He almost made me forget the danger we were in, and that was probably dangerous in itself. His cocky grin and his delicious, muscular body made me forget that I was being hunted by dangerous terrorists.
And I had to remember, couldn’t forget. I had to remember, at least for Mason’s sake.
As I stood there catching my breath, I heard something in the other room. I paused, listening, and then sighed. “Mason’s crying,” I said to Emory.
He poked his head out of the shower. “I can get him.”
“No. That’s okay. Finish your shower. You’ve done enough.”
He grinned at me. “I’m just getting started.”
I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I left the bathroom and went into my bedroom. Mason was awake and crying loudly, a screaming cry, very unusual for him. I bent down and lifted him up. His diaper was clean and he’d been fed recently. He almost never woke up crying like this, or at least not screaming like this.
“Okay, Mason, okay,” I said, rocking him. I could remember a handful of times that he’d cried like this before, but none in the last two months.
I bounced him as I walked slowly downstairs, heading into the kitchen. I thought maybe he might be hungry, but as soon as I tried feeding him, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t. I stood up again and walked around, bouncing and talking to him.
When I first found out I was pregnant, so long ago, I was terrified. I thought my life was over, that I was never going to do anything that I wanted to do again.
And in a lot of ways, I was right. My life as I knew it was over, but I could never have imagined what my new life was going to be like.
Sleepless nights, crying babies, stress, so much stress. Having an infant was so stressful, and it wasn’t going to get any better.
My parents and Lindy helped as much as they could, but in the end it was up to me. I learned as fast as I could and took on as much as I possibly could, but it was so hard.
But it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
That probably sounded cheesy, and maybe it was, but Mason really was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Before, I didn’t really have a set path in life; I didn’t have a purpose. I was going to parties and studying hard and spending time with my friends, but all of that was so empty and meaningless compared to Mason.
He gave my life purpose. During those first couple of months, I learned over and over again why people wanted to have children. It was so difficult, but so incredibly rewarding. Every new milestone he hit sent joy through my heart. Every time he smiled, I felt complete.
And every time he cried, I felt like my heart was breaking just a little bit.
I remembered those early sleepless nights when Mason just couldn’t stay down for more than a couple hours. I was like a walking zombie, and there were times when I wanted to give up. But I never did, because I loved that crying little baby more than anything else in the world.
People said your life changed when you had a child, and they were right. You just couldn’t really understand it until it actually happened to you. Until you had a child, it was impossible to really get how important and powerful that love was.
Mason was my everything, and as I walked around the living room, rocking him and talking to him, I felt a sadness growing inside me. I hated seeing him cry, especially like this. I had no clue what was wrong with him, what he needed.
I tried everything. I tried his favorite toys, his binky, his bouncy chair. I tried feeding and changing him, walking with him, bouncing him, reading to him.
But nothing worked.
I sat down in the kitchen, so frustrated. Emory walked in and leaned up against the doorframe. “Going okay?” he asked.
“I don’t understand it,” I said. “He never cries like this, Emory.”
“Here, let me try.”
I frowned. “Okay. Worth a try.”
I handed Mason over to him.
Mason just kept right on screaming.
Emory bounced him, talked to him, walked around with him, but nothing. He made faces and spoke in baby talk, but Mason wasn’t having it. Emory was adorable trying to help, and maybe if I weren’t so stressed and upset I would be able to appreciate it, but Mason’s crying had me on edge.
Finally, Emory handed Mason back. I rocked him, staring down at him.
“Does he feel warm to you?” I asked Emory, cocking my head to one side.
Emory pressed his cheek against Mason’s forehead. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? He either does or he doesn’t.”
“I don’t exactly have experience with this, Tara.”
“Okay. Sorry. Just, maybe he’s sick? He does feel warm to me.”
I felt Mason’s forehead with my cheek again, and sure enough he felt warmer than usual.
“You’re just upset,” Emory said. “For good reason. But Mason is fine. Don’t worry.”
“Of course I’m worried,” I said, annoyed with him. He couldn’t understand. How could he?
Emory didn’t have to raise Mason. He didn’t push Mason out of his vagina, didn’t feed him, change his diapers, didn’t do everything for Mason like I did.
I couldn’t just sit back and watch Mason suffer. If he had a fever, something was seriously wrong.
I left the room, bouncing Mason, trying to calm him down. I went upstairs and read to him for another hour, going through every book I had and then moving on to random things on my phone. By the end of the hour, I was getting desperate, and Mason was definitely warmer than he had been before.
I went back downstairs and found Emory sitting on the couch, his feet kicked up, watching a crappy TV.
“I want to take Mason to a hospital,” I said to Emory.
He looked at me. “No.”
“Emory, he has a fever.” I carried Mason over to him. “Feel.”
He reluctantly felt him again and made a grunting sound. “He’s warm,” Emory admitted.
“Hospital. Please. A fever is bad. Mason doesn’t normally cry like this.”
“No,” he said again. “We can’t go to a hospital. It’s too dangerous. We have to let him pass this on his own.”
“Emory, he’s a baby. He can’t just fight off infections on his own.”
“He has to,” Emory said. “I’m sorry. He’s my son too.”
“No, he isn’t,” I snapped. “You weren’t there. You didn’t raise him. You don’t know what it means to be a father, clearly.”
He stared at me for a second, his face hard. “I’m sorry. No hospital.”
“I’m going. You can’t stop me.” I stormed off toward the front door.
I didn’t even hear him come up behind me. One second I was reaching for the door, and the next Emory was in front of me, blocking my way.
“Move,” I said.
“No. Go back.”
“Move or I’ll make you move.”
He grinned at me. “Let’s see you.”
I clenched my jaw, ready to lash out at him. I wanted to hurt him, to hit and kick him. How dare he keep me from bringing my baby to a hospital? Mason was hurting and he was my child, and I had to do everything possible to get him there.
But then I took a deep breath and let it out.
“You can stop me now, but I’m not giving up,” I said. “I’m going to get to a hospital. I’m not going to let my son suffer, no matter what.”