Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(27)

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Now what do you do? For a job, I mean.”

My eyebrows pull together. Is this an interview? For what? Annoyance flares when I realize what he’s doing. He’s making sure Claire is well-cared for.

I tell myself it’s a good thing he cares that much. But still, I’m offended. Claire’s the gravity that keeps me in place, the only person capable of warming my cold heart. My body has been sore more times than I can count as I played the role of sentinel, keeping watch beside a sleeping Claire’s crib, certain that at any moment she would stop breathing. I soldiered through my final semester, taking off only one week after delivering Claire, because I couldn’t get a job without a college degree, and if I wanted to provide for Claire, I needed to graduate.

I want to tell Isaac I know what he’s doing, and I intend to, but when I open my mouth, I remember the little girl beside me in the booth, listening to every word, her brain moving faster than ours. I can’t ruin this night for her. I want her to think of Isaac and see butterflies and rainbows and whatever else symbolizes her happiness. She deserves that much.

“I’m an underwriter. At Bridgewater Insurance. Do you remember—?” I cut myself off when he starts laughing. “Did I miss the joke?” I glance at Jenna, but she looks as clueless as me.

His laughter fades, but the smirk is still there. “Your job… It’s fitting. For you, I mean.”

My head drops on one side. “How so?”

“Isaac, can you let me out please? I need to visit the ladies room.” Jenna looks at him expectantly, her purse in her grip.

Isaac slides out and Jenna follows. He tries to say something to her but she sails away. He stares at her for a long moment before sitting back down.

“You evaluate risk for a living,” he says, like the conversation never skipped a beat. “That’s funny, considering your aversion to risk.” He’s even smiling while he’s talking, like his lips only know how to form smiles, and smiles upon words, and smiles upon smiles, and smile smile smile smile smile.

To busy my hands and give me a reason to look away, I join Claire in her coloring. Glancing at our daughter, I say, "Apparently I’m not that risk averse.”

“Do you check your weather app before you get dressed?” Isaac drums his fingertips on the tabletop.

My crayon stills as I watch the rhythm he creates. Those hands have been on me. Running through my hair, hastily unfastening my bra, digging into my hips. And those hands have performed surgery on my daughter. Pushed two pins into her arm, where they still are and will remain for the next eight weeks.

I put down the crayon and meet his gaze. Ignoring his question, I answer the one that started this whole conversation. The question he asked silently, using the other questions as a front. “I make enough at Bridgewater for Claire and I to live comfortably. I’m very lucky that my friend Britt’s dad is a managing director there. He hired both of us right after graduation.”

“Is that the same friend from that night? The one who made me text her?”

“The one and only.” I grin, my mood lightened when I think of Britt.

Isaac glances at Claire, then back to me. “What was it like? Learning about Claire, I mean.”

My lips twist, and I look at Claire too. She’s focused on her coloring, her tongue poking out of the right side of her mouth, but I can’t risk her hearing me. I pull up a game app and hand her my phone. With technology in front of her, she’s as good as asleep.

When I’m confident she’s immersed, I lean forward, my chest pressed to the table. Isaac mimics my movement, except when he does it, he takes up so much more of the table.

“My first thought was that there was no way it was happening to me. I went through both tests, then bought another pack. All positive.” I take a deep breath as I think back on the final test, a result as positive as all the others. “I was scared, of course. Terrified, actually. But from the moment I was certain, I felt… whole.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth I’m embarrassed. I’ve said too much. Isaac might as well be a stranger. But, of course, he’s not a stranger. Not by a long shot.

Isaac reaches across the table and covers my hand with his own. His light squeeze tugs at my heart.

With pained eyes, he says, “I wish I’d known, Aubrey, so I could—”

“So you could’ve made an honest woman out of me?” I mean it as a joke, but Isaac’s serious.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I mean, I would’ve helped. Financially. Physically. Emotionally. I would have been there.” His words rush out, and he takes a deep breath to recover.

Would’ve, could've, should’ve. I'm filled with the same thoughts. We could’ve exchanged last names. He should've brought his phone and then his number would've been in Britt's phone. “That’s not how it worked out. Sometimes, things don’t go the way you imagine they will.”

“Like ending up pregnant and not being able to tell the father?”

“Yeah, like that.”

He squeezes my hand again, tighter this time. “I’m here now. And I’m going to be here as much as you’ll let me. More, even.” His eyes are bright, intense.

How is it that one person can want another person so much? I know, because I’m a mother. I carried Claire inside my body, fed her from my breast, and have never spent a night apart from her in five years.