Recap of Previous Chapter: While Sookie's friends welcome her home, L.L. pays a visit and attempts to insinuate himself back into her & E.J.'s lives. Sookie recalls Eric's first visit to her home last summer.

Chapter 7: Alternating Realities

"Sookie! Sookie, wake up."

Grumbling my way out of a deep slumber, I found myself looking right at Tara and E.J.. I blinked hard, as if I could clear away the blue-gray film of early morning light. Very early morning light. The day was squatting much too low over us.

"Is it two hours already?"

"Yeah," Tara grumbled back. She looked a little rough around the edges. Like I felt.

I reached for E.J. and pulled him close. "Long night, huh?"

"I don't know how you are going to do this on your own. Have you figured anything out yet?"

"Nothing definite. Amelia is coming by later today to take a look around. Sounds like she's interested in renting a room. Sam said he'd help put the word out that I'm looking for a live-in nanny. And I placed an ad on Craigslist."

A roommate would help with the money situation, but what I really needed was a live-in nanny, someone who would help me take care of E.J. in exchange, at least in part, for room and board. Figuring my home was one of my biggest assets (who wouldn't want to live on the beach?) I'd use her for all she was worth. I needed all the help I could get.

"I'll ask around too. If you're all set here, I'm heading home. Laf on duty tonight?"

"After work." I had a string of people who had offered to help me at nighttime with E.J. until I was fully back on my feet and his jaundice was cleared.

"Call me if you need anything otherwise. I set the alarm for two hours, so try to get some more sleep." She leaned down to hug me goodbye and then left. I heard her creak down my old staircase, open my door, toss in my newspaper, and then lock the door behind her. The snapping sound of the bolt told me she was gone.

I was alone- for the very first time- with my baby.

Really alone.

Like no-other-adult-in-the-house kind of alone.

It was kind of crazy how alone I felt.

I felt the motion of the bed as his long body shifted. Though he was soundly asleep, his presence was comforting. I reached out…

The alarm woke me up. E.J. was still latched on, though not really eating, and it was time for another feeding. I groaned, feeling like an abused vending machine. Breast is best. My ass. At the moment, I wasn't feeling especially motherly, and if I had had a can of formula sitting around, E.J. and I would have cracked it open like it was a celebratory bottle of champagne. I imagined myself tackling Nurse Pepto, wrangling a free can of formula out of her.

Easing out of bed with E.J. still attached, I realized I would need to change the sheets and get myself cleaned up. Cripes. It was like I had the period from hell. How long was this supposed to go on? Weeks? I hadn't paid careful enough attention to all of Nurse Pepto's post-partum care instructions.

The more pressing issue was that I didn't know what to do with E.J.. Could I leave him here, asleep? Would he be okay for a few minutes? Babies that age couldn't roll, right? Deciding I'd rather be safe than sorry, I took him into the nursery. He started to fuss as soon as I stuck my pinky in his mouth to get him detached. And then when I placed him in his crib and his head touched the cool sheet, he was downright pissed. What else was I going to do? I decided I could be quick.

But there was nothing simple about a trip to the bathroom these days, and by the time I emerged, E.J. was screaming his rhythmic angry cry, and I was shaking. Hurriedly, I plucked his stiffened body out of the crib and tried shushing in his ear as I tugged my shirt up to get him latched on again. His little mouth wavered for a second or two before he resumed screaming. I tried again. And again. No go. By then I was rocking from side to side, trying to keep both of us calm.

A pacifier. Future orthodontal woes be damned. Little babies need to suck. Better than using me, right? I bent down to rummage through the diaper bag. Didn't I stash one of those green hospital pacies in here? There it was. Mm-hmm. Underneath the cool pads. Fumbling, with one hand I tore open the package and tickled it around his stiff lips. He was too caught up in screaming to notice it. Or maybe he just didn't like it.

"That was amazing."

My own thoughts startled me. I pulled E.J. up onto my shoulder and tried rubbing his back. Maybe he just needed to be burped, especially after all of this crying. I rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and patted. Then I sat down in the rocker by the window and held him up in a sitting position with his head supported as I patted and rubbed some more.

"How's that? Am I hitting the right spot?"

"Mmmph."

We were in Eric's dune shack, up in the loft area containing just his bed. Straddled over him, I kneaded the muscles across his back and shoulders. "I take it that's a good thing."

"Mmmph."

"You're really tense."

He turned over to face me, and rested his hands in the small of my waist, right where they fit. "For a woman your size, you're very strong."

"And do you like strong women?"

"Yes, I like a challenge."

"A challenge? I guess I should put up more of a fight then. Make you work for it."

He laughed.

"What, you think I can't make you work for it?"

"I think you're challenging enough. Just not in the way that you're thinking."

"What?"

"You heard me."

I leaned down to meet his lips, which were smiling broadly.

"It's too hard to kiss smiling lips. What's so damn funny?"

"Right now, you are."

"And how is that?" I sat back up, still straddling him.

"Like I said, I love a good challenge."

"I don't know what you're talking about, mystery man, all quiet and inscrutable."

"Ask me anything. I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know how long I'm going to have to wait for a decent kiss."

"I rest my case."

"That's just puzzle-talking. Now, kiss me, you fool."

Why couldn't I figure this out?

"E.J., tell mama what I'm missing." I heard the tremor in my voice.

Turning him around, I tried to get him latched onto the other side. I tried a different hold, tucking him under my arm like a little football. I tried rocking. I tried swaying. I tried bouncing. Nope, no, and no again.

"Shhhhhh, E.J.. Shhhhhh." I shushed again and again. I even tried singing for the poor thing. That almost made me cry.

His cries alternated between a rhythmic, angry scream and sputtering, gagging silence. I could feel the panic in myself surging. What if something was wrong?

