Before I Let You Go(77)

I rise and start unpacking the car—my movements forceful. I spend the next few hours setting up the spare room as a nursery, and it’s only as I go to fall into bed some hours later that I realize Sam is in the study. I walk along the hallway and see the light coming from under the door.

I raise my hand to knock to ask if he is going to come to bed, but the light flicks off. “Sam?” I call hesitantly.

“I just need some space, Lexie,” he calls back.

This is a small thing—he’s just sleeping two doors down from me—it’s not like he’s walked out on me. But it’s also a huge thing—because this is the first time that Sam has ever opted to sleep away from me—the first time he’s ever told me he needs space. Sam loves to cuddle me in the night—it actually took some getting used to at first.

It suddenly strikes me how much “space” we have actually had—in all of the weeks since Annie’s late-night call, Sam and I have not made love once.

I look back now and realize this is not for lack of trying on Sam’s part—I have been pulling away. Maybe I even pulled away in one single and sharp moment the night Annie called. I’m stricken with guilt as I consider this, but the defensiveness remains, and I’m frustrated that Sam does not give me at least a little more leeway.

Maybe I actually need him to make himself invisible for a time, while I deal with the magnitude of Annie’s situation.

This thought is like ice water on my anger. Over the past two years, Sam has accepted me as I am, warts and all, and he wants to build a future with me. He adores me—I can see that when he looks at me—and what do I reward him with? I take him for granted, and I automatically begin cutting him out, right when I need him most. I retreat to our bedroom, but I spend hours lying awake, my racing mind working overtime as I try to outrun my guilt.

I sleep in the next morning, and Sam is gone by the time I wake up. When I finally arrive at the hospital I’m immediately taken to the meeting room with Daisy’s neonatologist. He tells me that she is doing amazingly well without any morphine, and that provided she remains stable, he’s going to prepare her discharge paperwork.

“But doesn’t she still have some issues?” I blurt. “Are you sure this is safe?”

He raises an eyebrow at me, confused—and fair enough, I guess, since he’s giving me the best news ever and I’m trying to talk him out of it.

“She’s obviously still small, and the rigidity in her muscles might take some time to resolve—and you’ll need to keep her on the prescription formula. I’d like to see her back here every couple of days, but I really do think it will be good for her to be in a more relaxed home environment now. She is six weeks old, you know. It’s time.”

I swallow hard.

“Okay, then.”

I go in to see Daisy, and find her lying wide-awake, staring up at a mobile someone has moved over her crib. I glance at her chart and see that it’s been well over twelve hours since she had any morphine, and she’s settled and content.

I text Sam.

I’m so sorry. Can you spare me some time today?

I meet Sam in his office just after lunch. He was in surgery this morning, and he already looks tired. I extend a coffee toward him as a peace offering. He takes it, but he doesn’t smile.

I sit in the patient’s chair opposite his large oak desk. Sam initially moves to sit behind the desk, then stops himself and walks back around to sit beside me. I watch as he toys with the lid of the coffee.

“I’ve been dealing with my family’s problems on my own for a long time,” I say without preamble. “Annie makes a mess, she dumps it on my lap and I clean it up—I’ve been doing this with her since she was a kid. And Mom was never really engaged, not after Dad died—so I’ve always just had to be . . . I’ve always had to be the adult—the only adult. But I’ve had a nice hiatus for the last two years, and I wasn’t prepared for this and I certainly haven’t been prepared to share the burden. I’m really sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to leave you out. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I’m babbling, and Sam’s watching me expressionlessly. Is all of this too late? I want so much for him to react and to tell me I haven’t ruined what we have. Just when I start to panic, he rests his hand on mine. I feel the warmth of his body radiating through to mine. I have been so terrified since my late-night revelation last night. And now with a single touch, I feel capable—confident, supported—strong.

“The thing is, Alexis Vidler, I love you more than anything,” he says slowly. “Yes, this is a messy situation. But you need to give Daisy a home now, and I want that to be our home. I don’t want it to be your home.”

“I’ll do better. I promise.”

“No, Lexie. I want you to do worse,” Sam says gently. “I want you to stumble and let me pick you up. I want you to tell me the load is too heavy and let me carry some of it. I don’t want you to superwoman me out of our life.”

When I nod, Sam squeezes my hand gently, and at last we share a smile.

“She hasn’t had morphine since last night,” I tell him, and his eyes widen.

“How is she?”

“Content.”

“So do I need to organize a day off to bring her home with you?”