The Baby Monitor Caught Him, So I Played It at Sunday Dinner novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Good

On Tuesday afternoon my husband was folding the baby's laundry in the basement, shirtless, in gray sweatpants.

I stood on the stairs and looked at him.

He had a tiny pink sleeper in one big hand and was matching its sleeves with great care.

The washer was running.

On top of the dryer the baby monitor crackled once and settled, and through it I could hear her breathing upstairs in her crib.

"She's out," I said.

"I know. I checked."

"You checked twice."

"Three times," Jonas said, and smiled at the sleeper.

The dimple showed in his left cheek.

I came down the last two stairs.

It was a plain basement with a plain concrete floor and a hanging bulb, and it smelled of detergent and hot cotton.

I took the sleeper out of his hand and set it on the pile.

"Marty?"

"Take the sweatpants off."

He went still.

He looked at me and then at the stairs, and at the monitor, which was quiet.

"Now?"

"I didn't stutter."

He pushed the sweatpants down and stepped out of them.

He stood in front of me in nothing at all, hard already, with his hands at his sides, waiting to be told where to go.

I let myself look.

He was beautiful, and I'd been so busy being furious that I had forgotten to say it.

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