the table, finding myself extremely grateful for the large salad in front of me. I hadn't given up meat entirely, though I was pretty squeamish. We'd watched a video of insect activity on a decomposing pig for one of my grad level forensics classes and ever since I'd had a hard time with it.

I took as much of the salad as I could, aware of Gil's eyes on me again. This time, I didn't meet them. I wasn't going to keep questioning his stares only to be disregarded.

The meal was quiet. Gil's mother asked about his day and the case, and he told her a little. I wondered if he would have told her more if he still believed I didn't listen to him or care to speak with him, because other night he had been far more expressive. Despite Wesley's long nap, he was yawning within an hour after supper, and I scooped him up to take him for a bath and bed. Usually Gil's mother did this, but I wanted to.

In the guest bathroom, it was easy enough to find a basket full of tub toys and to locate his bubble bath and baby soap and shampoo. By the time I was turning the water off, he was sitting in the water, surrounded by ducks and boats, and playing a little, which felt reassuring. I leaned forward against the edge of the tub, talking to him and watching him play and just touching him. His baby skin was unbelievably soft and I felt as though I would never tire of running my fingers through his curls or gently brushing against the skin of his shoulders.

He was absolutely perfect… flawless in my eyes… and I wondered vaguely if this was what motherhood felt like. Real motherhood. I didn't think I could love Wesley more, even if he had been mine by blood as well.

Gil came in about fifteen minutes later, when I was just thinking about getting Wesley to put the toys aside so I could wash his hair. I turned in surprise at the footsteps, and then raised both eyebrows when he sat on the floor across from me, at the other end of the tub. "Daddy!" Wesley said, looking at me and pointing, as if I needed clarification.

I beamed. "Yep, that is Daddy. Did you tell him 'hi'?"

He smiled and looked at Gil. "Hi!"

Gil chuckled. "Hi Wes. Are you playing with your ducks?"

"Kack Kack!" He said, attempting a quacking noise, and I smiled at him softly before turning my eyes to meet Gil's serious ones.

"I got us an appointment the day after tomorrow—he just had a cancellation, apparently, so we were lucky. The next open slot wasn't for a couple of weeks."

I smiled. "Good. I'm really glad."

He nodded, and after a moment I turned back to Wes, picking up his shampoo. I nearly dropped it when Gil spoke again. "So… what exactly are you playing at?"

My head snapped to him. "I'm sorry?"

He sighed in frustration, like my words had made his head hurt. "You… you hate my mother's meatloaf. You've never made a point of hiding it. What one earth do you think will change by pretending now?"

I raised an eyebrow, trying to disguise the relief on my face. "I was just being polite. I wasn't pretending… I took a small slice, and then ate salad…"

"Polite!" He yelled. Wesley jumped, as did I, and then whimpered, his bottom lip sticking out and tears filling his eyes. Gil winced and repeated, "Polite…" in a whisper, as if that would change the boy's reaction. I made a clucking noise with my tongue, expressing disapproval, and slid Wesley along the tub bottom and over to me.

"Hey, it's okay baby. Daddy didn't mean to shout…" I kissed his forehead, hugged his wet chest to mine, disregarding the water left behind on my shirt. That seemed to help. I poured shampoo in agitation, spreading it through his curls while Gil gathered himself.

"…You've never cared about being polite to her."

I scowled, feeling slightly defensive, though I knew it didn't make sense. "Yes, and a lot of good that did me. I'm trying to turn my life around and she's bad talking me to my husband."

He frowned. "She not… How did… Debbie, she…" He stopped, and I almost laughed at the confusion on his face.

"I'm not an idiot—it's been pretty obvious. Anyway, it… it's fine. I deserve it. But that doesn't mean I have to keep provoking it, do I? …Tilt your head back, honey…" Wesley did so, and I poured water from her forehead back over his hair, careful to avoid any dripping the wrong direction and getting in his eyes. Gil sat quietly, watching me as I pooled some of his liquid soap in my hands and helped him to stand, sudsing up his body and then having him sit back down to rinse them all off.

It wasn't until I was packing up his tub toys the Gil spoke again. "I know that… that you think you're… turning over a new leaf, Debbie. And, where Wes is concerned, I think it's amazing, but… But you need to know that we're not going to go back to the way we were. I told you that. No matter how much you've changed, I… I can't do it again. …I feel like… maybe you should know that, before you go to the trouble."

I glanced at him, setting the toy basket up back in the cupboard and retrieving a big, fluffy towel from it. "Are you saying that because you believe the changes are a ploy or because you don't think you could ever love me again?"

I tugged the drain from the tub, standing Wesley up again. I wrapped the towel around his little body, careful to keep the edges from dipping into the lowering water level, and lifted him to stand on the bath mat between Gil and I. Gil sighed deeply while I rearranged the towel around him, making sure it covered him from shoulder to toes. "…Both. I… I don't believe you but, honest or not, it… it isn't going to happen."

I looked at him seriously for a moment and then back at Wes, picking him up and cradling his body like he were a much smaller child so that he could stay wrapped up and warm. "Well, then I guess I hope that you're wrong. …The human capacity for love is amazing—people love far too deeply and too well and with too much forgiveness. It's mankind's most redeeming feature. …And, if you're not wrong… I'm still better off being the kind of mother that Wes can be proud of." I held his gaze, briefly, and then turned to the boy in my arms.

"Should we go get jammers on?" At his smile, I beamed--amazed that he had been playing and smiling for almost half an hour without going silent and motionless--moving to the door and out of the room, still talking to him. "Yeah… we'll get a clean diaper, put on some warm jammies, and curl into bed. Should we read a book before ni-night?"

I didn't hear Gil move until nearly a half an hour later—after diaper and pajamas and stories and cuddling. He came in to tuck Wes in and give him a goodnight kiss. And after turning on his little night light—a ladybug that cast the whole room in a soft, red glow—and leaving the room, we both paused in the hall. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. We stood for at least a full minute, maybe two, just standing and staring.

And then I looked down and sighed. "I'll see you in the morning." I headed to my room, leaving him, unmoving, in the hallway.