Chapter 14: Rule Four

The pediatrician's waiting room had a fish tank and six other mothers.

Ansel carried the car seat in with both hands, perfectly level.

"You can put it down," I said.

"The floor has germs."

"It's a pediatric office. It's all germs."

He set it on the chair between us and sat with his knees together.

Across the room, a woman with a toddler was openly watching him.

I tried not to enjoy that.

He leaned over to check the blanket, and his mouth stopped beside my ear.

"Your doctor clears you Thursday," he said, very low.

"I know when my appointment is."

"Then you know what I'll be doing Thursday night."

My whole face went hot.

"Ansel."

"I'll start with your mouth," he said, in the same pleasant voice he used for ordering coffee. "I'll take a long time to get lower."

The toddler's mother looked away, because my face had given me up.

"There are children here," I said.

"I'm aware," he said, and sat back and picked up a parenting magazine.

He held it upside down for a long time before I noticed.

The baby woke at three that morning, as she had every night that week.

I was in the kitchen in a nursing tank and sweatpants, with a bottle in one hand and her heel in the other.

The knock came at the swinging door.

Two soft raps.

"It's open," I said.

Ansel stood in the doorway in a gray T-shirt, barefoot, with his hair flat on one side.

"I knock," he said. "It's a term."

"You live here."

"It's still a term."

He took the bottle warmer off the counter and burned his thumb on the metal rim.

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