XXVI "Glow of Dawn"
"Seems like there's not enough hours in the night anymore, doesn't it?" Riza was standing in the doorway to the nursery, a heavy winter blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked as tired as he felt—there were rings under her eyes, her posture was slumped, and she looked mightily sore.
Roy had been up with Peter most of the night. The infant was going through the worst of his first cold and wanted constantly to be held. He glanced out the window and saw that the sun was making a gigantic effort to launch itself over the horizon.
"And I've got a meeting in three hours," he complained, but he couldn't keep the playfully accosting tone out of his voice. Peter had finally drifted off to sleep, clutching his father's pajamas in one tiny fist. "What a life, huh? I thought this was going to be fun."
"It's going to be even more fun pretty soon," she said dryly. "It's all thanks to you I'm pregnant again. I'll be sick and grouchy, and you can miss sleep. That's fair, as far as I see it."
"Why is it always my fault?" He protested, but Riza padded over and hugged him. "I suppose it is fair, in your twisted way. Are you getting morning sickness already?"
"First bout of it," she replied, sounding about as thrilled as Peter had been all night. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"I think I managed to sit down and drift off for an hour or so. God, I remember when I could go three days in a row and feel fine."
"You could down five straight shots and not get a headache the next morning, too. Face it, you're an adult now."
"Dammit, why did you always keep telling me to grow up? And why'd I listen?"
She laughed and fell quiet, watching out the window as a wavy sliver of yellow peeked out from behind the distant ridge. "It's going to be a nice day, at least."
"They're all nice."