I spoke aloud, hoping the sound might soothe him.

"E.J., what am I missing? Is it your jaundice? You don't look more yellow. You even look a little better."

Hearing my own thready voice made me realize even more that I was the only adult in the house. No one else was here to help me. Lafayette would be here later, but not for another...ten hours. Something like that. My brain couldn't handle math at the moment. Tara. I could always call Tara.

Sweet Jesus, the screaming was making it hard to even think. His piercing wails scraped directly against every raw nerve fiber in my body.

If. Only. He'd. Just. Stop. Screaming.

"No one is going to hear you out here in the middle of nowhere," Eric prodded, breathing heavily.

Though I could see little in the dark of nighttime, I could feel the rolling dunes around us, hear the whisperings of their grasses come to life. Here in the shack, alone, we were just a speck of sand swallowed up by the wide world around us.

"You like noise?"

"Mmmm." He bent his mouth toward my ear.

I groaned at the wild mix of pleasures- the flitting quiver of his tongue coupling with the massive press of his body over mine.

"You can do better than that."

"So can you," I gasped, toying with him. "Make me scream."

He laughed, pulling up and disentangling himself from my legs. He tugged on me to flip over, lifted my hips, and sank into me from behind.

"Come on, Sookie. Give it up for me," he coaxed.

We were both sweating profusely. I could feel a droplet running between my breasts. "I love getting hot with you."

He leaned down, nuzzling the wetness from his forehead into the crevice of my neck as he kissed along my shoulder. And then I was gone, feeling the heat roll over me, undulating like the living dunes around us.

His temperature! I should take his temperature. Maybe change his diaper too. He'd never seemed to be bothered by a dirty diaper before, but I figured it would be worth a try anyway. Steeling myself against his wails, I did my best to lift a fresh diaper underneath him and then fumbled with the thermometer.

"Easy, there, big guy. I know this is no fun. No fun for me either." I hoped I was doing it right. Nurse Carney had given me a demo, but this was my first time solo. With a screaming infant.

"Nope. No temperature. Looks like we need to change your diaper again, though." Yeah. And now we both needed baths. Like that was gonna happen. I couldn't even pee in peace. I fumbled underneath the changing table, looking for another diaper, and came up with an empty bag. How did that happen so fast?

"Where did all the diapers go, stinky boy?" I laughed a shaky kind of laugh. Luckily I had more. Across the room.

With one hand on his tiny body, I stretched my foot out as far as it would go and managed to kick and drag a new package of diapers close enough to bend down and pick them up. Meanwhile, E.J.'s screams seemed to amplify, something I wouldn't have thought possible even a minute ago. I grasped the edge of the changing table hard, my fingertips digging into the foam padding, and felt the tears start to trickle.

Shut. The. Hell. Up. The ugly thought popped into my head, as if some monster had simply inserted it there. But it was my own voice in my head saying those raw words, showing me at once how a mature adult could break over that horrible edge. I knew I wouldn't, but even empathizing with that feeling was scary.

I collapsed under Eric, my quivering thighs unable to hold my weight anymore. Watching him flop beside me, looking utterly sated himself, I laughed in a happy, joyful kind of way, feeling the stiff parts of me soften and relax, unbridled. He shook his head, speechless and breathless, before pulling me close to kiss me.

Inside I tingled, feeling a strength growing.

I needed to take action. A different kind of action. I walked back into the nursery with E.J., made an extra effort to lay him down in his crib gently, and walked out, closing the door behind him. I just needed a minute to catch my breath and calm down. I walked downstairs to the kitchen, where his crying was muted—though, cripes, still audible—and with shaking hands, grabbed a cool drink of water, a painkiller, and the first piece of food I laid eyes on, which happened to be a plain piece of sandwich bread, and ate it like it was a gourmet meal. Then I set up all of my gear—my nursing pillow, donut, TV remote, and cordless phone—took a minute to take a few relaxing breaths, and headed back upstairs, giving myself a pep talk along the way. I'd give it another go, but if we hit the three-hour mark (in 27 minutes) and he was still crying, then I'd call Dr. Ludwig.

I sat down with him in the Green Monster, forced my shoulders to stay relaxed, and tried expressing a little bit of milk, something I had managed to retain from Nurse Pepto's lecture.

Milk squirted out across the room. Like by about a foot.

In disbelief, I did it again. A wet spray sprinkled over E.J.'s cheek.

And then suddenly, I was giggling-and tearing up a little bit too-at the strangeness and weirdness and overwhelming-ness of it all.

E.J. continued wailing, but eventually, after he got a little taste in his mouth, not sprayed across his face, he started to settle, alternating swallows with whimpers, until he finally settled into a rhythm, the quiet clicking sounds of his gulping a salve for my sore ears and battered spirit.

Two hours and fifty-three minutes. That's how long he had been crying.

Two hours and fifty-three minutes.

But we'd done it.

What time was it? Ten AM? I was ready to call it a day. Yep. Time for bed. I might have sat there and had a good cry myself—why let E.J. have all the fun- but I think I was still too shell-shocked. Traumatized. But for as numb as I felt, there was no denying the jarring differences between then and now. Last summer was long gone.

This was a new chapter. In the next book. Of a different genre.

A/N Ugh. Those crying spells are tough, aren't they? (Show of hands) I felt like it was important to acknowledge what single parenthood might be like for Sookie.

So, when is Sookie going to get back on Eric's trail? She'll get back on it next chapter, but I want to point out that a good bit of her search goes on in those flashbacks. Plus the poor girl is still recovering from the birth of her 10-pounder.

Thanks, makesmyheadspin! (She's a beta who tells me funny stories on demand).

~Thanks for reading!~

Disclaimer: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.