push my face into his chest.
âFor what, Emilia? Why should I be mad at you?â
âFor . . . for stealing the pictures.â
âI just ordered another set and had them delivered to the office.â
I lift my head. âBut weren't you mad at me for not telling you that I had them? For hiding them in my drawer?â
Jack pulls a tissue out of the box on his nightstand and wipes at the mucus I have left smeared across his chest. âOf course I'm not mad.â
âWhy not? You should be.â
âYou sound like you want me to be angry at you.â
I press my cheek back against him. He is so warm and the hairs on his chest tickle my skin.
Jack kisses the top of my head. âDo you want to choose one or two of the pictures for me to enlarge? We can get a couple of nice frames and put them up somewhere. Maybe in here. Or in the living room.â
âGod no,â I say. âI mean, not yet. I'm not ready for that, yet.â
His sigh is almost imperceptible.
âIt's not that I won't ever want her picture up. Just, you know. Not yet.â
âOkay.â
âFor now I need them to be private. Mine, not anyone else's.â It takes a moment for me to realize what I have said. âAnd yours, too. Of course yours.â
âOf course.â
I pick up the little stack of photographs once more and leaf through them until I reach the one of Jack and Isabel with my foot in the corner. âDo you like this one?â I ask.
âNot much,â he says. âShe's got that Popeye the Sailor Man, one-eye-open-one-eye-closed thing going on.â
âYou look nice, though.â I trace a finger over his smile. âYou look happy.â
âI
was
happy. The day Isabel was born and the day William was born were the two happiest days of my life.â
I say, âI was happy, too.â
âI know, Em. I know you were.â
It takes us a long time to fall asleep.
Chapter